Titus had asked me to stick around in case they found someone in the area. I was their best bet for figuring out if the person was a lycanthrope or some innocent schmuck. Beat the heck out of cutting off a hand to see if there was fur on the inside of the body. If you were wrong, what did you do, apologize?
There had been some lycanthrope tracks leading up to the murder scene. Plaster casts had been made, and at my suggestion, copies were being sent to the biology department at Washington University. I had almost addressed it to Dr. Louis Fane. He taught biology at Wash U. He was one of Richard's best friends. A nice guy. A wererat. A deep, dark secret that might be jeopardized if I started addressing lycanthrope paw prints to him. Addressing it to the entire department pretty much guaranteed Louie would see it.
That had been my greatest contribution of the night. They were still searching when I drove off. I had my beeper on. If they found a naked human in the snow, they could call. Though if my beeper went off before I got some sleep, I was going to be pissed.
When I shut my car door, there was an echo. A second car door slammed shut. I was tired, but it was automatic to search the small parking lot for that second car. Irving Griswold stood four cars down, bundled in a Day-Glo orange parka with a striped muffler trailing around his neck. His brown hair formed a frizzy halo to his bald spot. Tiny round glasses perched on a button nose. He looked jolly and harmless, and was a werewolf, too. Seemed to be my night for it.
Irving was a reporter on the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. Any story about me and Animators, Inc., usually had his byline on it. He smiled as he walked towards me. Just your friendly neighborhood reporter. Yeah, right.
"What do you want, Irving?"
"Is that any way to greet someone who has spent the last three hours in his car waiting for you?"
"What do you want, Irving?" Maybe if I just kept repeating the question over and over, I'd wear him down.
The smile faded from his round little face. He looked solemn and worried. "We've got to talk, Anita."
"Will this be a long story?"
He seemed to think about that for a moment, then nodded. "Could be."
"Then come upstairs. I'll fix us both some real coffee."
"Real coffee as opposed to fake coffee?" he asked.
I started for the stairs. "I'll fix you a cup of java that'll put hair on your chest."
He laughed.
I realized I'd made a pun and hadn't meant to. I know Irving is a shapeshifter. I've even seen his wolf form. But I forget. He's a friend and doesn't seem the least preternatural in human form.
We sat at the small kitchenette table, sipping vanilla nut creme coffee. My suit jacket was draped over the back of the kitchen chair. It left my gun and shoulder holster exposed. "I thought you were on a date tonight, Blake."
"I was."
"Some date."
"A girl can never be too careful."
Irving blew on his cup, sipping it delicately. His eyes had flicked from side to side, taking in everything. Days from now he'd be able to describe the room completely, down to the Nike Airs and jogging socks in front of the couch.
"What's up, Irving?"
"Great coffee." He wouldn't meet my eyes. It was a bad sign.
"What's wrong?"
"Has Richard told you anything about Marcus?"
"Your pack leader, right?"
Irving looked surprised. "He told you?"
"I found out tonight that your alpha is named Marcus. There's a battle of succession going on. Marcus wants Richard dead. Richard says he won't fight him."
"Oh, he fought him, all right," Irving said.
It was my turn to be surprised. "Then why isn't Richard pack leader?"
"Richard got squeamish. He had him, Blake, claws at Marcus's throat." Irving shook his head. "He thought when Marcus recovered they could talk, compromise." He made a rude sound. "Your boyfriend is an idealist."
Idealist. It was almost the same thing as fool. Jean-Claude and Irving agreed. They didn't agree on much.
"Explain."
"You can move up in the pack hierarchy by fighting. You win, you go up a notch. You lose, you stay where you are." He took a long sip of coffee, eyes closed as if drinking in the warmth. "Until you fight for pack leader."
"Let me guess. It's a fight to the death."
"No killie, no new leader," he said.
I shook my head, coffee sitting untouched in front of me. "Why are you telling me all this, Irving? Why now?"
"Marcus wants to meet you."
"Why didn't Richard tell me that himself?"
"Richard doesn't want you involved."
"Why not?" Irving kept answering my questions, but the answers weren't helping much.