Fox Trap Read online

  “I’ll take you up on that, Elly-fox,” said Amery. He leaned down and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Old habits.”

  “You just want me for my pedigree.” She half-snarled at him and slapped his shoulder. “Go on, sugar-doggy.”

  Amery laughed and stepped back, winking back at her. Her gaze did not waver. The blonde vixen intercepted Amery, now her reynard mate for the night, and steered him outside.

  When Amery left so did his mating musk. It was replaced by the aroma of copper and books, the scent surrounded her accompanied by something else, a new scent, a different kind of alpha musk. That wasn’t there before.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” The voice was low, seductive, and hypnotic.

  She grew taut as the sound seemed to slither along her arms prickling gooseflesh, the tiny hairs standing on end. Adrenaline shot through her core, sprouting sweat on her upper lip.

  There it was, that familiar buzz was the drug she lived for: the heart-pounding thrill of trembling hands and the numbing tingle in her lips as blood pumped to every part of her in a split second. The rush tipped her into the dangerous dark well of weakness to control, overcome, and harness the power of the free fall.

  Elly straightened her spine, she eased her shoulders back and swished her long hair from her shoulder with a brush of her hand as she turned to face those penetrating blue eyes. She purred with a touch of growl, “Why bother with a drink? Wanna go get dirty?”

  She led him, moving her head to encourage her long auburn hair behind her to flip back and forth over her skin tight leather hot pant bottoms. Elly licked her lips in some of her best adolescent mirror practiced seductions.

  The alley stank of two-day-old garbage that almost masked the scent of sex. Almost. Elly’s above average scent abilities detected recent ‘activity’.

  Clarity and focus, fueled by adrenaline, kept her aware of her surroundings and escape routes. He wouldn’t be able to get away–there was a seventeen-foot chain link fence at the end of the alley. The only way he’d get clear of Elly–and the snub nose pistol neatly tucked in her low boots–was into the street or through the fence.

  This was going to be a shoo-in.

  Just as they hit the shadows, he said, “You are Seannach… you smell… delicious.”

  As he spoke, everything slowed.

  In her peripheral she caught the shadow of his hand, extending. She launched herself backwards just as he came forward. But he was faster, and was on her quicker than any human or kin moved. And in an instant of panic, Elly lost control. She felt her body shift, thrusting her into the grayspace between human and her other self. It came with the ominous sound of shredding fabric.

  He reached for her. She thrust and parried, trying for the snub nose in her boot but her body was already amid the shift. She wasn’t human anymore. She wasn’t quite Seannach, yet. She was a jumble of both.

  Her eyes focused on his blue ones. His face elongated, his mouth seemed to unhinge, expanding wider than the human jaw was capable of. His tongue to rolled out, extending towards her. She was transfixed by the oddity as it drew closer. But just as his hand curled into a claw and grabbed for her half-shifted body, she flipped backwards and away, out of his reach. His claws slashed a gash across her arm, no paw, no arm. Helpless, she tried to gain control of her dual nature to transmogrify back into her fully human self.

  But as abruptly as his attack began, he stopped. Her prey danced backwards, bouncing away from her as his chest heaved a pant. He glanced at the street, then at her, then at the chain link fence while his face transmogrified back to the former, less elongated ‘normal’ form she had seen at the nightclub.

  “I’ll find you, tasty one.” He bounced again, towards the fence, and took it in two stupefying and impossible leaps.

  Elly stood staring up at the seventeen-foot chain link fence her quarry just leapt over, mouth agape, arms crossing over her chilly chest, she wondered aloud. “Neat trick. How did I get the scat end of the transmog stick?”

  Even though the dark alley stank with two weeks of garbage from yet another strike, his scent lingered, isolated by her heightened senses. Copper and books, and something else. Elly couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

  The closest she could come was “wrong”. But that didn’t make any sense.

  “What spooked this guy?” she wondered aloud.

