Page 27 of The Hive Queen

As soon as we’re on the road, I call my partner, Mayn.

She answers on the first ring, her voice alert despite the early hour. “Johannsson called. I’m already on my way.”

“Good.” I’m grateful that my partner’s fast response means I don’t have to swing by her place to pick her up. Her apartment is past where we’re heading. “Did he also warn you that Bailey’s people are circling?”

“He did.” A sharp note fills her voice, like the sound of a knife pulling from the sheath. “He also informed me of yesterday’s events. Why didn’t you call me in?”

“You were still on mandatory leave,” I remind her. “I’ll see you in about ten minutes.”

“It’s good to be back, sir.” Mayn hangs up without waiting for a response.

As the only Other on my team, I took Mayn as my partner to avoid conflict among the ranks. It was an uneasy start, since demons and witches had only recently revealed themselves to the human world when my unit was formed, and she answered the application. There’s no way to hide that she’s not human, and I don’t ask her to. She’s proven her worth through hard work and dedication, and now no one on the Joint Task Force of Paranormal Investigations questions her authority.

But her particular Otherness comes with some limitations.

Sirens are required to spend a week back in the ocean every few months. While they can make do with saltwater tablets and soaks in the tank, they need to fully submerge in their Mother ocean to completely restore their powers.

Mayn had been putting it off for a while, but in the lull after the events with the Fox god, I forced her to take her leave. It ended at midnight last night, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to having my partner by my side once more.

While Mayn’s thought process is sometimes alarming and alien, she’s loyal and always has my back. If she had been with me at the scene yesterday, she could have encouraged the onlookers to move along.

Utilizing her powers of persuasion is still in the gray zone, so I use them sparingly, but yesterday had been dangerously close to getting out of hand, and despite our best efforts, the news got enough footage to paint a grisly picture on prime-time last night. Once the previous case and this newest one are linked, my superiors will put pressure on us to solve it quickly.

At least at this hour of the morning, it’s unlikely that we’ll have an audience for the newest crime scene.

Based on the file Bailey’s office sent over, the first murder took place a month and a half ago, in an apartment complex.

It worries me that the second murder took place so long after the first, but the third immediately followed. It makes me think there are more that we’re missing. Serial killers have patterns, and the two deaths back-to-back don’t make sense.

There was no full moon last night like there was at the first murder, and no girlfriend left behind to witness the second murder. The first man was Latino, from a poor neighborhood, and worked at a convenience store. The second was a European stocks investor who lived in a nicer part of town than I could ever aspire to on my salary. The only similarity between them so far is that they’re both males in their early to mid-twenties.

It’s not enough to build a profile on, nor is it enough to send a warning out to the public. I hate to think it, but I’m hoping that this third victim can present a link between the first and second. Otherwise, we’ll be flying blind.

When I pull up to the address Johannsson sent, I find myself in the business district of Clearhelm.

The discreeet black sedans that my people drive form a barricade in front of an alley, where bright lights shine from between two tall business buildings.

I spot squad cars from the Clearhelm Police Department farther down the block. It looks like Johannsson kept Bailey’s people at bay, but couldn’t force them to leave. It’s annoying, but there’s nothing I can do about it unless they step directly into my crime scene.

When I park behind one of the sedans, Flint pulls up to the curb behind me, shutting off his engine.

I check the clip on my holster before climbing out and waiting for the others on the sidewalk. A brief argument drifts from their car as Flint convinces Anny to stay behind. A crime scene is no place for a fox. Not even a magical one.

When they join me, Pen looks fully alert, and the side pocket on her pants no longer bulges, which I hope means she ate the small breakfast I made.

Last night had been a little scary when I walked into the bathroom to find her hand in the fire and the bathtub water boiling around her. Who would’ve guessed the most capable woman I’ve ever met struggles to take care of herself when left alone?

Johannsson hovers near the sedan parked nearest to the alley entrance, and we head toward him. As we approach, I spot a dark-haired woman slouched low in the back of his car, her arms crossed and her chin resting on her chest, looking like she’s napping.

“Hey, boss.” Johannsson hooks a thumb toward the woman. “The witness is being uncooperative, so I’ve detained her.”

Flint gasps in disbelief. “You mean she wasn’t enthralled by your charms?”

“Shouldn’t you be haunting graveyards?” Johannsson pushes back.

“Is that Amalia?” Pen leans down to peer into the window and taps on the glass.

The woman’s head lifts, and inscrutable dark eyes glare out at us.

---