 
(FADE IN:)

# EXT. – THE STARLET LOUNGE – NIGHT

The stage door squealed softly on unoiled hinges as Aisling's fake French manicure scraped over the edge.

"Well, damn it all to hell, girl." She wobbled on her new Prada knockoffs, one knee buckling briefly before her natural balance kicked in. Her eyes struggled to focus on the partially torn edge of her nail. She turned with more enthusiasm than she should have risked in her mind-altered condition, upper body swaying as she flashed the offending gray, dented exit her damaged middle finger. And snorted out a giggle. "Showed you. Asshole."

She'd only had one drink, shouldn't have been this messed up. Her nose twitched as she sniffed. Oh, right. And a whole lot of cocaine for 3AM. Aisling giggled again, hands sliding down the front of her skintight red dress. Her fingers skimmed over the tucked in package she did her best to hide from the world, pausing on the way back up on her newly inflated chest. The trip to Tijuana cost her a fraction of plastics in the States. And the handsome Mexican doctor knew his shit. Gave her stunning breasts. She was lucky to find one who understood her particular situation. Who could turn a blind eye to what she lacked, no questions asked, who trained his nurses to silence and secrecy.

Worth his weight in gold. She brought lots of drugs home with her, over the border, for her friends, naturally.

But, for her, coke was better than painkillers.

The filthy alleyway stank of decaying food, waste from the bar she'd just left. Didn't help the bums who lived under the bridge liked to peep at the dancers and used this place for a toilet after jerking off to the memory. Aisling's finely-crafted nose turned up, ruby lips parting as she half strutted, half wavered her way past the rusting dumpster, shoe slipping in a patch of reeking fluid leaking out of the damaged corner.

She caught herself with a gasp, the loud clang of her heavy, metal bangle slamming into the side of the dumpster ringing like a bell. It made her pause after her start, hum the same note. Tottering on four inches of stiletto, she sashayed her narrow hips from side to side, spinning at last just past the dumpster with a flourish.

"Use that sweet move tomorrow night," she told the open, humid air and dark California night. It made her smile, even as she wobbled on, deeper into the alley. Music and dancing were her life and had been since she was a little boy.

Girl. She corrected herself by stopping, cocking one hip to the side and waggling her finger in the air as though to admonish a stranger. "I," she said in a slurred and empty voice, "am a girl."

Sure, she still had some junk to deal with. The patch of taut skin between her legs—the hated extra flesh tucked firmly back and taped out of sight—reminded her with every step she had a ways to go. Screw it. Small, fine-boned hands adjusted her new rack again. When she was done, she would give up the drugs and this crappy shit-hole of a queer bar and go find a real job as a real dancer. On the East coast maybe. New York. London, even.

Silver City could kiss her ass.

Aisling giggled again at the visual image her stoned mind came up with. It took her a moment to drag her focus back, sniffing delicately, the faint tingle of the drug still in her nostrils. A giant bag—matching her shoes, of course—swung against her hip as she frowned down into it, swaying while she dug into the dark interior.

Damn it. What did she do with her car keys?

The door squealed for a second time, spinning her around. And, in that instant, everything changed. Fear raced through her, clearing her mind. Aisling's fingers located the small, square box of her Taser buried at the bottom. She hated being sober, and being afraid even more. Too many years of hiding, of having friends fall victim to haters. Worse, those who hunted, who tracked her kind for sport or out of "scientific curiosity." Her free hand settled over the center of her chest, pressing into the silence there. No matter the reason for her fear, it left her with a cold and terrible pit of anxiety she knew she'd never shed no matter how much work she had done to this body of hers.

Or how well she hid what she really was.

Until she spotted the person walking toward her, down the alley, with steady, reassuring steps. She smiled, ruby lips separating, feeling her body warm in response to the sight. The coke resurged and made everything all right again. That empty place inside her chest, under her quivering hand, filled with longing, a hunger so powerful she could barely stand it. That was the true hole she tried to fill. That only a certain kind of attention could feed. And here was the perfect meal, falling into her lap.

"What are you doing here?" She licked her lips, chest tightening, heating in anticipation. "I wondered if you'd come looking for seconds." She was almost grateful for the loss of her full-on buzz. There were better ways to get high. Much better ways.

It wasn't until shadow fell over her, the flash of a silver blade cutting through the dark between them, Aisling understood. And even then, she was so shocked all she could do was stare as the knife plunged, Taser forgotten in her hand, the vague and distant scream in her head only begging her killer to spare her brand-new boobs.

***

# Pilot Episode: Freak Show

(Smashwords Edition)

Copyright 2014 by Patti Larsen

Purely Paranormal Press

Find out more about Patti Larsen at http://www.pattilarsen.com/

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Director Annetta Ribken www.wordwebbing.com

Production Designer Valerie Bellamy www.dog-earbookdesign.com

Editor Jessica Bufkin

Series Created, Written and Produced by Patti Larsen

***

# INT. – 9th PRECINCT GYM - MORNING

Sweat ran in distracting paths down Gerri's face, rivers trickling to soak the neck of her academy T-shirt. The treadmill flew by beneath her pounding sneakers, miles run at a standstill since she climbed on board forty-five minutes ago.

Detective Geraldine Meyers ignored the steady drip of saltiness, the clang of someone dropping weights behind her. She liked the early morning quiet of the 9th Precinct gym. Even more now the 10th had that fancy new setup thanks to a wealthy family whose daughter their detectives rescued. Her precinct's facility might have been dingy, the worn floor and patched benches signs of age and use, but she preferred the quiet to a packed new gym full of macho cops with something to prove.

She'd never admit she was one of them.

Choosing to become a cop like her dad hadn't been much of a choice. Gerri sped up the treadmill, thighs burning as her mind flashed to the badge in her locker, the gun in her desk upstairs. She'd finished college, thought about the FBI, maybe. Even the CIA at one point. But, solving street level crimes, following in her father's footsteps, won out over other ambitions. Not that she blamed Sergeant Dutch Meyers for pushing his oldest into the family business. It saved her brother and sister from a life behind a badge. And she really was uniquely suited to the job.

Gerri hit the speed button again. As if running meant she would outpace the fear stirring in her when she thought about her uniqueness. Anything to avoid thinking about the burning inside her, whispering to her she could run so much faster.

The narrow bank of windows at the top of the wall across from her threw reflections from the early morning sun on the hubcaps of passing cars. Down here, she could forget about who she was, what she feared inside her. The way her father pressed her about it all through high school, with a gleam in his eye telling her he knew more about it than she did. That they shared some bond beyond the usual father/daughter connection. But her beloved father never, ever talked about it and, though she won meet after track meet, match after boxing match, and excelled at every single sport she ever tried, Dutch refused to tell her why he watched her succeed with haunted eyes.

Gerri scowled at the rising miles on the treadmill readout, not really seeing. She'd felt like a freak her entire life. All but that brief, blissful stint she spent in college. Four years in residence, befriended by the most unlikely pair of girls she could ever imagine would attach themselves to her. Thinking of Kinsey and Ray actually put a smile on Gerri's face, smoothed out her angry, heavy stride. Though they'd only had a few years together at the outset, she couldn't think of two people she'd rather have in her life.

Sure, she was guilty of spending the next ten years sending birthday cards and Christmas cards and only throwing out the odd phone call. Life was busy, not just for her. Kinsey went on to be some hot-shot young professor, a doctor of anthropology. And Ray became a doctor of another kind, first as a physician, then as a medical examiner. Gerri threw herself into her police work, making detective two short years after putting on her uniform. Just like her father wanted. And, she was willing to admit as she flew over the track of the treadmill with her heart and lungs pumping in happy coordination, what she really wanted, too.

Gerri wiped at the sweat running down her face with the shoulder of her T-shirt. Eight years as a detective in Boston, bounced around from division to division, gave her a unique perspective on the darkness of the human soul. And, though Gerri excelled at every single one of them, she had a particular preference for homicide.

She laughed to herself, without humor. It took a specific kind of freak to get her rocks off on the deaths of others. And yet, with every call, every new case, Gerri loved her job more.

The treadmill groaned under her. The faint odor of burning plastic and odd hum rising from the belt warned her she'd pushed the old piece of crap to its limit. She ignored the fact she'd topped out its 12.4mph. Despite the sweat she shed, she still felt like she could run forever. Instead, she powered down and stepped off as the thing hummed to a stop.

She could swear she heard it sigh in relief.

As she turned, heading for the heavy bag, she didn't miss the quick glances her way, the hostility from one of her fellow officers, the near-worship on the face of the single woman in the gym. Gerri ignored both, tossing her towel to the side, jerking on her gloves. Let them stare, judge, wonder what was wrong with her. Let the guys she worked with think she was a butch. Gerri lived with worse her entire life. And wasn't about to let it bother her now.

Besides, she'd never had it so good. Two months ago, she'd been a mid-level detective in Boston, before the call came in. Within a matter of days, she received an offer from Silver City, lead detective, her own homicide team.

"Got to take it, kiddo," Dad said, serious face stern over the cup of coffee they shared when she told him the news. Mom wouldn't meet her eyes, but she seemed resigned to her leaving. "You have a job to do."

He was always so damned serious about things, made it sound like life and death. Well, she did work homicide. Despite his odd behavior, the exciting prospect won over her guilt at leaving her family behind on the East coast.

Which led her to the best news of all. Gerri tested her gloves against each other before settling in to beat the crap out of the heavy bag hanging in front of her. Her right fist connected with a solid whack as she grinned. Imagine her shock, two weeks after arriving in Silver City, running into her old friend, Ray, working a crime scene as a medical examiner. Then, to bump into Kinsey over a case involving a dead prof at the university.

Her grin faltered as she spun and delivered a roundhouse kick to the bag, sending it swinging. Such a coincidence, the three of them ending up here. Especially since the detective in her didn't believe in coincidences.

Gerri bounced on her toes, smile gone completely, the tingle inside her burning brighter, vision narrow, focused on the center of the bag. There were times she was sure she could destroy it, rip it apart if she really let go. Which made her retreat further, drop her hands to her sides and pant while her mind spun away from the reunion of three friends and into the reason for their connection.

She hated to think of the night her partner died. The captain settled her in with veteran Detective Joe Mutch her first day in the bullpen. She immediately liked him, with his neatly shaven face and careful suit and tie. His talk about always looking professional. He reminded Gerri a lot of her dad, if an older version. She'd done her best to hide the fact, though. Wouldn't do to have her partner think she was a softie. Still, he was easy going and damned good at his job, two traits that endeared him daily to her.

And made what came next all the harder. Three months from retirement and the former lead, Joe's job was to teach her the ropes. Told her she'd better keep him out of trouble, that he had a fishing trip planned to end all fishing trips the day after he got his gold watch.

Gerri offered a half-hearted whack to the heavy bag. He didn't make it.

This time, when Gerri's fist connected with the worn leather, she felt her glove split, the bag itself vibrating from the end of the heavy chain holding it aloft. One of the guys behind her swore, but she didn't bother turning around to find out if he was aiming his shock at her.

He was. Had to be. Like she didn't know otherwise, hadn't lived with such observation her whole life. She drew a shaking breath, pulled her lifelong temper problem under control. Doing so left her open to thinking about Joe. About the night he died. The druggie asshole who stuck a knife in the old man's heart.

And the creature who pulled the remains into the lake—

Gerri jerked in response to her phone ringing, swearing softly to herself as she pulled at her gloves. She wouldn't go there, couldn't think about Joe's death. Even though Ray had seen it, too. Kinsey swore she witnessed something equally as strange, the night her professor friend died. The three of them shared, over the recovery of Joe's body from the lake, that they knew or rather feared, something odd was going on in Silver City.

Something paranormal.

Right hand finally free of the glove, Gerri scooped up her phone, swiped the screen to life. Missed call from the captain. She pressed dial as she shied from her own thoughts, grateful for the distraction.

Weird. She called it weird. And refused to believe otherwise. Ray and Kinsey might be willing to admit what they saw was supernatural or some such shit, but Gerri was a cop. Trained in logic and science and to follow the evidence. Even as the tingle inside her growled in response to her denial. Whispered to her, as always.

Gerri shoved that aside, too. Chances are the captain was calling with a case. Good. Murder always made her feel better.

***

# INT. – SILVER CITY MORGUE - MORNING

While she knew her job disgusted the majority of people who asked what she did for a living, Dr. Rachel Hunter rather enjoyed the peace and solitude of the morgue in the early morning. She purposely took the odd shifts, the ones where murder and accidental deaths were most likely to come across her slab. Not because she considered herself a particularly morbid or hateful person who lived for death. But, because walking, talking, breathing people sometimes made her uncomfortable. It had been that way for the majority of her life.

And the fact Mummy hated so very much telling her socialite friends what Ray did for a living.

That was enough to keep her in the morgue. As if she needed encouragement. Ray bent over the swollen, pale corpse, scalpel already set aside, bone saw and rib separator in place, exposing the lungs and heart of her patient. She still referred to them as patients, though her subjects were dead by the time she saw them. She'd spent too many years working the ER, in training to be a surgeon, to change her terminology now. Ray was well aware some of the other medical examiners used more vulgar words to call out the dead. Her precise British, upper-crust upbringing disallowed such frivolity.

Besides, she rather enjoyed their company.

"Now, then, my darling," she said over the gaping cavity of the dead man, his bulging belly fair warning of what she was about to find. Ray knew without cutting, without scans and X-Rays and tests of his blood for the chemical evidence needed exactly what killed Jacob Harner, age 57. She didn't even need to take into account his excessive weight or the whitened tissue making up the vast proportion of his heart, a clear sign of dead cells. Nor, as she lifted her scalpel once again, carefully excising into the heart's muscle, did she need to uncover the clot in his left coronary artery, nor the yellowish clog of atherosclerosis trapping the knot of hardened blood. No amount of clinging plaque could tell her what she already knew, known the moment she stepped up to Jacob's body on her slab to begin her initial observations.

And yet, she did her due diligence, extracting the clot with tweezers, placing it carefully into a glass container for analysis. The family insisted on a full forensic autopsy, and had the money to make sure it happened. Ray could have saved them the small fortune it likely cost to fast-track the procedure, the small library or charity they probably financed to place Jacob Harner in front of three other bodies waiting for her attention. She carefully freed the heart from the chest cavity and placed it in her scale, noting the weight, the severe damage the massive heart attack caused, all while wondering if there was something wrong with her.

She always wondered, even after all these years. Since the first time she asked, innocent at six years old, what was wrong with Alfred's head. Mummy's second husband died three days later of an aneurysm. And Mummy insisted, dressed in black with a lacy veil pulled over her face at his funeral, Ray stop telling everyone she knew he was going to die.

Ray leaned back with a sigh, brow tight at the memory as she set the heart aside. She learned to keep her mouth shut from then on, no matter what she saw in passing strangers, the feelings and fears she harbored for those she knew had something horribly wrong with them. It drove her first to drink too much, then to retreat. By the time she was eighteen, Ray was certain she wouldn't ever be able to live with what she knew.

"Heart attack?" Robert Ling, her assistant, popped his head around the corner of the computer monitor where he logged his findings from another case. His dark eyes seemed bottomless behind the lenses of his trendy glasses, short, black hair spiked over his forehead.

"Correct." Ray shook off her past, addressing him. "As we both suspected."

Robert grinned, perfect white teeth sparkling in the bright lights, reminding Ray of a toothpaste commercial as the small, handsome Asian assistant rubbed his hands together.

"We're too damned smart for our own good."

Some days, she agreed with him.

"Shall I log it?" So eager. Ray loved that about him.

"You may have the honor." She half bowed with a grandiose wave of her scalpel, like some gore-splattered conductor. "Proceed."

Robert's grin widened. "You let me have all the fun."

Just that moment of lightheartedness lifted Ray's mood. She returned her attention to the autopsy while Robert hummed the tail-end of a show tune chorus ending in a falsetto finish. She knew what killed Jacob, but orders were orders and a full forensic workup meant exactly that. His slippery, tar-smeared lungs were next on her list.

"Can you say heart attack was a shocker?" Robert went back to his key tapping while Ray shrugged with two blackened chunks of meat in her hands. Not all cases were this clear cut, at least not to someone without her particular talents. While she might not be able to explain how she knew, knowing what she was looking for made her job much easier. Ray's "hunches" led to solved investigations more often than not. Something she should be proud of, but it freaked her out, if she was completely honest with herself.

It was only the death of her beloved grandfather to a stroke she couldn't prevent that pulled Ray out of her depression over her ability. Mummy had been furious when Ray decided to go to medical school in Boston. Followed her all the way from London. But, Ray's escape into college was the breath of fresh air she'd been looking for.

The lungs hit the pan with a meaty smack that made the chain rattle. That was the most frustrating part to Ray, the reason she gave up caring for the living. No matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried, when she "saw" the source of someone's death, it was already too late. There was nothing she could do to save them. Which meant her dream of being a doctor, of rescuing those whose fate she witnessed so clearly before it happened, only led to more darkness, more stress.

If it hadn't been for Kinsey and Gerri, Ray knew she wouldn't have made it past her first degree. Four years with two of the most amazing and understanding friends she could ever ask for gave her the strength to go on, even when they went their separate ways. It was enough for Ray, as she finished medical school and finally understood there was nothing she could do for the patients she desperately wanted to save, to think of Gerri and Kinsey. They were stronger than her, far stronger. They had no idea, she'd become so good at showing the world the face of a professional. But without them, Ray was sure her life would have been over, by her own hand.

Joseph's liver slumped in her grip, grotesquely enlarged, marbled with fat. Ray's gorge rose briefly, if only for a moment. She'd considered becoming a vegetarian, but she loved meat too much. Still, there were times like this, holding the engorged internal organs of the dead, she almost changed her mind.

An internship in the medical examiner's office in Chicago changed everything. Ray suddenly found her place, her peace. And found a use for the weird ability she had, one she never, ever told anyone about. The dead gave up their secrets to her easily, almost as though waiting for her and, within a very short period of time, Ray had her own morgue, her own team.

But Chicago meant Mummy, and her fourth husband. The chance to relocate, to move to Silver City, was too good to pass up. Ray accepted the offer immediately, packed up and left without telling her mother where she was going. So far, so good, though Ray guessed Mummy would follow her eventually.

She always did.

Thing was, Ray wasn't all that worried about it. Especially since she looked up from the dead body of a middle-aged man that day in the park and into Gerri's startled eyes. The reunion had been heartfelt, full of joy for Ray, even more so when she discovered only a few days later Kinsey was also in Silver City.

Reunited. Ray felt as though a part of her, long lost, came home to her.

She set aside her scalpel to record some notes, mind barely with the body in front of her. Instead, it took her to the shore of the lake, to the night Joe Mutch died, to the creature that pulled the old detective's remains into the water—

She shuddered from the memory, leaning against the slab a moment, breathing slowly through her mouth to catch her breath. Ray knew there was something odd about her, but that night was the first time she considered she might not be the only freak in the room.

It hurt her, more than she'd admit to Gerri, that her detective friend refused to talk about it. Gerri's rejection of that night felt like a rejection of Ray, even though Gerri had no idea Ray was a freak. Irrational, yes. But she just couldn't help feeling that way. Like the first time her mother caught her, at thirteen, kissing the new maid. The day Mummy slapped Ray and told her she was dirty and disgusting for being gay.

Ray felt something wet on her cheek, wiping at it with the back of her glove. She was shocked to discover a tear escaped her eye. She hardened herself immediately. Ray hadn't cried over the stupidity of her mother in years. Being here in Silver City, with the girls, seemed to trigger the past like nothing else. And though Ray was thrilled to be reunited with them, this was a side effect she wasn't expecting.

"Bollocks," she whispered to herself.

"You okay, Ray?" Robert peeked again, his round cheeks bunched as he frowned. He was half out of his chair when she waved him off with a forced laugh.

"Something in my eye. Get back to work, you slacker, before I fire you."

He hesitated, but couldn't resist a comeback. That was Robert. "I don't work for you, bossy pants."

Ray smiled at him, blinking to dispel her tears. "I'm fine. I promise."

So protective. She wondered where that instinct came from in him. She hadn't thought herself particularly special to him when she first came to the lab. But, for some reason, Robert had immediately claimed her as "his" medical examiner and refused to work with anyone else. Not that Ray minded. The two seemed to think alike, and there were times Robert saved her from blurting a cause of death she shouldn't have known before autopsy by suggesting the idea himself.

They'd only been working together a short time, but she already relied on him. And appreciated his dedication to her wellbeing.

If only she could tell him about her ability. There had never been anyone she could confide in. At least Kinsey was on her side when it came to the "weird", as Gerri called it. The death of Dr. Edward Gant left all of them with more questions than answers and, though Ray hadn't witnessed his passing, she'd been in charge of his autopsy. At least, she had the body in her possession long enough Ray could tell something wasn't right before her boss took the case away from her.

His death was reported as a heart attack, much like Joseph on her slab. But Ray knew the truth. Edward Gant passed away from massive cranial trauma, the likes of which she'd never seen before. As though something dug into the middle of his brain and exploded.

Ray might have been a scientist, but the remains of whatever killed Dr. Gant still burned in her memory, the feeling of something totally foreign, organic, left behind in the mess of his brain matter. She couldn't deny what her odd ability showed her. She'd shared her fears with Kinsey who told her she was certain she witnessed something odd in his eyes moments before his collapse.

Without the body to examine thoroughly, the case handled by the head examiner personally, Ray was without proof of "weird". And Gerri refused to talk about anything she couldn't prove.

The phone rang, Robert's fake British accent breaking the silence and making her smile. "Morgue. She's just finishing up. Address?" He met Ray's eyes with a mouthed word. Gerri. "She's on her way."

Ray shed her gloves, stepping back from the body. "Can you finish?"

Robert was already on his way to her, holding out a slip of paper with an address on it, nose wrinkling as he looked up at her. "Murder waits for no one," he said with a wink. "And, dare I say, neither does Detective Meyers."

***

# INT. – SILVER CITY COLLEGE - MORNING

Dr. Kinsey DanAllart turned from the towering blackboard, the gritty feel of chalk lingering as she set it aside with a smile for the watching class. Overhead lights caught glare on the surface of her glasses, blonde ponytail swinging as she clapped her hands together to shed the fine, white powder. So many eager pairs of eyes, so many young faces lit by the screens of their laptop computers. The bank of windows at the back of the room showed full morning had broken over campus.

Kinsey couldn't help the grin pulling her mouth into a curve, the slight increase in her pulse at the focus her small class gave her. While fieldwork as an anthropologist was her true passion, there was just something immensely appealing about teaching she simply couldn't resist.

Case in point. Kinsey gestured over her shoulder at the words she'd written on the board for them to consider. It was one of her favorite quotes, from a professor she adored when she was in college. The joy of teaching softened a little at the memory of his recent passing, but Dr. Edward Gant would have hated to know he held her back, even with his own death.

"Follow the fear. Only it will lead you to truth." Kinsey remembered the first time she heard him say those words, in a small class just like this one. She'd already formed a student crush on the tall, older man, still handsome though bending with time, whose deep, expressive voice and love for anthropology fed her own passion for the discipline.

"I didn't know we were in a psych class." The young man in the back row had athletic scholarship written all over him, from his team jacket hanging proudly from the edge of his desk to the giant shoulders under his jersey. Kinsey did her best to hold her temper, to rein in her need to make him understand. Just the reminder of how risky such thoughts could be for her pulled her back, but the tingle across her forehead didn't fade right away. She ignored it, focusing on her irritation with the registrar. This was an advanced class, not for those looking to pad their meager grades with an easy mark. She made note of him as she spoke, crisp, but in control, the pins and needles feeling fading.

"Everything we do—everything we study and interact with and create in our lives—is about psychology." She pointed at his jacket. "Including football." The class chuckled as one. Kinsey stepped forward around her desk and sank to the front of it, jean pockets digging into her thin flesh as she settled in to lecture. "And, as a matter of fact, so is anthropology. The mistake is thinking any discipline is separate. We must, instead, see them first as a whole." She pulled her hands together, fingers weaving to form a ball. "Then dissect them to examine what's underneath." Her grin was back, she just couldn't help it. "You might want to remember that when the Silver City Pythons take on San Diego State next month." More laughter, a grin from the student.

