On the Prowl

to tell me why you expected Shaw’s car to be nearby?” Browning asked.
    Jimmy Shaw, age twenty-five. He’d had a DUI six years ago, a couple of speeding tickets since, but was otherwise clean. The address on record was on the west side in a decent, working-class neighborhood that was mostly white and Mexican with a sprinkling of darker faces. He’d bought his 2003 Mustang new, and his body was being loaded into the ambulance now.
    Kai didn’t know Jimmie Shaw. Nathan had checked.
    Nathan’s relief about that made it easier to be amused by Browning now. The sheriff was hoping Nathan wouldn’t tell him anything too weird. “Tire tracks,” he said, nodding at the imprints in the shoulder he’d noticed immediately. They were blurred—made after storm muddied the ground, but before the rain ended.
    “I know about the damned tire tracks. Someone pulled up, dumped the body, and drove away. What made you think the car was nearby? It would have made more sense for the killer to keep going.”
    “It probably doesn’t know how to drive.”
    A muscle in Browning’s jaw twitched. “It.”
    “It may look human, but it isn’t.”
    Browning gave Nathan a disgusted look. The man wasn’t happy about the new shape reality had taken since the Turning. Nathan didn’t blame him. The sheriff had spent a lifetime learning how to preserve order under the old rules. It would take time to learn new ones, and while he and others figured out what worked and what didn’t, some of those in their charge would be harmed.
    But he was basically a fair man. Lips tight, he checked out the busy scene around them, then jerked his head at the road. “We’ll take a little walk.”
    The sky was dull steel overhead with threads of rose and saffron in the east, where a hard ball of sun worked to warm the day. Nathan fell into step beside the other man.
    Once they were out of earshot the sheriff spoke gruffly. “All right. Why do you think the killer isn’t human?”
    “It doesn’t smell human.”
    “I’m not going to the DA with that. I’m sure as hell not telling Chief Roberts the killer doesn’t smell right.”
    “No,” Nathan agreed. He had other reasons for thinking the killer nonhuman, but Browning wouldn’t want to hear them. Which was just as well. Nathan didn’t intend to offer them.
    This hunt was his, not the sheriff’s. If he was right about the nature of this killer, sending humans after it would just result in dead humans. “The bite marks will provide physical evidence, though. You must have noticed. They’re punctures, the sort made by sharp canines. Human teeth don’t puncture the flesh that way.”
    Browning had his jaw clenched so tight Nathan could almost hear the teeth grinding. “It’ll be a goddamn circus when that gets out. A goddamn circus.”
    “You going to notify MCD?”
    “Damned well have to, don’t I? When the autopsy report comes in, anyway.”
    In the wake of the Turning, Congress had passed a law making it mandatory for local jurisdictions to inform the FBI’s Magical Crimes Division of suspected supernatural crimes or attacks. Not that MCD had the personnel to follow up on every report; there was a long waiting list for trained supernatural investigators. But so far, the police chief had resisted notifying them at all, claiming he was waiting for solid evidence a supernatural agent was involved.
    Idiot. But a lot of humans swung between denial and hysteria these days, and Chief Roberts was highly territorial.
    Browning chewed on his own teeth for a few more paces, then heaved a sigh. “Guess we’ve been lucky till now. We didn’t have a lot of the weird-ass nasties come through in December the way some places did.”
    Nathan nodded agreeably, though the lack of nasties troubling Midland had little to do with luck. He’d hunted twice since the Turning. The first hunt had mostly been to create a climate for negotiation. Unlike their larger cousins, river trolls weren’t entirely unreasonable once you got their attention, and this was a poor spot for them. No flowing water.
    The other had been a hunt in truth. You don’t negotiate with a ghoul.
    “You think this whatever-it-is can’t drive?” Browning asked. “Most nonhumans do.”
    “Lupi do, certainly. Brownies don’t, but gnomes can…or so I’ve heard,” Nathan added with a polite disregard for truth. “But as you said, this creature isn’t native to Earth. It came through with the power wind. It wouldn’t know