‘And today police have announced that they have found another body. They have not confirmed that the body is linked to the recent killings, but have said that a prepared statement will be made later today at mid-day …’ I tuned the rest of the news story out as both mine and Ragnhild’s phones chimed at the same time.

Looking at mine, I saw that it was a text from Marcus.

Meet me at the mortuary. 30 mins. M

‘Did you get the same message?’ I showed her mine. She nodded.

‘Why does he want us at the at the coroners?’

‘Not sure. If it was another victim, I’d have expected him to get us to the scene. Well, we won’t know until we get there. Ready to go?’

At her nod I grabbed my keys, snatched up my coat and led her at a brisk pace to the car. It felt odd not having Dawn shouting shotgun.

*

‘Good morning,’ Marcus said. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of getting you both a coffee. Hope you don’t mind?’

‘Mind? You’re a mind-reader!’ said Ragnhild, eagerly accepting the Costa he held out to her. I preferred Nero, or Greggs, but wasn’t going to say no to a free coffee.

‘What’s going on Marcus?’ I asked, taking the other coffee from him. ‘Not our usual place of work.’

‘We’ve had a nasty change in the case. I’ve received a message about this most recent killing, and we’ve been told to concentrate on this over the others.’

‘What’s so special about this killing?’ I asked, taking a sip of coffee.

‘We believe it’s a Shifter,’ he said. ‘We can’t be sure. What we are sure of is that they weren’t killed by DuCrow.’

I stared at him for a moment. ‘Shit!’ I gasped as hot coffee gushed over my hand. I’d squeezed the cup too hard.

Ragnhild held out a couple of paper napkins. ‘You’ll need to run that under cold water. Here, give me your cup, I’ll put the lid back on. Next time don’t squeeze it so hard.’

‘How did the body get here so quickly?’

‘They’ve got a gang tattoo. Geckos.’

‘What’s the Geckos?’ asked Ragnhild.

‘They’re a group of Shifters and Were. Mostly skaters. Harmless bunch of kids who think they’re bad arse. But they’re just kids. What the hell happened, Marcus?’

‘Let’s go inside, people are starting to stare,’ he said, turning away from us and walking to the door.

*

‘Dr. Westen, this is Agent Doe, and associate. They’re working on the DuCrow case.’

Westen was a well-dressed woman in her late fifties, hair swept back in a tight bun, horn-rimmed glasses hanging from a chain around her neck. We shook hands. She had a firm, but cool grip and met my eyes confidently. ‘Pleasure. I’ve had more than a few of your previous Marks come across my table. Those that made it this far that is.’

Her eyes twinkled as she spoke, mouth quirking slightly. I decided that I liked her.

‘Marcus told us that we’ve got a victim not linked to the case?’ I asked.

‘Not a victim of DuCrow directly, but a victim of this God-awful murder spree.’

‘Not sure I follow,’ said Ragnhild.

‘Our victim was beaten to death as far as I can tell. We’re about to have an autopsy. There’s been a rush put on it.’

‘Any ID on the victim?’

‘Spencer Shannon. Son of the Shannon Clan.’

I closed my eyes for a second. The Shannons were a clan of Shifter Travellers. All of them were Canids, mostly dogs and foxes, some wolves. They ran what in my opinion is one of the best circuses-slash-fairs in the country. Their “performing dogs”, have also one fair few well-known TV talent shows.

Aside from entertaining Mundanes and the Magicial community, they also ran one of the best bodyguarding business in the world, Bellum Canum. They were hard as nails and known for getting the jobs that no-one else wanted to do done. Harder than some special forces it was rumoured. And they were not the sort of people you wanted to cross.

‘Is that bad?’ asked Ragnhild.

‘Ever heard of Bellum Canum?’ asked Marcus.

‘The security consultants?’ she asked making air quotes. ‘They’re bad ass aren’t they?’