God, she loved her job.

"Let's get back to the quote at hand," she said. "Anyone want to venture a guess as to what it means?"

Kinsey wasn't surprised Mitchell Harris spoke up. Her favorite student and her first pick for assistant this year raised his hand, long, dirty blond hair tucked behind his ears. "That fear is the evolution of truth."

Kinsey felt goosebumps rise on her arms. "Exactly," she said. "Civilizations are built on fear. Fear of being attacked by other people, of threats from nature. Of nature itself. Our entire culture, in fact, is born from a fear-based reaction to protect ourselves from what could happen."

She turned and gestured at the quote again. "On the other side, of course, is love." Some of the boys in the class groaned and Kinsey rolled her eyes when she turned back, expecting this reaction. "Wow, bet you make great boyfriends." That shut them up.

"Come on, Dr. DanAllart. It can't be that simple." Football boy again. From what she could tell, he was just looking to impress the girl next to him. If he didn't stop flexing his pecs at her, Kinsey would make sure he didn't come back.

She shrugged. "Why do we go to war?"

"Because we want to protect our people from our enemies," he said.

"Fear." Mitchell flashed her a grin that shone in his brown eyes.

"Why do we want to protect our people from our enemies?" She loved this debate and played it with the blue-eyed innocence that was her greatest weapon. Kinsey knew she was beautiful, with pale skin and the kind of figure envied by most women. And she was young, young enough some of the faculty still questioned her right to teach despite her awards and degrees and hard work. Jockboy was only a minor distraction in all that.

"Because we care about them." He nodded, finally smiling with her, not at her. She felt his attitude shift, watched him settle in his seat, sit back, head nodding instead of focusing on impressing the pretty next to him. Maybe he could stay after all.

"Exactly. Fear and love, from the days of the first Neanderthal's understanding of those concepts, to our own society, driven by the need to be younger, more attractive, to have more money all for the express purpose of finding true love." She snorted to herself at the ridiculousness of the concept while her class nodded in slow awakening.

"But, I digress." She crossed her arms over her chest, glad she wore a thin sweater over her T-shirt. The prof before her left the AC on all night and, while it was warm here on California's West coast, it wasn't the middle of the sun for God's sake. "Let's go back to fear. And the objects of our fear." She grabbed the remote as Mitchell nodded to her, rising to get the lights, the auto screens dropping to cover the windows and cut off the sun. The room, now plunged in darkness, lit up with the image she cast on the whiteboard she pulled down to hide her writing, a black and white of Max Schreck as Nosferatu, one of the first Hollywood renditions of a vampire. The bald, sharp-clawed and snaggle toothed image hunched over a sleeping woman, a classic image from a classic black and white film. Nervous giggles and a hearty chuckle from the football guy made Kinsey smile, but only because she knew they weren't laughing out of amusement.

"Tell me what you felt when you saw that image." She pointed to the dark-skinned girl in the front row, curls piled high on top of her head. Her glossed lips parted as she looked around, nervous but smiling.

"I don't know," she said. "It kind of gave me the creeps."

"But you laughed." Kinsey glanced at the image, though she didn't need to. She'd seen it herself, a million times before. "Why?"

"Because everyone else did." The girl shrugged thin shoulders.

"It's a visceral reaction to fear," Kinsey said. "Especially to nervousness, usually displayed by women." She clicked the button, showed, this time, a more modern version of a vampire, handsome, from a popular TV show. While still dangerous looking, he had a come-hither smile that triggered different responses. "What, no laughing?"

The girl squirmed in her seat. "He's hot," she said.

The class did laugh, then, and so did Kinsey. "Exactly," she said. "When we encounter something we fear, as a culture, we want to alter it, to make it less frightening. As we've done with the vampire myth." Another click of the controller and the medieval drawing of a cemetery appeared. "Which brings us to the topic—anthropology and the occult." It had taken two years to convince the Dean back home at Harvard this was a great class choice, but only one meeting to impress the powers that be here in Silver City. Kinsey's dissertation had been met with enough acclaim she got her way, usually. But she was so excited by her reception here in California, it was enough to make her move and take this job.

And now, as she settled into a chair at the side of the room to talk, she knew from the fascination on their faces, all her hard work wasn't in vain and nor was leaving Boston behind.

"What better creatures to start our studies with than vampires? Our present culture certainly adores them. But, what history we are familiar with comes from Eastern Europe." More images, the creepiest and goriest she could find, raising gasps, a few covered eyes. History was rife with artwork that vilified the undead. "But vampire myths exist around the world, from Brazil to China, Greece to Japan. Every culture has their own version of this myth. It's only in our time, through popular culture, that vampires are no longer seen as threatening and horrifying, but as sexual creatures." More giggles. "Anyone willing to guess why?"

Mitchell again, who seemed unable to take his gaze from the screen. "This goes right back to fear," he said. "Before TV and film, before books, even, there was only oral history. Sharing stories like this were warnings. Kind of like telling kids about the bogeyman." The class laughed, but more high-pitched this time, nervous.

Kinsey let them fall silent. "You're right. Every culture also has their version of the bogeyman. So why do you think we universally have these evil, threatening creatures in our mythology?"

This time it was a young woman in heavy black makeup with multiple piercings and tattoos who spoke. Her voice was so girly Kinsey grinned.

"We're taught to be afraid all the time. Fight or flight."

"Not taught," Kinsey said. "Though it might feel that way. It's embedded in us, has been since we were tiny little mammals surviving the dinosaurs." She stood, invigorated by the conversation, knowing it made her a freak, but not caring. "Humans have very powerful instincts when it comes to fear. From the moment we became aware, fear was a constant companion, and still is. But the more complex the development, the greater and more complex the fear."

"Like the bomb scares in the 50's." So Jockboy did have a brain.

"You got it." Kinsey motioned to Mitchell who took a moment before noticing, getting up to turn the lights back on while she went on. "The height of the cold war, everyone was terrified of the bomb. Despite the fact it was only used on foreign soil as a weapon and never used against them, considering very few had actually even seen the truth about nuclear holocaust, the mere existence of such a devastating threat was enough."

The dark-skinned girl in the front row frowned, her deep, brown eyes troubled as the lights came on. "But, Dr. DanAllart, why did people in the past make up monsters? Why not be afraid of the plague or the weather? Those would have been bad enough, right?"

It was a great question. Kinsey loved great questions. "They were. But everyday fears were quantifiable and experienced by everyone. Unseen fears, however, were harder to dispel and spread rapidly through stories and word of mouth. There is a morbid curiosity in us that makes us focus on the very worst outcome from the most unrealistic sources."

Kinsey's phone vibrated on the desktop. A quick look told her it was something she couldn't ignore. And didn't want to.

"Sorry to cut class short," she said. The usual excitement students displayed at being allowed to leave early was missing, and she was glad. Maybe she'd made them think, stirred up their own questions about the fears they carried. God knew she had her share, and a second look at the text she'd received brought hers to immediate attention.

Kinsey waited until most of the students were gone, Mitchell trailing behind, before she checked her message.

weird case Starlet Lg on 5th asap G

Gerri. Kinsey's heart skipped, sped up. But not from fear. And that made her even more of a freak, didn't it?

Battling her unhealthy excitement at the idea of working a case with her detective friend, Kinsey grabbed her laptop bag and ran for the door.

***

# EXT. – THE STARLET LOUNGE – MORNING

Gerri would never tell anyone, but blood made her want to throw up. Not because it bothered her stomach or her nose or even triggered a fear response. No, she felt like puking because the smell made her so hungry she could eat a horse.

And that grossed her out.

It helped to focus on the dark-haired woman crouched next to the body, her lean form tucked into a black vinyl jacket with "MEDICAL EXAMINER" printed in white block letters on the back. Gerri drew a shallow breath through her parted lips and ignored the rumbling in her stomach as the brunette looked up.

"I won't know for certain until I examine her fully," Ray said in her British accent, softened by years of living on this side of the pond, "but from the multiple stab wounds, I'm going to guess sharp force trauma." She stood, peeling blue gloves from her delicate hands as the crime scene crew took over, sniffing around the body like a pack of bloodhounds, snapping photos and gathering evidence. "No sign of defensive wounds, though. So the first strike must have killed her." Gerri backed off, shaking loose a hanging bit of what looked like used toilet paper from the toe of her favorite cowboy boots, scowling at the offending cling-on.

Now that was disgusting.

"I got that much," Gerri grumbled to her friend as Ray stuffed her used gloves into a plastic bag for later disposal. Hazel eyes widened slightly as her coroner friend tucked the bag into her pocket and shrugged.

"Then, you know as much as I do." Ray grinned, prodded her with her elbow. "Call Kinsey yet?"

Gerri looked away from the body's brilliant red hair and staring eyes so green they had to be enhanced with contacts, stomach clenching. She hated how much she relied on her gut. It seemed to know exactly how to make her uncomfortable—and led her, more often than not, precisely where she needed to go. Case in point. The moment she arrived on the scene, the second she laid eyes on the body of the dead dancer, she knew she had to make a call.

She'd told Kinsey in the text it was weird. The anthropologist's specialty. And though Gerri had the go ahead from One Hundred Police Place, she didn't have official permission to invite Kinsey to this particular scene. Still, the three of them had enough experience with weird Gerri knew Kinsey's eyes on this would be invaluable.

Both she and Ray stared at the symbols etched into the skin of the body, Gerri's gaze locked on the giant swirling curls with a sharp "I" in the middle of the victim's chest, marred by what looked like over a dozen stab wounds. Aggressive, powerful, clean. Not a sign of hesitation, from what she could see.

Someone sobbed nearby, distracting her. Gerri did her best to ignore the crowd gathered at the end of the alley, just past the police tape, next to the door leading into the Starlet Lounge. She hadn't yet had a chance to talk to the owner, the staff, but knew from the prelim fill in from the uniform first on scene Aisling—a show name, from Gerri's guess—danced at the club. Now that Ray had a look at the body and the CSI's were busy gathering evidence, Gerri could move on to step two.

With a quick nod to Ray, Gerri spun and strode toward the police line, eyes scanning the crowd. Her detective's senses perked immediately as she settled her mind and let her well-trained brain take over while she skimmed each face for later sorting. Thursday morning, even this early, and people still came out. The unis had already taken photos of the crowd—standard operating procedure—so she could compare faces and expressions later. For now, Gerri trusted her gut, as always.

It prodded her to focus first on an older man who stood in profile, speaking to a small group of what looked like drag queens who, it turned out, were the source of the sobbing that pulled her attention from the body. He looked out of place here, as did the older woman in the plain brown cardigan, her flowered dress hanging well below her knees, leaving an uncomfortable skin gap over the top of her sturdy looking shoes. Clergy maybe? He didn't have a collar, so not a priest. Still, the whole exchange had a religious feel.

Gerri's gut was rarely wrong. As she drew near, she caught a few words. "—the sins of the flesh, repent and the holy shall lead you out of slavery and into salvation."

Her teeth gritted against the need to boot him to the curb on the toe of her shit-kicker. Not that she had anything against religion, not really. It just seemed like highly inappropriate timing. Still, the few wo/men who paid attention didn't appear angry, so Gerri let it go.

Let him preach. She had more important things to worry about. Like the grinning ass who spotted her from the other end of the tape. Two months in Silver City and she was already on her second partner. As much as she'd resented her first pairing in the beginning, she'd at least respected the old fart the captain saddled her with. And now, Joe Mutch was dead. More than dead. Gerri shied away from the memory of her partner's murder. Of her guilt at not being able to have his back, of losing a good man before his time. It started off the weird, after all. The unexplainable. Awakening her worry there was more out there than the normal and ordinary, things and people defying explanation. Only Kinsey and Ray knew what she knew, saw what she now told herself she didn't see.

She couldn't lie to herself completely, not when seeing Ray reminded her the coroner experienced the same things she had. Understood her fear.

Joe's death changed everything—and nothing.

Gerri looked away from partner #2 on purpose, with a flat glare that told him to back off. Jackson Pierce was about as far from Joe as a prime cut steak was from a hotdog. Tall, handsome, arrogant as all get out, Jackson's attitude rubbed her so wrong the first time they met, Gerri had, as yet, to talk to him without picturing his mangled body at the end of her fist.

Clearly, the few sessions she'd had with her therapist hadn't cleared up her anger issues.

Brief commotion caught her attention and pushed her out of her own homicidal thoughts. The sight of Kinsey arguing with a uni made Gerri grin. A sharp whistle and a jerk of her hand put an end to the distant discussion. He nodded in answer while Kinsey wove her way through the crowd toward Gerri, slipping under the tape with a breathless smile of her own and a gleam in her eye that made Gerri feel uncomfortable all over again.

"Weird?" Kinsey's blue gaze sparkled behind her black-rimmed glasses, her attention leaving Gerri and aiming at Ray who waved toward them when she spotted Kinsey. Gerri's discomfort came back at the blonde's softly vibrating excitement.

"It's a dead body," she said, not sure why she felt the need to offer a warning. Kinsey looked up the eight inches Gerri had on her and shrugged.

"Figured," she said, pushing past Gerri and heading for Ray. "You're a homicide detective."

Gerri rolled her eyes and followed. But not before her gut hit her hard.

Turn around.

Unable to resist, Gerri spun, eyes scanning the crowd again. Face after face, some in agony, some in shock. Others just curious, come to see death in person. One in particular held her as she caught something she couldn't identify on his face.

Tall, brutish looking, dressed in leather with a bald head covered in tats. When his dull, dark eyes met hers, something sizzled inside her. But, the moment she headed forward, pinning him down with her gaze, he turned and stomped off, heavy boots thudding on the pavement.

He could wait. She had nothing yet to say he was involved and Gerri hated to leave things to her gut, right or not. She'd have a look at his pic, see if he had a record. Use police work to gather evidence. If he was her killer, she'd find out. She'd catch him.

She always caught the guilty, the right way. And, with a little help from instincts she couldn't ignore.

Gerri turned back, caught Jackson's scowl. He'd seen Kinsey enter the crime scene, then. Too damned bad. She tossed him a "screw off" glare and kept moving. Let him question the crowd, get some busywork in. This was her murder to solve.

Kinsey was already snapping pictures on her smartphone when Gerri stopped a few feet from the body. The coppery scent wasn't so bad anymore, for some reason. Maybe she was just used to it. But a giant, dripping burger would be awesome right about now.

She swallowed hard as Kinsey stood from her crouch and turned, hands shaking, whole body in soft tremors. But Gerri knew her friend better than to assume she was upset.

"This," Kinsey whispered for their ears only, "is freaking awesome."

Ray laughed while Gerri prodded the blonde with one index finger.

"Death is never awesome," she said.

Kinsey's face fell, her whole demeanor changing. "I know, I'm sorry." She was adorable when she bit her lower lip like that, so tiny and fragile looking. Gerri sighed, shook her head.

"Just tell me about the weird, please. As in, tell me it's not weird so I can go find the killer and not worry about this."

Kinsey's lip bite turned to a frown as she looked down at the screen of her phone. "I'm not sure," she said. "These markings seem familiar, but I'll have to do some research."

"You do that." Gerri planted her hands on her hips, dress jacket pushing back from the gun at her side. One boot tapped on the ground, making a soft, squishing sound in a puddle of what she hoped suddenly was just dumpster goo and not undiscovered blood.

"If it is weird?" Kinsey exchanged looks with Ray before turning to Gerri again. "I know how you feel about... stuff like this."

Tension grasped Gerri in firm hands and pinned her in place. It took effort to even inhale, but she managed. She'd been raised on logic and to trust herself, her instincts as well as her understanding of the world. All of that had been challenged in the last month. Since Joe died. Unreasonable fear made her take a step back from Kinsey who noticed, retreating herself.

Gerri didn't mean to make her feel bad. "Look," she said, "just do what you have to. Okay? I asked you here for a reason." Hopefully, to prove there was nothing paranormal going on. There, she said the word in her own head. That was something, right? Nothing paranormal. Supernatural. Out of the ordinary.

Only, Gerri's gut was telling her otherwise. Stupid gut.

"I'll run back to my office and see what I can uncover." Kinsey nodded to Ray who grasped her arm before she could leave. To Gerri's surprise, the coroner's other hand latched onto her elbow and pulled her tight into a three-way huddle. Ray's hazel eyes glared at Gerri before she spoke, British accent more pronounced, which told Gerri the brunette was more than a little agitated.

"We can't just skirt around this," she said. "The three of us have seen things, and we can't ignore that fact. Lived things." She swallowed hard, but the firm set of her jaw and the grip of her hand on Gerri's arm didn't waver. "We need to talk about it. To understand it."

Gerri knew Ray was right. Kinsey's hopeful expression was the right reaction. She just couldn't follow through right now.

Instead, she pulled free and stepped back while her two friends stared at her in mute accusation.

"I have work to do," she said, hating the roughness of her voice, the way it cracked slightly under the stress of rejecting them. "Just get me what I need, please."

Gerri turned her back on her friends, hoping it wasn't a metaphor for something worse.

***

# EXT. to INT. – THE STARLET LOUNGE - MORNING

Jackson just had to get in her face and improve her mood, didn't he? He might have been pretty to look at, but the nasty frown and glitter in his impossibly blue eyes just put her teeth on edge.

"What's with the civvy showing up at my crime scene?" He tried to dodge around Gerri, who used her considerable height to keep him away from Kinsey. Protective instinct punched her in the chest, a surge of temper so strong she knew she should maybe talk to her therapist about it.

Or go shoot something. That would help.

"Get back to questioning the crowd." Gerri firmly pressed one hand to his shoulder and spun him around, pushing him with little subtlety toward the back door of the club. "I'm the lead detective on this case, which makes it my crime scene." Crap, that made her sound like a petulant kid on a playground fighting for status. "If I want to bring in an expert, I will. So back off, Pierce." Much better.

Something ugly passed through his eyes, like rot and hate lived in the shell of model perfection. He was a few inches taller than her, broad shouldered, with Hollywood good looks. But she knew the moment she met him, Jackson Pierce had something fundamentally wrong in his soul. And that flash of whatever he let her see just proved it to her.

Instead of worrying her, it set Gerri free. She relished the confident surge of trust renewed in her instincts, now knowing, with that one look, exactly where she stood with her new partner.

He didn't comment and, from the faint twitch of his lips, she assumed he regretted he'd let her see who he really was. Gerri let it go completely, striding past him toward the dented, gray door standing ajar. Just past the interior felt murky in the dark, a sudden shock from the brightness of the early morning. The exit light overhead cast a washed out red glow over everything, horror house style despite its innocuous intentions. She ignored the dimness, continuing on with confidence, down the narrow hall and out the further door at the end into light.

The club was small, almost cozy, and hideously decorated with the epitome of gaudy chic. She'd never been to the Starlet Lounge before, a favorite hangout of the lesbian/gay/trans/bi/queer community. Only because she didn't go out much, not for any bigoted reasons. Besides, Ray's sexual orientation taught her long ago she either had to get over her Midwest church girl upbringing, or not have Ray as a friend anymore.

She chose Ray every time.

Maybe if it was dark, the only light from the stage lamps and the sparkling disco ball hanging from the ceiling, it might not have been so bad. But rarely did places like this show well in the full illumination of reality. Cracked vinyl seating in deep pink shone cheap in places and looked buffed dull by a million asses in others. The tired industrial floor needed another coat of black paint, feather boas used to frame photos of the dancers limp in the humidity permeating everything, despite the air conditioning. Gerri made her way to the bar, a long, black and white tiled monstrosity covering the whole far wall of the club where a small man sat with a uniform, his head in his hands.

Her eyes flashed to the young man behind the bar, dressed in a club-logo black T-shirt, his face pulled down in sorrow, before returning to the huddled creature who looked up as she stopped at his side.

"Detective Geraldine Myers." She nodded to the young uni who nodded back before speaking.

"Detective." The uniform cleared her throat, face pale. Must have been her first murder. "This is Salvador Martin, the owner of the Starlet Lounge."

Gerri offered her hand and the old man took it. His mascara was a mess, running in thin rivers of black and gray down his lined cheeks, powder and foundation crumbling like an ancient stone wall under too much pressure. A rim of red lipstick remained around the outline of his puffy lips. When he took her hand, he squeezed it between his, palms cold and clammy.

"Please," he choked. "Find out who did this to poor Aisling."

This was the worst part of her job, dealing with the loved ones. Murder she could handle. Grief, not so much. But Gerri had lots of practice and, though her heart was softer than she was willing to admit, she pushed down the wave of sorrow in answer to his naked emotions and nodded brusquely.

"Was it busy in here last night?" Jackson stood to one side, leaning on the bar, rolling his eyes. If she thought she could get away with it, Gerri would have punched him in the face.

She really needed to call her therapist.

Salvador nodded, his comb over flopping to one side. From the look of his rumpled dress shirt, half buttoned, and the gaping zipper of his pants he'd dressed in a hurry, without thought or consideration. He had the look and feel of a man desperate to understand why his world seemed to collapse around him far too often. Disorientation and divided empathy for the victim and his own business told her he hadn't had to think through the possibility he was a suspect. Which meant he was innocent, out of her personal pool of people of interest. Still, she had to ask.

"As always on a Wednesday," he said. "I spent most of it backstage." He drew a shaking breath as she pulled her hand free, answering the question she preferred he answer without her prompting. "With the girls. I perform sometimes, still." He gestured to one of the portraits and Gerri's eyebrows shot up without her permission. The woman in the photo was stunning, though it was apparent the image was at least a few decades past. "Just for old time's sake."

Good, she had him settled, less grief stricken and calmer. Interrogations were an art form, a slow dance between her and the person she spoke to. Some cops, she knew, just dove in, asked the obvious, stirred up hard feelings that made it difficult to find the truth. But she liked to do what she could to relax her subject before going for the throat.

"Bet you make all the boys hot." Gerri shot Jackson a shut the fuck up look while both Salvador and the guy behind the bar stared at him with clear hostility. So much for her usual approach. If he screwed this up for her, she was going to kick his ass for real, and to hell what her shrink said about it.

Jackson looked away with a nasty smirk on his face. God, she hated his guts.

"Maybe you'd like to go out and canvas with the rest of the officers." It was Jackson's turn to glare. Since she'd just cut him down and put him in the same category as a uniform, maybe she deserved it. But she smiled sweetly anyway. He grunted something that sounded like "bitch" and left.

"Your partner is an asshole." Salvador's face flamed with anger.

"You have no idea," Gerri said. "Please, go on."

He hesitated and, for a moment, Gerri worried the spell was broken after all. But his trust in her hadn't been damaged, fortunately. If anything, he leaned closer, the bond deeper for Jackson's intrusion. Gerri refused to thank the bastard for it, but relented a little as Salvador went on.

"Aisling is a favorite." He shuddered, sobbed once. The young man behind the bar shook, turning away at the same time. Gerri's eyes caught the movement, but she refocused on Salvador. She could talk to the kid later. "Was." He looked away, toward the narrow stage, the cheesy pink sparkle velvet curtains, a bit threadbare even from a distance. "She loved to perform. And she knew how to pack a place."

The next question was delicate, but Gerri learned enough from Ray she was confident Salvador would answer. "Aisling was a stage name." She glanced at the uniform who watched in silence, before nodding herself. "Was it a legal name change?"

Salvador sighed, shrugged. "No," he said. "Though she hated it. Aisling identified as female, unlike some of the queens who dance here." He pointed skinny fingers at his chest. "Old case in point. I know she was in the process of completing her full transformation. But, she was waiting to finish the surgery before she did the paperwork." He sounded dull, lifeless, like he'd heard this story end badly before. "Her real name was Adam Rose."

Ray would be able to tell her if Aisling's transformation from man to woman was complete or not. She had breast implants, at least, which made her a transsexual, not just a queen cross dressing for the fun and excitement of it. No need to fish for that information here. And, not like it mattered. Or, did it? There was enough hate crime against the LGBTQ community in Silver City—everywhere, for that matter—it was possible this murder was the result of sheer idiocy. But the symbols carved into the dancer's flesh told Gerri there had to be more to this story.

