Inked

So I rigged up a travois out of plywood and blankets from the shop and dragged him out. Weak sunlight was filtering through angry clouds when I emerged, matching my mood. I leaned against the side of the drain, heedless of the mildew sliming my coat, and dug out my phone. The fact that it took me three tries to grab it probably wasn’t a good sign.
    “You wouldn’t happen to have seen a young man?” Caleb asked, before I got a word out. “Bad skin, lots of piercings, dreads—”
    “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
    “Well, I’m sure it’ll come up at your court-martial!” Jamie said heatedly. Oh, great. We were on speakerphone.
    “I don’t think I’m likely to be put on trial for borrowing a junkie for a few hours.”
    “No, but you might be for disobeying the direct command of a senior officer!”
    “Hargrove isn’t that much of a—”
    “Not him! Sedgewick! The old man told him he’d sent you on an errand, or he’d have you up on charges right now!”
    “ Hargrove is covering for me?” Okay, now I knew I was hallucinating.
    “Yeah, and I’d love to know the story behind that one,” Caleb put in.
    “So would I,” I told him. “But it’ll keep. Right now, I need some—”
    “You need your head examined!” That was Jamie, of course.
    “Yeah. Concrete is pretty hard when you get slammed into it by a three-hundred-pound Were.”
    There was a brief silence. “Is that the body the patrol just brought in?” Caleb demanded.
    “I’ve only tagged two today so far, so—”
    “And where’s the other one?” Jamie again.
    “Tartarus. Some big market over by the Tropicana. I found a wardsmith stuffed into his own drop safe and then got jumped by a Were. He stole some wards, so I’m assuming he’s the one who did him, although—”
    “What wardsmith? What was his name?”
    “Like I said, we never made it as far as introductions. But he was still warm when I arrived; no rigor. So I’m guessing—”
    “What did he look like?”
    “Would you let me finish a sentence?”
    “It’s important, Accalia.”
    Something in his tone cut through the static. Not to mention that he never used my full name. “Older guy, shabby clothes, Thunderbird tat on his left arm—”
    “Shit!”
    Jamie didn’t say anything else, and Caleb took over. “Sounds like you’ve had a busy day. Why not come in? We can get your story straight before you see Sedgewick.”
    “Can’t, although it would be great if you could reroute a patrol by here to pick up the body.”
    There was some quiet conversation I couldn’t quite hear, and then Caleb came back on the line. “Will do. It’ll be about fifteen minutes.”
    “I’ll be here.”
    I passed the time on the phone with a guy I know in research. The Predators were composed of outcast wolves, as I’d assumed. There were twenty to thirty of them and they were known for being big dealers of illicit drugs—including the Fey variety. I guess I knew what Dieter had meant about competition. They also had a reputation for brutality.
    “I kind of got that from the name,” I said, as an ambulance came around the corner. Four guys got out, two medics and…crap.
    “Nice to see you, too,” Caleb said, hiking an eyebrow at me. I guess I might have said that last bit aloud.
    “Where is he?” Jamie demanded, splashing through the current. A stretcher was whizzing through the air behind him, trying to keep up. That was definitely not SOP in an open area in broad daylight, any more than was the huge sword he’d slung over his back. But Jamie didn’t look like he gave a damn.
    I indicated my makeshift travois, which I’d parked inside the drain to keep it out of sight of passersby. Jamie knelt beside it and pulled back the blanket. And said a word he rarely employed in the presence of a lady—or even me.
    “You knew him?”
    “His name was Toby Wilkinson, and he was a damn fine wardsmith.”
    The two orderlies reached us and transferred the body to the stretcher. “Why was a talented wardsmith hanging around the drains?” I asked.
    “Because he was a stubborn old coot who wouldn’t listen to reason, that’s why!”
    “Could you be a little more—”
    “Six years ago, Toby was one of the best weapons-grade wardsmiths in the southwest. Then a group of kidnappers took his daughter and demanded an exorbitant ransom. Toby paid it instead of coming to us, afraid they’d kill his only child if he didn’t do precisely as he was told.”
    “I’m assuming they