Alpha Omega 03 - Fair Game

they had entered the small viewing room, the scent of a little boy added itself to the mix, a boy who rightfully should be out playing with his friends and instead bore the unmistakable signs of autopsy.
    Beside her, Brother Wolf growled, the sound low enough that she didn’t think any of the humans heard it. He’d come as wolf—again. Anna dug her fingers through the fur of his neck and swallowed hard, trying to focus on something besides the little body on the table. Even worry about her mate was better than a dead child.
    Charles promised that he’d let her know if it got worse—but he hadn’t reopened the bond between them, not even wide enough that he could talk to her while he was in wolf shape.
    “His family were supposed to pick him up today,” said the man who’d let them in. He was dressed in scrubs that were clean and fresh—either he was just beginning his day, or he’d changed for them. “When I explained to them that a werewolf had offered to look for clues we couldn’t find, it was not difficult to persuade them to leave him here until tomorrow.”
    “You didn’t tell his parents they were bringing me, too?” said the witch, who looked like she’d come right out of a 1970s sitcom—middle-aged, a little dumpy, a little rumpled, hair an improbable shade of red, and wearing clothes that didn’t quite fit. “The werewolf is incidental and, I might add, begged the witch to come—and you didn’t think to mention me?” The death threat in her voice did a fair job of removing any sense of comedy, though Anna couldn’t help but think of Sleeping Beauty and the evil fairy who was offended because she wasn’t invited.
    Anna didn’t like witches on the whole. They smelled of other people’s pain and they liked causing problems. But even if this one hadn’t been a witch, she doubted she’d have liked her.
    Dr. Fuller—Anna had missed Leslie’s introduction of their contact at the morgue while absorbing the smells of the place, but he wore a name tag—frowned. “He comes from a staunch Baptist family. Werewolves were a big stretch for them already. I didn’t think they’d have taken to the idea of a witch at all well.”
    The witch smiled. “Probably not,” she agreed cheerfully, just as if she hadn’t taken offense a moment before.
    Isaac had warned Anna that his witch of choice was a little unstable. He’d also told her that the witch wasn’t all that powerful, so the harm she could do was minimal. He had another witch who worked upon occasion for his pack, but that one was secretive and a lot more dangerous. The witch here now, Caitlin (last name withheld), would tell them everything she found out, just to prove how much she knew. The other would keep it to herself for later use or just for her own amusement, which wouldn’t do Lizzie any good at all.
    “Tellthem we appreciate their cooperation,” said Heuter, the younger Cantrip agent, who had shown up as they were waiting for the witch in front of the building where the county morgue resided. He’d claimed that someone told him that they were going to visit the body, but from Leslie’s attitude (polite but distant) it hadn’t been her.
    Goldstein had been called away to discuss the case with someone in the Boston Police Department, so Heuter’s addition made them five. Had there been any more of them, they’d have had to leave the door to the small room open.
    Dr. Fuller pulled back the sheet. “Jacob Mott, age eight. Water in his lungs tells us that he drowned. Joggers found him washed up on Castle Island early in the morning. His parents tell us that he did not have pierced ears, so the killer must have pierced both—though only the left ear was tagged. The tag is in evidence.”
    Anna let the words run in one ear and out the other. They were unimportant next to the small body laid out before them. Besides, Charles would remember every word—and she didn’t want to.
    Jacob had been in the water and the fishes had nibbled, though he wouldn’t have cared at that point. Compared to what had been done to this boy, the fish were only a footnote. Death had nothing much to teach Anna, but dying…dying could be so hard. Jacob’s dying had been very hard.
    The witch reached out and touched the body with a lust Anna could smell even with her human nose.
    “Ooh,” she crooned, and the doctor’s clinical recitation stumbled to a halt. “Didn’t you make someone a lovely meal, child?” She put her face down on