"Was there anyone you can think of who might have wanted to hurt Aisling?" An obvious question, but one Gerri liked to ask anyway. Not just for the obvious, either. There were times when those she interrogated showed signs of guilt when confronted so directly. They might not understand just how much they gave up with their facial expressions, body language, even the words they chose to answer.

In this case, Salvador's reticence wasn't guilt of murder, but of naming names. She could see it in the way his shoulders slumped, in how he looked away for a moment, lips tightening before his tongue ran over them.

"Just the usual rivalries." Desperate need for her to believe him surfaced in his watery green eyes as he met hers again. "Nothing that would lead to murder."

"Please, let me be the judge of that." Gerri fished out her notebook from her jacket pocket, her favorite pen—a gift from her mother—catching the light on the silver barrel. "Names?"

"Just one." Salvador slumped lower. "But Roxy wouldn't hurt Aisling, not physically. I'm sure of it."

"Roxy has a real name?" Gerri pushed, soft but insistent. The faint tingle of the thrill of the hunt washed away her irritation with the humidity still clinging to her even in the AC of this place, her anger at Jackson, her worry about what Kinsey might find. This was what she was born to do.

"Thomas Yates." Gerri saw the regret on Salvador's face the moment he gave up the name, how he turned to meet the eyes of the young man behind the bar with a twitch of guilt. The bartender didn't respond, seemingly lost in his own grief. Without that support to hold him back, Salvador gave in to Gerri completely. "I'll get you her address."

She let Salvador go, small, hunched body bent in sorrow, edging closer to the bar as the young man stared at the counter in front of him, seemingly in a daze of emotions. She watched him a long moment before setting her pen on the bar, the rattle of it a conscious focus breaker. When he looked up, his pale gray eyes were full of tears.

A horrible weight lived inside him, but was it guilt? She did her best to remain impartial as she asked her next question.

"Have you worked here long?"

He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand and nodded. "A year," he said, deep voice cracking with stress. "Curtis Alexander." His words hesitated on the "c" and the "x", suggesting a stutter. Mild, but enough of a marker his stress was honest.

"You were friends with the victim?" Gerri understood how hard it was to be faced with these questions, underneath it all. This part of her job, the pressure on the victim's family, friends, associates, so soon after a death. And yet, as necessary as breathing if she wanted to catch the killer. As the tingle of reveal grew in strength, she didn't care how he felt, even about the dead dancer in the alley. All she wanted was to find who murdered Aisling. But, she was very good at pretending.

She had to be.

Again Curtis nodded. "Aisling was..." he looked away, jaw jumping, throat working. "She was really special."

Gerri's mind sighed. Was he in love with her? Maybe. Motive?

Maybe.

Next question, same one as before. "Can you think of anyone besides Roxy who might want to hurt her?"

Curtis shrugged, met her eyes with his clear gaze. Not a trace of guilt. Just the most sadness she'd ever seen in anyone. Enough to crack her own heart and break the bubble of excitement into pieces.

"She had someone bugging her last year," he said. "When I first started working here. But she never said who and I think it stopped because she wasn't stressed over it anymore."

"Bugging her how?" Gerri hoped focusing on the question would help him ease away from his sorrow. But, she could tell when she asked, she was only making things worse.

"She wouldn't talk about it." Curtis's lower lip trembled. "Just said some assholes were making her life miserable, but refused to tell me who." Gerri had the impression if Curtis knew, he'd have done something about it.

A question for Roxy, maybe?

Salvador shuffled his way from the back of the club, returning to hand Gerri a piece of paper. His tall, narrow handwriting was barely legible, but she tucked the address into her notebook anyway with a nod of thanks.

"Did you know the person who was troubling Aisling last year?" Salvador glanced at Curtis. The bartender had gone back to staring in forlorn grief at the surface of the bar.

"The girls keep to themselves," Salvador said. "They don't tell this old queen anything anymore." He muffled a sob behind one hand.

Not much she could say to that.

"I'll be in touch," Gerri said, with plans to fully investigate both men before twenty-four hours was up. For now, the trail led elsewhere.

***

# INT. – SILVER CITY COLLEGE – AFTERNOON

Kinsey hunched over her keyboard, laptop glare giving her a headache, but she barely noticed past the buzz of far too much coffee. A cold, absent sip from her mug made her splutter and drove her back, computer chair making a crunching noise as one of the wheels crushed a fallen potato chip she'd lost track of the night before.

Ignoring the clutter surrounding her as though it was normal to have giant piles of books and boxes of artifacts mixed with heaps of unmarked papers stuffed into every nook and cranny of her small office, Kinsey stood and stretched out her tight lower back muscles, yawning as her mind wound around what she'd learned.

Most of the symbols resembled ones she knew, ancient etchings from Egypt and even as far back as Mesopotamia. But, though she was able to connect them to a few pagan religions tied to both cultures, there were enough differences in the subtle nuances she wasn't confident enough yet to share translations with Gerri.

The empty coffee pot's charred bottom made her wince as she rattled through her small cabinet for a new filter. She'd been accused of being absent minded and hated the thought. Though she had to admit, as she filled the reservoir from a mostly-full bottle of spring water, she was often guilty of ignoring the mundane for the extraordinary.

Who wouldn't? Kinsey's whole body shivered as she caught herself grinning at the dripping java, the smell about driving her mad as she tapped one foot in impatience, both in anticipation of the fresh coffee and of getting back to her research. Dr. Gant had told her long ago he'd never met anyone so clearly suited to the job than her and Kinsey had to agree.

She lived, ate, breathed, slept the hunt of information, the quiet and stealthy dig into why humans did what they did. What drove societies to flourish and collapse in sometimes grandiose ways while others sagged in slow decline. But, the best part was the connection to those things she couldn't explain.

Kinsey's fingers smarted as a drip of hot coffee scalded over the rim of her mug. With a soft curse, she licked them clean, weaving her expert way around the mess, returning to sit crossed-legged on her well-worn office chair. Two or three ginger sips and she was gulping the hot liquid while she paged through the report she'd uncovered.

Regardless of her doubts on the complete translations, Gerri wasn't going to like what Kinsey had to tell her, no matter how she broached the topic. She sighed and sat back from yet another close approximation of "paranormal", "undead", "demon" and "life after death" to savor what remained of her coffee. Gerri's reticence wasn't exactly a shock. Ever since the three friends renewed their relationships, rediscovering each other here in Silver City after almost a decade apart, the reason for their return to friendship had made Gerri uncomfortable. Kinsey's natural curiosity didn't see a problem with the possibility there were paranormal and/or supernatural happenings that literally could not be explained by logic and science. Though, she was enough of a trained mind to understand eventually even the most abnormal would be dissected and revealed through physics or chemistry. The loss of Dr. Gant to mysterious circumstances—his death in her arms proof enough to her he was more than he first appeared—led Kinsey not only to find the girls again, but awakened her long-forgotten memories of being afraid of "monsters" when she was a little girl.

His eyes. Most of all she remembered his eyes and how they'd gone from his pale blue to something so unworldly she wasn't sure she saw the change until he expired, body crumbling to dust as he did.

Any other person might have found a way to explain it, to forget or make excuses. But he taught her better than that. He'd begged her with those strange, star-speckled eyes at the end, to understand. He'd taught her to believe, to question but trust. And, in that moment of his loss, she saw enough to prove to her there was much more to evolution than what modern science was willing to admit.

And yet, it frustrated her Gerri was so stubborn about accepting there might actually be a paranormal explanation. Ray, at least, was a bit more open minded. Kinsey sighed into her coffee, the last trails of steam rising from the bottom of her cup. She knew both of them had seen things, too. Ray alluded to as much, about the night Gerri's partner, Joe Mutch, died. Gerri claimed it was a drug dealer. But Ray's version of the story involved something that made her shudder and get goosebumps.

No matter what happened, there was no way for Gerri to deny this clear evidence carved into the flesh of a transsexual dancer. She might not like it, may fight against it, but, in the end, they all knew the truth.

Paranormal creatures were real. And it was a very good possibility one of them killed Aisling.

Her door opened without preamble. Kinsey looked up to Gerri's entry and caught herself wincing. The detective looked angry, green eyes shadowed, long, red hair catching the afternoon sun coming in through the window, lighting her up like she was on fire. Kinsey always equated her tall, broad shouldered friend with an Amazon, a mighty warrior woman and, though Gerri would never know it, sometimes pictured her in armor with a sword in one hand and a shield strapped to her other. Kinsey had been nerdy enough in high school to be a fan of role playing games, though was pretty sure if she ever told Gerri, she would think Kinsey was a weirdo.

As if she didn't already.

Gerri pushed aside a pile of books and perched herself on the edge of the chair across from Kinsey's desk, resting her elbows on a stack of papers Kinsey still hadn't found time to grade. She caught a glimpse of Gerri's badge and gun through her open jacket as the redhead spoke.

"Think a homicide detective can get away with murder?" She had a lovely, deep voice, the kind of timbre Kinsey associated with blues singers and luscious black women. Regardless, it suited her perfectly.

Kinsey grinned, setting aside her mug with some regret her coffee was already gone. "If anyone could," she said. "I take it the new guy isn't working out?"

"How'd you guess?" Gerri groaned and leaned back, long body stretching out as best it could in the tight space. She didn't seem all that concerned she was using leather-bound books for a backrest. Kinsey winced at the thought of Gerri's weight crushing her precious babies. "He's going to turn up dead. Or something."

"I didn't hear you say that." Kinsey set aside her glasses, suddenly tired. She could go a long time on endless draughts of caffeine, but she'd finally reached her limit. Her fingers rubbed circles on her temples as she exhaled in preparation for the next phase of their conversation. "Just as long as you don't add me to the list of people you want to kill," she said. "Ready for weird?"

Gerri's whole demeanor changed. Kinsey watched with interest as she shifted from casual confidence to a visible withdrawal. She sat up straighter, brows coming together, the darkness in her eyes sparking something Kinsey didn't think was fear, per se, but came close. What was Gerri's issue? She was a detective. She should be just as curious as Kinsey about these things. Maybe there was more to the redhead's encounter with the paranormal than Gerri was telling her.

"Hit me," Gerri said.

Kinsey spun her laptop sideways, hoping the visuals might be enough to convince Gerri she wasn't full of crap. "So far, I've managed to confidently translate only two of the six symbols." She handed Gerri the printouts she'd made of the photos from the crime scene. Gerri compared them to the documents Kinsey showed her on her screen. "You see the shape is right, but the accent is different." One looked like an empty pot with waves over the top. But the symbol Kinsey had located had straight lines, not wavy ones. "I know it looks subtle, but it skews the meaning entirely, depending on what culture this came from." She'd found three separate social groups who used a similar image, though all three seemed to use it to denote life and the loss of soul. "The only one I can be definitive about is this one." A single line curved from a curl at the right, dipping down into a long, narrow line to a point then back up again, finishing with another curl. "This image, in all cultures I could find who used it, means not human."

Gerri twitched. "Like, animal?"

Kinsey's irritation showed, she was sure of it. "No, Ger," she said. "As in more than human. Paranormal."

Gerri's hand tightened on the page, jaw jumping, but she nodded.

"Keep going."

Kinsey sat back, shrugging, the tingling across her forehead, so familiar in times when she needed others to listen to her, forming a band around her head. Just a little nudge, a tiny push toward her way of thinking... Kinsey jerked herself free, sitting up straighter, as Gerri's eyes crinkled unhappily around the edges. The sigh of tension in her head, denied its target, turned into a headache. "Now, we could be dealing with some kind of ancient cult." That thought had crossed her mind, helped distract her from the lingering effects of her freaky talent. "One that believes paranormals are real." From the way Gerri uncoiled, Kinsey knew she'd diffused her anxiety at least a little. But she wasn't sure handing Gerri an out like that was the best course of action. So easy, just to nudge her... Kinsey tightened her hands into fists in her lap. This had to be up to Gerri. "If that's the case, this could be a hate crime. Or, someone thought Aisling was a paranormal and killed her for it, warding her body with symbols to keep her tainted soul from returning to haunt the living." Kinsey almost grinned to herself. She liked that turn of phrase and had to remember to write it down to use in her next book.

Her computer pinged, pulling both of their attention toward it. Kinsey clicked the new email icon and rapidly read through the info, noting out of the corner of her eye how Gerri leaned in to devour it with her.

Hey Kins, dug this up. So much for supernatural.

Ron

The email showed the symbol for "not human" next to a report. A police report. A local biker gang, the Divinities. From the details, the gang was growing in affluence and was suspected to be now working out of Silver City. Wouldn't you know, they used the same symbol for their tag.

"Biker gang affiliation." Gerri sounded relieved as Kinsey's heart sank, though she shook off her disappointment along with the remaining urge to sway Gerri to her way of thinking. A private fear whispered to her it was just her imagination, anyway, this "thing" she thought she possessed, this ability to influence those around her. She let it go as she considered the source of the information at hand. Dr. Ron Watson, a friend and fellow anthropologist in Los Angeles, was a big help with symbology, but not so much with proving her theory about paranormals. "Thanks, Kins." Gerri stood up, grinning now, at ease all over again.

"It could also be someone trying to throw you off their trail." Kinsey hated to play devil's advocate on her own theories, but it was true. She understood enough of human behavior to know if she was going to commit murder, she'd make damned sure to do everything she could to push the police off her trail. Funny how her mind worked.

"Which would imply premeditation and a hell of a lot of planning." Gerri shook her head. "It makes more sense Aisling might have had a run-in with the gang and they targeted her as a hate crime." She shrugged, as though shaking off the last of the stress the conversation caused her. "I'm going to go have a talk with the rival queen." She hesitated a moment, green eyes clouding over while Kinsey tensed, waiting for Gerri to speak again. She'd always been like this, reserved and withdrawn about certain things. Kinsey learned their first year in college together to be patient with Gerri. There were those who misread her, who saw her as a dumb athlete, a rock-hard woman with a brain to match. But Kinsey knew better. Gerri was the deepest, most brilliant person Kinsey had ever met, too smart sometimes. When Gerri spoke again, though, Kinsey couldn't hide her surprise. "I'd like you to come with me."

"Me?" Damn the squeak in her voice. Kinsey lunged to her feet, knowing she was grinning, unable to stop herself. How cool was this?

Gerri rolled her eyes, held up one hand, the other on her hip. The flash of her badge, unintentional Kinsey was sure, helped cool her jets a bit. This wasn't a game or fun or a dig into a culture for research. It was murder. And yet...

So. Cool.

"I can't take Pierce with me," Gerri growled. "He's an asshole." Kinsey nodded, keeping her lips pressed tight together to prevent an unfortunate blurt that might change Gerri's mind. "And, if there is something... weird going on," Gerri's exhale almost made Kinsey giggle, "you'd know it, right?"

How would she? But she wasn't about to say no. Gerri needed her. Sure, yeah, that was why her heart pounded in excitement at the thought of joining her friend in an investigation. "Just, keep your eyes open," Gerri said, resigned look on her face too comical. Kinsey couldn't help herself. She grinned all over again.

"You got it, partner." Kinsey grabbed her jacket, turned back to Gerri who stared out the window, lost in thought with a frown creasing her brow. "What about Pierce?" Kinsey wasn't afraid of him or anything. He barely spoke two words to her since she met him a week ago. She wasn't a fan, but had the impression Gerri was stuck with him.

"He's busy." When Gerri met her eyes, she was smiling, an evil gleam in her eye. "I hope he likes the morgue."

Kinsey winced, feeling suddenly sorry for Ray. Then shrugged it off, eagerly following Gerri out of her office while madly texting Mitchell to take over her first year Thursday intro class. Their coroner friend was a big girl. She could take care of herself.

***

# INT. – SILVER CITY MORGUE – AFTERNOON

Ray bit back her temper, slim fingers holding the scalpel in her grip so tight she was surprised it didn't bend under the pressure. Her eyes locked on Detective Pierce's jugular as he leaned over the edge of the slab and winked at her.

Close enough the sharp blade would reach. One little slice—

She let out a tight breath and forced a smile, her precise British upbringing refusing to allow her such respite. "You're touching the body," she said, hopefully with the same chill as the refrigerated drawers where the dead were kept.

He leaned away, but not by much, the stench of whatever cologne he thought appealing wafting toward her through a mix of decay and the rank, sharp smell of disinfectant. "You didn't answer my question."

Ray sighed, forcing her fingers to release the scalpel handle, the ring of the implement falling to the stainless steel tray carrying through the room. She looked down into the staring, milky eyes of the dead dancer and did her best to be patient.

Mummy would approve.

"No," she said, knowing her West London accent grew in influence as she went on. "I do not have a guy keeping me warm at night." She swiveled her head to glare at him, "nor do I need one. No," she tilted her head to one side, dark ponytail falling over her shoulder, "I'm not interested in having a drink with you. And no." Ray turned her back on him, wondering if Gerri would miss him, if anyone would, if he happened to meet an unfortunate end. "My answers will never, ever change." She turned back with a bright smile, one Mummy carefully cultivated, used best on old codgers with wandering hands and lords who thought they could sample a pretty girl's bottom with a pat or two.

If only Detective Pierce actually had a brain. Perhaps then he might get the hint without her having to murder him.

He circled the table, hands held out in supplication, what he must have thought to be a sexy look on his face. And, she had to admit as she observed with critical eyes, he was certainly handsome. For a man. But, considering her proclivities leaned in other, more feminine, directions and the fact there was something simply wretched about him she couldn't put her finger on—besides his terrible timing and pick up lines—Ray felt ill at ease in his presence.

"Come on," he said, winking one of those blue eyes at her in a way that triggered nervousness. Here was a man who would not take no for an answer. She'd met his kind before and backed up a pace when he came closer. "Give a guy a shot."

Ray's insides quivered, memory flashing across her mind as she gripped the edge of the second slab behind her, this one empty. Gerald hadn't believed she wasn't interested, either. And tried to convince her by force. While she'd escaped physically unscathed from her mother's third husband's attention, it still sent chills through her.

And triggered her anger, at last, if only enough to keep her from running from the room. Ray pushed off from the slab and straightened her shoulders, wishing Robert would come back from lunch with his fiancée and give her an excuse to kick Jackson out. Backup. She needed backup.

Why would Gerri send him here for her to deal with?

"Your being a 'guy' is, as it turns out, the main source of your problem." She pushed past Pierce, nostrils flaring from tension, retrieving her scalpel. The moment she had it in her grip again, she felt better, safer. There was no way he would attack her here, if anywhere. Her confidence increased as she forced herself to examine the body before her, if only to lock Pierce out.

As always, the sight of cold, pale skin under the bright light of her spots helped settle her. Work was an easy place to retreat to, the silent call of the dead to answer the questions their bodies hid from her. So many stab wounds. So much hate behind the thrusts of the blade. And the symbols carved carefully in to the flesh, six of them, in a line from shoulder to shoulder.

His scent jolted, the proximity of his body sending a shiver up her spine. Ray refused to show him her unease, speaking again, since he was obviously as dense as a brick wall. "Not only am I not interested in 'guys'," she prodded one of the stab wounds with a gloved finger, observing the edges, knowing ignoring him would just make him angry and actually okay with that, "but even if I were, at this point, your pathetic attempts to convince me of your attractiveness as a sexual partner would encourage me to bat for the other team." When she looked up and met his eyes, the anger in his gaze made her pause again. He was even closer than she first thought, barely inches from her, his tall, broad body pinning her against the slab.

She gripped the blade in her fingers tighter and told herself she'd kill him if she had to. No hesitation.

But, her words did the trick. He shook his head, backed off, hands in his pockets, mouth turned down in a scowl reminding her of a sulky boy. Suddenly, she felt better, confidence returning, memories of the past washed away with the joy of victory. Vindictiveness, a feeling she hated most of the time because it reminded her of her mother, replaced her ill ease. Normally, she would compress it, dispel it from her mind. But, today, she needed its strength and embraced it whole heartedly.

Really, she was worried about this pathetic little man and his ego? An indelicate snort accompanied the thought.

"I need your autopsy report." Hostility had replaced his attempt at familiarity, only solidifying her feeling of success. She'd gotten to him and held him there, in place, pinned with the coldness of her best British stare. His attitude was perfect. Just what she needed to push her the rest of the way out of any kind of nervous and into fuck you, asshole. "You'll get it," she said, "when it's done. Which, I might say, would go faster if you stopped bothering me."

Detective Pierce just glared. "At least confirm cause of death." How sweet, trying to salvage his ego. Fine, she'd allow that, as long as he acted like a damned professional from now on and not a bloody plonker.

"Multiple sharp force trauma." She shrugged, gesturing at the body.

"How many multiple?" He didn't look down, stared at her.

"Over thirty," Ray said. "Definitely a crime of passion."

Detective Pierce grunted, finally pulled out his notepad, jotting down the number. "Would have to be," he said. "No way some random murderer hits this freak that many times without a good reason." He glanced down at the naked victim at last before looking away quickly with a shot of disgust on his face. For the dead? Or because she was transitioning? Her carefully constructed breasts were ruined now, the saline bags exposed. Whoever attacked her focused on the newly female physical parts, but left the male sex organs alone. Ray had winced earlier, undressing and cleaning the body as she examined it. The penis and testicles had been taped with severity she'd rarely witnessed, to the point she wondered if a vaginal reconstruction from the tissue would have been possible with surgery. The lack of circulation had to take its toll.

Ray felt sadness wash over her at the sight of the dancer who called herself Aisling. The dichotomy of her femaleness clashing against the sagging masculinity between her legs. Ray might not have desired to change her sex this way, counted herself fortunate to merely be lesbian and not transsexual in a dark world often fearful of those who were different. Aisling's desperate need to turn her body to her true orientation was well underway when she'd died. And while Ray might not have that drive to change who she was on the outside, she often wondered if it would have been easier to do so than to deal with what was broken and aching on the inside.

Yes, she understood what it was like to feel judged by society and her own heart.

When Detective Pierce met her eyes again, she knew he was homophobic. Or, at the very least, a hater of all things out of place. And that infuriated her even more. Which was exactly what she was hoping for.

"If you'll excuse me," she said, calling up Mummy and her bossy, professional socialite persona, "I have work to do. I assume, so do you."

He finally left, thank goodness. She wasn't sure how much more of him she could take. And, naturally, the moment he did, one of the attendants returned, though not her Robert. Ray did her best not to glare at the technician, though she aimed a curse at the young woman in her head for her poor timing and total lack of attention, head bobbing to some music piping directly to her brain from her headphones.

This wasn't about Ray, though. It was about Aisling. Born Adam Rose, in the wrong body, with a soul she was certain didn't fit her masculine form. Ray whispered a soft apology over the cold, dead flesh, knowing Aisling was long gone, but hoping she could hear her anyway.

She tapped the tape recorder with one finger and began her report.

"Autopsy of Aisling Rose." Fuck the fact her paperwork wasn't official. Ray could at least offer her the courtesy of the name she'd chosen for herself even if the state wouldn't. "Twenty-two years old." She cleared her throat. "Transitioning to female." And asked Aisling to forgive her, though that truth, at least, needed to be in the records. "Height, 5'6", weight 120 pounds." Ray double checked the scale marker on the table before going on. "Victim sustained multiple sharp force trauma to the torso and neck, thirty two punctures in all." Ray lifted the first sheet of X-Rays, the thin plastic held up to the light as she crossed the room, sliding it into the lightbox for a closer look. "Death occurred at approximately 3:15am on Thursday the 12th." The plastic slipped under the clip, film settling over the glass. Ray hit the switch on the side of the box, scanning the chest image quickly before realizing something was terribly wrong.

Her eyes widened, pulse pounding heavily in her chest as she realized what she was looking at, before she turned to stare at the body in shock.

Because Aisling wasn't right inside, never mind her outside.

She wasn't right at all.

***

# INT. – ROXY'S APARTMENT - AFTERNOON

Kinsey hovered beside Gerri as her taller friend knocked firmly on the worn paint of the apartment door. The 6 in the 26 slid sideways, turning into a 9 that hung unhappily below its more firmly attached partner. The scent of burning popcorn and the faint taint of mildew hung in the air of the dank hallway, the carpet under her feet sticking occasionally to the underside of her boots.

