I walked over to the counter on the right and examined the contents of the glass case. A magnifying glass with an ornate metal handle. A metal toy car with faded, half-peeled-off green paint. A small round box filled with blue and white glass beads. A cheap pocket watch. Some coins, an assortment of beat-up knives, a set of antique glasses, dark red at the bottom and gold-yellow on top, a glass punch bowl with a grape pattern on the side and an odd yellow patina…This was crap. You could find pricier stuff at a flea market. Did she have a warehouse full of this junk?
A tall woman strode from the depths of the store. She wore a brown and beige suit. Her light brown hair was coiled into a complex arrangement on her head. Her eyes behind black-rimmed glasses were dark and calm. Neat, trim, professional.
“Hello,” she said. “Can I help you find anything?”
“Hi. Are you Gloria?”
“Yes.” The woman nodded.
“My name is Andrea Nash,” I said. “I’m investigating a multiple homicide on one of the Pack’s business sites.”
Gloria stepped behind the left counter and walked toward the door. I had to turn to keep facing her.
“Multiple homicides?”
She was up to something. “Yes.”
“Who was killed?” Gloria set a large plastic bin onto the counter.
“Some shapeshifters. They were employees of a reclamation company.”
“That sounds tragic.” Gloria offered me a smile. “But I don’t know what it has to do with me.”
She stood, one hand on the bin, her muscles tense. Normally I’d make slow circles around her, pulling the evidence out of her a little at a time, but she was too keyed up for that. Strategic decision time. Anapa was likely after the ceremonial knife. She could be, too. She could be working for him even.
I took a gamble. “Give me the knife, Gloria.”
She hurled the contents of the bin at me. I ducked right, but not fast enough. A clump of ribbons hit me in the chest and fell apart into two dozen slithering cords around my feet.
Snakes.
The blistered bodies of Raphael’s crew flashed before me. Getting bitten meant death. I jumped up and to the right, trying to put some distance between me and the knot of terrified snakes, landed on the clear floor, and drew my Sigs. Behind me a heavy metal grate slammed in place over the door.
Trapped.
I spun and saw Gloria crouching on the counter. What the hell now?
Gloria opened her mouth. Her jaws unhinged and the mandible split in half, opening even wider. Her lips curled back, baring her teeth and turning her face into a grotesque mask. Twin fangs slid from the recesses in her gums, above her human canines.
Whoa.
Gloria crouched down.
“Don’t!” I barked. I couldn’t get bitten and I needed her alive, because whatever she knew would die with her.
Gloria jumped. It wasn’t a martial arts kick. She just leaped at me like there were springs in her legs, mouth open, fangs exposed.
I fired. Two shots bit into her stomach, the third and fourth took her in the chest, and then she crashed into me. Her hands crushed my arms, pinning them to my sides. Four bullets and she hadn’t even slowed down. She should’ve been dead or bleeding.
I tried to rip my arms free, but she clamped me down, her hands like steel pinchers, and bit down, aiming for my throat. Hell, no. I smashed my forehead into her face. She reeled back, her nose a broken mess of red tissue. I ripped my left arm out of her grip, the second Sig still in my fingers. Gloria bit my right arm, puncturing the skin straight through my shirt, and I put the Sig to her ear and pumped three rounds into her skull.
Blood sprayed the floor, littering it with chunks of brain tissue and shattered skull bone. Gloria sagged down and crumpled by my feet.
Well, that had gone great. Gloria and her secrets were dead, and I’d gotten myself bitten and was about to join her. How in the world had this gone wrong?
My arm burned. I ripped my sleeve off carefully, keeping my right arm still. A single puncture marked my arm near the elbow—she had only gotten one fang in, but one was enough. The tissue around the bite had turned bright red. The beginning of a swelling stretched the skin to hot hardness.
If Raphael’s people were any indication, I had minutes before the venom killed me.
The best method to prevent the spread of snake venom came from Australia and involved applying a broad tight bandage, complete with a sling and a splint to my arm. The venom had to move through the body through the lymphatic system before entering the bloodstream. The idea was to compress the tissue, preventing the lymph from moving to and from an injured limb.
I couldn’t bandage myself without moving my affected arm, and even then I couldn’t do it right and tight enough. All I could do was apply a tourniquet and hope my arm and I survived.