‘Arse. Bad arse,’ I corrected. ‘Americans like to refer to their rear as if it’s a mongrel equine breed.’ I wagged a finger as I spoke, making it clear I was joking. ‘We call our bottoms, our arse.’

‘Ah r se,’ she repeated.

‘Better.’

‘Thank you,’ she gave a curtsy with surprising grace. ‘But still. Why on earth would someone risk bringing an entire clan of security specialists down on their heads? It’s suicidal!’

‘We’re not sure,’ said Marcus. ‘Probably because the idiots didn’t realise who they were kicking to death at the time. Don’t forget travellers face a lot of prejudice already thanks to the Tinker Tribes of legend.’

We both nodded at that. The Tinkers of Legend were, to repeat myself, legendary. Travelling across the world, they used Magic to steal, kidnap and generally commit crime on a monumental scale. No one knows if they were truly human or were a part-fae race which had inherited the Tinker – a genuine race of fae – tendency to do exactly what they were doing.

In the end, a Convocation had been gathered and the tribe had been expelled to their own pocket universe. It was full of resources, so they wouldn’t suffer, but it was also a permanent prison. No one in, no one out. That hadn’t stopped the Mundanes bearing a grudge that lasted centuries and turned into outright prejudice against anyone from the Traveller community.

‘Guess I’m correct in thinking the reason we’ve got to concentrate on this killing for now is because Bellum is going to be causing a lot of issues down here until the people who carried this murder out are caught. And that if they don’t see the authorities helping out, they’ll be making trouble for a lot of our prestigious leaders?’ I said, looking over at Marcus.

‘Correct, Jane. They’re already making trouble domestically by having their people down tools. Which is making a lot of people incredibly edgy,’ he gave a sniff of disapproval. Military contractors going on strike was decided unprofessional.

‘Wow,’ said Ragnhild. ‘They’re the best bloody bodyguards out there. Very skilled at defending points of interest as well. If they go on strike, a lot of people are going to find themselves in trouble very quickly.’

‘Including the Prime Minister,’ he said, holding up his phone. ‘A number of Bellum Canum are their bodyguards. If they decide to stand back when someone attempts something, it’s going to cause problems. Especially as they’re, the PM that is, one of us. We can’t have Mundanes guarding them even if they are in the Know.’

‘Orders from the top,’ I said. ‘Well, we’re really attracting attention now. Let’s hope it helps us out in the future.’

‘Wouldn’t count on it,’ muttered Ragnhild. We shared a look. Sometimes having powerful patrons in your debt was a boon. Most times it was a hindrance as they tended to keep asking you to do more and more dangerous things.

‘Do you three talk like this all the time?’ asked Weston, a slight frown ceasing her forehead.

‘Sorry, what do you mean?’ I asked.

‘It’s as if I completely ceased to exist. Like, I’m literally invisible to you. Remarkable. And rude. Shall we?’ She didn’t wait for answer, just led us through into the autopsy room.

‘Don’t worry about donning paper suits or such, we’ve already taken as much evidence as we’re going to get, and you’re all on the register as having attended,’ she said as she moved over to a table and removed the shroud covering it.

‘Christ almighty,’ I breathed as I finally got a look at the lad. He was probably only fifteen or so. There wasn’t much left of his face. From experience it looked as though someone had stamped on it until the bone were completely broken. His ribs were clearly broken, with a couple sticking out of the flesh.

Looking at his hands, I saw that every finger had been broken, and the nails pulled.

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‘Fuckers tortured him,’ said Weston, lips pinched so tight they were white. ‘Even without doing an autopsy it’s clear that they broke his feet and hands, pulled his nails from toes and fingers, and stubbed cigarettes out on his privates.’

‘Oh God!’ said Ragnhild, before turning away and vomiting noisily over the floor. ‘Sorry,’ she hiccupped. ‘Not used to seeing children like this.’

‘Nothing to apologise for,’ said Weston. ‘I’m a member of the Paranormal Order of Physicians and Morticians, and I’m hard-pressed to remember a case like this. Aside from the current murders that is.’ She gently rubbed Ragnhild’s back until she was able to stand, then handed her some wipes.

