Ascanio stared at the perfectly solid cookie in my hand.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. “Don’t you want it?”

Moth wings on my palm. He’d tried again.

“Nice trick,” Ascanio said.

“You said you could take all of my cookies and you can’t even grab one. I’m disappointed.” I raised the cookie to my mouth and took a bite. “Mmm. Delicious. You really don’t know what you’re missing.”

He swiped at the cookie, trying to take it out of my mouth. His fingers fanned my lips.

“Hey! Personal space.”

Ascanio opened his mouth.

A female shapeshifter dashed across the yard and slid to a stop next to Ascanio. “I saw him!”

Red burst in Ascanio’s eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” She waved her hand in front of her. “I saw his face.”

“We’ll finish this later.” Ascanio spun to her. “Show me.”

They sprinted off into the darkness.

I stepped out and yelled. “Wait! You forgot your cookie.”

A distant howl from Unicorn Lane was my only answer. That was fine. I knew he’d heard me.

I went inside, sealed the ward, and closed the door behind me. So, the Pack, or some part of it, was definitely interested in this murder. Unfortunately, I still had no idea why.

Let’s see, things I learned from this encounter: Ascanio was amazingly fast and he wasn’t shy about using money to get what he wanted, and what he wanted was Pastor Haywood’s killer. Not a complete waste, but not terribly useful either.

If the Pack required access to a murder, they could request it through proper channels. Most of the time, the city let them in. They were the best trackers, and they made efforts to play nice with law enforcement. They also took care of their own criminals, so if a shapeshifter had committed this murder, the Pack would do an internal investigation, apprehend them, and either punish or, depending on the political situation, turn them over to city authorities. It was a win-win arrangement—the Pack avoided unnecessary suspicion and the cops bled less trying to do their job. Subduing an enraged shapeshifter wasn’t a walk in the park.

But the Pack hadn’t requested access. They’d bribed a cop instead.

So far both Ascanio and Nick were interested in this case and pretending as hard as they could that they weren’t.

Nick’s interest worried me. Years ago, before Nick became Knight-Protector, he was a Crusader and his last assignment before his promotion was to infiltrate Roland’s organization. Grandfather had done something to him, something awful neither of them ever talked about. The assignment had ended in a disaster, and Nick watched the entire chapter, seven knights, be slaughtered by my other uncle who wasn’t in his right mind. He never broke his cover. I couldn’t even imagine how much of his soul that had cost him. He watched as the knights died and would’ve carried on his mission, except the asshole who was the Knight-Protector then exposed him as he lay dying and made sure it was all for nothing.

Nick had been volatile to begin with. That experience crystalized every crazy tendency he’d had. He had dedicated himself to opposing Grandfather and everything he stood for. Nick used to call Kate an abomination to her face. Kate didn’t mind. He was the only son of her former guardian, and she viewed him as a brother and helped him any chance she got. That was the way she moved through the world.

I should’ve resented Nick, but I didn’t. He was a knight of the Order in the truest sense, and he dedicated himself completely to the Order’s mission of protecting humanity against all threats. Kate represented a potential threat of catastrophic proportions. Kate was also Nick’s friend, and if she needed help, he would drop whatever he was doing and ride over with guns blazing and swords bared, as he had more than once. He simply refused to see the conflict between those two things. He worked with Kate, he was genuinely fond of Conlan, and he went over to Kate and Curran’s house for dinner, but he was always alert for any signs of Kate descending into madness. If she chose to become a tyrant, he would be first in line to run her through with his blade.

It was possible that his years as the Knight-Protector had stabilized him, but I highly doubted it. His paranoia was a bottomless, dark lake, and he was excellent at subterfuge.

I went to the hallway, slid the secret door open, entered my real home, and shut the door behind me. It clanged in place with a reassuring thud. The Enki Shield flowed closed, cutting off the outside world.

I whispered a word, and the fey lanterns ignited, bathing the chamber in bright yellow light. Yet another benefit of a classical education. My fey lanterns came with a magic off switch and glowed in a variety of colors, while most people’s fey lanterns were blue and glowed continuously when the magic was up. I wasn’t a fan of blue light, except as a rare accent here and there. Too harsh.

I walked to my desk and sat in my chair.

So far, this murder was all questions and no answers.

I reached for the familiar connection in my mind, looking for Turgan. A light shone in my mind and unfolded into a view of a house with brightly lit windows. Nick Feldman sat at a kitchen table, by the first-floor window, eating a sandwich and reading a thick book. The view tilted slightly as Turgan readjusted his grip on the branch.

“Stay on him,” I whispered.

The raptor clicked his beak in acknowledgement.