  Elly turned around, feeling the comforting swish of her hair at the small of her back. There had to be something there in the alley, something that would cover her nakedness. Otherwise, she’d have to morph again. A forced morph was the last thing she wanted to do. Pressuring her delicate system to transmogrify twice in a night was painful. It left her ravenous and in a rage.

  That misfired morph was weird, she considered as she hunted for a sack or something to cover her ragged state. She had never been unable to complete a transmogrification. Ever.

  She remembered his eyes when her therianthropic body began to take over. They’d lit up in an eerie ecstasy. Seannach are good at staying hidden. For Elly, it was one of the best part of being one. One of the few best parts. But to be identified as one?

  Nobody outside of the Seannach knew of their existence. But he did. He’d called her by her kin. And she’d never heard of this kind of kin before, not that she knew a lot about bloodsuckers, sure. But not ones that turned into monstrosities.

  Blowing out a long exasperated breath, she took a step towards one of the dumpsters hoping to find at least rag bag of tattered clothes. There had to be something to get her out onto the sidewalk to change into the clothes in the back of her skimmer. She’d parked it just outside of the night club where she met the perp so it wasn’t far. Elly considered the risk of running out half naked.

  Maybe not today.

  Elly sniffed, mouth open, breathing through her mouth to taste the rank alley.

  In a few moments the scent of old textiles and herbs became a bit stronger near one of the closed black bags. She rifled through the dust and papers and found an old sleeveless duster in a bag. Shaking it out first, she shrugged it over her shoulders. The threadbare cloth hung below her knees. She then ripped an old towel into strips and wrapped that around her waist, cinching it with a tight tug.

  Where the sidewalk met the alley, she found where she’d kicked her boots off to the side. Shoes never got destroyed when she transmogged without a plan. Clothes, yes. Bloomers were the worst. Elly hated that feeling as they tightened at the groin right before they ripped to shreds around her tail.

  She slipped to the shadows of the darkened alley, careful to avoid broken glass on her feet, and grabbed the shreds of her clothing before stuffing them into the ragbag and tossing them back into the dumpster. With an extra bit of towel, she dusted the dirt off her feet and slipped the low boots back on, along with the snub-nose that had done her zero good in her panic.

  The darkness was a comfort. Easy. Elly allowed herself a moment to catch her breath. She assessed the rip at her arm from the attack. It healed clean when she transmogged back to human form. She licked the drying blood from her wrist and checked the freshly mended flesh.

  Elly loathed messes. This case was a mess. If this creature could leap a seventeen-foot chain link fence in two bounds, how in the name of The Forebearers would she ever be able to kill it?

  The shadows comforted Elly as she finished putting on her boots and inserting the retrieved weapon. She finished straightening her rags and smelled him before she even heard his voice. Copper and books. But this wasn’t the same. Still, she wasn’t taking any chances what if there were two or more attackers? What if it was a gang of bloodthirsty nut jobs?

  She felt for her gun. The hair on her arms bristled, her body tensed. Elly regarded the stranger coming closer. He stepped into the alley, face hidden in shadow but no weapon drawn. But the other one didn’t need a weapon, either.

  “Need some help?” a deep voice asked.

  Still crouching down, she gathered her strength in her haunches for a pou
nce. Just as she was about to leap, he flashed a badge.

  “Ghael Constabulary Force, Detective Blaine Cornell.” He held out a hand. “You look like scat. You ok?”

  She let out a breath then took a few discreet sniffs. The scent was cleaner, fresher. It said truth. “I’m fine. Just a little shaken up.”

  “What happened?”

  She wanted to say that some fanged freak had turned into a grotesque monster but that sounded crazy. Instead she said, “I’m a licensed PI investigating the disappearance of a young female.” She looked quickly at her current state of dress. It was closer to vagrant than PI, but she thundered through her explanation. “I thought I had the perp but he got away.”

  “And you’re dressed in rags because— “

  “He ripped off my clothes.” When he looked dubious, she frowned up at him. “I have ID. My bag is at the end of the alley.”

