“Got it.”
“Now let’s find the threshold the bastard used to cross the Veil. That’s a good start.”
But no matter where we looked, there was nothing. No doorway, no break in the concrete. Running my fingers over the walls showed nothing. I even checked with my second sight—still nada. The walls were smooth and unblemished, regardless of how I looked at them. The furnace made the room almost unbearably hot, and sweat quickly slid down my face and arms. Fuck it all to hell and back!
“Now what?”
I didn’t answer him, my hands on my hips; frustration mounting, I stared at the floor. The toddler was fading fast, and I reluctantly let go of his threads, and stopped Tracking him. Feeling a child die is a horrible thing, one that can’t truly be described. I didn’t need that, not today. I thought about the Lighteater I’d killed while Tracking him. That had been almost as bad as feeling a child die. Almost, but not quite.
“Back to the police station, I guess,” I said quietly, knowing the next time I Tracked the toddler he’d be dead. Gods, this was an ugly world.
“Are you all right?”
Looking up, I caught his gaze as it softened with understanding.
“He’s gone?”
I nodded and clamped down on the urge to cry. Stupid as it was, it didn’t matter how many kids I’d Tracked, this hurt never lessened regardless of the times I felt it. Lots of them passed on before I had even begun to Track them. And yet when a child died during a salvage, I felt it the most, like a keen blade taking another piece of me. It hurt, and I hadn’t even met the kid.
Clearing my throat, I pointed at the door, “Let’s go.”
As we made our way back up the stairs, I thought about what O’Shea would do. Probably go and take a closer look at the files, see if there was some connection other than what the police had already found. Maybe find a motive. Damn him for opening my eyes. Life was a hell of a lot simpler when it was just about a salvage and not about the ‘why’ of a case.
Even though he wasn’t with me, O’Shea was still making my life difficult.
And that made me smile, even if just a little.
10
The police station looked old, as in ancient times before modern anything. Lit inside by wall sconces that had obviously been converted from gas to electric, it was apparently not the main police station, but instead an office set up for Interpol and Will’s division of SOCA. Will had filled me in on the way to the station. SOCA had a department set aside to deal with the supernatural, just like the FBI. And just like the FBI, that division of SOCA didn’t truly exist in the hierarchy of things.
“Makes it hard to get things done, when you aren’t taken seriously,” Will said as we stood in the entryway of the station. “Not to mention the difficulty of working with humans who don’t really believe in the supernatural.”
“I can imagine that would be difficult,” I muttered.
Will gave a wry smile. “You’re about to find out just how difficult it can be. You’re about to be introduced to the ‘team’ assigned to this case.”
I didn’t like the sound of that, but still I followed Will into the station, keeping Alex right with me. Even if this was the department for the supernatural goings on, I had no doubt that Alex would not be made welcome. Eyes followed us, none of them particularly friendly. Excellent.
“I see the welcoming party was laid out for me,” I said.
Will snorted. “You aren’t the only one they aren’t happy with.”
“Let me guess, you don’t play well with others, either?”
He laughed, and I had to smile. Us supernaturals, we did our best to blend in, but the humans almost always picked up on something. Energy, weird traits, odd sayings, maybe just the way we talked or moved. Things that we thought nothing of, but to the rest of the world, well, we would never be like the rest of them. Which was just fine by me.
Weaving our way through the room, Alex got his share of wide-eyed glances too. But it wasn’t until a heavyset older woman in a too tight bright red dress suit squealed and pointed that I thought we might have a problem.
“You can’t bring a dog in here! People have allergies to dogs,” she screeched, her accent so strong I struggled to understand her.
Alex lifted his one paw up and opened his mouth to speak. I could just hear him now. “Not dog, werewolf!”
I clamped a hand over his muzzle, stopping the flow of words that was coming. “He’s a sniffer dog. And he’s on the case, so shut your fat mouth.” That last was directed at both the woman and Alex as my fingers tightened incrementally. He blinked up at me, winked in a big, slow comical blink of one eyelid, and I snickered, the laughter squeaking out past my clamped lips.