As Lie The Dead by Kelly Meding Page B

wounded …”
    His poisonous stare fills in his unspoken words, and I nod. He is seriously scary when he tries hard. “I might as well be, right?” I say, perhaps a bit too glib. “But those two days I’m off, my time is my own?”
    “Yes. Just don’t call attention to yourself. The Dregs may be animals, but they do remember faces. You flash yours around town too much when you aren’t working, and you’ll make yourself a target.”
    “Right. And no more kneeing drunk assholes.”
    The corners of his mouth quirk. “Exactly.”
    “So are we on or off right now?”
    “We’re off rotation at the moment. We’ll go out tomorrow and show you the ropes—”
    “I grew up around here. I know the Lot.”
    Ash snorts loudly. “Which clubs within thirty blocks of here are most often frequented by Halfies?” she asks. “Which apartment building north of us exclusively houses a population of were-birds?”
    I really don’t like her. How the hell I’ll work with her is beyond me, so I stay quiet. Because I don’t know those answers.
    “We show you the ropes,” Wyatt continues, “and then you go out patrolling tomorrow night with Jesse and Ash. You survive the night, even bag something bad, and we go back into the rotation.”
    “Fair enough,” I say. I look forward to bagging something. It’s why I’m here. And to wiping that sneer off Ash Team Senior’s face.
    Wyatt smiles. It’s the first crack in his otherwise serious veneer, and he proves my theory correct: he is handsome when he smiles. He walks over to the kitchenette. I wait mutely, not sure what’s next. Jesse and Ash don’t move.
    In the kitchen, Wyatt pulls five small glasses out of a cabinet, followed by a bottle of whiskey. He pours a finger of liquor into each. Only when he’s finished do Jesse and Ash approach the counter. They each take aglass, Wyatt a third. I feel as though I’m intruding on something private, so I stay put. Until Wyatt pushes one of the remaining glasses toward me.
    I set my bag on the floor near the door, approach, and take the offered glass. I don’t like straight whiskey but am willing to play along. They look so serious. They raise their glasses over the fifth, so I do the same.
    “To Cole,” Wyatt says. “And to Evangeline.”
    “Evy,” I say.
    He nods. We drink. The whiskey scorches my throat and sears my stomach. My eyes water. Nasty.
    We move on to other business, and the fifth whiskey glass remains untouched for the rest of the night.

Chapter Six

    10:30 A.M.
    Kismet’s stomping footsteps preceded her by a good thirty seconds. She rounded the edge of the exam table’s pristine white curtain, eyes blazing as hot as her flaming hair. She stopped at the edge, took a moment to look me over—needlessly bandaged forearm, healing bruises on my face and shoulders from my tumble to the concrete—then laid into me.
    “What the hell happened down there, Stone? Three cars destroyed, and now Truman’s in surgery?”
    I flinched internally but was able to keep my expression neutral. “How many Halfies have you met who run around with grenades in their pockets?” And I wasn’t asking as sarcasm; the unexpected explosive had me thoroughly flummoxed.
    “You’re lucky we were still upstairs, or you’d be trying to explain all that to hospital security.”
    “Hey, I didn’t invite him to the party, Kismet; he was waiting. He knew where to find us.” I briefly filled her in on the Halfie’s familiarity and the few tidbits ofinformation he’d shared, all of which helped morph Kismet’s glare into puzzlement.
    “Someone’s still trying to kill you,” she said.
    I rolled my eyes. “Someone’s always trying to kill me. My problem with it is that this someone is using the same people the old someone was.”
    “Are you certain you were the target?”
    My mind shifted gears, spinning back to the first few moments after the explosion. On my back with Wyatt pinning me down. Smoke stinging my eyes, making it