  “Alright then, come on, let me get you a cup of coffee. I’ll take a report.” He stepped back into the street light. The glow of the overhead light cast a shadow over his perfect chiseled cheekbones. Cornell’s eyes were oval, very different from the round eyes of foxkin, and different even from the previous copper-smelling weirdo.

  Elly stood, easing her fingers off her weapon. She eyed his departing back, watching him as he ambled towards the light in the street. She kept her other hand firmly at her side, halfcocked in a threat. Whoever this handsome stranger was, she was going to be careful. Up close, he smelled like a campfire, but it was tinged with an aftertaste of copper. He was something similar to the attacker but not quite. He didn’t smell exactly the same. The old book scent had a touch of sweet bark spice… Would he turn into a fanged freak, too?

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said as though reading her mind. “Constabulary, remember?” But he gave her a wide berth, stepping back towards the opposite wall.

  “Mmmhmm… I’ll just head back to my skimmer, I think I have a jacket or something there. I’d rather not go into a coffee shop looking like I just stepped out of… an alley garbage bag.” She jerked a thumb at the dumpster next to her.

  The irony was not lost. Raised brows came with his twinkling eyes and his expression softened. His lips tipped up at the corners. “Alright.” He took another step back and extended his arm to the sidewalk. “Lead the way, Miss…?”

  “Elinor Morgan,” she said. “How did you even know I was there?” Her voice rose in question and caution.

  “I was watching the club, heard a commotion, here I am.”

  “Why you?” she pointed at the badge he was shoving into his oilcloth duster’s pocket. “Detective? Not a constable.”

  “Right,” he said. His quick reply was tinged with an acceptance of her observational abilities and not his job status. “I’m a detective sent here from main Ghael constabulary because of the recent incidents. I’m investigating… like you. Only I’m wearing more clothes.” Cornell turned away and stepped onto the sidewalk. He regarded her again before looking left and right, his perfect hair not moving an inch. His long coat hung below his knees. Unusual at this time of year, even after sunset.

  Elly looked down at her green polished toenails near the hobnail of his black boots. His pants were black. Shirt? Black. Even his hair was black, just like the perp she was chasing.

  As they exited the alley, she leaned down and grabbed the purse she had flung in the fight.

  A few steps from the alley and down the sidewalk they stopped at her vintage Golden Hawk Mark V skimmer. Elly took out her keys and opened the boot, revealing a valise. She clicked the locks, opened the case, and removed a striped dress.

  Before he had a chance to turn his back, she untied the make-do belt, pulled the loose dress over her head, and shimmied it down as she detangled her arms from the duster while simultaneously pulling the garment down in a complicated maneuver that many a young girl learned in high school locker rooms.

  Caught off guard, the detective turned around as she wiggled the old duster over her hips and the rest of the way off. She grabbed a pair of boy-cut undershorts and pulled them up under the dress not bothering with a more elaborate dance of adding a bra.

  “I’m done,” Elly said.

  “Warn a guy,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “There’s a tea shop around the corner. Buy me a cup of tea and you can take my witness statement there.” Elly slipped around him and hit the sidewalk with a quick pace. She looked over her shoulder. “You coming?”

  Three

  Tea & Biccies

  Blaine gazed at the woman across from him sitting in the stark white light of Katrina’s Diner.

  Elinor Morgan glanced at him over the rim of her teacup. She put down the tea she was nursing and began nibbling on a nutty biscuit.

  He had his tablet out and was sliding his finger across the screen as she spoke, asking things he already knew but forcing himself to pretend he didn’t.

  She was unlike any of the women on Numina. Who was she? Elinor Morgan: Ex-detective decorated for bravery; Seannach; and the contact he must lie to. A lot.

  What did she do? Surveillance. Bail enforcement, a.k.a. bounty hunting.

  Why was she in the alley? Ysbal.

  But he had to go through the motions to “enlist” her help without her knowing that he knew she was a foxkin. Every note that he pretended to take was a painful reminder that she was lying. And he was lying.

  And it was eating at him.

