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Once Mr. Officer’s boots hit the sand, he and his wife began a preliminary examination.
The tender way the officers handled the remains, the care with which they treated the scene, spoke of heartache that throbbed so deep only another parent could grasp the breadth of that loss.
To give them privacy, Asa and I blocked the Battery path ahead while Clay did the same behind us.
The fewer humans who saw what had attracted our attention, the better.
A small eternity later, Mrs. Officer called up to us. “You can come down now.”
Clay leapt the rail, sank up to his ankles in sand, then lifted his arms toward me.
“Come on in, Dollface.” He made grabby motions. “The water’s fine.”
Even the most ambitious waves lapped the shore yards away from him, so I doubted his authority on the matter. Had this not been a crime scene, I suspected he would have caught me, walked me into the surf, then dunked me into icy water. With the Vandenburghs looking on, I figured the odds skewed fifty/fifty.
Professionalism and golems did not always go hand in hand when an opportunity for mischief arose.
“Are you serious?” I measured the distance. “You expect me to jump?”
Impact with Clay was the next best thing to a head-on automobile collision with a concrete pylon.
Chivalry was not dead, as Asa showed by swinging over the railing to land nimbly on the hard-packed sand beside the smirking golem. Pivoting toward me, Asa opened his arms in a clear challenge to Clay’s offer.
As a witch, I was the least agile person on our team, but sheesh. It wasn’t like I was human.
Determined to prove a point, I sat on the seawall, gripped the railing at my chest, and slid beneath it.
The mushy patch where I landed sucked me down to my ankles. I windmilled my arms to recover my balance, almost face planted, overcorrected, then fell backward onto my butt with a grunt-squeak.
Black witches don’t grunt-squeak, and they don’t earn reputations as klutzes.
Because they kill the witnesses.
Both guys stared at me, and the faintest snickers drifted from Clay’s hair.
Why had I quit eating hearts again?
There must be a good reason, but it was eluding me just now.
The warg couple exchanged nostalgic glances that made me curious if they had pegged our team dynamic yet. Maybe Asa and I reminded them of the early days of their partnership. Or they thought I was an idiot for making a fool of myself rather than accepting help when it was offered. Hard to tell.
No one said a word about my damp butt as I picked my way to the wargs, the guys falling in behind me.
The only secrets to be revealed were in the remains themselves, which gave us more freedom to explore without fear of contaminating the scene. Location, currents, and tide might tip us off to the general area where the leg entered the water, but I wasn’t holding my breath.
“Apologies,” Mr. Officer greeted me, his nostrils wide. “This smells nothing like you.”
The remains or the magic lingering on it, I wasn’t sure, but I decided he meant well either way.
Asa stood behind me and to my right, but he didn’t shrink into himself to put the couple at ease. As much as I wanted to believe it was a sign of him embracing his power, I decided it was a bureaucratic pissing match happening on an animalistic wavelength I wasn’t picking up on.
“There’s enough tissue to run DNA.” Clay squatted for a better look. “That will take twenty-four hours.”
Magic, in an effort to remain relevant and not simply a wonder, had spawned forensic fields with special skills that allowed results to be in the hands of any agency willing to pay the fee within hours rather than days or weeks. The director sponsored several branches relevant to the Bureau’s interests. In exchange for a discount on bulk services, of course.
With a snap, I put on latex gloves. “Do you mind?”
The couple exchanged a weighty glance then Mr. Officer pulled out his phone. “Do you?”
