“Maybe not, but I could’ve done more.” I stabbed the waffle.

  “Could you, though?” He let the question hang for several seconds. “Something to think about.”

  Maybe Jameson would’ve ignored a warning and things would’ve ended up just the same. Forgiving myself for that was one thing, but raising him from the dead… I’d violated him, and no procedure, policy, or training could change that.

  “But not over breakfast. This waffle is too good to cry on.” I held my breath, hoping he’d get the hint.

  He nodded. “That I can agree with.” He pointed at his plate with his fork. “Wet, salty eggs have never appealed to me.”

  “That’s an image.”

  “Sorry,” he said to his omelet.

  I snorted and steered the conversation back to work. Maybe he’d have some ideas about the most recent scenes. “An early morning call had me out by the lake. Two deer mauled, eaten, and covered in the same magic that I found at the machine shop, and very similar to what showed up at Magic Goods.”

  “Two?” He leaned forward. “So there’s more than one of these werewolves, right?”

  “Kills were a day apart.”

  “Really?” His eyes narrowed. “That’s puts the time line at one kill per day for the last three days.”

  In my mind, the past three days were divided by never-have-I-ever and oops-I-raised-the-dead. Until he had put it together, my mind hadn’t connected the events to the timeline. “I wonder if the kills feed the blood magic.”

  “I’ve never heard of a werewolf practicing blood magic. Is it even possible?”

  “Theoretically. They can siphon magic just like any other race, but why? What would a werewolf need that only blood magic could provide?” I prodded the one soggy piece of waffle left on my plate. Human hedge-practitioners were the group most likely to turn to blood magic, but that didn’t rule out a werewolf. “The stimulant spell wasn’t blood magic. If anything, that predated the blood magic.”

  “Who used a stimulant spell?” There was something in his voice.

  I met his intensity with my confusion. “I’m not sure. The magic has been messy. I think the werewolf, though again, why?”

  “Fighters take stimulants.” His voice was empty of emotion. “Sometimes to keep them alert, other times to amp them up before the fight.”

  “So do workers trying to get through a long shift.”

  “When’s the last time you heard of one of them leaving a half-eaten body behind when they leave for the day?”

  It wasn’t that I didn’t believe him, but it didn’t entirely fit. “The scene wasn’t organized. Even street fights have boundaries for the fighters. They don’t go running through a machine shop.”

  He shook his head. “You aren’t asking the right questions.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  Harris leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “Why would a werewolf, a fierce fighter, need to amp up before a confrontation? And who was this wolf intending to fight?”

  Well, damn. Those were good questions.

  Chapter Ten

  Wayne’s questions bothered me throughout the small mountain of paperwork that occupied my morning. They were still bothering me when Mitchell called and asked me to meet her at the front of the building. I slid into the front seat of her car, and didn’t ask her the questions Wayne had asked me.

  Why?

  I knew the spell stimulated the body, but for all I knew, it had been intended to help this werewolf with fertility issues before the blood magic had twisted it.

  Instead, I asked something I should’ve asked this morning. “What do you know about the alpha?”

  Mitchell merged onto the highway before answering. “His group lives on the west side of Nashville. It’s the only pack in Nashville, and no one I’ve spoken to knows much about the alpha.”

  “Their name isn’t on record?” That was even stranger than a city the size of Nashville only having one pack.

  “Just a phone number. When I called, a man answered, but I got the feeling he wasn’t the alpha.” Mitchell shrugged. “I did find a note saying the alpha was difficult to work with but not hostile.”

  “So, we’re winging it.” Not the tactic I would’ve chosen since our primary suspect was a werewolf.

  Mitchell took an exit. “Yup.”

  I should’ve packed healing charms. Lots of healing charms.

  Ten minutes later, the city had given way to trees, and we were bumping down a long gravel driveway. A house peeked through the trees, a sprawling, blocky, whimsical creation of the 70s in lime green. The bright paint color was going to be burned into my eyes for hours.