Nothing could staunch Kinsey's excitement at being here, not even when Gerri's phone rang and she turned away to answer it. Which left Kinsey alone, eyes wide and mouth open, as the door to the apartment jerked inward, exposing a small, fine-boned woman with giant blonde hair and far too much makeup on, even for two thirty in the afternoon.

"Yes?" She clutched at the opening of her robe, nails arching in fake bridges of acrylic, painted so red Kinsey thought immediately of the blood the night before, pooled on and around Aisling. Gerri raised one hand, fingers flicking at her while she whispered into her phone a few steps away. Kinsey planted an apologetic smile on her face and addressed the woman.

"We're with Silver City police," she said, wishing she had a badge to flash. Wouldn't that be awesome? Maybe Gerri would let her have one, just for emergencies.

The woman's face tightened, little nose turning upward as she gave Kinsey the once over.

"You're no cop," she said, though her gaze did flicker to Gerri. Her irises were a vibrant violet, the edges of her contact lenses showing in the faint light reflecting from the window at the end of the hall. Kinsey thought they were a beautiful match to the silver and lavender eye shadow, if a bit showy for her taste. "That one is, though."

"We just have a few questions." Kinsey glanced at Gerri who was frowning. "May we come in?"

The woman shrugged, the faintest hint of stubble on the edge of her cheek. Kinsey gulped, realizing that, like the victim, this was a... her mind tried very hard to come up with the politically correct terminology, hating herself for not being instantly comfortable with Roxy. That was better. Names were better than labels. Still stiff, though, and considering her job, how she, of all people, should understand the social dynamics of the woman's culture, Kinsey felt awkward and uncomfortable behind her smile.

This had to be Roxy, the rival queen, as Gerri called her. Kinsey followed her inside, glancing over her shoulder at the detective who remained in the hall, whispering into her phone as though angry about something. The thrill of being on an interrogation returned and Kinsey set aside her discomfort with trying so hard not to offend Roxy in favor of hunting for clues.

Weird, Gerri said. Look for weird. As if Kinsey looked for anything but.

Roxy turned partway through the tiny kitchen that was the entry to her apartment. Her ancient refrigerator hummed and vibrated as it settled, the small counter worn and old but, nonetheless, tidy. As was the rest of the place, as far as Kinsey could tell. So, maybe not wealthy, but cared about not only her appearance, but that of her home.

Said a lot about a person.

"I take it there's a reason for your visit?" Roxy headed for the counter, pouring a cup of coffee that made Kinsey's mouth water, though that ended when Roxy dumped an excess of sugar and milk into it. Shudder. Coffee was meant to be served hot and black, enjoyed for its natural, robust flavor. Oddly, she found Roxy dipped in her estimation as she spoke.

"We're here because of Aisling." Nothing weird as far as she could tell so far, except the pile of costumes on a chair just past the kitchen, though Kinsey didn't think it weird in the paranormal sense. More weird as in why would someone so neat would leave her costumes out?

"Aisling? What about her?" Roxy's finger nails tapped against the side of her mug.

"The murder last night." Kinsey really wished Gerri would hurry up. This questioning thing was supposed to go the other way around, wasn't it? She realized she'd rather observe than participate after all.

The crash of Roxy's mug on the floor jerked Kinsey out of her thoughts and made her heart skip a beat. Especially when she saw the look on the woman's face.

"Murder?" Roxy's hands clutched at her narrow chest. She hadn't had the same surgery as Aisling, it appeared. Did she stuff her bras when she dressed up?

Only then did Kinsey kick herself, understanding dawning with a growing push of horror at her own thoughtlessness. "You didn't know?" Nice going, Kinsey. Way to break the woman's heart.

Roxy burst into a wail, sagging against the counter. "Aisling darling is dead? Murdered?" The woman began to fall to her knees. Kinsey ran for her, guided her back into the living room on the other side of the worn tile, carpet shuffling under her boots as she sat Roxy on the brown sofa. "It can't be." Roxy's hands shook, huge tears filling her violet eyes as she clung to Kinsey. "What kind of monster would murder Aisling?" The woman fell against Kinsey, sobbing softly.

"I'm such a total jerk." She swallowed past her sorrow for the woman. Woman? That term would have to do. What the hell was she thinking, just dumping this on Roxy? Kinsey was well aware there were times she didn't think of other's feelings, when she was known to blurt first and apologize later. But this was her biggest blunder ever. Nerdgirl social awkwardness? Check. "I'm so sorry."

Roxy shook in Kinsey's arms. "She was such a dear," she whispered. "Always there for everyone. So kind and sweet." She dabbed at her made-up eyes with the corner of her cuff, pink feathers wavering around her face from the hem of her collar, makeup still flawless. Kinsey wished she could look so good when she cried. Not a chance. Blotchy goodness with blood shot puffy for good measure. "Please, tell me you know who did this horrible thing."

Kinsey shook her head. "We're still looking," she said. Where the hell was Gerri? Clearly, Kinsey was terrible at this kind of thing and needed to be relieved of her partner duties before she did something else even more stupid and thoughtless. "We wanted to ask you some questions."

Roxy's shock was so vivid, Kinsey flinched. She pulled away, hand on her chest, mouth open, eyes sparking with offense. "Surely you don't think I killed my darling Aisling? How dare you!"

Kinsey actually gulped.

"Oh, give it a rest, Roxy." Gerri slammed the door behind her. Kinsey let out a quick breath in relief the redhead was here to save her from having to apologize further. "We both know you hated her guts. Drop the act and tell me why I shouldn't haul your ass down to the precinct and see what the guys in the cell block think of your pretty outfit."

Roxy's transformation made Kinsey feel like a total idiot. She went from hurt and sobbing to pissed off with a dose of bitter in about half a second flat. The small woman pulled away, adjusting her robe over her lap, but not before Kinsey got a good look at what rested between her legs.

It wasn't until that moment she realized she was a prude.

"Whatever." Roxy crossed her arms over her chest, one leg draped over the other, foot bobbing in agitation as she tossed her head. "That little spotlight-stealing bitch got what she deserved, you ask me." She glanced sideways at Kinsey who stared, a little hurt by the deception, though she knew better than to let it get to her. Roxy patted her knee, nails scratching over the denim of Kinsey's jeans. "It's okay, sweetie," she said. "You were supposed to fall for that. I'm a professional." She arched one perfect eyebrow at Gerri who waited with obvious impatience for Roxy to get to the point. "Oh, for fuck's sake." She tossed her hands in the air, her blonde mane bouncing. "Why would I kill her?" A sly smile appeared as she winked at Kinsey. "I was having far more fun humiliating her ugly ass every day. Murdering her would ruin my fun."

Kinsey pushed off from the couch, no longer able to keep herself in one place. Embarrassed by her lack of savvy, she slipped around the back of the sofa and faced the window, not wanting Gerri to see the blush of humiliation on her face. She trusted Kinsey enough to be here and she fell for a giant lie the first go around. She hadn't even thought to test the weird ability she thought she had, to try to push Roxy into telling her the truth instead of plunging headfirst into the first story she was told. Useless.

Time to do what Gerri really brought her here to accomplish.

Weird. Focus on weird. It was all Kinsey was good for.

"Tell me about the trouble Aisling had last year." Gerri's voice carried easily through the small apartment. Kinsey glanced sideways at the couch where Roxy still sat, agitated and obnoxious.

"She asked for it," Roxy said. Kinsey peeked past a half-open door into the bedroom. A giant, red satin comforter covered the king-sized bed, a canopy of matching colored gauze hanging from a lattice attached to the ceiling. Ugly, but not weird. She almost giggled when her mind said, "So there, bitch."

"Just tell me who was bothering her." Gerri sounded bored and at first, Kinsey was a little surprised. This was her job. Surely she was taking it seriously. Until she saw the cock to Gerri's hip, the way her green eyes roved the apartment. Just an affectation, then. Kinsey had so much to learn. Really, this was turning fascinating again, now she'd lost her embarrassment. She stopped in place, next to a small desk tucked in the far corner of the living space, to watch her friend in action.

"Some biker gang." Kinsey almost squealed in response to Roxy's answer. The police report from L.A.! So Ron was right. Part of her thought she'd be bummed—not just because the paranormal connection wasn't there after all, but because they'd found the murderer so soon. Kinsey sighed and looked down at the desk as her hand settled on something firm while Gerri spoke.

"Anyone in particular, or the whole gang?" Kinsey's fingers ran over the cover of a plain, black Bible before she looked up to meet Gerri's quiet eyes. Was Kinsey missing something again?

"One guy took a specific interest." Roxy shrugged her thin shoulders, toying with a lock of her long hair. "Named Oz. That's all I know."

Kinsey lifted the Bible into her hands. The script was wrong, a different kind of type than she associated with a King James's version. When she held it up, turning to Roxy, the woman caught sight of it and laughed like it was funny.

"Don't get any ideas, princess," Roxy said, voice altering from her alto sultry to a sharp-edged contralto that sounded suddenly masculine for a moment. She cleared her throat before going on, resuming her carefully cultured speech. Kinsey's discomfort at the break in Roxy's façade made her feel guilty. "The local thumper left that behind the last time he paid a visit." She laughed again, an ugly sound. "The only time." She licked her lips, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. "Get my drift?"

Kinsey blushed all over again. She could only imagine what someone like Roxy would do to scare off a minister. Not a priest, not from the edition she held. The Catholic Church used a specific version of the Bible. This one looked... off. Kinsey just couldn't put her finger on why.

"What's his name?" Gerri's pen waited for Roxy to speak.

"How should I know?" The dancer's anger flashed in her face. "I kicked his ass out the second I realized he was here to save my soul and not keep me warm." Another nasty laugh. "Just ask around. He's been hanging out in the community lately, trying to heal the heathens or some other shit."

"Can we take the Bible with us?" The words were out of Kinsey's mouth before she could think twice about it. More of a curiosity to her. Weird, but from a professional standpoint. Gerri met Kinsey's eyes again, with interest. Kinsey tucked the heavy book against her ribs, crossing to stand next to Gerri. Roxy shrugged again, sighing deeply, with drama.

"Be my guest." She stood abruptly and waved toward the door, a bit of feather drifting in pink magnificence from the front of her robe. "Religion never did a damn thing to me but fuck me up. And not in a good way." Her whole face twitched, as if in memory, before she fixed Gerri with a baleful glare. "Now, if you don't mind. I have to get my beauty sleep."

Who slept in the afternoon? Kinsey turned to say goodbye as she and Gerri crossed into the hall, only to have Roxy slam the door in her face. Hurt again, blushing and hating that she was blushing, she held the Bible out to Gerri. Clearly this wasn't her thing and her friend's trust in her was so far misplaced it might as well have been in another county.

But Gerri was smiling at her, waved her off. "Weird?"

Kinsey looked down at the smooth, black cover. "Just to me." She lowered her hand. "I doubt it has anything to do with the case."

"Check into it anyway," Gerri said. "Let me know if there's more weird to be had."

"Ger." Kinsey stopped Gerri from walking way with her nickname. "I'm sorry. I really fell for it."

The tall redhead shrugged, hands in her pockets, casual and forgiving. "Rookie mistake," she said. "You'll get the hang of it."

As Kinsey followed Gerri out of the building, she processed what the redhead said. And her heart leaped. Get the hang of it? That meant...

She'd be doing this again. Completely forgetting in her excitement to ask Gerri who was on the phone.

***

# INT. – 9th PRECINCT BULLPEN - AFTERNOON

Gerri dropped her dress jacket on the back of her office chair, the bustle of activity in the bullpen just background noise to her as her mind spun around the case, seeking out angles. She still had a few leads to chase down and, from the thick file of photos on her desk, the images from the scene came back for her to take a look at.

It distracted her from the phone call she'd fielded outside Roxy's door. A call she didn't want to think about.

"Gerri." Ray sounded upset. "You have to see this."

"See what?" She let Kinsey take on the queen, knowing her innocent friend would get played. Felt a bit guilty about it, but Kinsey's fresh face would soften up Roxy and keep her off balance for when Gerri hit her with the big guns.

"It's the body." Ray actually sounded like she was going to hyperventilate. "I can't tell you over the phone. Just come down to the morgue."

"I'm talking to a suspect, Ray. I'll be there as soon as I can." Just the tone of the medical examiner's words made Gerri shy from following through. Because, Ray didn't panic. Ray didn't overreact. Ray was a pro, and nothing shook her.

Nothing but the weird. And as much as she knew it made her a coward, Gerri wasn't ready to face it just yet.

She glanced up before she had the chance even to sit down, startled, to find Jackson standing next to her. Smirking at her. She didn't have time to wonder what the bastard's smug expression was all about before the wide shoulders of her captain appeared framed—barely—in the doorway of his office.

"Meyers!" Burly, a former football defensive lineman and all around hard ass, the dark skinned Captain Dominic King knew how to get attention with his booming voice. Gerri winced inwardly, spine straightening unconsciously. Her father taught her to respect authority and damn it, he'd done a good job. "Pierce! Get in here."

There were enough glances of apprehension and grins of mockery from the other detectives in the bullpen Gerri knew something big was up. She had, as of yet, to get on the captain's good side. Or even discover if he had a good side. Almost eight weeks into her new job on his homicide squad and she barely knew the man beyond his booming voice and rock-like glare if something went wrong. The only softness she'd seen from him was the briefest of sadness over the loss of her partner. One of the unis told her later Captain King and Joe had been beat cops together, once upon a time.

Still, he was a solid cop with an excellent record and ran a tight station. She liked that, respected it more than the swagger in Jackson's walk or the size of his gun. Gerri privately wished she didn't care so much if the captain liked her. This wasn't some awards show. But, her father's influence was a hard habit to shake from her shoulders.

Right now, all she cared about was what was up the captain's butt. One final glance at Jackson told her this new partner of hers was going to be more trouble than he was worth and was probably the source of her summons to the captain's office.

She'd find a place to dump the body where no one would ever find him.

Her own shoulders back, doing her best strut of confidence across the hardwood floor, Gerri edged out Jackson's long-legged stride just enough she beat him inside. A small victory, but one she cherished. She was the lead detective, damn it. And if she had to humiliate Pierce in front of her captain to get the punk to see it, she would.

Popularity contests didn't solve murder cases.

Captain King loomed behind his desk, so big he made the heavy wooden furniture look like it belonged in a doll house. His chair creaked under him, white dress shirt straining across his wide chest, black eyes shining with barely-suppressed irritation as he glared at the two of them. "Close the damned door and sit."

Gerri calmly took the first chair, an old-fashioned wooden one with rounded arms and a firm seat. That, of course, left Jackson to do as he was told. She didn't miss the flicker of the captain's gaze to her as her partner turned and almost—but not quite—slammed the smoked-glass entry before clomping his way in his fancy dress shoes to the second chair. It squealed softly under him as he sat, the exact reason Gerri picked this one. She almost grinned, remembering Joe's reaction to her startled first sit down and wondered if the gleam in the captain's eye was humor or more annoyance.

Jackson's hesitation to settle mirrored her first experience, but the captain was already speaking through the final metal squeak. Gerri caught her partner's wince and knew her lip twitched. She just couldn't help it.

Fortunately, the captain was looking down and missed it. "Tell me why, Detective Meyers," he said her name like gravel being rolled around in a steel barrel, "there is a civilian investigating one of my murders."

Considering she was the one doing all the work... Gerri held her temper. She understood this world, the challenges in it. Knew it long before she chose to become a cop. Her father warned her, didn't he? Trained her to take it, even if only on the outside while the inside ran to catch up. It wasn't for those who couldn't take the pressure.

"If you're referring to Dr. Kinsey DanAllart," Gerri said, cool and professional, focused completely on the captain, "please note the request form I filed with the commissioner's office, approved three days before this murder took place. It should be official record by now." She didn't bother looking sideways at Jackson. But he had to be pissed he'd missed it. What, did he think she was a total idiot? Of course she had permission from the highest authority she could muster.

There was no way she would purposely piss off her boss a mere two months into a job she loved.

The captain looked up, eyes narrowing. His dark brow furrowed, making black lines in his deep complexion. "You may have permission from One Hundred P.P., Detective," he said, "but you didn't ask for mine." And yet, there was a softening in his tone, a respect, even. At least, that was how Gerri read him. For the first time, she felt her insides relax in his presence, instincts uncoiling and sighing out a clenched breath of relief. They might not be besties, but she had her boss's attention.

From the way Jackson shuffled his feet next to her, the backstabbing asshole guessed the same. And that his own star was rapidly crashing to the ground. She'd trample it soon enough. After he suffered some.

"Captain," he said, protest clear in the faint whine behind his voice. "We can't just let civvies have the run of crime scenes."

Captain King's giant head snapped around, thick lips tight. Gerri was glad that scowl was aimed at Jackson. Her father was the master of the cop glare, Dutch's angry stare legendary in their neighborhood. She almost grinned, wondered then if the captain was a soft and squishy teddy bear under that veneer, just like her dad. Enjoyment replaced nerves as Jackson shifted again. Served him right for being an asshole. "Since this was your initial protest, Detective," he stressed the word with a rumbling purr of anger, "it was up to you to confirm Dr. DanAllart was, in fact, not approved for consult duty." Jackson shifted again, drew a breath, but the captain cut him off by slamming shut the file in front of him. His big head swiveled on an impossibly thick neck, gaze all over Gerri again. "Tell me about her."

Gerri sat up a little straighter. While she had gone through the proper channels, her captain was right. He could kybosh Kinsey's ability to assist. And since Gerri needed her for the weird ones—let there only be one or two, please—she knew what she said next was important.

For her own sanity.

"Dr. DanAllart is a cultural anthropologist with a secondary specialty in symbology at Silver City University." Gerri felt like she was being tested, as the captain's blank expression gave her nothing. So much for images of teddy bears. But, her father's voice was in her heart as she went on, confident in her ability and in Kinsey. "Her specialty is occult and religious dogma applied to societal evolution." Not that she knew what the terms really meant. She took them from the college website. But it sounded good. Gerri gestured at the file on his desk. "Considering the nature of the murder, I thought it wise to ask Dr. DanAllart to assist in identifying the symbols to see if, in fact, they were merely an attempt by the murderer to distract us from the facts or part of some ritual we need to understand."

The captain's short nod relieved the pressure inside her. Gerri didn't realize until he gave his faint approval just how wound up she was. "Has the doctor been helpful thus far?"

"She has." Gerri spoke up again before Jackson could interrupt. "In fact, she's identified a connection between one of the symbols and a biker gang out of L.A. that may have fresh ties in Silver City."

"Then what are you doing in my office?" The captain waved them both off, turning to his computer monitor, giant fingers surely too big to maneuver the keys of his keyboard. "As long as your pet civilian doesn't bring us bad press, I won't pull the plug." Gerri wanted to smile at Jackson, just to rub it in, but knew it was childish. Not that it would have mattered if they'd been alone. She'd take childish. "Go catch the killer and stop pestering me."

Jackson stood first, turning to go, while Gerri rose more slowly. She heard the door open behind her, the clomp of his feet, just as the captain turned back to her again.

"Meyers." His tone was soft, so strange. He gestured to her to sit again and she did, mostly out of shock at the change in his expression. "You're good at what you do. That's why we recruited you." She didn't miss Boston. And, she did. But this job had been too good to turn down, the offer of a lead detective role in a new city luring her to the coast. And now, here the captain was proving to her she'd chosen well. "I've had enough time to see you at work to know we made the right choice." Gerri held her breath. Wait, what? He never gave her a single indication of any of this before. A thrill of delight raced through her, one she kept tightly capped. As she repeated to herself she didn't need approval. All the while she softened toward him, filed him carefully under respected men she could count on, right next to Joe and her father. The captain sighed, broad shoulders slumping just a little, sunlight turning the dark skin of his cheek to chocolate. "Joe agreed with me, and I trusted his judgment. He thought you were special." Gerri was shocked to discover she choked up at the praise, cleared her throat, looked away from her captain's watching eyes.

"Thank you, Sir," she said, heart swelling with pride. "I do my best."

"You do more than that." The captain hesitated before going on. "You have the highest arrest rate of any detective I've ever met. Only one unsolved case in a ten year career in homicide." Gerri flinched from the words, deflating slightly though her record was both a source of personal achievement and discomfort. She didn't want to think about her one lost case. Ever. Or about the reason she had such a great record. Not when her gut churned with tingling, making her afraid she was a freak every time it told her exactly what she needed to know. That couldn't be normal, could it? "I'm going to give you leeway on this Dr. DanAllart. And anything else you need. Until you prove to me I can't trust you."

Gerri's head snapped up, eyes meeting his as she answered that challenge with one of her own, as she would to her father. "Never, Sir."

He nodded, actually smiled. She was surprised again, to realize how handsome he was when he wasn't scowling like a demon. "Better not." He sat back in his chair. "How's Pierce working out?"

She laughed. Out loud. A bark of a sound that hurt her chest, though companionable enough. "Peachy," she said.

"Not my first choice, either." Nice to know the captain was on her side. What an enlightening conversation this turned out to be. Gerri's mix of relief and belonging made her slightly giddy. "But, you're stuck with his ass."

She knew better than to protest, though she wanted to. "Yes, Sir."

The captain grinned openly this time. "You don't even want to know why?"

"Does it matter?" Gerri stood. "I'm assuming you have your reasons."

The captain just stared at her a long moment. "Someone does," he said, so softly she almost missed it. "Get back to work and catch me a killer."

Gerri turned and left his office, closing the door behind her. The glass rattled under the pressure. She knew how it felt. Now she was out of the captain's sight, she felt rather shaken herself. What was that? Two months of barking, snapping, rumbling monster and suddenly she's good to go?

She was happy for the chance to prove herself. That was all she ever asked for.

As she turned to head to her chair, she spotted an opportunity she couldn't pass up. Jackson sat at his desk, hunched over a file in front of him. Her photos. The fact he had her work in his grubby hands made the next few seconds all the more righteous. Gerri stepped in, one hand on the back of his chair, the other landing in the middle of the photographs of the crowd from the murder scene as she grinned down at him. Jackson's anger burned in his eyes as she spoke.

"You try that again," she said, softly, sweetly, lifting one hand to adjust his tie with a little more force than necessary, "and I'll make sure you don't. Ever again."

Whistling, she straightened and retrieved her jacket. She'd planned some desk time herself, but he could handle it. She was more interested in fresh air and a little road trip.

***

# INT. – SILVER CITY COLLEGE - EVENING

Kinsey leaned over the Bible in her hands, leafing through the pages. The moment she got back to her office that afternoon, she settled in with a cup of coffee to have a look through and see if maybe there was something here after all, something she could uncover to help Gerri on the case. A long shot, but it was all Kinsey had. She still felt guilty about falling for Roxy's show and was determined to follow Gerri's lead from now on, and learn everything she could about being a good partner.

Which meant following up on this rather fascinating book. Helped Kinsey was curious to begin with.

The idea of being Gerri's partner scared her and excited her in equal measure. Not that they were really partners. Kinsey shook off that hero worship as she waited for her java to perk. She'd had enough of following Gerri around like a puppy in college. It broke her heart when Gerri finally left to go to be a cop, like her dad.

Kinsey was a grown woman, damn it. A doctor of anthropology with her own awards and accreditations. And yet, being with Gerri reminded her just how much cooler and more put together the detective was. And made Kinsey feel small and nerdy all over again.

But, the moment she settled behind her desk and opened the Bible, all of her thoughts of the past went away. Her training kicked in, grasped her by her heart and her soul and the part of her that loved a mystery and pulled her down the gaping rabbit hole.

Kinsey only surfaced twice. The first time for a needed bathroom trip thanks to all the coffee. She hoped her fellow professors and students who greeted her forgave her absent mutters in answer. Her other break came in the form of a brisk walk around the quad to clear her head so it wouldn't explode. In the three hours she spent pouring over the Bible, Kinsey's whole outlook slowly altered.