‘From what I can see of the ribs,’ she continued, ‘there are any number of injuries which would have been fatal. At least one of the ribs has punctured a lung,’ she pointed with a gloved finger.

‘What do you think actually killed him? I asked. My mouth was dry, and I felt like I was going to burst into tears at any second. I clenched my hands to stop them from trembling. Seeing a child in this state was beyond anything I’d seen, or done, in my life before.

‘At a guess, I think it was the head trauma. They stamped his face in. The skull is too depressed for him to have survived the brain damage,’ she replied, gently wiping a smudge from what remained of his cheek.

Tears trickled down my cheek. DuCrow was on a murderous vendetta to avenge the torture he himself had suffered as a child, and yet this child had died as a result.

‘His family are Bellum Canum. They’re going to want to hold a proper wake, ‘said Marcus.

‘We’ll do our best to tidy him up after the autopsy, but we’re going to have to insist on a closed casket,’ Weston said.

I nodded, there was no way anyone could rebuild the damage done. A closed casket would at least spare his family from the nightmares we all knew we were going to suffer from.

‘Any idea where the Shannons are?’ I asked Marcus.

‘They’re staying at the Southgate Hotel, booked every available room and persuaded all the other guests to leave as well.’ I didn’t like the emphasis he put on persuaded.

‘What, the whole Clan are here?’

‘No,’ my shoulders sagged with relief at that, ‘it’s too big. Probably at least three hundred of them though.’

‘By the power of Grayskull,’ sighed Ragnhild.

‘Best go meet them then,’ I said. ‘Thank you, Dr Weston. Take care of him.’

She nodded, eyes twinkling with unshed tears. At that moment I wasn’t sure whether I’d rather face the grief-stricken Shannons or stay with the victim.

*

‘Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, the hotel’s closed,’ said a somewhat fraught-looking member of the Southgate Hotel’s staff. She was young, her make-up was smudged, and her eyes looked red.

‘It’s okay, we’re here to see the Shannons. Puff Dick, to be precise.’

‘Oh God … I mean …’ she stammered, looking like she was on the verge of tears.

‘It’s okay. I understand that they can be a bit overwhelming,’ said Marcus gently. He laid a hand on her arm, barely touching her, but it seemed to bring her back from the brink. ‘If you could just point us in the right direction.’

‘Through the doors, through the hall and straight into the bar. They’re drinking us dry!’ she sobbed. Maybe not.

I checked my phone. It was only ten in the morning. ‘What time did they start drinking?’

‘They haven’t stopped since they arrived. Seven? We don’t even open the bar that early, but they were so insistent!’ Her voice rose in pitch, and she visibly caught herself before she started shouting.

I caught Marcus’ look. They’d found out about the death pretty much around the same time the police had. Maybe even before.

We thanked her and entered the hotel, doing our best to ignore the quiet sounds of weeping.

‘They’ve been drinking for three bloody hours and it’s still the morning.’

‘Ah,’ said Marcus, ‘they can handle their drink.’

‘I hope so,’ said Ragnhild. ‘What are they like with Weres?’

‘Don’t cause any offence, you probably won’t receive too much. For the love of God, don’t stare them in the eye. They’ll take that as a challenge, and we wouldn’t stand a chance in that room.’

‘Just in case, I’ve let Merryweather know where we are,’ said Marcus. ‘Just in case, mind.’

‘I feel sick,’ said Ragnhild as we entered the bar. It was rammed to the gills with Shannons, all of whom had a drink in both hands and a fag in their mouths. There were at least three different groups singing songs of lamentation, numerous shouted conversations, and various games of arm wrestling, catch wrestling and cards.

‘What’s Puff Dick look like?’ she asked, shouting to be heard over noise. Right at the very moment there was a natural lull. It was the worse possible timing and felt as though the universe was laughing at us. Every head in the room turned in our direction, glasses being placed down slowly. I was once stalked by a lion in Newquay Zoo, and this brought that memory back with a vengeance.

