Laney dropped her head back, whistling through her teeth. Her expression was tight. “Yeah. Normally. But I’m only one type of Psychopomp. There are others.”
“Psycho-what? Wait… Others? You mean other categories of Reapers?” Troy couldn’t help the surprise that colored his voice.
She nodded. “Types of Reaper, yes. You think all cultures call their guide to the afterlife the Grim Reaper? They use different names. The Dead Ancestors in Africa, the Aztecs had Xoloti, the Norse called theirs Valkyries, but they’re a myth now. No one’s seen them for centuries.”
He glanced down at the photo. “And let me guess, there’s a death for banshees as well. And it’s not you?”
“Not quite.” She grimaced. “The banshees are almost Reaper level. They’re heralds of death, but they’re Celtic in origin, I think. They belong to a triple goddess called the Morrigan. And if one’s been killed, you found hair...” She shook her head, her expression grim. “We may have a Morrigan Hound in town.”
Sitting back on a wobbly chair in the café/bar near the department, I ran a finger around the top of my coffee mug. Troy and his partner were lost in their own thoughts. From my conversations with Troy I’d learned the threats they’d faced so far had been lower-level stuff. A couple of vamps and werewolves but they’d been few and far between. Scary enough if you weren’t used to them, but in the general scheme of things, they weren’t major movers and shakers. Demons were a different matter, as were hounds.
“So, on a scale of one to ten, just how dangerous are these Morrigan Hounds? More or less than a normal werewolf?”
It wasn’t Troy who asked, but John, the “comfortable and heading for retirement” cop. For a “Comfortable,” though, far more intelligence and interest shone in his eyes than I’d expected.
“They’d probably sit about a twelve...maybe a thirteen. And yes, definitely more dangerous than any werewolf.”
John blinked. Troy whistled through his teeth. “Fuck me.”
“Not in public, darling,” I drawled. “I’d hate to get arrested.”
John stuck his nose in his coffee mug, his expression all innocent as though he hadn’t heard me as he took a noisy drink. Troy just winked with a grin plastered all over his face. “Later, maybe. Now, these hounds?”
I nodded. “Humanoid. Not shape-shifters like werewolves, instead they have tattoos.” I waved my hand over my arm. “They’re always highly intricate tattoos that peel away to take physical form...” I paused to make sure they understood the seriousness of what I was saying. “Think a whole wolf pack under the command of one person...called the Hound, even though they don’t actually change form. They control the wolves. Intelligent wolves. Like the banshee, hounds and their wolves belong to the Morrigan. You know? The triple goddess of Death and Battle? She’s real too, and she’s got big ol’ links with Death, so yeah... think wolves that are fucking hard to kill. I don’t know about the hound. No one’s ever been dumb enough to try and kill one. Not that I’ve heard. The stories say the Morrigan herself collects their souls and reincarnates them.”
The boys sat back with shock written large on their faces. “Holy crap.”
“Yeah, that just about covers it.” I sipped from my mug. Coffee and donuts, the stereotypical lunch of any police force, sat on the table between us. Looking around, I noted familiar faces. Pretty much all the guys from the department appeared to lunch here—even the captain. I watched his retreating shoulders as he left.
He puzzled me. Every time I looked at his lifeline, it was virtually buzzing with potential. Poking at my knowledge upgrade, I found an answer. It appeared Reilly was about to become nonhuman, but something else was there. Almost like he was removed from life, or death, completely. Very odd. I paused, mug halfway to my lips again. But...nonhuman. That was not good. So not good. Because if he got bitten and decided to snack on anyone, I was going to have to put him down.
“What’s with Reilly?” I couldn’t resist asking once he was out of earshot.
“Oh lord, now that’s another story altogether.” Troy stretched, his hands behind his head. I tried to ignore the thin strip of toned abdomen the move revealed. Didn’t help when it looked eminently lickable.
“Ex-special forces.” A new voice broke in as the fourth seat at the table was suddenly filled. Sergeant Andrews dropped into the space. “Not sure what, but something extreme. Couple of tours to places people don’t talk about. Apparently got pinned down somewhere by werewolves, lots of people died. He doesn’t talk about it much, but...” He shrugged. “Family connection, I hear things.”
Fuck. Special Forces. Special Forces who had survived not just a werewolf attack but a whole pack of the things. That I so didn’t want to hear. If I had to put him down, it was going to be a hell of a fight.
“Thanks, Cory, appreciated.” I smiled. I liked the big, normally less-than-chatty sergeant, even if I didn’t like what he said.
“You’re welcome.” He smiled back and then demolished a sandwich in two bites. Opposite, Troy glared. I pushed to my feet, my need to visit the restroom far more pressing than trying to figure out what worm had gotten into his head now.
A couple of minutes later I re-emerged from the ladies to find Troy loitering in the hallway. He looked up at the sound of the door opening, piercing me with those bright baby-blues.
“Hey. What’s eating you?” Not one to beat about the bush, I went right for it. “You look like a bulldog chewing a wasp.”
He huffed, folding his arms over his chest. “You said you were a Reaper.”
Uh-oh. Lord, save me from pissy men.
“I am.” I reached behind my back and pulled a blade to spin around my hand. Use those babies enough and you get downright handy with them. “Got the sickles right here to prove it.”
“Just a Reaper?”
I put the sickle away. “I am just a Reaper. What else do you think I am?”
He glared again, looking all mean and moody. I suppressed the shiver that wanted to roll down my spine. God, he did a good brooding and dangerous look. I liked that in a man. I liked it in him.
“You told me you weren’t a siren,” he accused. “But Andrews is looking pretty damn entranced and Reilly, I haven’t seen him smile so much in like...forever.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
“Believe me, I am no siren. And you’d know if the Sisterhood was in town. Actually, no you wouldn’t because they’d have every guy within miles bonded and enslaved to their every whim.”
I frowned, casting about for words to make him understand. “You know that saying ‘I think, therefore I am’? Let’s just say the fact that you can think, and you’re not chained to some chick’s bed servicing her every whim is proof there aren’t any sirens in town.”
He grinned, the expression changing his face from pissed to playful. Two steps and he’d crossed the corridor to push me against the wall. I let him, liking the change of mood. Suddenly our little session this morning seemed a lifetime ago.
“Not a siren, huh?” He traced his thumb over my closed lips. “Pity, I think I’d have liked being chained to your bed.”