Someone knocking on her office door finally brought her head up, eyes blurry and tired, with a churning in her stomach that wasn't hunger and wasn't nausea. She was actually disappointed to discover, when she called out it was open, the person at her door wasn't Gerri, but the apologetically smiling Mitchell.

"Sorry to disturb you, Dr. Dan," he said, his nickname for her making her sigh. Mitchell's feet shuffled under him. "Do you have a minute?"

Did she? Kinsey looked down at the Bible on her desk, hands pressing flat the thin paper, whole body beginning to shake. But, she held herself together, mind spinning around what she'd read, as she managed to sound normal, at least to her own ears, when she spoke. "What is it?"

"I just wanted to give you this." He handed her a slim folder, his own fingers trembling. "You said you'd read it and give me your opinion."

Kinsey stared blankly at the cover for a moment before shaking her head, jerking herself out of her reverie. "Your master's thesis proposal." Of course. She managed a smile, wanting to leap up and hug him or tell him what she'd discovered. Thought she discovered. Might have. He'd understand, surely, the significance, as a student of human behavior. But she held rigid and still while he smiled in return.

"Thanks," he said. Stopped with a head-tilt. "Are you okay?" He rubbed at the side of his neck, an absent motion, where a pair of red marks showed briefly under his long hair.

"Are you?" She stood, moved toward him, her concern briefly overshadowing the stress pounding inside her head. "Did something bite you?"

He dodged her seeking fingers with a grin and a shake of his head. "It's nothing," he said.

"I'm fine, too." Kinsey smiled in return, tension coming back full force. Her moment of compassion was gone. She had to do something and he needed to go. She ushered him out of her office, leaving him in the hall, feeling breathless herself as she beamed a smile at him. "Good night!"

Did he try to say the same as she slammed the door in his face? Kinsey had no idea. She was too busy pressing her back against the wood, staring into the distance with her smile still intact, mind running over the three passages that had her the most excited:

Six days of creation, six races born out, as it was intended. But on the rest day, the seventh crept from the remains of perfection and were spawned without the care of God.

What did it mean? Six races? Why so specific? There were obscure names attached, words like dervish and danu and, to her intense curiosity, the bheast.

Powerful are the bheast, for they wear the skins of the lowly creatures and carry their strengths upon their backs.

Kinsey's hand shook as she wiped it hastily over her mouth. Wore the skins of lowly creatures. Literally? Or was it metaphor for something else? So hard to know.

And the Shades of Night are the hands of God and shall rule with their divine power over all for ever and ever.

Divine power. Paranormal ability? She'd spent years studying the past, and had never heard of any order, religious or otherwise, referred to by that name. Ever. That very fact made her pulse quicken further.

Paranormals existed. They existed. She shuddered as she finally accepted what she'd read. A warm and fuzzy glow burst inside her, washing her with excitement. Okay, so it wasn't written in so many words in the oddly phrased Bible. Pretty ambiguous in spots, honestly. A lot of it sounded similar to the King James's edition she'd studied. But there was enough, more like these three passages, hints and tantalizing descriptions, she knew she'd stumbled on something amazing.

The idea she, Kinsey DanAllart, would be the anthropologist to expose paranormals to the world... the idea almost blew everything. Kinsey burst into giggles, hands over her mouth, as she stumbled to her desk and sank into her seat. They would fight her, of course, the mainstream. Kinsey stopped shaking, going cold, face paling. And did an abrupt about face, picturing Gerri's expression of denial as the constant. They would never believe her, would they, anyone who hadn't seen what she'd seen? She'd be a laughing stock. After all, the proof she saw as indelible was tenuous, vague. Maybe she was wrong, grasping at truths that didn't exist because she wanted a discovery.

Was that it? Did the events of the past skew her ability to be objective about this? There was only one person she could have talked to this about and he was dead.

Dr. Gant. Who she now believed was a paranormal himself.

But no, wait. There were two others she could confide in. Kinsey remembered in a jolt just why it was she had the book in the first place. The implications almost crippled her with cramping to her knotted stomach. She had to tell Gerri and Ray. The minister, this book. Roxy.

Where had the minister gotten this Bible? Why was he sharing a version that spoke, even subtly, of those not human? Was Roxy a paranormal? Was Aisling? Why else give her this Bible?

So many questions without answers. She was so wound up, Kinsey squealed like a little girl at a horror movie when her phone rang. She gasped a breath, half a laugh, pulling herself together. The number made her wince and force herself to draw a steadying sigh, calming her down with its mundane reminder of her normal life. She could ignore it.

Maybe she should.

But her hand was already reaching for the receiver, a fake smile lifting her lips as she answered in the quiet dark of her office. "Hello, Grandmother."

"Kinsey, dear," Margot DanAllart's rusty voice came across the line. Kinsey pictured her elderly grandparent sitting in her favorite chair, surrounded by dust and antiques, with her manservant, Moss, hovering over her. "Are you all right?"

Damn it. Her grandmother could always tell. "Just working on something for a friend," she said. "It's exciting."

"I'm well aware that Geraldine has drawn you into her world of murder and mayhem." Margot's disapproving tone took Kinsey back to her childhood, being chastised for playing when she should be studying. Resentment as old as she was stirred in Kinsey's heart, but she held her peace, like always.

"What can I do for you, Grandmother?" Kinsey sat back, pulling the Bible into her lap. She cradled it, almost for comfort, as Margot spoke.

"I'm in this city you've chosen over your home," the old woman said. More disapproval. Kinsey sat up straighter, heart pounding.

"You're in Silver City?" What was Margot doing here? She never left her mansion in Boston.

"I wanted to see my granddaughter. And her two friends who seem to have lured her into a life of depravity." Kinsey sighed inaudibly and rolled her eyes. She hadn't known Ray and Gerri were even living in Silver City when she took the job at the university. Just total good luck. Her fingers stroked the Bible as she answered.

"I'll let them know," she said.

"I'd like more than that." Margot snorted on the other end of the line. "I insist on dinner. The four of us. Tomorrow night."

And, since Margot always got what she wanted, Kinsey shrugged. "I'll ask them," she said. "I'm sorry, I really have to go." She had to talk to Gerri and Ray, all right. But not about her nosy, bossy grandmother.

"Kinsey." Margot paused on the other end, catching her attention. "It's important."

Sure it was. So her grandmother could spend an evening giving Gerri and Ray a hard time. "Bye." Kinsey hung up, a little breathless at her own chutzpah. When the phone didn't ring again, she let out a giggle she'd gotten away with being rude to the one woman in the world who would make her pay for it later.

As Kinsey sat forward, the Bible slipped from her lap and landed on the floor with a thud. She bent under her desk, hands scrambling for it, finally catching the corner. A meep of pain erupted from her lips as she whacked the back of her head on the underside of the table.

Missing, as she did, the thin strip of paper that slipped from the pages of the Bible to settle on the floor, lost in the dark.

***

# INT. – SILVER CITY MORGUE - MORNING

Ray couldn't stop pacing, her heart keeping time with the hurried steps of her circling. She heard Gerri's voice approaching and stopped in her tracks, suddenly nervous to see the detective. After all, Gerri had been adamant against belief when Ray insisted something was wrong when they'd first encountered each other again, here in Silver City. Ray's first and second case as city coroner both led her to believe there were more things she didn't know about the world and what might be living in it than what she did.

Not to mention the night Joe died. The thing Ray was sure she saw.

She'd sat on her autopsy since yesterday, from filing it officially, if only to hold off on the response she knew she'd receive from Gerri. She hated having to hide it from Robert. He hadn't pushed her when she'd made excuses, but that wouldn't last long. Any second now, he would return to the morgue and ask her why she was so late sending the report in. Would ask her if she wanted him to call the insane asylum to come pick her up for writing what she'd written. And, what would she say?

What could she say? Anger Gerri avoided her this long died when the door to the suite swung open and clear, green eyes met hers. Ray could tell Gerri knew she was hiding something. It didn't help her slim hand shook a little as she wiped her mouth, nor that Gerri's face hardened as she approached, as though expecting exactly what Ray was about to tell her.

But there was no way around it. No matter her precise upbringing, or how she longed since she was a child to be a doctor, Ray was backed into a corner. Chastised from a young age for asking people about illnesses they claimed they didn't have, only to discover a short time later she was right... Unnerving and uncomfortable for a young woman. She learned quickly to hide the knowledge she shouldn't have, to hate being a physician when she understood working with the living only made things worse, rather than better. Going against Mummy's desires for her to be a happy, kept socialite wife to pursue medicine had been one of the hardest things Ray had ever done. But, easy compared to eagerly embracing medicine in the hope of healing those she knew were ill. Hopes dashed when she finally understood, despite knowing what she knew, there was nothing she could do.

Which led her here, to the dead. Who had no effect on her.

Gerri stopped partway down the length of the slab, watching Ray with careful eyes. Ray adored her tall, gorgeous friend, had often dreamed maybe someday Gerri and her stunning, pale skin, her luscious red hair, her voluptuous, muscular body might decide men weren't doing it for her anymore and see just how delightful a woman's attention could be. But they were too close for Ray to allow such fantasies to take hold. Or to do anything about it. Besides, Gerri wasn't really her type. She leaned toward smaller women, more dainty and delicate, women she could feel superior to. And yes, Ray was well aware where that need came from, to be stronger than.

Thanks for that, Mummy.

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" Gerri stood with her hands on her hips, her favorite stance from what Ray could tell. More masculine than Ray thought necessary.

"You're not." Ray sighed out her tension, rubbing her arms through the sleeves of her lab coat. She'd already sent her assistant, Robert, and the morning shift examiner out so she could talk to Gerri alone. Just in case there was shouting. Not to mention she didn't want them to overhear, to think she'd lost her mind completely, was a freak. But Gerri had to hear what she found in Aisling's body. No matter what.

She turned, reaching for the professionalism she'd honed over the years to hide the hurt of not being able to share what she could do with others. It helped being raised British, in her estimation. All those emotions suppressed under Mummy's careful eye. Ray led Gerri to the lightboard, showed her the X-Rays as she spoke in a clinical tone. Maybe Gerri wouldn't hear her voice shake.

"As I said at the scene, there were multiple stab wounds. The blade is two inches wide with a depth of six inches in length. The forensics team is attempting to identify the specific weapon through metallurgic testing and comparison of an impression they took of the clearest strike. Here." She pointed. "Over the heart." Ray swallowed, her façade crumbling as Gerri frowned, squinting at the X-Ray.

"What the hell is that?" The detective leaned it, eyes scanning the center of the chest. Where Aisling's heart should have been.

"That," Ray said, barely speaking above a whisper, "is what you're not going to like." She glanced over her shoulder, then back to Gerri, though she knew, without a doubt, they were alone. "Adam Rose doesn't have a heart."

Gerri snorted, shook her head. She paled, then flushed, lips opening and closing before she finally met Ray's eyes. "You're full of shit," she said, faint panic in her eyes.

"I wish I was." Ray stared up at the film. "I confirmed it when I opened her up. There were a few other anomalies." She turned toward one of the drawers, felt Gerri pulled along behind her. "I have to show you." The latch stuck a little, forcing Ray to jerk on it to get it open. The moment she did, she knew something else was wrong.

"The heart's not the only thing missing." Gerri peeked inside as Ray pulled the tray toward her. It slid out easily, stainless steel cold under her hand. Light. Empty.

"This is impossible." Ray stared down at the tray then up at Gerri who frowned, chewing her lower lip. "I just put her in here."

"You're sure you didn't file her wrong?" Gerri waved at the other drawers, as though Ray had misplaced a piece of paper in a filing cabinet.

That infuriated her. She leveled her best Mummy glare. "I'm certain," she said, even as her inner, hateful voice meeped in her mind. Had she put Aisling in the wrong drawer?

Gerri didn't wait for permission, but grasped the handle next to her and pulled it open. The white sheet draped over the body inside revealed a heavy, white man. Jacob Harner didn't look any better now than he had when she did his autopsy. "Heart attack," Ray said without hesitation. "My, how much weight you've put on, Aisling. And your manicure needs some serious attention."

Gerri grunted something that sounded like a swear before slamming the body back into the drawer and thudding the lid shut.

"Could she have been moved?" Gerri's brows came together. "To another hospital?"

"I don't see why," Ray said, turning to the computer. Why hadn't she thought of that? Because her mind instantly went to conspiracy. She was spending far too much time with Kinsey. Maybe Robert had mixed up paperwork, transferred the body when he should have accepted a new one? It sounded entirely unlikely to Ray, and yet about as plausible as Aisling being heartless. A quick check of the system showed no such exchange. With Gerri hovering over her shoulder, it was hard to concentrate. Until she realized the obvious.

"There's no body even listed." How was that possible? She'd logged her autopsy report just an hour ago, unable to hold off any longer. But the file was gone, the body was gone. Every trace of Aisling—Adam Rose—was gone. Except the X-Ray. Which she'd kept with her when she left last night, to pour over while she drank a bottle of red wine and tried to decide what to do.

"Let me look into this." Gerri's growling voice wasn't helping Ray's nerves. She hated it when Gerri let her temper get the better of her. "There has to be a logical explanation."

Sure there was. Aisling was a paranormal and someone stole her body from the morgue to cover it up. Ray giggled softly, unable to stop herself. Gerri's hand on her shoulder turned her around, away from the screen.

"There is," Gerri said, eyes soft and kind. "Please don't freak out on me, Ray. We'll figure this out."

Ray wanted to nod, to let the detective calm and soothe her. But she knew Gerri was wrong. "What if it's happening again?" The loss of Joe Mutch, still clung to Ray like a cloud, dark mist blaming her for his death, though she was never able to stop it when she knew the end was near. "That thing that killed Joe—"

Gerri looked away, jaw jumping. "Joe was killed by a lowlife drug dealer," she said, in a tone that refused to hear otherwise. "Cut up and drowned as retribution for putting his girl in prison." Ray's memory of the night of his death took her to the edge of the lake, to the flash of moonlight on scales, the glimmer of long, sharp fangs. Maybe the drug dealer kid did kill Joe. But that thing? It dragged the body into the water. The sound of Gerri screaming, the report of her gun being fired over and over, lingered like a growing abscess Ray couldn't heal.

Just the creature, with eyes full of understanding, of intelligence. It stalked them through the park and dragged Joe's dead body beneath the water for what reason she had no idea. And didn't want to know. Not really.

How had Gerri allowed herself to forget? To turn the truth so far around Ray didn't recognize the words coming from her mouth? Because, like Ray's reticence about the reasons for the creature's attack, Gerri didn't want to remember what happened. But it was one thing to turn from reasons why and quite another to ignore outright in favor of pure denial.

What was Gerri so afraid of?

Ray shook her head, looked away. "Whether you like it or not," she said, "something strange is going on in this city. Something unexplainable." She pointed across the room at the X-Ray still clinging to the lightbox. "And there's the proof."

Gerri backed away a few steps, a woman at war with herself. Ray slumped in her chair, hands between her knees, feeling drained, but vindicated. She'd told Gerri what she needed to know. The rest was up to the detective.

They hung in that silent moment for what felt like eternity to Ray. As though they would never leave it, never move forward from this place of echoing solitude and fear. Until Gerri's phone rang and shattered the bubble. Ray turned to the screen, doing another fruitless search as her friend answered.

"Meyers." Gerri's voice was rough. With emotion? Ray didn't know for sure. "Uh-huh." The computer told her yet again, "search criteria not found." Ray felt like pounding her fists on the keyboard, just to vent a little. "What? When?" The altered, surprised tone in Gerri's voice turned Ray around again, in time to catch her shock turn to grim acceptance. "I'll meet you there." She tucked her phone into the interior pocket of her jacket, meeting Ray's eyes with her stormy green ones. "Whatever you think is going on, it'll have to wait."

Ray wouldn't accept that. "What about the body?" They couldn't just let this slide.

Gerri shrugged. "That's the thing about our line of work," she said. "There's always another body to worry about." Ray stared at her, mind still frozen by the loss of Aisling. Gerri's face softened yet again. "Get your stuff, Ray," she said. "There's been another murder."

***

# INT. – THE STARLET LOUNGE - MORNING

Gerri knew better than to trust the tears pouring down Roxy's face, but the hardened, experienced part of her recognized they were real. This time, and for now. No way would the artful and careful queen allow herself to look so terrible in public otherwise. With black runnels of mascara running down her face, a small pool of it collecting under one puffy eye, her lipstick mostly chewed off her bruised looking lips and the blotchiness of a real cry marring her neck and cheeks, Roxy's little show for Kinsey earlier had nothing on this all-out bawlfest mess.

That, along with the softly whispering voice in her head, told her the queen's distress was genuine. Considering she'd just killed someone, Gerri could hardly blame her.

"What were you doing here so early?" The club should have been long closed at 8am in the morning on a Friday.

"Special all night show," Salvador spoke up from across the room, voice cracking, face turned away from Roxy, from the scene. "We hold one every six months."

Explained all the warm bodies hovering around. Gerri stared at Roxy, giving her the chance to talk. Which she did.

They always did.

"I didn't mean to, I swear, it was an accident, I thought she was trying to kill me." Roxy repeated the same three sentences, in order, strung together like a litany. This was the third time she'd said the exact thing to Gerri since she'd walked into the dressing room backstage at the Starlet Lounge. Salvador was already there when Gerri arrived, but there was no sign of Curtis this time. Gerri noted details, like the absence of adornments on one of the stations, one she assumed previously belonged to Aisling, thanks to the black fabric draped over the mirror. The blood still staining Roxy's shaking hands.

"You have to believe me." Jackson snorted next to Gerri's ear, triggering her temper. She turned her head to glare at him, surprised to find him so close to her. He backed off a half step, though with an answering scowl of his own.

"Sure, you didn't mean it." He gestured to the CSI who was slipping a plastic bag with a bloody knife into her silver case, the murder weapon. And at the fallen body of one of the dancers, blood pool spread to a cooling lake around her. Gerri watched Roxy's eyes flicker to one side, had purposely forced the dancer to remain here, in the room, after dragging the shaking queen into the crime scene. She could tell Jackson didn't approve, but the forensics team was almost done and it wasn't like there was much of a question who killed the fallen queen.

Not when there were three witnesses, one of them Roxy herself.

"I was defending myself." Finally, the attempt to dodge the death. Gerri waited, silent, letting Jackson take the lead. She stared at Roxy, keeping her face blank, knowing how much it unnerved the dancer, if only because she'd been told so in the past by others. Gerri's stare was legendary and she used it to her advantage every chance she got.

If her steady, green gaze was all it took to elicit a confession, she'd take it.

"According to the two witnesses," Jackson said, his disgust barely disguised, "you attacked Crystal," he rolled his eyes, "when she fought with you over you taking her boa." Gerri hated him for his judgment of the quivering queen.

"That's not what happened." Roxy turned to Gerri, as she knew she would. "I swear. She scared me and I thought she was trying to kill me." Desperation shone in her violet eyes. "Those two bitches walked in after. They made up that lie because they hate me." More tears, these crocodile. Gerri smiled faintly, just to let Roxy see she knew it. The tears dried up.

"And, you just happened to carry a knife around with you, is that it?" Jackson gestured to the CSI. She glanced at Gerri before handing over the bagged evidence . At least he used a glove, the idiot. The last thing Gerri needed was to have this slam-dunk ruined by chain of evidence accusations.

"For protection." Roxy looked down at her hands, the cuffs holding her wrists immobile. "We all carry something." Her head snapped up. "Even Aisling. She had a Taser." Like that was some huge shocker. Gerri had already gone over the contents of the dead transsexual's purse.

"Funny she didn't use it on you when you stabbed her." Jackson jotted notes as Roxy's eyes widened, traveling from him before snapping back to Gerri.

"I didn't kill Aisling!" Enough desperation, enough honesty, the voice whispered. And yet, here she was, with another dead body and a knife. And a confession.

Sort of.

"Who are you afraid of, Roxy?" Gerri kept her voice low, intimate, as though they were the only two people in the room. Those violet eyes flashed around the space, taking in those who watched and listened before returning to meet Gerri's.

"Girl can't be too careful," she said.

Gerri sighed softly, knowing that was it. Roxy shut down visibly, her whole body locking Gerri out in the way she tightened her narrow shoulders, perfectly penciled eyebrows pulling together.

"Take him down to the precinct." Jackson gestured to one of the unis who came forward to escort Roxy out of the room. Roxy looked like she wanted to correct him for the pronoun, but sullenly let it go. Salvador went after her, head down, shoulders slumped, the look of a man defeated. Gerri ignored her partner and crossed to the body, careful to keep her distance from the blood pool as the sudden need for a giant, barbequed steak hit her in the chest.

Ray stood up while her assistant zipped the body bag, the two paramedics lifting the stretcher to its full height before wheeling the remains away.

"Anything?" Gerri didn't want to ask about this dancer's heart. Didn't want to know, quite frankly. But, from the calm look on Ray's face, she needn't have worried. The brunette's anxiety from earlier at the morgue seemed to be gone. Gerri felt her own tension ease somewhat as Ray spoke.

"Single thrust to the liver," Ray said. "She bled out in a matter of minutes."

Gerri frowned, looking down at the blood pool. "The knife? Does it match Aisling?"

Ray shook her head, leaning closer to Gerri as she spoke in a hushed tone. "No," she said, eyes locked on Jackson across the room who stared at them with frustration on his face. Any second now, he'd be poking his damned nose in. Okay, so he was her partner and this was his case, too. Like she gave a crap. "The knife was different. Longer, thinner blade, double edged." Ray's eyes met Gerri's. "In my professional opinion, the two crimes are unrelated, at least from a perspective of murder weapon match and attack pattern."

Gerri shrugged. "She didn't have time for multiple blows," she said, though her argument, she knew, was ridiculous. Even she didn't believe it. Besides, someone Roxy's size and physique would have to have been high or stronger than she looked to inflict that much damage. Stabbing someone repeatedly took stamina and considerable strength.

Not that she couldn't have. But.

Gerri hated "but".

"The dancer was... normal." Ray's whisper reached Gerri's ears just before Jackson finally got the balls to interrupt.

"If you're telling Detective Meyers that queer didn't kill the other queer," he said with heavy dislike in his voice, "you'd better have evidence to back that up."

Ray shrugged, gathering her examiner's case. She didn't comment to Jackson, focusing on Gerri as though he hadn't spoken. "I'll do a full exam and give you my report in the morning."

Gerri didn't comment as Ray left, mind turning. She already knew Roxy didn't kill Aisling. But she did wonder why Roxy was so afraid she killed another dancer just for startling her. Yes, she believed the queen's story.

She just needed to understand why.

Jackson was too close again, leaning in as the voice whispered to her. "Something you want to say, Meyers?"

She almost laughed in his face. He thought her silence was about him? Arrogant son of a bitch. "Finish questioning the owner and the two witnesses," she said, turning her back on him. She loved doing that, felt his eyes burning holes between her shoulder blades. Gerri suddenly hoped it wouldn't take him long to come at her. She'd truly enjoy hurting him.

Damn. Her therapist was going to kick her ass.

Gerri was almost to her car when her phone rang. She hesitated a moment before answering Kinsey's call, not because she didn't want to talk, but because she had a weird feeling about it. Shrugging off her reticence, Gerri hit talk.

It wasn't long before she was sighing heavily into the receiver.

"Look, I know, okay?" Kinsey sounded frustrated, anxious. "You're busy, I'm busy. Ray is busy. But Grandmother is insisting."

And, if there was one thing Gerri knew about Kinsey's grandmother, Margot, it was that the old bitch always got her way. Pissed Gerri off to no end. "Let her," she said.

"Gerri." Kinsey drew out her name with a plea in her voice. "It's just dinner."

Another sigh. She couldn't help it. "What time."

Gerri could almost feel the blonde's relief through the phone. "Seven," she said. "The Melton." Naturally. Margot wouldn't stay at the Brampton Inn or anything. Nothing but the very best for Kinsey's grandmother.

"Ray better be going, too," Gerri said, slamming her car door, scowling at the steering wheel.

"I just called her. She's in. I really appreciate this, Ger." Kinsey's gratitude just made Gerri angry. She'd been witness to Margot's manipulation of Kinsey years ago, when they went to college together. Almost as bad as Ray's mother, though less evil and biting and more controlling. Like it mattered. Gerri settled into her seat, turning her attitude around with one simple thought.