  What a great way to build trust. But Blaine still had a job to do. He consoled himself in the thought that his job sometimes did entail not telling the whole truth. That was good enough for now.

  “So, Elinor Morgan,” he said, his face focused on his digital tablet. “Your client wants you to find their daughter. Why aren’t they letting the constabulary handle this?” Another lie. He glanced up.

  “Because the constabulary botched it to scat. And there’s no way she’s still alive. It’s been too long. I’m looking for a killer, now. Before he hits again.”

  And the Seannach Assembly has a bounty on this guy’s head.

  She leaned back. Her pretty face matched her petite bone structure. But it was her penetrating glance that got his attention, as it seemed to absorb everything as her eyes tracked from his fingers to his shoulders, up to his throat, and finally back to her teacup. She was unlike any of the women on Numina. They were darker. She was bright, almost glowing with her auburn hair and brown eyes flecked with gold.

  Before Elinor pulled her long thick hair back over her shoulders, he wondered if she was sitting on it. Her short cap-sleeved a-line was thin, showing the perk of chill in the air. While she looked frail, he noticed the sinew of her forearm as she reached for the tea.

  If those childhood stories were true, beneath that skin lay a ferocity that compared with his own true nature.

  “Those same constabulary bark-brains are afraid of this guy.” Elinor said. She crunched down on a cookie and shrugged.

  “But you’re not? He attacked you. Are you aware he could have killed you?”

  “I didn’t say I wasn’t afraid. But, I have some skill with hand-to-hand,” she said.

  “Yet, you let him get away and you lost your clothes.”

  She scrunched her nose “I’m trying to build a case, not kill the guy. I don’t have a license to kill, not like you. He’s trackable, though.”

  He debated his next question but she’d be suspicious if he didn’t ask. “Just how did you lose your clothes?”

  Elinor kept cool. He waited for her to change her story or keep the first lie. She sat there dipping biscuits in tea, easy as you please. She shrugged and rolled her round eyes at him. “Fine. Some clubbers like a little quick one in the alley. I thought it might put him off his guard.”

  She was a smooth liar, he’d give her that. He couldn’t detect a single tell. “Can you describe the incident?” he asked. He needed to know everything, but he had to take it slow. There was a plan, and being patient was part of
it.

  Elly took a sip of her tea. Her long lashes barely flickered as she studied him. After a long pause she placed the cup on the saucer. Still silent, she pushed the handle back and forth, as though she was mulling over something.

  Her head popped up. “Ok, so… I met him in the bar on this strip. It was crowded because it’s ladies’ night and this perp likes to pick them out of crowds. Similar surroundings to where my vic was at on the night she disappeared.”

  Elly said disappeared. But Blaine knew that the Seannach had found them desanguinated, mutilated, organs missing and presumed consumed. There was nothing left but a bloodless pile of flesh and marrow-less bone.

  This Seannach, Elly Morgan, had to be ferocious or she’d be dead.

  “So you got him in the alley and then what?”

  Her eyes shifted down to the tea as she dipped a sweet sugar coated biscuit into it. “I did a little strip tease for him, and then suddenly—” She looked up, eyes intent. There was no guile in her words. “He… he… his face contorted. Scared the scat out of me. Then he bolted. No warning. Just turned and ran up a seventeen foot chain link like it was nothing. What can do that?”

  He smelled me. Blaine thought.

  Blaine, who had been attempting to find Ysbal the second he got to the city of Ballylock, stopped himself just short of groaning at his own stupidity. He should have been tracking Elinor Morgan.

  His father said the Assembly’d picked the best and they were right, Elinor was blazing good at her job. She found him. All he’d been doing was staking out the bar scene from afar. She did him one better.

  “That was good detective work, finding him. Too bad you left the constabulary to go it alone as a PI.” He baited her, watching lie upon lie manifest. Hating himself for allowing it, and waiting.

  She didn’t reply. But she glared at him with a probing look used by some of the best interrogators in the business. She was pulling him apart like a puzzle.

  Blaine kept his face composed, he felt a trickle of sweat bead at his brow.