newspaper.
Padding across the rug that separated my bedroom from my office, I heard the crackle of static, and then a male voice came through the speakers again.
“Bear down off Shulman’s Trail. Got caught in one of those rusty old bear traps. He’s hurt real bad.” That was Deputy Billy Miller. My cheeks flushed even as I heard his voice. I had been ducking Billy’s calls for over a week now.
“Who is it?” replied a wizened, raspy voice that carried years of cigarette smoking in it. Magda Pern was a fixture in the Greyelf Police Department. She’d been running the front desk for forty years, and I was certain if Magda had it her way, she’d be running it for forty more. She could also be counted on to keep the Greyelf gossip mill fully informed of all of the goings-on around any formal police investigations—not that there were that many. Magda was one of my best sources. I glanced at my liquor shelf on the other side of the room. I kept it stocked with maple bacon bourbon for just this kind of occasion.
“Hard to tell,” Miller replied. His voice sounded strained and out of breath. “He’s still phasing back, but it looks like he’s stuck halfway in between. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Phasing . That was a word that had been added to Webster’s dictionary ten years ago. Shifters were quite particular about how to describe their transitions between their two physical forms. It was part of my job as a reporter to be as accurate and sensitive to my readership as possible.
“I’ve got an ambulance on its way,” Magda said. “But they had to do a run down to Culver Creek, so it might be awhile.”
There was a long pause. “I don’t think it’ll matter.” Miller’s voice was flat. “He’s gone. Christ, Magda. I’m pretty sure it’s Markus Kasper.”
I felt my heartbeat stop for a moment, and I froze in place. Time stood still for a moment as a pair of dark-green eyes invaded my thoughts. Then it sped up again, and I moved across the room to the scanner. My hands hovered above it as I willed what I had just heard not to be true.
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” Magda had a mouth on her like a sailor. I always figured that’s why she fit in so well with the cops.
“You can’t tell anyone about this, Magda. Not one peep!” Miller said. I understood the urgency in his voice. “Get Sheriff Monroe over here now. He’ll have to tell me what to do next. This is way out of my league.”
I turned the scanner off. I didn’t need to hear any more. I needed to go. I tore into my bedroom and grabbed the first pair of jeans that I could find. My cell phone was charging next to my bed, and I dialed my dad’s number even as I slid my jeans on.
He answered on the first ring. “Somebody better be dead.”
“Markus Kasper,” I said. That was the way of our relationship. Neither one of us was much for small talk or any kind of bullshit. “I just heard it on the police scanner. Something about getting caught in a bear trap out on Shulman’s Trail, and now he’s dead. Obviously, I’m missing some of the details.”
“Jesus Christ! The Summit is next week,” my father said.
Naturally, that was the part of the story that my father was focused on. Earl Lene had been chasing the big story for most of his career. I knew that was how he’d look at this scoop, with the critical eye of a hardened reporter who had heard and seen it all. I understood it, but the news of Markus’s death was hitting me hard for a completely different reason. Markus’s connection to an earlier part of my life still smarted despite the passage of time.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked. I was dressed and had my bag slung over my shoulder. Inside were my notebooks, recorder, and maps for every square inch of Fulton County. I had crawled through a lot of muck and mud to get the real scoop for my stories. Earl expected no less.
“Was it an accident?”
“I don’t know. They didn’t
Padding across the rug that separated my bedroom from my office, I heard the crackle of static, and then a male voice came through the speakers again.
“Bear down off Shulman’s Trail. Got caught in one of those rusty old bear traps. He’s hurt real bad.” That was Deputy Billy Miller. My cheeks flushed even as I heard his voice. I had been ducking Billy’s calls for over a week now.
“Who is it?” replied a wizened, raspy voice that carried years of cigarette smoking in it. Magda Pern was a fixture in the Greyelf Police Department. She’d been running the front desk for forty years, and I was certain if Magda had it her way, she’d be running it for forty more. She could also be counted on to keep the Greyelf gossip mill fully informed of all of the goings-on around any formal police investigations—not that there were that many. Magda was one of my best sources. I glanced at my liquor shelf on the other side of the room. I kept it stocked with maple bacon bourbon for just this kind of occasion.
“Hard to tell,” Miller replied. His voice sounded strained and out of breath. “He’s still phasing back, but it looks like he’s stuck halfway in between. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Phasing . That was a word that had been added to Webster’s dictionary ten years ago. Shifters were quite particular about how to describe their transitions between their two physical forms. It was part of my job as a reporter to be as accurate and sensitive to my readership as possible.
“I’ve got an ambulance on its way,” Magda said. “But they had to do a run down to Culver Creek, so it might be awhile.”
There was a long pause. “I don’t think it’ll matter.” Miller’s voice was flat. “He’s gone. Christ, Magda. I’m pretty sure it’s Markus Kasper.”
I felt my heartbeat stop for a moment, and I froze in place. Time stood still for a moment as a pair of dark-green eyes invaded my thoughts. Then it sped up again, and I moved across the room to the scanner. My hands hovered above it as I willed what I had just heard not to be true.
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” Magda had a mouth on her like a sailor. I always figured that’s why she fit in so well with the cops.
“You can’t tell anyone about this, Magda. Not one peep!” Miller said. I understood the urgency in his voice. “Get Sheriff Monroe over here now. He’ll have to tell me what to do next. This is way out of my league.”
I turned the scanner off. I didn’t need to hear any more. I needed to go. I tore into my bedroom and grabbed the first pair of jeans that I could find. My cell phone was charging next to my bed, and I dialed my dad’s number even as I slid my jeans on.
He answered on the first ring. “Somebody better be dead.”
“Markus Kasper,” I said. That was the way of our relationship. Neither one of us was much for small talk or any kind of bullshit. “I just heard it on the police scanner. Something about getting caught in a bear trap out on Shulman’s Trail, and now he’s dead. Obviously, I’m missing some of the details.”
“Jesus Christ! The Summit is next week,” my father said.
Naturally, that was the part of the story that my father was focused on. Earl Lene had been chasing the big story for most of his career. I knew that was how he’d look at this scoop, with the critical eye of a hardened reporter who had heard and seen it all. I understood it, but the news of Markus’s death was hitting me hard for a completely different reason. Markus’s connection to an earlier part of my life still smarted despite the passage of time.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked. I was dressed and had my bag slung over my shoulder. Inside were my notebooks, recorder, and maps for every square inch of Fulton County. I had crawled through a lot of muck and mud to get the real scoop for my stories. Earl expected no less.
“Was it an accident?”
“I don’t know. They didn’t
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