  As Mitchell parked, the front door opened, and a short man corded with muscle stepped out. His jeans were threadbare at the knees but clean, and his t-shirt had a grease stain at the hip. He watched us get out of the car, already wearing our TBI jackets.

  “I’m Agent Mitchell, and this is Agent Pine.” She offered her badge for examination. He hardly glanced at it. “I called earlier. We’re here to talk to the alpha.”

  “She’s waiting for you in the parlor.” He turned and walked back inside.

  I dropped back, letting Mitchell go ahead since this was her case.

  The inside of the house didn’t match the outside. Overriding the 70s architecture, patterned wallpaper coordinated with Victorian curtains and furnishings. The parlor was just that. A settee and wing-backed chairs faced each other on one side of the room. Under the picture window, plush upholstered chairs clustered around an ornate table with gold leaf highlighting the designs on the legs.

  Our guide paused at the door and announced us. “Agents Mitchell and Pine to see you.”

  A small woman, perhaps a couple of inches over five feet, crossed the room to meet us. Her ash-brown hair was twisted up into an elegant knot that matched her buff slacks and cream sweater. “Welcome. Cora, Alpha of the Nashville pack.”

  I schooled my face into a polite smile. I’d never met a female alpha. Coming from a matrilineal society, the predominantly male leadership of werewolves had always amused me. Not because they were bad, but because the dynamic was so different than what I had grown up with.

  We exchanged greetings, and she motioned us over to the table where a tray of sandwiches and sweets sat next to a tea service. “What can I do for you?” she asked as she poured us tea.

  “Do you have any wolves who are connected to CJ’s Machine Shop?” Mitchell stirred sugar into her tea.

  I watched Cora as I added milk to mine.

  One delicate eyebrow arched. “No, I can’t say I do. CJ is a werewolf, but he hasn’t joined the pack.”

  “Any idea why not?” Mitchell asked.

  Cora pursed her lips. “No. I’ve offered, but he’s always refused.”

  Now that was odd. A pack was a werewolf’s family. Few wolves were comfortable without one, especially by choice. We needed to find someone who knew this pack’s dynamic.

  Mitchell studied the alpha. “Are all your wolves accounted for?”

  Cora stiffened. “What do you know?”

  “We have evidence of two wolves involved in an incident at CJ’s Machine Shop.” Mitchell focused on the alpha.

  I sipped my tea and felt useless. I couldn’t sense any magic out of place—though I was a bit envious of the spell on their grill that helped regulate temperature—and it was Mitchell’s case and her interview.

  “Two?” Cora set down her cup, sloshing tea over the rim as it clipped the edge of the saucer. “Have you identified them? No, or you wouldn’t be asking.”

  Mitchell and I continued to watch her.

  Cora dropped the polite expression she’d been wearing, and her forehead crinkled. “Monday I sent Thomas, a wolf of mine who’s friendly with CJ, to talk to him. They play on the same rugby team, and I’d hoped Thomas would be able to answer a question for me. CJ has refused every offer of membership, and I don’t understand why. He goes to the same bars, plays on the same team, and drives across town to the same church as my pack member, but he won’t join. Thomas never reported back. I brushed it off, thinking he was still working on getting an answer. This morning, his work called. He hasn’t been in all week. Thomas is dependable. He wouldn’t simply stop showing up.”

  Mitchell sighed. “Does Thomas have any family in the area?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know if Thomas has contacted them?”

  “He hasn’t.” Cora shook her head. “Both his parents are in the pack. They wouldn’t lie to me. We went by his house. His car is there, but his scent was faded. I don’t think he’s been there for several days. We were discussing filing a missing person’s report when you called.”

  “If I could get their information, I’ll contact them directly.”

  “My husband will get that for you.” Cora said it only slightly louder than the rest of the conversation. A moment later, the man who’d shown us into the house appeared with a page listing Thomas’ parents, a sibling, and his address.

