Boreal and John Grey Season 1 by Chrystalla Thoma Page B

underground caves, abandoning their brethren to the frozen surface. Great metal smiths and crafters, the Dokkaelfar have kept the secret of longevity, Gate traveling and fate reading to themselves, while their brethren long to conquer other worlds.
     

    Chapter One
    Bone

    Ella Benson stared at the body laid out on the morgue drawer, her eyes burning. Bile rose in her throat. “What the hell did that to him?” She gestured at the torso, clawed open so that the ribs stuck out, the bloody ruin of a face.
    “We don’t know.” Detective Morgan gave her a steady look. “Agent Benson, I’m in charge of this case and I need to you to confirm—”
    “Yeah, it’s him.” They were going to check the dental records, but there was no doubt. Her partner. Dead . One side of that familiar broad face was intact — the wide mouth and square jaw, his skin paper white against the unzipped, black body bag.
    He nodded and started his digital recorder. “State his name, please.”
    The representative of the medical examiner’s office stood aside, her suit pressed and formal, her hair in a tight chignon. She eyed Ella as if she were something she’d found under the sole of her shoes.
    And it didn’t matter one bit.
    “Simon Esterhase.” Ella pushed out the name. Her partner. Ex partner. Her chest was a ball of tension. She drew a shaky breath. “Where did you find him?”
    “Corner of Madison and Connegut, around midnight last night,” Morgan said. “Agent Benson, state your relationship to Simon Esterhase please, for the records.”
    “We work together.”
    “Paranormal Bureau, right?”
    Ella gave him, and then the woman, a sidelong glance. The Bureau didn’t officially exist, but hey, if he was asking... Someone was clearly keeping track of all departments, secret or not, and the world was going to hell anyway. “Yes.”
    “He was a psychic?”
    “Yes.” A voyant, in fact, but she wasn’t going to elaborate.
    “Anything else you’d like to state for the record?”
    “I’ll catch the son of a bitch who did this to Simon. Make sure you report I said this.”
    Morgan took a step back, brows lifting. He pressed the pause button. “Thank you, Agent Benson. I’m truly sorry for your loss.”
    Yeah . She wanted to smash something, and if she didn’t get out of there, it might just be his sorry face.
    “Oh, I almost forgot. David Holborn said he wants to see you.”
    The boss . “Of course.” She swallowed a sigh. It was just as well. She wanted some answers too. “On my way.”
    “Agent Benson... The department will cover the funeral.”
    She didn’t dignify that with an answer. They’d damn well better. As far as she was concerned, it was the least they could do.
    Finn waited outside the morgue, leaning against the vomit-green wall of the empty hospital corridor. The bruises around his neck had blossomed to an angry purple. He kept his arms folded over his chest, cradling his swollen wrist. The handles of his bowie knives jutted over each hip. Though he said nothing, he cast her a questioning look.
    “All done here.” Her voice came out rough and clipped. “Let’s go.”
    She walked out of the hospital and he limped along. Stubborn bastard had insisted on tagging along, although he should have stayed in bed. Well, on the sofa. He was showered and dressed in clothes borrowed from Mike and his boyfriend Scott — a black shirt, light fatigues and low boots, the ever-present green bandana twisted in a rope and wrapped around his head.
    Together they crossed the avenue back to the HQ, but when they entered the lobby, she gestured at the rows of chairs.
    “Just wait here for a moment. I need to talk to my boss. Alone.”
    Finn glowered daggers but he turned to the nearest wall — hello, peeling blue paint — and leaned against it. What was it with Finn and walls...? Ah, of course . A clear path to the nearest exit and an unobstructed view of the entire lobby.
    Just like Finn. Prepared for anything; always