We snaked around a Wiccan couple holding hands and finally found ourselves free from the throng of people. A street lamp buzzed on and off. The next one had completely died out. The heels of my boots clicked loudly on the asphalt as we drew away from the revelers and the sounds of music spilling from the pubs and dance clubs. The sudden passing from the loud and boisterous to the dim, eerie quiet sent a shiver along my spine and gave me that creepy sensation of someone lurking behind me. You’re freaking yourself out, I thought, glancing over my shoulder, but there was no one there.

“That guy, the older one,” Hank said, breaking the quiet. “You sure you’ve never met him?”

“I don’t think so. I guess I could have at some point …” I shook my head, feeling bad and embarrassed since lately it seemed like Hank was always pulling me out of sticky situations. I was stronger than this. “I’m sorry for breaking down on you like that.” I wanted to say more, to try and explain, but what could I say? I didn’t even know myself. “It doesn’t make sense. Charbydon nobles in Elysian territory. That alone is a major red flag. If Veritas is some exclusive club where nobles and Elysians meet, it can’t be for bake sales and charity events. They’re up to something.”

Hank dug out his car keys as we approached the car. “Charlie, I want you to be extra careful. This investigation, everything today, nothing is making sense.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Hank’s profile was seriously grim. He knew something wasn’t quite right. And I trusted his instincts. Hell, many times I’d banked my life on his intuition. But this time I felt the same. It was like a huge satellite sat atop my head, blaring the signals—warning, dread, suspicion … They were drowning me, but at the same time pushing me to figure it all out.

At the car, he beeped the alarm system off. “You sure you’re okay? ’Cause you look like a ghost.”

“Gee, thanks.” I opened the door.

“You can confide in me, you know,” he said over the roof of the car, his deep tone going deeper. “I’m not human. I might understand a hell of a lot better than Berkowitz.”

Yes, his super senses had saved my butt a gazillion times, but they could also be a pain in my butt. Like now, when I didn’t want to talk about it. I let out a big sigh and rested my elbows on the roof. “Hank, please don’t read into me. I know, all right? I know something’s off with me. But there’s no point in talking about it when I haven’t even figured out what the hell’s wrong.”

He bit back his reply, jaw flexing, and stared off into the dark parking deck. “One of these days, Charlie, you’ll need to rely on somebody. Somebody who could have answers. Look, if you don’t want to talk to me, then talk to Bryn or Doctor Berk. Someone. You healed yourself today.” He paused to let that statement sink in. “And now you’re passing out. What’s next, morphing into a werewolf and howling at the full moon?”

I slid into the passenger seat and waited for Hank to get in. His words echoed in my mind. What was next? If only I knew.

He started the car and then glanced over at me with a warning. “I’m serious, Charlie. Talk to someone, go to see a doctor. ’Cause if you don’t I’ll make you.”

My gaze snapped to the thick voice-mod around his neck. He could make me do whatever he wanted, and the jerk was holding it over my head. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me. I happen to value my life, and the next time we’re in the thick of things, I don’t want my partner wigging out. If you don’t think you owe it to yourself, then think of the rest of us.” With that, he hit the radio, obviously done talking to me, and pulled out of the parking space.

Guess he told me.

Hank Williams Jr. blared from the custom speakers as we drove down Alabama Street. The down-to-earth, whiskey-rich voice soothed some of the physical symptoms of the stress and anxiety that plagued me, but my mind remained on overdrive. All I could think about was the noble’s face, the familiar voice, and the surge of fear and realization that momentarily froze me solid. For eight months I’d dreamt of that shadowy figure. To find out he was a real, living being … I was in way over my head.

Something had happened to me the night I died. Something I didn’t want to remember or acknowledge. Until now.

Hank remained silent, allowing me my thoughts and no doubt drifting into his own. Worry, stress, and frustration poured off him in waves. I rolled the window down, the car becoming stuffy and overheated with his emotions. He wanted so badly to have me confide in him. Hell, I wished I knew what to tell him.

After we parked and headed inside the station, we took the stairs to the second floor where it opened into a loft-style space with desks for the detectives in the center of the room and enclosed offices for the higher-ups along the perimeter. The first floor we used for booking and containment.

Hank and I shared a large desk. Our flat-screen monitors backed into one another, making a nice barrier and giving us some private space in which to work. We had to lean sideways and crane our heads over the mounds of files on either side of the monitors in order to make eye contact.

Tonight, we both settled into serious work mode, Hank writing a report and then in his notebook, jotting down conversations and his own gut feelings about the encounter, while I logged on to the ITF database of known felons, suspects, and immigrants, looking for a match. I sipped on the hot coffee I’d made in the break room before we sat down, sighing at the comforting taste of coffee bean, half-and-half, and Splenda. I didn’t like it overly sweet, but just sweet enough to cut the harsh nicotine taste of straight black. Most of the detectives and officers drank it black whether they liked it that way or not. But then, I’d never been a conformist, and they still made fun of me. Oh, well. Black tasted like tar and made my tongue fuzzy.

I’d had a sneaking suspicion I wouldn’t find the two Charbydon nobles under felons or suspects, so I did a search on legally registered nobles aged five hundred years plus, male, living in Atlanta.

Bingo.

“Found you, you bastard,” I muttered, refusing to be fearful of a JPEG.

“Which one?” Hank came around the desk to hover over my shoulder. He let out a low whistle. “Damn.” He plowed his fingers through his hair and then rested his hand on the back of my chair. “Can you say roadblock?”

We were looking at one of the most influential Charbydons on the planet. I let out a heavy sigh. It would make our investigation a heck of a lot harder. But at least now we had a name. Mynogan, High Elder of the House of Abaddon. I tapped my pencil against my chin. Mynogan. The monster finally had a name.

“So,” I began, thinking out loud more than anything, “what were three nobles doing in Veritas?”

Hank returned to his side of the desk. “Well they sure as hell weren’t knitting booties for needy babies.”

I decided to start with Otorius and did a Google search on the Charbydon Political Party in Atlanta. In the last year, the party had tried to move away from the stereotypical unlawfulness that had at first characterized most of the Charbydons. While they wanted entry into our world along with the Elysians, they had a difficult time conforming to the rules put in place to guard us and them, and they really had a difficult time coming to accept peace with the Elysians. They still didn’t follow all of the Federation’s policies. But, lately, many of the nobles had been trying to rectify this, and they’d started by forming their own political party, getting the message out that they wanted to be part of a law-abiding society and to contribute as law-abiding residents.

“Says here, there’s a political rally tomorrow morning at Centennial Olympic Park.” I clicked through a few more pages, looking for any information on the other noble. But there was nothing. Easing back in my chair, I let out a tired sigh. “We’ll need to get a member list of everyone in Veritas. Auggie’s death and the ash point straight to that place. He wouldn’t have given me those matches otherwise. If the CPP isn’t involved, then someone on the roster is, or at least knows something.”