“And there’s one more thing,” Catcher said. “Mallory felt something. Some kind of magic.”

All eyes shifted to her now.

“That’s how I found him,” she told Gabriel. “I felt—I don’t know how else to describe it—like a magical pulse. And then we looked for him, found him.”

Gabriel cocked his head at her. “You haven’t sensed anything like that before?”

“No,” she said. “And God knows I’ve been around enough bad magic in my time.”

I reached out and squeezed her hand, found it a little clammy. She gripped mine hard and didn’t let go.

• • •

Jeff and Catcher took photographs of the symbols. My and Mallory’s hands were still linked when we walked back toward the body. Three more of the shifters had dismounted, and they stood around him protectively.

“We’ll want to take him home tonight,” Gabriel said.

“You know that won’t be possible.” My grandfather’s tone was polite but firm. “We’ll release him to his family, but not until the postmortem is complete.”

“We’re his family,” Gabriel said gruffly. “Or the closest thing to it. The Pack doesn’t give two shits what Cook County has to say about cause of death. Especially since that cause should be brutally obvious to anyone with a brain.”

“Gabriel,” Ethan said, the word as much warning as name.

“Don’t start with me, Sullivan.” Magic began to rise in the air, peppery and dangerous. “He may not have been mine when he was alive, but he’s mine now.”

He and Ethan might have been friends and colleagues, but they were also leaders with people to protect, and very little tolerance for those who challenged them.

“And you watch your tone, Keene. I recognize your people have endured a tragedy, but we are not your enemy. And you are not immune to the rules of the city in which you live.”

Gabriel growled, and his eyes lit with the promise of anger, of fighting, of action. “A vampire killed one of my people.”

Ethan, who had his own steam to work off, stepped forward. “Not one of my vampires.”

I considered pushing between them, demanding they separate and calm down. But I wasn’t about to incur Ethan’s wrath by playing that card again. Besides, it wasn’t the first time they’d nearly come to blows; maybe their beating the crap out of each other would clear the air.

Fallon apparently decided she wasn’t having any of it. She nudged her way between them, both towering over her by five or six inches.

“Stop being assholes,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “We’ve made enough of a scene as it is, and have enough tragedy to deal with. You two want to beat the shit out of each other? Fine. But do it out of sight, when the humans can’t see and we don’t have to waste time watching.”

Biting back a smile, I glanced at Jeff, saw his eyes light with appreciation and pride.

Gabriel’s position didn’t change. Shoulders high and stiff, chest forward, hands balled into fists, his tensed body speaking of barely banked rage. He slid his gaze to his sister, nailed her with a look that would have made me nervous if directed at me.

But Fallon Keene just rolled her eyes. “That look hasn’t worked on me since I was seven.” She pointed a finger—the nail painted matte navy—at Gabriel and Ethan in turn. “Get. Your shit. Together.”

Fallon turned on her heel and walked back to the other shifters, whispered something to them. They seemed to relax but kept their wary gazes on their alpha and the alpha he stared down.

“Goddamn murder,” Gabriel said, running a hand through his hair again. “Waste of life, waste of energy.”

“You’ll get no argument there from me,” Ethan said. “And perhaps she’s right. That we shouldn’t waste any more time.”

Gabriel made a sound that was half grunt, half growl. “I find the vampire first, he’s mine.”

Ethan was quiet for a moment, no doubt evaluating his strategy, his best play. He wasn’t one to take advantage of murder, but he rarely made a move without thinking it through.

“All right,” he finally said. “But before you take care of him in whatever method you deem appropriate, we want a chance to question him.”

“Because?”

“Because he’s killed a shifter and attempted to kill Merit. That’s more than enough reason for me.”

Gabriel considered it silently. “Rest of your people going to be so easygoing about his fate? The other Masters?”

Ethan’s expression flattened. He liked Scott Grey, the Master of Grey House, and he tolerated Morgan Greer, the Master of Navarre House. “Should this atrocity prove to have been committed by one of their vampires, I suspect they will want to handle his punishment. That would be an issue for you to take up with them. But there’s no reason to believe he was a Navarre or Grey House vampire, either. I’ve been in Chicago a long time, and there was nothing about him that was familiar to me.”

Gabriel looked at my grandfather. “We will have to mourn him.”

My grandfather nodded. “We can give you space if you want to do it here. We’ll have to request you not touch him, if that’s possible.”

Gabriel didn’t seem to like the answer but didn’t argue with it. “Give us space,” he said, and if operating by an unspoken command, his people clustered around Caleb.

Ethan put a hand at my back, and we walked back toward the street.

“Give them a wall,” my grandfather said. And however weird the uniforms might have thought the request, they obeyed it. They moved to stand shoulder to shoulder facing the crowd, giving the Pack some privacy. We took places beside them, the line stretching all the way across the alley.

Gabriel spoke first, a whisper that put magic into the air, a song that rose and fell like a winter’s tide. I couldn’t distinguish the words. He’d disguised them somehow, muffling vowels and consonants, perhaps so they could be shared only by the Pack. But the point of the song was clear enough. It was a dirge, a song of mourning for their former Pack member.

I let myself drift on the rise and fall of the song. It told of blue skies and rolling green hills, dark and deep waters and mountains that pitched toward a dark blanket of sky scattered with stars. It told of birth and living and death, of the Pack’s connection to wildness, and of the reunion of loved ones. The tone momentarily darkened, unity giving way to struggle, to war.