  As delicious as the cookies looked, I’d lost any interest. Thomas was gone, and CJ hadn’t called about the police tape around his business. One of them was in the morgue, and the other was mauling deer.

  Mitchell thanked both of them before moving onto the painful questions. Neither Thomas nor CJ had ever been violent or prone to outbursts of temper. Cora didn’t think her pack had been threatening to CJ, not that I expected her to admit to threatening anyone.

  “I have to ask, do you know anyone who’d want either of them dead?” It was the question Mitchell had been working up to.

  “No. Thomas was liked. I didn’t know CJ well, but he seemed like a decent man.”

  “Did you want Thomas or CJ dead?” Mitchell locked eyes with Cora.

  “No.” Cora’s face hardened. “I wanted CJ as a pack member, but I didn’t want him dead.” Her voice faded out, and she took a deep breath. “Thomas would play football with my sons and ask my daughter about karate. He was a friend.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Cora closed her eyes. “Which one is dead?”

  Mitchell hesitated. “We don’t know.”

  Cora leaned into the chair, looking even smaller than she was. “I should go with you when you talk to his family.”

  “Unless you need to be there to help them with their control, it would be best if you didn’t.” Mitchell’s voice softened. “I also need to ask that you not share this information until I have spoken to them.”

  “You have my word.” Cora’s tear-filled eyes went from Mitchell to me. “You haven’t spoken. Why are you here?”

  “I’m the department witch.” She didn’t react. Either she’d already known, or I’d surprised her, and she was compensating. “I found spells at the crime scene.”

  She flicked her fingers into the air. “As you can tell, I’m not a magic user. What use would I have for magic?”

  “That’s a great question.”

  Cora glared at me. “Fine.” The sorrow and a bit of surprise showed in her face. “What spell would work for me? I can’t use a compulsion to hold CJ in the clan. Even the attempt would see me in jail. If I wanted him dead, there are ways that leave less evidence even without magic. What would a spell do for me that I could not do without it?”

  I didn’t disagree, but I had to keep pressing. “To some, power is power, no matter how they get it.”

  Her brows pulled together. “I am Alpha. I have all the power I need.” Command radiated off her words.

  The power in her voice bowed my head. The muscles in my neck ached as I raised my head to lock eyes with her. “Enough!”

  She held my gaze a moment longer before her shoulders relaxed and her overly large irises returned to a normal human’s. “I have power.” The force of her faded from the air.

  I sucked in a deep breath and realized I’d scooted back from the table under the weight of Cora the Alpha. Mitchell shook her head, as if she was trying to clear it of Cora’s influence. Not wanting another demonstration, I lowered my gaze as I slid a business card across the table. “If you hear of any shifters, be they wolves or not, showing off magic or charms, please let us know.”

  “I will.”

  Mitchell’s card joined mine. “Or anything else you think could be pertinent to the investigation.”

  “It would be good to know what happened to our Thomas.” Cora picked up both the cards. Her mate appeared in the doorway. “Thank you for stopping by. I assume if Thomas’s family calls me, I can tell them I too am aware of his trouble?”

  “Yes. If there’s nothing else, we need to be going.” Mitchell offered her hand. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with us.”

  Cora shook her hand and then mine. “Anything to help the pack. Don’t be afraid to come back if you have additional questions.”

  The fake pleasantries stretched out, with both sides hoping the other would let something slip, but neither did. It took a few minutes, but eventually Mitchell and I were bumping back down the lengthy driveway.

  The meeting had left me torn. Cora knew more. At a minimum, she had understated the methods used to persuade CJ to join the pack, but I doubted she’d supplied or encouraged her pack to use magic. Even if it would have given them a way to get CJ into the pack, it was illegal, and the penalties were steep.

  Back when I was a teenager, there’d been a case of a witch selling powerful coercion spells to a human. The human had used them to control a bank manager and the security guard so he could rob the bank. Compulsions were considered dangerous magic. President Ederin had eaten both the human and witch.

