Alpha Omega 03 - Fair Game

1986.
    Stop him,
he told Anna, deciding that the killer’s victimology was no coincidence.
This is important. Go back to that first year, the one the FBI joined in the hunt.
    “Wait,” Anna said, glancing down at her notes. “Can you go back to the victims in 1984?”
    The fae came out about that time,
Charles told Anna.
Melissa Snow was fae and as close to eighteen as my father is. She wasn’t out then, I don’t think, but she was fae.
    Maybe it was an accident?
Anna thought as Melissa’s face, shining and happy in a family-type snapshot, appeared on the monitor next to her gray and lifeless face.
The fae aren’t exactly everywhere, but it is reasonable that he picked one up by mistake.
    She wasn’t a half-breed,
he told her.
If someone picked her up thinking they were getting a teenaged human, they’d never have been able to keep her. She wasn’t powerful, but she could defend herself better than a human would have.
    Can I tell them that?
    Absolutely. Then have them go to the next year. Some fae have no bodies when they die. That could be why there is no fourth victim.
    Goldstein watched Anna with sharp eyes. “Was she a werewolf?”
    “No,” Anna said. “Fae.” And then she told the feds what Charles had told her.
    “Fae.” Singh frowned. “How do you know?”
    “I’m one of the monsters, Dr. Singh,” Anna said without a pause. “We tend to know each other.” It wasn’t quite a lie. “The question is, how would the—what did you call him? The Big Game Hunter? How would he know what she was? If he attacked her thinking she was human, she’d have escaped.”
    “I knew the agent who worked this case,” said Goldstein. “Melissa had parents and two siblings who were ten and seven at the time. He talked to them. She was eighteen years old.”
    No parents,
Charles told Anna.
Or maybe they were fae as well. Or she could have taken her appearance from a dead girl. Hard to say. But I knew her…not well, but well enough to say that she was not eighteen.
    Could the victim have been the real Melissa Snow and the fae took her identity after she died?
    Anna was just covering all the bases, but it was a good question. When had he met Melissa? Years tended to blend into one another…
I knew her during Prohibition, she was working at a speakeasy in Michigan—Detroit, I think—but long before the eighties.
    “She was fae,” Anna said. “If she had parents and siblings, I suspect they were also fae. They know how to blend with society, Agent Goldstein. Apparent age has very little to do with reality when you’re dealing with the fae.”
    “The other two?” Goldstein asked, though he didn’t sound convinced.
    “I’m not an expert on fae,” Anna said. “It’s just chance that I recognized Melissa. But there are fae among the victims every year from here on out.”
    Goldstein asked, “Every year?”
    That would account for the lack of bodies,
Charles told her.
Some of the fae just fade away when they die. If the fae lost his glamour, the other fae would make sure the body never came to light.
    “That I’ve seen.”
    There was a growing tightness in Goldstein’s shoulders, and aneagerness in his scent that told Brother Wolf that Goldstein was thinking, adding this to all of the bits and pieces he knew about the killer, trying to see how this changed the big picture.
    Charles considered the repercussions of a serial killer who hunted fae. Surely the Gray Lords would have noticed that someone was killing their people? But they were not Bran, who protected and loved his wolves. If a fae who was not powerful and kept his head down for safety died, would the Gray Lords who ruled the fae even notice? And if they did notice, would they do anything?
    “Could the killer be a fae?” That was from Pat, the Cantrip agent. “If he’s been killing since 1975 and he was human, he’d be using a wheelchair by now.”
    Agent Fisher frowned. “I know an eighty-year-old man who could take you with one arm tied behind his back, Pat. And if this guy was eighteen at the end of the Vietnam War, he’d be a lot younger than eighty. But most serial killers don’t last this long. They devolve or start making mistakes.”
    “The Green River Killer hunted for over twenty years,” offered Pat. “And when they finally found him, he was a churchgoing married man with two kids and a stable job he’d had for over thirty years.”
    Goldstein hadn’t been listening; he’d been staring at Anna without really