She wasn't a college kid anymore. And Margot DanAllart couldn't push her around. Gerri felt a grin growing on her face.

"See you tonight, Kins," she said, actually cheerful.

Her friend's pause spoke volumes. "Gerri," Kinsey said.

"This was your idea." Gerri hung up, laughed out loud in the quiet heat of her car. If she played the night right, this might actually be fun.

***

# INT. – THE MELTON HOTEL - NIGHT

Kinsey hurried up the steps to the hotel's front entry, her high heel catching in the red carpet a moment, tripping her up. A handsome young man in a black uniform lunged for her, catching her elbow. Blushing furiously at the slip, she smiled at him before rushing inside.

Damn it, she was late. Grandmother hated it when she was late. Kinsey knew it was wrong to fret, that she was a grown woman with a pair of doctorates and enough confidence to make grown men cringe, but when it came to Margot...

She might as well have been eight years old forever.

The Melton Hotel's large foyer spread out before Kinsey, marble and statues and a bubbling fountain between her and her destination. The space might as well have been the size of a football field, the dining room's doorway on the far end. She brushed past a towering plant next to the concierge station and apologized for almost bowling over an older gentleman in her haste. Her awkward apology was met with a kind head shake, but it was enough to annoy Kinsey, trigger her temper. This wasn't her, not anymore. And yet, she still found herself hurrying to her grandmother's beck and call, to the point of embarrassing herself and almost taking out an old guy in the process.

She swept past the front desk and its judging compliment of attractive, watchful staff, to the full bank of mirrors beside the dining room doors. The reflection of her sleek, black dress and pulled-back hair cast back at her from the wall, speeding Kinsey's heartbeat, not from anxiety, but from anger.

If her grandmother was going to try pulling out her usual arrogance on Kinsey's friends, she had another thing coming. At least that was what she told herself as she stopped on the threshold and drew a deep breath, purse clutched in one shaking hand.

The brightness of the grandiose lobby gave way to darkened ambience in the formal dining room. Kinsey approached the hostess, a tall, stunning brunette who reminded her of Ray. The woman smiled at her and, on her murmur of her name, guided her through the hush of the crowded restaurant toward the back of the room. Kinsey kept her eyes locked on the woman's shoulders, doing her best to cling to her resolve. She would not allow Margot to turn this visit into a disaster. Her grandmother's agenda—she always had an agenda—wasn't Kinsey's concern. She was already regretting roping Ray and Gerri into this dinner. What had she been thinking? Margot had never been anything but cold and, at times, rude to Kinsey's friends. Mind you, that had been years ago, when they were all in college. Gerri's reaction on the phone gave Kinsey pause, worried now maybe the detective might, if pushed, do something they'd both regret.

And yet, if her grandmother was here to be rude to Kinsey's friends, she had it coming.

A padded door, cleverly disguised as a wall panel, opened under the hostess's soft touch. She turned and nodded to Kinsey with a professional smile before leaving her to enter. She winced at the sight of Ray, already seated at on the right. Her hazel eyes met Kinsey's with a hint of desperate relief, though it was Gerri's narrow, sharp smile that made her most nervous.

"Hello, everyone." She steadied herself, false, practiced smile on her face as she approached the table, eyes traveling over the safety of the white linens, the gold-rimmed plates, the real silver cutlery, the impressive floral centerpiece. It took one last firm grip on herself for Kinsey to force her eyes upward, across the glittering black shell and up to the sparkle of diamonds on one old hand before Kinsey could meet her grandmother's cold, blue eyes. Still attractive even in her seventies, with a presence that shook Kinsey to the core no matter how old and experienced with authority she became, at least she knew she had good genes and would age well. She could see herself in her grandmother, though she hoped the tension in Margot's face, ever present, wouldn't be her own legacy.

"Grandmother." Kinsey bent and kissed Margot's cool cheek, the scent of lotus tickling her nose, like it always did.

"Kinsey, dear." Margot's deep voice held no warmth. "Tardy, as usual."

Kinsey ground her teeth together. "Sorry, Grandmother." One glance at Gerri was all Kinsey needed to know this was a huge mistake. As if she wasn't already aware. Something about the redhead's attitude, the way she slouched back in her chair, still dressed in her jacket and button up, jeans hugging her long legs, badge and gun showing, screamed confrontation. Ray, at least, had changed into a dark brown dress that flattered her skin tone and slim body.

Kinsey shook off her judgment of Gerri. This was supposed to be a nice dinner.

She could just keep telling herself that while it all went to hell.

Kinsey sat down next to Margot, hand rattling her wine glass as she set her clutch down on the table. "How was your trip from Boston?" Her grandmother hadn't said a word as to why she was here on the west coast, aside from a likely attempt to make Kinsey's life misery. Margot was good at that.

"Tolerable." Margot's blue eyes observed Kinsey with the same sharpness as ever.

"I hope the hotel is to your liking?" Kinsey yelled at herself in her head for being such a wimp even as her lips kept smiling.

"Also tolerable." Gerri's snort drew Margot's attention and, for a brief instant, Kinsey was grateful. "You find something amusing, Geraldine?"

The redhead just shrugged, downing her wine, reaching for the bottle.

"I'm sure Gerri was just agreeing with you." Kinsey hated herself for her need to appease. Damn it, how did her grandmother manage to revert her from powerful, confident Dr. Kinsey DanAllart to weak and pathetic little Kinsey with one look from her cold, blue eyes?

Gerri muttered something that sounded like, "As if," before Ray spoke up.

"Is this your first visit to Silver City?" Kinsey shot Ray a thankful look for taking focus.

"Hardly, Rachel." Margot's insistence on using the girl's full names pissed Kinsey off for some reason. So officious and arrogant. And yet, she just sat there with that damned smile plastered on her face and her heart beating too fast. "Though I much prefer Boston." There was a huge accusation in the glare her grandmother leveled at her. "I wouldn't be here now if it weren't for Kinsey's insistence on taking this job," she said the word like it tasted bad in her mouth, "at the university."

Kinsey's jaw jumped. She couldn't help it. "I'm enjoying it so far," she said, shocking the hell out of herself. "Thanks for asking." Kinsey looked away before she could stare at her grandmother in surprise at her own courage, grasping for the wine glass and taking a long sip of red to steady her nerves.

Gerri's grin and wink she caught out of the corner of her eye. Somehow, the redhead's attitude didn't make her feel any better.

"I was surprised to hear the three of you ended up here." Kinsey knew that tone. Margot was angry, under all her chill. But why? She had no right to be mad at Gerri and Ray for taking jobs in Silver City. She had no say over them whatsoever. It was enough to push Kinsey further into anger and away from the false smile she usually affected.

"Gerri's the new head of homicide for the 9th Precinct." It felt terribly important to Kinsey her grandmother understand how awesome her friends were. "And Ray is one of the lead examiners in the coroner's office." So there.

Margot's eyes darkened, whether in response to Kinsey's rebellion or for some other reason only known to her grandmother. Kinsey gulped more wine and reached for the bottle herself.

"I understand Geraldine's partner was murdered." Kinsey spit out a bit of her drink, a slight spray of deep red over the white plate in front of her, splashing onto her pristine napkin. Ray shifted uncomfortably in her seat and even Gerri looked shocked, white-faced and staring.

"And how is that any of your business?" The detective sounded breathless, as though Margot punched her in the chest. Kinsey's sympathy burned a small hole in her gut. This was her fault, she shouldn't have asked the girls to come. Should have found a way to put her grandmother off instead of caving like she always did to give Margot what she wanted.

"Considering my granddaughter also suffered a loss," her grandmother said in a cold voice, Boston accent showing, "and also to murder," Margot's icy gaze traveled from Gerri to Ray and finally to Kinsey, "I should think it is my business. Proof Silver City is the cesspool I always thought. And far too dangerous a place for Kinsey to be living."

Kinsey shivered inside. So like Margot to talk about her as if she wasn't in the room. Like what she wanted didn't matter. The tiny rebellion born moments ago blossomed and grew. Only to die slowly, softened around the edges, as she thought it through.

Maybe her grandmother was right. Silver City had proven dangerous. And she had already been told she could take her place again at Harvard. The Dean would welcome her back with open arms. Suddenly, the idea of going home felt like the right thing to do.

Until Gerri spoke up. While standing up. She towered over the table, red hair flowing around her broad shoulders, the fire in the detective shaking Kinsey loose of her stupidity. "As usual," Gerri said, "it's been so much of a pleasure, I can't stand it." Gerri saluted Margot before meeting Kinsey's eyes. "If you're going back to Boston, I get your couch." With that, Gerri left the small dining room, while Margot glared after her.

"How rude." Kinsey's grandmother turned back to her plate, lips thinned. "She hasn't changed."

"Neither," Ray said, standing in a graceful push of her chair, elegance and class radiating off her, "have you, Ms. DanAllart." With a small nod to Kinsey, a hint of apology in her eyes, Ray left, too.

Abandoning Kinsey with her scowling grandmother. No, not abandonment. They shouldn't have been here in the first place. This was Kinsey's fault.

She looked up and met those crystal blue eyes, her eyes. And, for the first time, felt something. A twitch in her head, a push. A subtle touch she recognized, only because she'd used it herself.

With a gasp and her heart thudding a heavy beat, Kinsey surged to her feet.

"Grandmother," she whispered. "You're like me."

Margot's frown deepened, though Kinsey saw a flicker of something she finally decided was fear in her grandmother's eyes. "What are you talking about, child? Sit down."

Kinsey backed away, hands grasping her clutch by habit, pushing the heavy chair away with an awkwardness made worse by her stunned realization. "You've been manipulating me my whole life." It was so clear now. The ability she had, to lean on people. To encourage them to do what she wanted. It wasn't imaginary, she wasn't alone.

Her grandmother had it, too.

She ran for the door, her grandmother calling her name, but Kinsey was gone, more than physically. Now that she understood... Margot would never control her again.

Fury drove her feet to hurry past the startled server who was just walking through the door, between tables of staring patrons who frowned at her haste. Kinsey didn't care. She finally understood, this family legacy, a truth her grandmother kept from her, should have shared.

With a hurt that ran so deep Kinsey almost sobbed from it, she skidded to a halt on the sidewalk and looked back at the hotel entry, fury aimed at her grandmother.

No wonder her mother left.

***

# INT. – 9th PRECINCT BULLPEN - NIGHT

Gerri jerked her chair out from her desk and tossed her jacket to the surface, slamming her body into the seat. The old springs complained, but did their job, bouncing her softly as she wheeled herself close. The bullpen was quiet, though far from empty, a few other detectives hunched over their own work. The captain's office door was closed, darkness behind it. Just as well. She'd rather not run into anyone she cared to keep on her good side at the moment.

Just let Jackson show his damned face. She was wound up enough, therapist or no therapist, Gerri wouldn't be responsible for the outcome.

Her luck, he remained absent, leaving Gerri to turn on her desk lamp and pour over the photos from the first crime scene. Jackson had labeled each photo with a post-it note, scribbled with details he thought relevant. And while she didn't think much of him as a person, he was efficient.

Most of the crowd had been other dancers, a few people from the area come to see the show. The only odd faces out had been the bald bruiser with the tats—as yet unidentified—and the preacher, also nameless. She made a note to track them both down in the morning before turning to her computer.

Jackson had included background information on most of the people he identified from the crowd, but Gerri liked to do her own digging. After emailing a copy of the bald dude's face to Vice and the assumed preacher's to hate crimes, just in case, she turned her attention to the club's regulars. Salvador was first. The owner of the Starlet Lounge had an eventful life, as things turned out. One of the supporters of Harvey Milk, he spent most of the 70's in San Francisco, relocating to Silver City shortly after Milk was assassinated in '78. An activist until the late 80's, Salvador gave up his political ways after an attack that was never solved. He started the Starlet Lounge in '96 and had kept his nose clean since.

Gerri marked him off her list, as well as any political motivations. He'd been out of the protest scene long enough, she doubted very much if Aisling was connected to Salvador's past. She'd chase it down if all other leads proved fruitless, but Gerri's gut whispered to her the bar owner had nothing to do with Aisling's death so she moved on.

Next up, the bartender. But Curtis Alexander's past was as bland and pasty as Salvador's was colorful. Born to a salesman father and a stay-at-home mother, an only child, he attended private school until his father's death when Curtis was ten. Never went to college, not even a traffic ticket. Clean as a whistle. His mother worked for some charity here in the city. That was it. Gerri sat back with a frown. She hated it when suspects were so sparkly. It always made her think they were hiding something. But there was nothing here to go on, so she abandoned Curtis in favor of Roxy.

She had a temper, her record showed that. In and out of juvie, passed around from foster home to foster home, the orphan turned queen was barely twenty three. Gerri shook her head over the report. Gay, parents dead, living on the wrong side of town... she was surprised Roxy wasn't dead or hadn't killed someone before now.

And yet, Gerri's gut, ever present and nagging, told her Roxy wasn't guilty of Aisling's murder. The evidence might say otherwise, and, despite the different knife, the change in the attack, any DA worth their salt would likely get a conviction just on circumstantial evidence. If Gerri was willing to let this go, Roxy could easily go down for both murders.

She stared at the block-letter writing on the post it stuck to the front of Roxy's file. GUILTY. Jackson had already made his decision. Gerri needed more to make hers.

The phone was cold on her cheek as she picked up the receiver on her desk and dialed the desk sergeant. Time to drag Roxy out of holding and ask her some more questions.

"Sorry, detective," the rough voice on the other end said after leaving her hanging for five minutes. "Looks like your suspect was released a half hour ago."

"What?" Gerri lunged to her feet, drawing curious looks from the handful of detectives still working. "You let a murder suspect walk?"

"Paperwork mix up." Of course he sounded defensive, the jackass. "Out of my hands."

And then, had the nerve to hang up on her. She glared at the buzzing receiver before slamming it back into its cradle.

Guess who chose to show his pretty face, with perfect timing? Gerri's anger switched from the desk sergeant to her grinning partner.

"Problem?"

He was about to have one. It was lucky for him he stood, with his hands in his pockets, T-shirt tight across his wide chest, smirk pulling his full lips to the right.

"Roxy." Gerri ground the name out between her aching teeth. "Was released."

Why didn't he look pissed? Jackson shrugged, still grinning, like this was her fault and he was just waiting to see her crash and burn. Oh, that's why he wasn't mad. Asshole.

"Go pick her up again," he said. Like it was no big deal.

Gerri's hand grasped her coat, even as she imagined her fingers tightening around Jackson's neck. She wanted to leap over desk at him, to stop him from smirking at her with her fist in his face. The strength of her need cooled her down as fast as a bucket of ice water to her face. He was a total and utter jerk, yes. But she really needed to get a handle on her temper.

Jackson waved at her with casual nonchalance as she left, her partner letting her go it alone.

She wouldn't have it any other way.

***

# EXT. – THE STARLET LOUNGE – NIGHT

Roxy paced beside the dumpster, hands gripping her little purse close to her chest. She ran one hand over the stubble on her cheek, hating she hadn't had time to go home and shave. The bitch who did her laser treatments missed far too much hair for Roxy's liking.

Why was she thinking about grooming at a time like this?

She peeked around the filthy garbage container, nose wrinkling. The message said to meet here, the implications not lost to her. But this was her only chance to make things right.

The shadow fell over her before she realized she wasn't alone. Immediately, she stumbled back, lips trembling, violet eyes filling with tears as her hands flexed convulsively around the clutch.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. Or Aisling." She tried a shaking smile. "You have to protect me," she said, taking a step closer. "They killed her, I know it." She glanced down the alley, then back, tears, the first real ones she'd shed since as long as she could remember, trailing down her face. That detective bought her emotion, she could see it in Meyers's stance, the way she watched Roxy. And while she'd been sad about poor Crystal, she'd been more worried about her own hide to be that broken hearted.

Her own skin, on the other hand? That she would cry over.

She saw the knife only a moment before it fell, not long enough to yell, to run, to avoid the sharp blade. Roxy's lips parted, the last of her tears coursing down her face as she fell beneath the knife, understanding at last she'd come to the wrong person for protection.

***

# EXT. – THE STARLET LOUNGE - MORNING

It felt like déjà vu to stand over a body in the filthy alley behind the Starlet Lounge. Even more so to see the multiple stab wounds in the woman's chest, the pool of blood stirring Gerri's hunger. Worse, the familiar face, staring up at her with milky eyes behind violet contact lenses, giant blonde hair spread out around her.

Roxy looked almost peaceful lying there, arms up, legs turned sideways, her micro mini showing her short legs, the tattoo of a butterfly on her left thigh. Gerri took a step back and a deep breath, ignoring the rumbling of her stomach and sudden urge for a fresh steak as Ray took her place, the snap of her gloves loud in Gerri's ears.

Only two nights later, but the same crowd gathered, a mimic of the first time she'd been here. Gerri's attempt to call Kinsey went to voicemail, though it didn't matter much. She had a feeling the biker gang they'd identified were the culprits. That Ray's missing body and info was tied to some federal investigation, something maybe the FBI was looking to cover up. She'd seen it before, been stonewalled in the past. The one case she'd been unable to solve. Or, hadn't been allowed to solve.

She wouldn't think about little Missy Spence or her weeping mother. She didn't have time for tears of her own.

Gerri just wished she'd gotten to Roxy first. But the night she'd spent hunting down the queen ended with a phone call and her last stop, here in the alley behind the Starlet.

Ray looked up at her, the flash of a camera lighting her eyes as she did. The press finally came out to play, though the unis were holding them back. Gerri skimmed the crowd with her gaze, looking for more familiarity, and found it. The preacher and his female companion. The same queens from the other night. And, this time, Salvador himself stood by the tape, hands clasped before him, lips a thin line, moisture on his cheeks. Gerri returned her attention to Ray when she spoke, only half listening.

"Looks like the same weapon and attack pattern," the medical examiner said. She wanted to comfort Ray, to tell her what she suspected. All this paranormal mumbo jumbo she and Kinsey bantered around gave Gerri the creeps. So did the memory of scales and fangs the night Joe died, but she'd shoved that so far down under the story of the drug dealer who cut up and disposed of her partner in the lake, she barely registered it as a flicker of irritation. "I'll have to take her back to the morgue to check her heart." Gerri looked away at the not-so-subtle tone in Ray's voice. Whatever. Clearly the X-Ray had been developed wrong. No one was born without a heart. And Ray's stress must have messed her up when she did the autopsy.

Because a trained and experienced medical examiner like her would miss such an important detail. Gerri tried to shake off her nervous mind's whisper by focusing again on the crowd. She really needed a look at the shots the unis took from the first scene. There would be time to compare them to the second.

Maybe she didn't need to. She spotted tall, tattooed and bald before he noticed she was watching, taking in the heavy leather jacket, the big boots. He even wore those tacky half gloves, with his inked fingers showing. When he met Gerri's eyes, his widened and he backed off, slipping into the crowd behind him. Time to have a little chat with the Divinities.

She was almost to the tape when Jackson appeared out of nowhere, stepping into her line of sight and stopping her in her tracks. She tried to dodge around him, cursing softly for his interference, but too late. Her prey was gone, out of sight, and the distant rumble of a motorcycle engine told her chasing him down on foot wasn't an option. She had his pic. That was all Gerri needed for the hunt.

"What?" She glared up the three inches Jackson had on her, in no mood for his shit.

"Somebody's in bitch mode," he shot back.

"You just got in the way, dipshit," she said.

Jackson grumbled something before jerking his head toward the side of the building, where the preacher held what looked like a prayer meeting with some of the queens. "That dude," Jackson snarled, "is getting on my nerves." He stepped back, hands wide. "You're welcome to him."

Gerri shrugged and stifled a sigh, waved Jackson off. Let him be a slacker. Besides, she'd been meaning to track the preacher down, since hate crimes came up empty. Gerri watched Jackson go, still wishing she could get away with shooting him right then and there. Would be a public service, in her estimation. She was sure the young uniform he chose to hit on—the same one from the other night—instead of doing his damned job agreed with her. She could have gone to the woman's rescue, but didn't. As sad as it was, being a woman and a cop, she had to learn to take care of herself, just like Gerri did. Turning her back, the detective headed for the preacher and his flock.

Time he answered to a higher power. Gerri crossed under the police tape line, covering ground quickly, reaching the small group just as he finished up the last of the sermon.

"—and he shall bring light and love upon you," the man said, silver hair shining in the streetlights, benevolent smile reminding her of an aging soap star with his charisma still intact. "And when you accept his salvation, he will welcome you home, forevermore."

Gerri clapped with slow, cynical enthusiasm. The preacher turned around, startled, the woman next to him in her plain brown cardigan and comfortable shoes staring with eyes wide and mousy face tense. The queens scattered, whether grateful for the distraction so they could escape or afraid of a cop, Gerri didn't know. Or care. The tall, handsome minister with the clear hazel eyes and actor perfect smile was the focus of her attention.

Her gut told her he wasn't guilty of murder. But he was damned well guilty of something.

"You must be the detective on the case." He offered one big hand which she accepted, his grip firm but warm. He looked trim in his suit coat, if casual enough in his jacket and jeans. Not a priest, but definitely a preacher of some kind. She could tell he'd likely have luck with some of the less confident LGBTQ, if only because he exuded charisma. "Such a tragedy, losing both Adam and Thomas like this. They were both on their path to return to the fold. I just can't believe they're gone."

Gerri doubted very much if either the queen or the transsexual were remotely interested in this man and his church, but let it go. "Detective Geraldine Meyers," she said. "You are?"

"Forgive my rudeness, my grief, you understand." He fished in his pocket, pulled out a rectangle of black and white cardboard. She glanced down at the plain writing as he went on. "Reverend Russell Sterling, Collective of All Souls. I live in the area and minister to the community here."

Gerri tucked the card into her front pocket, observing him with her gut as well as her detective's eye. While she still worried using her weird ability made her a freak, as long as she only tapped in when investigating a case, she could live with it. He didn't seem nervous or stressed, not even particularly upset by the deaths. But that didn't mean he killed anyone.

The woman next to him, on the other hand... she carried guilt with her, but not for the dead women. The way she hung her head, stayed behind Sterling, told Gerri her guilt was older, more ingrained and highly personal. She didn't need her gut to tell her that, just good police work and observation. For some reason, that made her feel better. So the woman had old sins she needed to atone for. It had nothing to do with Gerri.

She shifted her attention back to Sterling as the man went on. "Horrible, simply horrible." His small smile oddly didn't feel out of place with the compassion brimming in his eyes. "I've worried ever since I took over this community something terrible might happen. These men put themselves at great risk of attack, by denying their true nature." What the hell did he know about their true nature? Gerri bristled slightly, but stayed focused on how he was speaking, not what he was saying. The way people acted was more telling than the words they spoke. "If only they would learn to reject the demons inside them, to embrace the true teachings of the Collective." He sighed with great dramatic effect while Gerri did her best not to roll her eyes. There was nothing here. He was just a pompous ass with old-world ideologies she wished would take a hike and die. Dude sounded like her grandfather.

"What are you doing here?" Salvador pushed his way past Gerri, tiny body vibrating as he glared up at Sterling in obvious rage. "Get away from my girls, you sick bastard!"

Gerri lunged forward, grabbing Salvador before the club owner could strike Sterling. The preacher stared down at the old cross dresser with sympathy and his little smile. Gerri was really starting to dislike the guy, even more so when Salvador sagged, broken, in her grip.

"You're looking for the murderer," Salvador choked, "look no further than this man and his hate."

Gerri released Salvador, but kept a close eye on him when she refocused on Sterling. "Maybe it would be better if you left."

"This is a free city," Sterling said, disapproving. Did he really just chastise her like she was a bad little girl? Gerri grinned, tight and dangerous, leaning close to the preacher whose smile faded as he backed away.

"Sure is," she said. "Until I tell you to leave." He just stared at her. Didn't get it yet. Gerri loved teaching others how things went. "I'm not asking."