‘Why are you looking for Dick?’ asked a particularly large man. He’d been strong once but was tending more towards fat. I immediately pegged him as being a Mastiff Shifter, even down to the loose jowls. Thankfully, he wasn’t drooling.

My mouth shut closed with a snap as Marcus laid a hand on my arm, forestalling the witty remark I was just about to unleash.

‘We’re here to pay our regards, pass on our condolences, and respectfully ask for an audience,’ he said, pitching his voice so that it was both polite, but loud enough to carry to the rest of the room.

Puff Dick was what had once been termed “King of the Gypsies”, leading a union of roughly five Clans of Magical Roma. I say roughly, as they had a tendency to fall out. Puff Dick wasn’t his real name either, it was the name of a leader from back in the sixteenth century. The Shannons had adopted the name as a title. Anyone called Puff Dick was the King of the Clan, and Director in General of Bellum Canum.

‘He’s busy right now,’ the man said, folding his arms and making his biceps bulge. They were quite impressive if you’re into that sort of thing. Or if you’re easily intimidated by that sort of thing. I wasn’t. Either one.

The Shannons were involved in the Magical Community, but very few of them had any abilities other than the ability to Shift. A number of them had latent abilities, usually combat-based. Quicker-than-normal reflexes, high pain thresholds, unerring accuracy, that sort of thing.

In combat they tended to rely on those abilities as well as any Icons and Charms they could buy for the mission at hand. Even so, I wouldn’t want to have to face them at any point in time.

‘We’re here because of that,’ said Marcus, pulling out his Handler’s identification. ‘We’ve been ordered to assist with the bringing his killers to justice.’

‘When you say justice, what do you mean?’ asked a woman as she walked up to us. ‘I’m Puff Dick’s liaison officer.’

Marcus shook the hand that was offered to him. ‘By justice, I mean that we will bring the killers to you. If they’re still alive that is.’

‘What’s the Mark to you?’ she said, her steel-blue eyes narrowed.

I shrugged. ‘I honestly have no idea. We received our orders to make this Mark the priority. Even over the serial killer. Even over getting our friend back.’

I choked that last part out. Ragnhild’s hand gently squeezed my shoulder as I tried to bring my emotions back under control.

‘You’re working that?’ she asked, cocking her head whilst squinting. A perfect vision of mistrust. ‘And you’re putting this ahead of that?’

‘Yes. We’re to do whatever it takes to find them. We even have a Seelie team working with us,’ said Marcus. ‘Believe me, when the Prime Minister issues an order, you follow it.’

‘Ha! Thought they wouldn’t appreciate the idea of our people leaving them in the cold.’ There was no humour in the smile she gave.

‘Indeed,’ said Marcus in the most neutral tone I’d ever heard. ‘Can we see Puff Dick?’

‘Sure. Don’t say anything until I’ve made the introductions,’ she indicated with her head that we should follow her.

‘Thought it was against the law to smoke inside?’ asked Ragnhild as we walked past a table of Shannons smoking thick cigars and a couple of pipes.

‘It is,’ confirmed Marcus. ‘Don’t think that the law applies here in this instance.’

‘I don’t think the law has ever truly applied to us,’ said a softly spoken man as he approached us. He was entirely forgettable bar the roguish twinkle in his eyes. Every about him was grey for wont of a better word. Nondescript clothes, eyes a dull brown, hair was a brownish blondish colour. And looks wise, he was just as plain. I couldn’t work out if it was a Charm, or a Glamour, or just a natural gift. This man would blend into any crowd.

‘Puff Dick,’ he said and shook our hands, clasping them in both hands as he did. His hands were surprisingly hard, calloused. Fingers thick. I looked at his knuckles. They too were calloused and scarred. ‘Bare Knuckle Champion ten years running.’

