Inked

the change begins with the extremities. For some reason, I always assumed it started with the trunk of the body and radiated outward. With a chance to do a proper autopsy, I could learn so much—”
    “The body will be returned to the family intact,” Sebastian told him flatly.
    “But Mr. Arnou—”
    “Colin, leave it!” Hargrove snapped. “You’re supposed to be looking for clues to the man’s identity, not satisfying morbid curiosity.” He glanced at me. “And answer that thing or shut it off!”
    “It’s not mine,” I said, wondering who else around here had “Werewolves of London” for a ringtone.
    “It was found under the body,” Sedgewick said grumpily, waving at another phone that lay on a specimen tray. I hadn’t noticed it before because it was chrome-bright, like the tray itself.
    Like the phone Cyrus had given me on my birthday.
    Like the one he always carried.
    An electric charge ran up my spine and down into my hands, making them shake. I clutched my phone tightly to keep from dropping it. It was 11:30, I reminded myself sharply. Cyrus was probably on his way here for lunch, ready to bitch about the cafeteria’s idea of chicken salad…
    “And if you want to know who he is—or rather was ,” Sedgewick said, picking up the phone. “Call one of the numbers in here and ask. Or do I have to do everything?”
    He hit a button and the phone in my hands leapt. I dropped it and it went skittering across the tiles, spinning to a stop by the plastic container Sedgewick had placed hopefully at the end of the table. I stared at it, feeling my thoughts scatter and break, fracturing as the floor sank dizzyingly beneath me.
    My chest felt pinched as I sucked in a lungful of air, but it didn’t seem to help. A bone-dead chill settled through me and my knees gave out. “Lia!” someone said, but I barely heard.
    The last thing I remember before darkness washed over me was two tinny, cheerful howls merging with the white-rush-roar in my ears.

3
    “IT isn’t him. Lia, do you hear me? It isn’t Cyrus!” Someone was holding me, close enough that I could feel the body heat radiating from him. It was hotter than usual for a human, and some part of me found that oddly reassuring.
    “Mr. Arnou,” it was Sedgewick’s voice, sounding clipped and impatient. “It’s merely a faint. She’ll come around in a moment.”
    Sebastian paused to draw a breath. And when he started speaking again, his voice had gone low and smooth and dangerous. “For all your vaunted knowledge of our anatomy, Doctor, it appears there are a few things you do not yet understand about Weres.”
    “And that would be?” Sedgewick had obviously dropped the charm act, because his voice was almost nasty.
    “A Were who has lost a mate can turn feral, knowing nothing, seeing nothing, except revenge. I have witnessed a small female of our kind carve her way through five strong Were guards to reach the one who had taken her mate. And then kill him, before dying herself.” His grip tightened enough to hurt. “I do not wish to see it again.”
    I came around completely with a grunt of pain, to find myself draped across Sebastian’s lap. We were in Sedgewick’s tiny office, sitting on his ugly plaid couch. The doc was behind his overflowing desk while Hargrove hovered in the doorway. “But Lia isn’t a Were,” Sedgewick said testily. “Therefore, whatever questionable—”
    “Colin,” Hargrove began warningly.
    “—methods your people use for revenge don’t concern—”
    “Colin!” Hargrove’s tone snapped like a whip. “With me.”
    Sedgewick started to protest, but Hargrove somehow got him out the door without a major incident. I didn’t see them go because Sebastian had bent over me, his eyes searching mine as if he expected me to go berserk at any moment. I didn’t feel berserk; I felt sick. I really hoped I wasn’t about to yak all over royalty.
    “It isn’t him, Lia,” Sebastian repeated, low and distinct. “It isn’t Cyrus.”
    “Then who?” I croaked, struggling to sit up.
    “Grayshadow,” Sebastian said, his face expressionless. “At least, that was his Were name. In the human world he was known as Alan Thompkins.”
    “But the phone—”
    “It’s Cyrus’s, yes, but the body isn’t.”
    “How could you tell?” I asked thickly.
    “Scent.” His mouth twisted in a wry half-smile. “Those archaic chemoreceptors. And if you noticed, the body was missing part of the right front paw.