Sterling and his female companion turned and retreated to the end of the alley, but they didn't leave completely. Fine with Gerri. She'd be talking to them again, anyway. Not that she really believed Salvador's accusation. But because Sterling pissed her off. She now had plans to make his life miserable, to uncover what it was he hid from her behind his smile and his minister's compassion.

She'd make it her mission.

She turned back to find the young bartender holding Salvador. Curtis's eyes were so full of his own hurt, Gerri flinched from his pain, but she had a job to do. "I take it no one saw anything this time, either?"

Salvador shook his head, sighing out his sadness before patting Curtis's muscular arm in thanks. He visibly pulled himself together, jabbing one sharp nail at Gerri.

"Mark my words," he said, "that man and his hateful congregation were involved. I know it." He pounded his chest with one fist. "I can feel it. In here."

"The state of California needs more than your heart's word for it," Gerri said, though gently, even while squirming in discomfort over her use of her own instincts. She solved crimes with science and investigative skills. So what if she got a little help from something she didn't quite understand?

Totally different situation. She just had to keep telling herself that.

Gerri reached out and caught Curtis's sleeve, pulling him back when he moved to leave with Salvador. "Anything," she said, softly, for his ears only. Did he know something? But all she got back from him was grief.

He shook his head, fresh tears in his eyes, before following his boss back into the club. She tried to go after him. There was something... but what?

"Leave him alone." A pretty woman with a nose too long and thin for her face cut Gerri off. Two others crowded behind her, keeping her from pursuing Curtis.

"These are our friends." The first queen crossed her arms over her chest, hot-chocolate skin covered in glitter. Her companions muttered agreement, a few more joining them. They were still dressed for the stage, Gerri guessed, a rainbow of angry show queens in towering heels and feathers and sequins. "You're looking up the wrong skirt if you think anyone here would hurt a hair on Roxy's head. Or Aisling's for that matter."

Gerri sighed, held up both hands. "You want the murderer caught, don't you?"

They all nodded, a sea of bobbing hairdos and fluttering, overlong lashes.

"Then let me do my job." Gerri pushed past them, heading for Ray and the body while her detective's gut told her she was still missing pieces of the puzzle.

***

# INT. – SILVER CITY COLLEGE - MORNING

Kinsey dropped her laptop bag onto her desk and stared down at the Bible, lit by the early morning sun. The campus bustled this morning, despite the fact it was Saturday. She'd spent her entire Friday evening after leaving her grandmother focused on the tome. She'd shoved Margot's control, whether paranormal or just ordinary smothering, aside. Who was she kidding? There was nothing normal about what her grandmother did to her. Still, time and distance had a habit of making her doubt what she'd felt until she was so confused she half-convinced herself nothing happened and she imagined all of it.

Easier to read about the paranormal in a freakish Bible than admit her own flesh and blood had been manipulating her since she was a child.

Instead, she waffled between calling Gerri with her findings and stomping from one end of her apartment to the other while her phone rang, her friend's face mocking her as she tried to decide what to do.

By the time Kinsey woke, stiff and unhappy in the overstuffed chair tucked into the corner of her living room, she'd made a decision. Convinced there was nothing to the "discovery" after all. Simply conjecture. Any mention of six races? Just pagan myth someone inserted into this version of the Bible. All talk of transformation from man to creature, wearing skins? Superstitious hearsay. And mention of a master race of night shadows bent on dominating everything? Old world fears turned to bogeymen. What was she thinking, going all ape shit over some imaginary "proof" there were paranormals, all because she read it in one of the most fictional books ever written?

And yet, doubt lingered, as she drank a gallon of coffee after a long, hot shower, ignoring her stomach begging for toast and cereal to fill her stomach with something more substantial. She barely remembered driving to work, aside from the odd beep of an irritated horn behind her when she was so lost in thought she didn't notice the light turn. Kinsey felt like a coward as she crossed the quad with her bag over her shoulder, hand on her phone, deep in her jacket pocket. She should have answered Gerri's call.

Especially when she finally checked her messages. And found out there'd not only been a second murder, but the victim was Roxy. Gerri needed her and Kinsey chickened out, all because she thought she found something that had to be a misunderstanding.

And yet, as she sank to the top of her desk with the Bible in her hands, she couldn't shake her unease. She could pick out the passages, do a full study. See if she could cross reference—

What was she doing? Kinsey set the book aside as someone knocked on her door, pushing it out of the way and forcing a smile as Mitchell entered.

"Did you get a chance to read the proposal, Dr. Dan?" Kinsey stared at him, blank and with a small ball of panic in her chest. Proposal? When realization dawned, she smacked herself in the forehead.

"I didn't," she said, spinning to look on her desk. Where had she left the black folder? There it was, on top of her pile of "I really have to tackle this right now but don't want to". The moment her fingers brushed over it, it spun away from her, sliding from the top of the pile and landing on the floor. It had enough weight it tilted sideways, slipping under her desk.

"I'll get it." Mitchell was already on his knees, reaching for the folder. Emerged with it and a slip of paper in his grasp. "I think you dropped this, Dr. Dan," he said, handing it over.

Kinsey stared down at the familiar symbols on the paper and held her breath. Shaking ever so slightly, she took it from him, heart pounding again as she finally sucked in air.

"Thanks," she said, barely a whisper. "I have to go. Take care of the Saturday morning for me." She missed Mitchell's surprised expression as she gathered the Bible and her laptop, scooted out of her office and ran for her car.

No more holding back. This wasn't just about her ego or her need for proof any longer. What she'd thought a mere curiosity in a dead woman's apartment turned out to be far more than that.

With the discovery of the note, everything changed. Now she really needed to talk to Gerri.

***

# EXT. to INT. – FREDDY'S BAR - AFTERNOON

Gerri stepped out of the driver's seat into the California sunshine, squinting as she tossed her sunglasses onto the dash before slamming the door. Jackson exited the passenger side, his own mirrored shades still in place. Such a poser as he looked around with his broad jaw set, all Hollywood.

He'd missed his calling, the jackass.

She ignored his grumpiness as she stared across the street at the dive bar on the corner.

"You should have let me drive." He would just not let it go. He bitched about her taking the keys from the moment they hit the garage at the precinct. Whined and complained the entire way over.

"I let you come with me," she said, walking past him, glancing both ways as the traffic slowed to allow her to cross.

"I found the biker guy for you, didn't I?" Jackson said, jogging to catch up, giving an angry driver the finger when the man honked his horn.

Gerri wasn't sure she could handle his company much longer. "Just shut up and let me deal with this." She hated Jackson was right. He'd dug up Oz's real name: Oswald Tyler, a lowlife scumbag who, from what they could tell, left a trail of unsolved crimes back in LA. Jackson's contact in vice told him Oz was a part of the Divinities, a Neo-Nazi skinhead gang who leaned heavily toward dogma and drug sales.

"Maybe I should go in first." Jackson stopped her with his hand on the door. The glass was filthy, covered from the inside with what looked like black-painted cardboard. About as classy as Jackson, so she hesitated before pushing the door open with one shoulder and moving past him.

Like hell. She had this.

Gerri's phone rang as the darkness of the interior engulfed her. A quick glance at the screen told her it was Kinsey. She'd been calling since this morning, but Gerri ignored her much as Kinsey had her own calls last night. Petty. Gerri was over it. Her thumb lifted to press answer when Jackson's nasty whisper interrupted.

"You just take that call," he said. "I'll go have a chat with our friend over there."

Gerri's gaze snapped to the back of the dingy bar, her finger tapping the hang up button instead. "Fuck you, Pierce," she said, focusing on Oz who huddled in a booth, alone. Gerri ignored the filthy floor, the pair of ancient skanks who smelled worse than an old tank of gas, the bartender's dark stare. She didn't let the stink of smoke bother her, the grime coating the tables or the way the handful of bikers in the place followed her stride with predator's eyes.

Oz looked up when Gerri was about half way to his seat. She knew he was going to run. He'd done it twice already. She thought she had it covered. But she didn't count on her stupid ass partner.

Jackson picked up his stride and got in her way. She was already reaching for her gun when Oz burst from the booth's edge and took off a flat-out race for the back of the bar. Jackson turned in response, running into the side of a table, tangling himself in a chair before falling into Gerri.

Fucking dog and pony show. She pushed him off and tore off after Oz, knowing he already had enough of a head start this might not work out the way she hoped.

Damn, she didn't want to have to shoot anyone today.

"Stop, police!" The necessary identification shouted at the top of her considerably loud voice, Gerri's cowboy boots thudded on the filthy floor as she crashed through the doors into the back of the bar. She caught sight of Oz fleeing into sunlight, past the startled cook who shouted at her in German, a language she knew just enough to know he thought she was a guy and her mother was a dog. She ignored him and kept running.

Gerri was already squinting in anticipation of the light change as she slammed open the outside door and leaped out of the dank kitchen into the alley. Her gun whipped around, just in case Oz decided to set an ambush, but the flicker of motion at the other end of the alley had her running again. Wind pounded in and out of her lungs, her long legs pumping, gun swinging in her hand. She loved the chase, loved it so much she was almost laughing by the time she reached the end of the alley and crossed the street, closing the distance between her and Oz.

He looked back over his shoulder, panic on his face, saw her tightening the gap. He took a sharp right, into another alley way, behind a garage. Gerri poured on the speed, blood pumping, all of her focus on the chase, the hunt. This was her element, the rundown, the closing of prey. How many track and field meets had she won, how many rugby touchdowns, all thanks to the push of the tingle in her gut.

She'd take him down and tear him apart with her bare hands.

Gerri skidded around the corner, spotted Oz up ahead, pushed herself harder still. Her stride lengthened out even more, the jarring hit of each step sending sizzles of pleasure through her. Fifteen feet. She smelled his fear. Ten feet. He needed to work out more from the whistling sound his lungs made as he fought for air. Five feet. Her eyes traced the tattoos on the back of his shaved head, spotted the symbol with the curved edges, the pointed bottom.

Gerri hit him hard between the shoulders, throwing herself at him. Oz tripped, landing with an audible thud on the pavement with her on his back, her gun digging into his spine as she recovered quickly, so fast it made her grin.

"I said," she panted, smiled with her teeth bared, "stop. Police."

Oz struggled under her, but she was already grabbing his wrists, her cuffs out, tightening them just that little bit extra to show him how much she cared. Oz finally collapsed, gasping for breath. Gerri holstered her gun and finished cuffing him, glancing back over her shoulder at the sound of swearing and running feet.

Jackson looked about as good as Oz did. He came to a halt, hands on his knees, winded and wasted from just that short run. Pathetic.

"Go get the car," Gerri said, crouching to search Oz's pockets. She ignored the glare her partner shot her.

"Keys?" She chuckled to herself. Looked up. Loved that he had to ask.

She tossed them to him, even as she knew he'd make her pay. But that was okay. She was looking forward to it. For now, she had her captured prey to consider. And he had a whole lot of talking to do.

***

# INT. – 9th PRECINCT INTERROGATION - AFTERNOON

Gerri stood on the other side of the glass, staring at Oz seated at the beat-up desk in the interrogation room. She liked to let her suspects sit and stew a bit while she watched them squirm. He was certainly obliging, unable, it seemed to her, to find a comfortable position, hands jerking occasionally at the cuffs still holding his wrists. But, he wasn't a nervous pacer, so she didn't get to watch him move around the room. And nor did he seem overly agitated for someone she was about to question for murder. A quick glance at the rap sheet she'd already read thoroughly explained his lack of stress.

Career criminal, starting with a sealed record back in juvie she didn't have to read. Because his life of crime continued on a similar vein the moment he turned eighteen. Though he was very good at escaping prosecution, charges of break and entering, petty theft, grand theft auto, drug possession and worse escalated up to assault and sexual assault.

Whoever this guy had watching over him, whatever angel—or devil—kept him from being tossed in prison more often, she was about to see if she could break his winning streak with a slam dunk of her own.

The door to the observation room opened and the captain entered. Gerri smothered her surprise with a nod to him.

"I hear we're missing a body," he said, voice low, though Oz wouldn't hear them from the other side of the glass.

"I'm sure it's a mix up," Gerri said.

The captain grunted. "The paperwork is missing, too, Meyers. Just thought you should know."

Gerri wanted to shout her frustration as soon as she absorbed what he said. No coincidence, then, Ray's autopsy report was gone with Aisling. "Does that mean we're dumping the case?" Not that she would. Not this time. She'd been here before, with another dead body gone and no evidence a crime even happened.

The captain didn't answer. Instead, he turned his back on her. Were his shoulders slumped? And why was he telling her this, and not ordering her to stand down? He paused at the door while she struggled with disbelief. Bodies and paperwork only vanished when someone with power wanted them gone. She gritted her teeth and thought of Missy's mangled little form when the captain spoke again.

"Get this asshole," he said. "No reasonable doubt. If he did it—body or not—I want him off my streets."

Gerri didn't comment, just let the captain go, her stomach on slow roil. It had to be Feds involved. They'd come into her precinct in Boston, in their black suits with their uncompromising stares and lack of humor or humanity. Cleared out every last scrap of paper to do with Missy's murder, right down to digging up her body, her tearful mother told Gerri the next morning. Took her out of the ground and never brought her back.

The only case Gerri never solved, because, like now, there was no case. Just a mother missing her daughter they both knew was dead despite the attempt at cover up and official story to the contrary. Another child gone missing though Gerri had held her cold, stiff hand personally. In her heart, she knew who did it. But the senator was untouchable and Missy was just a poor black girl from the wrong side of town. Gerri's hands had been tied so tight she couldn't move.

The door opened again, Jackson joining her this time. Gerri was in the middle of trying to pry her jaws apart from an angry clench, only to have her teeth grind all over again.

"I want in on the interrogation." Jackson really needed to get over his macho act. She was so tired of it.

"And I want peace on earth and a Ferrari." Gerri pushed past him. "Stay out of the way, Pierce."

Gerri didn't expect him to listen. And, when he followed her out into the hall and stood right next to her as she reached for the other door, she sighed inwardly. Surely the captain would understand. A stray bullet. A little blood. She'd make it look like an accident.

What she really needed was a drink and a long, hot soak after an hour at the gym lifting enough weight to make her want to collapse. She'd reward herself later. Right now, she had a murderer to collar.

Jackson wasn't taking no for an answer, so she chose to ignore him. There was only one chair in the room, across from where Oz sat. Gerri let Jackson take it. She wanted to be mobile, to be able to get in Oz's face if she needed to. Let her partner sit there and be a good boy. Gerri had her own methods.

She smelled Oz's fear, the moment she entered, sucked it in like a drug. Okay, the chase was great. The hunt, the capture. But this, this was her favorite part. The hunt was over. She had her man. Now, all she had to do was dissect him.

Oh, and he was guilty, it was all over him, in the way he stared at her in sullen silence, how he held his body, hunched forward, to protect himself from her attack. He knew she knew. It was only a matter of time before she dug out the truth he was hiding behind all those tattoos.

As much as it freaked her out, Gerri opened up her sixth sense as wide as she could, embracing the secret edge she had over scum like him, and sat on the edge of the table, her back to Jackson, blocking his view. She smiled at Oz, dark and grim, while her partner slid his chair over. She could sense the hate in Jackson, filed it away for later. So, not just arrogance or anger, but true, bitter hate for her. She didn't care why. This wasn't about him.

No, this was about Oz and the way he stared at her with a trapped look in his hazel eyes. How he felt like a predator in his own right who knew his day as prey had finally come. But, there was more, under all of his own hate, under the ink and the screwed-up ideology.

"Tell me why you killed Aisling," she said.

Oz twitched, looked away. "I didn't," he said. "I didn't touch her."

Two things registered immediately. He was lying. But, bigger, brighter, more sparkly to Gerri's enhanced senses. This skinhead fag hater just called a transsexual "her".

Now, that was interesting.

Ask him about when they met. The whisper guided her. It always guided her, like a voice inside her head. Only this one didn't tell her she was ugly or worthless or sucked at her job. This one helped and she always listened.

She repeated the question. Oz's eyes met hers, a guilty flicker.

"Never met her," he grunted.

Liar. "You threatened to kill her about a year ago." Gerri tossed the report onto the table in front of him. He didn't even look at it. "She said you and your friends told her you were going to kill her. After you," she flipped the cover open and read directly from the page, a trick Joe taught her, "'raped her boy ass.'" Gerri dropped the report in his lap, one finger pushing it until the pages fluttered onto his thighs. "Except, you never did. So, what happened, Oswald?" She prodded him as the voice whispered and whispered, "afraid of a little queer?"

He lunged backward, but she expected it, felt the buildup of his rage. Oz threw himself out of the chair, spun away from her. Jackson half-rose, hand on his gun, but Gerri shook her head, scowling at him not to be an asshole.

"Get tired of tormenting the queer, is that it, Oz?" Gerri rose from her seat, followed him as he went to the corner. "No way someone like you and your buddies just let go of this. Your hate won't let you."

He shook his head, staring at the floor, hands fisted. She almost had him. His secret would be her secret. She felt him cracking as she moved closer, the strain too much for him. Maybe he wasn't such a tough guy after all.

"You don't know shit," he said.

"I know enough." She cursed to herself, wishing she had a photo of Aisling's dead body to shove in his face. Then again, maybe he'd get off on seeing his handiwork. Gerri's presence, her words, would have to do the job. "I know you hated her and you couldn't stand it so you followed her and you killed her." Gerri leaned in, lips next to Oz's ear. "Stabbed her thirty two times, all in her fake chest. Over and over." Don't think about her missing heart. Don't.

Oz's wail wasn't what Gerri expect and, when she pulled away and saw the tears on his face, as his emotions broke, she realized her mistake.

Just before the big, tattooed biker fell to his knees and sobbed. "I didn't hate her," he said. "I loved her."

"Well holy shit." Jackson laughed out loud, but Gerri ignored him, and so did Oz. She crouched next to her suspect, felt his grief and finally understood. It wasn't guilt it was hiding—not for killing her. He had guilt a-plenty, sure. But about her, not for what he'd done.

"She knew I was gay." Oz snuffled, falling back against the wall, his cuffed wrists over his knees. Gerri nodded for him to go on. "I don't know how she knew. She called me out one night, when I was alone." He ducked his head, shoulders shaking. "I couldn't, you get me?" He met Gerri's eyes, his full of pain. "I had to pretend. The guys, they would never understand." They'd likely kill him. "But she was amazing." Oz's face lit up a moment, the man he could have been shining through. "She taught me it was okay, that I wasn't a freak. That love wasn't just a lie your mom told you about to make you forget your dad is a fucking asshole." He wiped at his running nose with the side of one glove. "I joined the Divinities because I knew I couldn't accept what I was. I hoped maybe they could make me a man. But Ays, she taught me I was worried about the wrong things." Oz's head snapped back, hitting the wall behind him with a solid thud. "I should have just left them. She said we could run away together. Why didn't I say yes?" He slumped further down the wall, his tough exterior cracked wide open, heart laid bare. "I was too much of a coward. And now, she's dead."

Gerri exhaled softly, letting his grief sink further in, allowing him to settle. She heard Jackson move, gestured with sharp anger for him to be still and silent. He must have understood because the quiet remained unbroken until Gerri was ready to ask her next question.

"Who killed her, Oz? Who would want to hurt Aisling?" His gang? Maybe, if they found out about him.

"I don't know." His jaw bunched, throat working as his big hands fisted on his knees. "But I'll kill the motherfucker."

"Any of your crew?" She couldn't lose him now to anger. Not yet.

But, he shook his head. "No," he said. "I gave her up a year ago. There's no way. I kept my distance, to protect her." His eyes met Gerri's. "You let me know when you find out. I'll take care of it for you."

"And this symbol?" She pulled out her phone, brought up the image of the symbols she'd kept. Pointed to the familiar swirls and sharp edges of the mark they'd found on Aisling's chest, along with five others Kinsey still hadn't fully translated for her. Thinking of her friend just pissed her off. She pushed away Kinsey's silence and focused.

"Dunno," Oz said. "Just a gang thing. I'm not a boss or nothing. I just wear the colors and do the job." His head hung one last time. "But, you can ask the church guy. I think he knows about it."

Church guy? "Reverend Sterling?" What the hell did he have to do with a biker gang?

"Yeah, that guy." Oz's face darkened, his animal returning. "The bosses had me do a few jobs for him. That was when I met Aisling."

Now, what would an upright member of the clergy be doing working with a gang of thugs? Gerri knew there was something about that guy she didn't like. And though her gut told her the minister wasn't guilty of murder, he was hiding.

Time to find out what.

Gerri stood, went to the door, jerking Jackson's sleeve to pull him along with her. She paused as Oz spoke from his place on the floor.

"Do you think they'd let me go to the funeral?" So pathetic, his broken heart, the little boy in him who never had a chance to grow and love himself. Gerri couldn't bring herself to tell him the truth, that there would be no funeral without a body. No case report meant no murder, at least for her to investigate. Not that she would let it stop her.

"Of course," she said. Let him have that comfort. Jackson rolled his eyes at her, but, to his credit, stayed quiet until she closed the door behind them. Instead of saying anything, her partner just snickered and walked away.

His back was nice and broad. Easy shot.

She would have done it, too. Except her murder plans were interrupted. Panting and red faced, with her laptop bag bouncing against her hip, Kinsey burst from the exit stairwell and came hurrying toward her.

Gerri didn't need her sixth sense to know this had to be trouble.

***

# INT. – 9th PRECINCT - AFTERNOON

Kinsey avoided the glare Jackson gave her as he spun around and strode back to Gerri, eyeing her over the detective's shoulder. She instead stayed focused on Gerri. From the irritation flashing over the redhead's face, Kinsey knew she'd have cleanup to do later, apologies to make. Right now, she had more important things to tell her.

"Here." She shoved the slip of paper into Gerri's hands, holding the Bible up to get her meaning across. "Look."

Gerri looked down, eyes widening at the neat row of six symbols drawn with child-like cartoonishness on the slip of white paper. The edges were torn, not cut, uneven, as though someone had been doodling on a page meant for something else and wanted to keep it. When Gerri's eyes rose again, they settled on the Bible.

"You found it in there?" She was reaching for her pocket, pulling out a glove, as Jackson stepped around her with a snarl on his face.

"Tell me you didn't let the civvy handle evidence." He snatched the book from Kinsey's hands, ignoring Gerri's glove. "Too late now, Meyers."

Gerri's face darkened. "It wasn't evidence of murder," she said, though she looked troubled when she met Kinsey's eyes. "At the time."

Kinsey winced, deflating. "I'm sorry," she said.

Gerri waved it off before Jackson could comment. "Doesn't matter," she said. "But it confirms what we already know. The preacher is involved, maybe up to his stiff, white asshole. Whether he ordered the murder or did the deed himself, the Bible and the connection to the Divinities is enough I want time in the confessional with Reverend Sterling." She half turned to her partner, even while striding off. "Clean up that mess in interrogation, why don't you." Gerri grabbed Kinsey's arm on the way by, hauling her along, while Jackson scowled at her, hands dropping to his sides.

They were halfway down the stairs when Gerri came to an abrupt halt, spinning Kinsey toward her. She held up the slip of paper, eyes so intense Kinsey was almost afraid of her.

"You're sure you found this in the Bible." Kinsey's heart fell.

"Well," she said. "I'm 99% sure." It was on the floor under her desk. She'd dropped the Bible there the night before. And where else would it have come from? She didn't say any of what she was thinking, but she saw the frustration in Gerri's face and knew the detective saw every excuse process through Kinsey's eyes.

"Damn it, Kins." Gerri leaned against the stairwell, staring at the symbols.

"I screwed up." Kinsey knew she had a propensity for blaming herself for things she shouldn't. There was no way she could have known the Bible might lead to the murderer. Even Gerri said the same thing. Roxy was still alive when Kinsey took it with her. Gerri wasn't even interested in it. The spiraling thought pattern took her, as usual, through blame and guilt into irritation and temper until, by the time Gerri looked up again, Kinsey was ready to face off with her.

"No," Gerri said, soft and breathy, "I did."

Kinsey deflated, her anger gone in a flash. With a sudden hit of understanding, she realized there was more going on here. "What happened? What did I miss?"