‘Impressive. One hundred metres champion years three to five,’ I replied. Bare knuckle fighting was a massive part of their culture. But I’d fought worse, and literally tooth and nail, so I wasn’t going to let him try and intimidate me.

‘I’m sorry about your loss,’ interrupted Marcus, nudging me with his elbow. ‘We’re here to offer our services and those of a Seelie team we happen to have with us at the moment.’

‘Ah, you’re working the killer’s case?’ He inclined his head, and gave us a once-over. I could tell he was impressed by Ragnhild, but not so much by either me or Marcus.

‘We are. But we’ve been tasked with clearing up the murder of your son as a priority. We need to make sure this doesn’t happen to anyone else,’ said Marcus. He still hadn’t released Puff’s hand and was looking him directly in the eye.

‘Will you swear to it?’ asked Puff. Eyes brimming with tears he returned Marcus’s stare just as intently.

‘On my Blood,’ said Marcus. Puff’s eyes widened at those words, and I’m fairly sure I gulped loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

Holy Fuck, I thought. A Blood Oath, or Blod Oat as the Shannons pronounced it, was a Magically Binding oath. If you failed to complete the oath, then your blood would boil in your veins. This was literally a matter of life and death.

No pressure then! I wasn’t about to see another person I cared for in my life be lost.

I glanced aside at Ragnhild to see if she understood what was being said. Shannon’s accent was pretty thick, and English wasn’t her first language. Judging by the mouth hanging open, I gathered she’d got the gist of it. As Marcus and Puff continued to stare at each other I gently reached up and closed her mouth.

‘We’ll do it now then.’ It wasn’t a suggestion. There wasn’t a chance that Puff would let Marcus put off such an oath.

‘Bellum Canum!’ called Puff, Magically enhancing his voice so that it carried to every corner of the room, without deafening everyone present. ‘We have a Blood Oath to perform. A Circle, now. And get some whiskey.’

I could practically hear the “e”. Only Irish Whiskey would serve for this oath.

They moved with military prevision. It was very impressive. Clearly they’d worked with each other for so long that they could practically read each other’s minds.

A circle was formed, and two bottles of Jameson’s placed in the middle. Puff gestured to Marcus who entered the circle and stood by the bottles.

‘Our brother, Marcus, would become our Blood Brother and swear a Blood Oath. He will bring us my boy’s killers,’ his voice choked at that, and who could blame him? I couldn’t imagine the emotional rollercoaster of losing a child. It had been bad enough seeing the body. ‘Will you witness?’

‘We will!’ chorused every person there.

‘Will you welcome our Blood Brother with open arms and provide support and sustenance whenever asked?’

‘We will!’

‘Will you hunt him to the ends of the earth if he fails in his sacred mission or betrays his brothers?’

‘We will!’

‘So witnessed. Your hand.’ A knife appeared in Puff’s hand quicker than the blink of an eye, slicing deep into Marcus’ palm before he cut himself in turn. They clasped hands. ‘Swear on your life you will bring my boy’s killers to justice.’

‘I swear that I shall bring your son’s killers to justice and that I won’t rest until I have.’

‘Now, we drink Brother,’ said Puff. They bent down and picked up the Jameson’s. Clinking the bottles to the cheers of the assembled Shannons, they uncapped them and started to drink.’

‘Marcus is going to be so ill,’ whispered Ragnhild as the Shannons cheered the drinkers.

‘Don’t underestimate him,’ I whispered back as the entire contents of the bottle disappeared down Marcus’ throat in one smooth motion.

‘What the ….?’ Gasped Ragnhild.

‘Sneaky bugger’s able to open his gullet,’ I laughed as the Shannons roared in approval and Puff bowed in defeat before finishing off his bottle.

‘So Sworn, the Pact Sealed with a drink we dance!’ said Puff, pulling Marcus in for a bear hug.

Marcus walked over to us, hand clasped over his bleeding hand. ‘I need to find a first aid kit, and a toilet.’