Page 106 of A Wolf After My Own Heart
“Right. So it was already going to be difficult. For their power grab to have even a prayer of working, they neededeveryShifter to go all in on their national tantrum. But it sounds like they didn’t have every Shifter on their side, there at the very beginning. Because of the mole.”
“Yes. My understanding is that whoever he or she was—I never got all the details—they were in the SAS but realized at the last minute that they didn’t want it to go that far. Or they were a spy and notified their handlers. Whatever the motive, he or she sounded the alarm and non-SAS Shifters got to Shakopee in time.”
“So with two groups, each with a different agenda…”
“Rather than a power grab from one apex predator to another, it looked like the groups facing off were just two sides of the climate change debate. The ‘everything’s fine, knock it off’ group and the ‘you’re killing the planet and dooming us all’ group. And in the middle of all that, the police came and added to the chaos, and someone set fire to downtown, or more than one someone, and when the smoke cleared, the dead were in the streets or locked up, and the movement was in ruins.”
“You hope.”
“Well.” Macropi shrugged. “Nothing’s happened. If there were other blocks of SAS scattered about, waiting for their cue, or even to start their own revolutions, they haven’t done anything in ten years. Exactly ten years, now that I think about it. You wouldn’t know this, Lila, but this weekend is the tenth anniversary of the Shakopee riot.”
“Wait, what?What?”
“Yes. That’s why it’s been on everyone’s mind. It’s—”
“Now? This weekend? Right now?Nownow?”
“Yes. Oh, but don’t worry, dear! You must know we would never let anything happen to you. There’s no one under my roof who would hurt you, and we would never, ever allow anyone to—”
“I’m not the one they want to hurt! Jesus Christ, why didn’t anyone tell me?” She had to call. Or run. Or drive. Because it was never about Sally Smalls. It was always about her parents.
And Magnus Berne, of course.
10. Alas. Onion pie is a thing.
Chapter 42
“What do you mean, gone? Lunch? He died? What?”
“Dr. Gulo gave notice last Thursday.” This from Debbie, Dr. Gulo’s assistant, a curvy brunette with incongruously small wrists and ankles who probably got carded for R-rated movies. “Sorry you missed him.”
“Last week? How fortuitous!” Nadia exclaimed. To Oz: “The day after the plane crash.”
“Iknow, Nadia.” He was getting a distinct herbivore scent from Debbie, who was so short her head didn’t even come up to his shoulder. Weredeer, probably. Maybe wereantelope?
“Touchy, touchy.” Nadia turned back to the assistant. “And here you are, poor darling, trapped like a fly in honey, stuck with the grunt work. So typical of upper management.”
Gulo’s assistant waved her hand to indicate semipacked boxes, the desk, the room. “Yeah, needless to say, we’re running a little behind. Most of this we’ll have to ship to his new job.”
“Which is…?”
She frowned. “I don’t know. He keeps telling me he’ll zap me his forwarding address, but…” She shrugged. “Like I said. We’re all running behind.”
“What about his open cases?” Oz asked. “Did they get reassigned, or…”
“He doesn’t have any.”
“Really?” From Annette. “Is that common?” (Trick question; Annette knew damned well it wasn’t common.)
“No, actually, but it’s Dr. Gulo, so.” Debbie shrugged again. “He practically lives here. Anyway, he closed them all. The Smalls case—the one you were asking about—was the last.”
“Gosh, efficientandtimely,” Nadia chirped.
“Ridiculous bullshit!”
Oz nearly jumped through the wall. Berne had some lungs when he wanted ’em. “Calm down, Magnus.”
Magnus put his hands behind his back, possibly so he wouldn’t pick Debbie up and shake her like a maraca. “We require answers, lass, d’you understand? Lives are at stake!”