  Not that it was much of a meal. Dragons who covered several football fields needed a lot of meat. Though I’d heard a rumor that he enjoyed pecan pies.

  Basically, adding one more pack member wasn’t worth the potential sentence. I couldn’t say from firsthand experience, but judging from the screams on the television when they showed the execution, it wasn’t an easy way to die.

  Dragons could be like cats.

  “I don’t see a reason for you to come with me to talk to Thomas’s family. I’ve got the MagicMeter, and my gut says they didn’t use magic.”

  “If you’re sure.” My phone buzzed, and I tugged it out of my pocket. “The medical examiner wants me to stop by.”

  “I’m sure the answers to the magic aren’t with the werewolves.” Mitchell’s mouth was pressed into a thin line.

  “Me too.” It would’ve been easier if Cora had been dripping with blood magic. Not that I ever wanted to see a shifter with that kind of power, but the werewolves had never been good suspects for a source of the spells.

  Now the fey… that idea had some promise.

  This time, Nash wasn’t waiting for me. The receptionist reminded me which way to turn to get to his office. I headed back, my badge in plain view. Nash’s door was cracked open. I rapped on the frame.

  “Come in.”

  I pushed the door open. As clean as Nash’s desk had been last time, it was anything but that now. Piles of papers dominated the surface, leaving hardly enough room for his computer. “Should I ask?”

  “Hmm?” He signed a paper before looking up. “That was quick.” He tossed the file onto a stack to his right.

  My eyebrows crept up. “It was so clean last time.”

  He blinked at me before actually looking at the desk. A blush darkened his cheeks. “One of my colleagues was fired for reasons HR says we can’t talk about, but the result is a review of every case this colleague ever touched.”

  “Wowzers. Is that all the ones you have to do?” I had visions of reviewing cases from other agents, the thousands of reports I’d have to comb through if I ended up with a fraction of what a long-serving agent could generate.

  “No.” He stabbed his pen toward a stack of six file boxes lined up beside the filing cabinets. “That is half of the lot.”

  I blinked.

  “But that idiot’s mess isn’t why I called.” He shuffled through a stack of files until he found the right one. “I’ve isolated several blood samples. One for the werewolf who isn’t occupying the morgue and one for the fey. Would you like to use them for tracking spells?”

  “The purifying spell didn’t destroy everything useful? And they’re pure, only one person’s blood in the sample?” If so, that could be enough to crack this case.

  “Pure. They’ve been typed and tested for containment. Two test tubes for you to use.” Nash tugged a sheet out and handed it to me. “They’re a portion of the samples being used for DNA testing. I have some from the dead werewolf too, but I didn’t think you’d need that.”

  I skimmed the sheet to make sure everything was in order, snagged a pen off his desk, and signed it. To someone less familiar with magic, it might seem odd to want a blood sample unless blood magic was in the plan. What some people didn’t understand was the difference between using blood in a spell, as an identifying component or even a willing sacrifice, and using it as a way to steal energy, to steal a person’s life while causing them pain.

  Even as a necromancer, I had standards. Willing blood donations and using blood as a connection to a person were fine. No one was hurt, and no one was dying to give me power. With these blood samples, I could make tracking spells that would lead me right to the werewolf or fey.

  “Give me a minute.” Nash left the office. He returned with a small soft-sided cooler in hand. To make sure everyone was comfortable, it was stamped with bio-hazard symbols on each side.

  “That’s going to raise some eyebrows when I walk though work with it.” The whole office would speculate on what spells I’d concocted with biohazardous material.

  Nash glanced between the cooler and me. “And I keep finding sandwiches in the fridge the blood samples came from.”

  “Gross.”

  “Exactly.” He handed me the cooler. “When I get results back on those deer, I’ll let you know.” Nash took one step toward his desk and stopped. His shoulders rounded, and he seemed lost in the pile of cases on his desk.