Shifty Magic by Judy Teel Page A

flatly conversational as if he were
discussing the weather. "Especially if someone's able to bury their
fingers halfway into the vamp's neck like it was butter, puncturing
the windpipe in four places and severing the carotid artery."
    I blinked. I was strong, but not that
strong. "Who could do something like that?"
    He shot me an impatient look before turning
back to his driving. "Dead paranormals aren't something cops like
to find. Neither do the good citizens of Morrocroft. Whatever
happened to those bodies, I'd say someone did you a favor. Being
grateful and not asking too many questions might be a good course
of action."
    I considered that for a moment. After
completely discounting the nonsense about necks and butter, I
concluded that he had a valid point. Sometimes dealing with a
situation directly complicated things unnecessarily. The FBI knew
that better than anyone and so did the paranormal community. Both
were very skilled at making dicey situations disappear if they
thought it helped a more important cause.
    "You're right. Thanks." I said.
    "Like pulling teeth," he muttered.
    Guess I hadn't sounded as grateful out loud
as I had in my head.
    Cooper turned right onto a dirt driveway. We
wound through the trees and emerged into a cleared area with an old
farmhouse hunched against an overgrown grove of fruit trees at the
back of the property. An ambulance, FBI car and several police
cruisers were lined up on either side of the drive. Flood lights
lit up the two-story structure that looked like something out of a
horror film complete with peeling paint, a broken roof and a
spooky-as-hell energy coming off of it.
    A shudder ran down my back as I studied the
busted, sagging front porch and boarded up windows. "Creepy," I
said, though the label was barely adequate to describe the ominous
mood hanging over the place.
    "The house was headquarters to one of the
2024 terrorist strike teams," Cooper mused as he gazed at the
place. "A parish of about twenty-four vamps. They called themselves
Hand of God."
    I sneered. "Typical." Vampires loved
thumbing their noses at established religion even while they worked
to infiltrate and control it. I wasn't religious in the
conventional sense, but God and I had an understanding. I believed
in Him and He believed in me, and we left it at that.
    "Not too keen on going in there," I
admitted.
    "Me neither." A snarl pinched his mouth and
quickly disappeared. "Let's go."
    We got out of the car and Agents Stillman
and Miller met us out in the weed-choked yard. Miller's comb-over
fuzzed around his head like he'd run his hands through it most of
the night. His eyes were tired and troubled. Agent Stillman seemed
just as exhausted, only on her it looked mean.
    She leveled her hard eyes on me and then
shifted them to Cooper. "This isn't something for an amateur."
    I took a step toward her, thinking it might
be time to add to the Were chick's scars. "I'm experienced enough
to kick your—"
    Cooper blocked my way with his arm, his
focus locked onto the other woman. Nothing in his expression
changed that I could see, but Stillman paled and her gaze dropped
as she moved back a step. Cooper lowered his arm and headed for the
house.
    I followed him, keeping to the edge of the
rotting staircase so I wouldn't risk stepping through one of the
boards. There was an evidence flag, an orange plastic ribbon on a
wire, stuck near the corner of one of the steps. Taking a closer
look, I saw that a few of the ragged edges of wood were stained
with what looked like dried blood. Whoever came in here was either
in too much of a hurry to be careful, or someone had been forced
into the house. Based on the oppressive feeling hanging over the
place, I was inclined to go with option number two.
    Cooper stepped into the dusty,
disintegrating hall and I hurried to catch up. Crossing the
threshold felt like pushing through swamp mud. "Something very bad
happened here," I muttered.
    He glanced at me over his shoulder, and I
thought