Gerri's grin wasn't amused. "I'll fill you in later." She fished out her phone. "For now, we have someone to talk to and I want you there." She dialed a number, starting up her rapid descent again. Kinsey hurried after her.

"To look for weird." This time, Kinsey wouldn't let her down. "Where are we going?"

"The Collective of All Souls Church," Gerri said over her shoulder. "Reverend Sterling hasn't been telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but. And I'd like to know why."

***

# INT. – REVEREND STERLING'S MANSION - AFTERNOON

Sterling's "from the neighborhood" lie had died the moment Gerri left the city limits, heading for the outskirts in pursuit of the reverend. She slammed her car door, hearing in absent attention the passenger front and back both close shortly after. There had been no solid, police work reason to bring Ray along, but Gerri was feeling vulnerable and wanted the girls with her. And, while she knew Ray needed to be at the morgue, investigating Roxy's body, she hadn't argued or put up any kind of fight when Gerri called. Maybe she didn't want to know—like Gerri didn't—if the fallen dancer's X-Ray would resembled Aisling's.

Gerri shoved that anomaly aside. Better to have another medical examiner have a look. If Ray was right—Gerri couldn't believe she was even considering that was the case—having another witness to the lack of vital organs might be a good thing.

Besides, she'd much rather have Ray and Kinsey with her than her so-called partner who she knew would stab her in the back before he protected it. The reminder of Missy's non-existent case wasn't helping any, nor was Gerri's worry Kinsey and Ray were right. That there was a paranormal world out there, people and creatures, who defied logic and her reality-based mind.

No. Forget that. Cover ups pissed her off and she wasn't going to let this one slide. Weird could go to hell.

It also pissed her off Sterling knew she was coming, that she'd been forced to flash her badge at the gate's camera so he'd let her in. But, no matter. If he was hiding something, she'd find it. She always did. Gerri looked up at the three-story brick mansion and found herself smirking.

"Since when," Ray said from the other side of the car, "does a reverend have enough money to buy a house like this?"

"Let's go ask him." Gerri circled the front of the car and headed for the entry. The low, stone steps led to a grand open porch, two massive cast iron doors lined with smoked glass guarding the way. She didn't have to knock, or hunt for the oddly comical button shining on one side, begging to be pressed. Gerri could only imagine what the doorbell chime might sound like in a place like this. The moment she set foot on the top step, the left hand door opened and a woman she recognized appeared on the other side.

"Detective." She nodded to Gerri, not even noticing the other two women. She felt nervous, almost smelled like it to Gerri. Her small, chubby hands ran down the front of her brown cardigan, mousy hair in a bun at the base of her neck. "Welcome to the Collective."

"Thanks." Gerri pushed past her, kindly but with authority. She knew this woman's type, how to manipulate her. "Is the reverend available? We have questions."

The woman stuttered a moment before his strong, vibrant voice rescued her.

"Mary." Sterling strode down the broad staircase, smiling at Gerri, a prince welcoming a visiting entourage. "Fetch coffee for our guests."

He touched down on the marble floor, his silver-toned suit less tacky than it should have been. Again with the firm handshake, the steady smile and open gaze. Gerri's doubts about Kinsey's find rose up, but her gut quickly shut that down.

Dirty. From the million-dollar smile to the expensive suit to the false welcome. Everything about him was steeped in filth.

Gerri smiled back, ready to do battle. "We have a few questions," she said. "About the Divinities."

And, with that, she went to war.

Sterling was already walking away, through the foyer, past a small room and into a grand office lined with books. She knew his motives, understood his reasoning. By bringing her in here, his base of power, he hoped to dominate her. He was comfortable here and that made her happy.

Let him. All the easier to take him apart.

She felt someone following, assuming it was Ray and Kinsey. She had no time to check on them. She could only hope her anthropologist friend understood the "weird" observation was a standing order and that Ray would help. Gerri's job was standing in front of her in his very expensive office, grim but smiling.

"Tell me about the Divinities," she said.

He twitched. Just a little. More than enough. She held herself still as he denied it, just like she knew he would.

"A local street gang," he said, shocking the hell out of her, so much she was momentarily speechless. "I've been assisting them in converting to the faith. To bring them out of their lives of crime and punishment and into the fold of the Collective."

Gerri snorted, she couldn't help herself. "Sure you are," she said, still stunned he told her even that much truth.

His artful frown gave him the upper hand, damn him. He was in control and Gerri knew it. How had she lost her advantage again? Time to take it back.

"You can believe what you like, Detective," he said. "And ask all the questions you want. But my life—and my ministry—are an open book."

Fine, she'd just see about that. "And these symbols?" She handed him her phone, watching carefully. His face didn't flinch this time. Instead, he nodded slowly.

"Yes, I've seen these before," he said, looking up, innocence and concern in his gaze. "Tattooed on the Divinities members, I believe. You might want to ask them about this. I have nothing to do with it."

Frustration burned a hole in the lining of Gerri's stomach. She'd have an ulcer before long, she was sure of it. "These symbols were found in the Bible you left with Roxy," she said. And hated that she'd given so much away.

Sterling's face tightened. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said. "I certainly left no such thing with that damaged soul." Roxy lied? But why? Because Sterling seemed truly shocked under his false concern.

So, who gave her the Bible? Gerri ground her teeth. She was getting nowhere. And hoped the other two were making more headway. Otherwise, as soon as Sterling decided the show was over, this interview was a bust.

***

# INT. – REVEREND STERLING'S MANSION - AFTERNOON

Kinsey held back while Gerri did what she did best. Instead of joining her detective friend and Ray in Sterling's office, she lingered outside, near the small desk, waiting for Mary. Not because she couldn't stomach the interrogation. In fact, she would have enjoyed watching Gerri tear the guy down if he was guilty or involved. But because she knew the true source of information was coming toward her with a tray of coffee balanced in her hands.

Kinsey smiled and went to Mary, relieving her of the weight of her burden. The smell of coffee was so good, she was almost distracted. But, when Mary, her anxious face turned toward the office door, tried to move past Kinsey, she cut the woman off with her body, still smiling, catching Mary's full attention.

"They'll just be a few minutes," Kinsey said, setting the tray on the edge of Mary's desk. "Thank you so much for the coffee. That was kind of you."

"Not at all." Mary fidgeted slightly, peeking over Kinsey's shoulder.

"Murder!" Sterling's voice boomed from the next room. "How dare you..." his tone dropped as Gerri's voice cut him off, muffled and undecipherable. Mary's face compressed into a worried frown again, her gaze flickering to the phone on her desk.

Who did she want to call? "I'm sure it's all a big misunderstanding," Kinsey said, patting Mary's hands. They were ice-cold and shaking. In fact, the woman was so worked up, two bright points of pink stood out on her pale cheeks, a thin sheen of sweat standing on her upper lip.

"Oh, wonderful." Ray's bright voice interrupted, turning Kinsey half around. Hazel eyes met hers with absolute clarity and understanding. Thank goodness Ray knew what Kinsey was trying to do. The brunette circled to Mary, pinning her against her desk, with Kinsey blocking one way and only retreat available as Ray took the open side. "Coffee. I'm absolutely parched."

"I should assist the reverend." Mary tried to move through them, but Kinsey was determined. It wasn't like this woman was a threat to Gerri's investigation. But if they could keep her clear of Sterling, maybe they could convince her to talk. With a faint taint of guilt, Kinsey reached for the one tool she knew wouldn't let her down, as long as she wasn't imagining it. In her heart of hearts, she knew better. And she refused to let Gerri down ever again, even if that meant proving to herself, once and for all, she was an utter freak show.

Her head vibrated as she sent herself out to touch Mary. There was a good reason she wanted to believe in the paranormal, a reason she carried with her like a secret she could never, ever share. But, as she leaned on the older woman with the quiet power in her mind, Kinsey felt her whole body relax, sighing with relief at being free.

A subtle thing, this ability to encourage others to see things her way. Mostly, she'd used it out of ignorance in the beginning, to calm or relax those around her during tense situations. When she finally understood, as a teenager, what she was able to do, she stopped all together. Surely she was imagining her influence on the young man in the back seat of his car who wanted to have sex far more than she did. Or the teacher who planned to give her a "B" and ended up writing an "A" instead. But, as time went on, Kinsey came to accept her ability. And to only use it for good.

This, she posited, was one of those times. Reminding her yet again paranormals did exist. That her grandmother's influence wasn't her imagination after all, years of pressure and swaying to Margot's wants all suspect. Bringing Kinsey to one final thought. That maybe, just maybe, she and her grandmother were something more than normal, too.

"Mary," she said, pushing gently against the woman's heart, forgetting about Margot and all those years she now feared were spent under her grandmother's influence in more ways than just the critical. "It's all right. Detective Meyers won't be much longer. Maybe you'd like to tell us about the reverend? To pass the time?"

Ray frowned at her, just the barest movement of her brows tightening. But Mary reacted as Kinsey expected, as she encouraged, sagging just a little, eyes no longer locked on the doorway, but on Kinsey instead. She even managed a fluttering smile.

Proof positive of this talent of hers, in the flesh. Kinsey didn't know if she should be jumping for joy or scared out of her ever loving mind.

Both would have to do for now. Or she'd fall into furious with her grandmother. And she just couldn't afford the distraction. This was too important.

"He's a wonderful man," Mary said, clearly oblivious to the influence Kinsey held over her. The longer she held contact, the more complete the bond felt, until Kinsey knew what words would emerge from Mary's mouth before she said them. Unsettling, the prequel. "Wise and kind and gentle. The perfect leader for our chapter of the church." Kinsey watched her hands tighten into a ball at the woman's waist, clutching together until the skin turned white, feeling it in her own hands like a subtle flex of muscle not her own. "He does such good work in the community. With the misguided."

Kinsey pushed a little harder, to the limit of her, admittedly, limited ability. Frustrating, now knowing for sure exactly what she could do but only able to carry it this far. "The gay community?" If Mary decided to fight her, this would be all over. The barest reassertion of control was all it would take. But the woman seemed more than willing to accept Kinsey's soft pressure, welcoming it, even, as though she'd been looking for someone to confide in.

Mary flinched from the word, though, her scorn mixed with an ache deep inside. "The queers," she hissed before catching herself, both hands now over her mouth, eyes wide in shock, completely Kinsey's. "Forgive me," she said.

Kinsey didn't think Ray would be all that forgiving, but was surprised when she spoke up.

"Such a shame, all those misguided, damaged people." Her British judgmental bitch was showing. "Going against nature like that." Ray shuddered. "How could they? Abominable."

Kinsey bit her lower lip to keep from smiling, though it really wasn't funny. Ray sounded like her mother.

"Against nature." Mary nodded quickly, voice dropping. "You have no idea." She glanced at the doorway before grasping Ray's hand, pulling her closer, drawing her into the bare touch of influence Kinsey held over her. "They are demons," she whispered, spit flying to land on Ray's cheek. "Possessed by the devil himself. And the reverend, bless him, every day he struggles, he fights. He gives his energy and his time in the battle to exorcise their evil."

Ray wiped carefully at the spot of spittle, her tight smile a warning to Kinsey she'd better be ready to hold her back. Mary might end up with a broken nose for her homophobia.

"Indeed," Ray said instead of striking, pulling free of Mary. "Good for him, then." She looked away as Mary turned her attention to Kinsey.

"He's doing good work," she said, eyes watering, though Kinsey felt her retreating from the touch of her influence. Frustrated, she pushed harder, only to feel Mary slip away. "So necessary."

Ray's hiss of surprise caught Kinsey's attention. She leaned back as the brunette reached between her and Mary, lifting a photo frame from the desk, her hazel eyes dark as she examined it. When she held it up to the shaking woman, her face was blank.

"Who is this?" Kinsey guessed Ray already knew, though she herself didn't recognize the handsome young man. Tall, dirty blonde hair, smiling a brittle smile that seemed forced. Like her last portrait with her grandmother. He looked enough like Mary Kinsey guessed he was her son, maybe? But why was Ray so interested?

"My boy," Mary said, taking the frame from Ray, stroking the picture. "One of the saved." She hugged it to her chest, rocking a little. "Reverend Sterling personally saw to his salvation."

"Is that so." Gerri's voice interrupted, her hand taking the frame firmly from Mary who tried to cling to it. Kinsey spun to see Sterling glaring at the woman, face pale.

Gerri took one look at the photo and tsked before tossing it to Sterling. "You could have mentioned the fact you knew him."

Sterling's face settled into a mask of outrage while Kinsey tried to figure out what she missed. "He was a devil," he said in his preacher's voice. "Now, he is an angel."

"You're sure about that, are you?" Gerri reached for her phone, dialed. "If your salvation worked so well, why is Curtis working as a bartender at the Starlet Lounge?"

***

# INT. – REVEREND STERLING'S MANSION - AFTERNOON

Mary answered her question before Sterling could stop her. Not that there was much he could say to refute it. Gerri already knew the answer. But her gut? It never led her wrong before.

"Reverend Sterling made sure Curtis worked with the demons," Mary said. "As a missionary, to befriend and assist those still possessed." Sure, that was the reason. Gerri turned to glare at the angry man while Mary went on. "He was the perfect one to do it, since he's been freed himself of the yoke of the devil."

But there was no guilt in him, just grief.

Just grief.

Gerri snarled to herself. Because the boy didn't think what he did was wrong. He was just sad he had to do it. She could have taken Sterling's throat out with her teeth, she was so furious. Instead, she got in the man's face and pressed a finger into his chest, gently, so he couldn't cry police brutality later.

"If I find out he killed those dancers because you told him to..." She drew a sharp breath, let it out in a controlled exhale as he stuttered in her face.

"I've had enough of your accusations." Sterling's charisma dried up like a lake in a south Texas drought. "We've been more than accommodating in the face of such unjust treatment. It's time for you to leave, Detective."

Oh, she was going. Right to Curtis. And he was going to tell her everything she wanted to know. Sterling's sudden hard swallow past his posturing anger told her he knew what her next stop would be. Gerri tensed, hoping she wouldn't find the kid dead, too.

What a mess.

She turned and left, stomping for the door, already reaching for her phone. She might not like him even a tiny scrap, but she had a partner for a reason. One who should be closer to the Lounge location than she was.

"Pierce!" She snarled at him as she exited the mansion and almost threw herself down the stairs toward the car. "Get to Starlet. Now!"

***

# INT. – THE STARLET LOUNGE – EARLY EVENING

Ray sat in the back of the car, heart pounding, soul aching. She should have stayed at the morgue with Roxy's body, instead of giving in to the plea in Gerri's voice. She'd been standing over the fallen queen, tape recorder at the ready, prepped to start the autopsy she'd put off as long as she could. Her shaking hands refused to review the X-Rays, her fingers quivering on the handle of her scalpel. Everything in Ray screamed at her to back away, even while the urge to cut through flesh and saw through bone to reveal the truth ate at her with an intensity more frightening than any missing heart.

Gerri's call had been an excuse, an escape. She'd left Dr. Druit to handle the procedure, run out, hoping he would find what she feared. Or only a normal man who loved to play woman. Either way, Ray hated herself for her cowardice.

She'd thought this trip would be satisfying, a way to either prove or disprove the guilt of a man she despised purely on principle. How wrong she'd been, thinking there was victory over hate. Nothing she could have faced in the morgue would have been worse. Every word Mary spoke back at the mansion cut through her like the knife the murderer used to kill those women. She'd played her best Mummy, to back up Kinsey's play, and it paid off. And yet, Ray couldn't help but fear what they'd find when they finally tracked down Curtis.

They'd broken him. They had to have, Sterling and his so-called righteous followers. She'd had such vitriol thrown at her most of her adult life, either thinly veiled from her hideous mother, from Mummy's cultured friends and their cruel and entitled sons and daughters. College had been a happy reprieve, a place to meet those who either had no idea she was gay or didn't really give a damn. But she knew the crushing pressure of family, how deeply she wore her scars from years of judgment and constant pushing to just be normal.

After meeting his timid mother and seeing right through the cunning nastiness of Reverend Sterling, Ray couldn't imagine what Curtis went through. If he did kill Aisling and Roxy... why? Maybe Gerri was right. He did it under orders. But she'd met him at both crime scenes, had seen his anguish as he watched the bodies slipped into bags, taken away. Felt it in her own empathetic heart. He wasn't the kind to just blindly kill, not when he clearly cared about them so much.

Fury woke and burst inside her, driving her short nails into the palms of her hands, cutting tiny, crescent shapes into her flesh. She was glad Kinsey took the passenger seat, that Gerri was too worked up to look back, to see the expression that had to rule Ray's face. Her own need to turn the car around, stomp up the stairs and kick the living shit out of those two monsters.

Because Curtis, Aisling, Roxy and all the dancers and patrons at the Starlet Lounge were far more human than Mary and Sterling.

She was wrong, thinking her highly observant friend didn't know just how deeply this hurt her. "Ray." Gerri's voice carried, low and deep, to the back seat. She looked up, hands unclenching from instinctual response as she schooled her features to calm. Another thing to thank Mummy for. "I'm sorry, Ray. We all know they're crackpots."

Ray shrugged, looking out the window, still burbling with rage, but unable to show it, even to her closest friends. Though, when Kinsey spun in her seat and looked over the top at her with her wide, blue eyes, Ray almost lost her lifelong shell in favor of breaking down. "Of course," she said. "Lunatics, the lot of them. I hope when they're burning in hell, the devil tells them just how delighted he was they did his job for him."

Gerri fell silent and, after a moment, to Ray's relief, Kinsey spun back and gave her peace. It didn't matter, any of it. Except for Curtis and how broken she feared he was.

There was no sign of Jackson's car when they pulled up outside the Starlet Lounge. The night was young enough Ray was certain the shows wouldn't have started yet, though there were likely early patrons inside. She exited the car slowly, following Kinsey's bobbing ponytail, keeping her slim friend between herself and the towering redhead in the lead. She'd let Gerri and Kinsey deal with this, hang back, stay out of the way. If she had a moment to talk to him, she'd comfort Curtis. If he let her. She'd met those damaged by doctrine before, when she did a stint for her license in a mental institution. Two sisters, both gay, tortured and molested by men of their church, in an effort to turn them straight. As if raping lesbians would make them want a penis inside them.

It still made Ray want to throw up, the blank stares of the girls, the way they refused to let anyone touch them but each other. How they would scream and scream if the orderlies came near. The only person they let close was Ray. She wondered if they sensed she was like them. She tried to reach them, to get to them. But it was far too late.

Six months after her rotation ended, she found out the twins killed themselves one night, overdosing on meds they'd hoarded for just that purpose, dying in each other's arms.

Ray shook off the memory as she passed through the door to the club, the humid air outside giving way to the sticky, rank scent inside. The AC chugged valiantly to clear the heat, but with little result. The lights were already down, a few tables with inhabitants, though, as she suspected, the full crowd had yet to arrive. She'd been here before, about three months ago, with a woman she thought might turn into something more than an occasional lay. Neither the night at the bar nor her date impressed her, both turning into something sad and rather pathetic she had to leave behind. She'd enjoyed Aisling's dance, though, she remembered that much. Ray's eyes lifted to the poster near the stage where the dancer's image still hung and her sadness almost overwhelmed her.

Gerri moved ahead, cornering Salvador at the far end of the club, Kinsey at her side. Ray watched them a moment, turning to look behind the bar. A gorgeous man with thick, black hair and more makeup on than her winked and held up a glass. How she would love a stiff scotch and a reason to forget. She shook her head and smiled, always polite.

Salvador was shaking his head, and Gerri looked unhappy. The old dancer turned, likely heading for his office. Ray held her place, contemplated going home, suddenly tired. This wasn't in her job description. But, when she turned back, second guessing that drink, her eyes caught a hint of motion near the stage door and she froze.

Curtis hid behind the partially open door, staring at Gerri. For a long moment, Ray hovered there, mouth open. There he was, right in front of her. She had to move, call for Gerri, something. But, when he finally turned his head and met her eyes, she realized no one else understood and if they were going to bring him in, it was up to her.

She headed for him, stride lengthening. Curtis hesitated, then disappeared. By the time she passed through the door, Gerri's big voice calling her name and getting closer, he was gone. Ray ran down the narrow hall, the squeal of the back door pulling her forward, panic gripping her. She didn't know why she needed to reach him first, only that the drive to do so was so powerful she hit the stage door with her shoulder hard enough it banged against the dumpster with a booming sound.

Ray stumbled out into the alley, tripping over a small pothole, and into Curtis's arms.

"I'm sorry," he said, tears on his face, a knife flashing in his hand. "My demon made me do it."

***

# INT. to EXT. – THE STARLET LOUNGE – EARLY EVENING

Gerri acted on instinct. As soon as she saw Ray heading for the stage door, she knew, trusted her gut when it warned her to move.

Follow her.

Kinsey was right behind her. Gerri could feel her keeping pace, though her panting told Gerri Kinsey really needed a few weeks at the gym to build up her cardio. Not that it mattered when Ray was up ahead, crashing through the stage door, falling out into the night.

Gerri's gun was in her hands, her stomach in her throat, as she leaped through the opening into the night and pulled the trigger. "Police! Drop the knife!" So her warning came after the fact, after her bullet cut through Curtis's thigh and dropped him to the filthy pavement, sending Ray spinning to the side, falling to her knees. To his credit, the bartender didn't let go of his weapon, clinging to it like his was part of him.

"I said drop it." Gerri eased closer, gun steady, everything hot around the edges. It was as though she could taste the air, feel every nuance of variation in the ground under her feet. Hear his heartbeat racing in time with hers. Smell his blood as the craving for a blue-rare steak made her mouth flood with saliva.

This. Gerri's whole life was this.

Except, her prey wasn't supposed to beat himself with his free hand, sobbing and wailing like a little boy lost. The burning of the tingle inside her eased as Gerri's odd sense retreated, leaving her frustrated and more than a little angry.

Screw the freak show. She'd gotten here thanks to police work, damn it. He was guilty, no way he'd convince her otherwise. The knife looked like a perfect match. And though Aisling was gone, she still had Roxy to pin on him. But, even if there was no case remaining, if somehow this all went south, Gerri didn't care.

He killed those women. And she'd find a way to make sure he paid for it.

Kinsey was with Ray, helping her to her feet. Gerri spared them a quick glance as her doctor friend shook her head, dark hair a halo around her, back lit by the streetlight.

"Please, Gerri, be gentle." Damn it, she had to say something, didn't she? Gerri's sympathy was already peeking out. Something she didn't need, not when the odds of him ever standing trial for his crimes were slim to zilch. He had insanity plea written all over him.

"Don't tell me this isn't his fault, Ray." Gerri tried to hunt down her anger, found a patch of it humming deep inside. But Ray had won, Gerri knew it. Was just delaying the inevitable. "He killed them."

"I did," Curtis said, suddenly calm, big eyes bright with madness as he stared up at her. Gerri's gun followed him as he stood, still holding the knife. She moved sideways, placing herself between him and her friends, ready to put a bullet in his heart. Her mind hiccupped. If he had one.

Damn it all to hell.

"I killed them." Curtis looked down at the knife in his hand. Gerri followed his every move, the runnel of blood tracing down his black pants almost invisible but for the wetness of it. A small pool formed by his shoe, taunting her with its heavy, copper aroma, as he spoke again. "I'm the devil, you see. The demon in me survived, no matter what the reverend said. What he did." Curtis met Gerri's eyes, expression almost peaceful. A small smile, the look of an angel, empty of remorse or even concern beamed back at her. "I tried so hard to be a good boy. To be the soldier of hope they wanted me to be. But I loved her." He rocked forward on his good foot, knife swaying at his side, held loosely now. "She was a star in the sky and I was a mere mortal who didn't deserve to have her shine on me."

"Aisling." Ray's voice reached them both, but not as an interruption. She spoke the name like a caress.

Curtis's smile widened. "Aisling," he said. "She said she loved me, me of all people." He shook his head, amazement on his face. "She made me feel things..." he trailed off, swallowing, face constricting, as though remembering something too painful to forget. "Things I wasn't supposed to feel." That sounded familiar. Oz's confession wasn't so far off this one. "It's my fault. I was weak. She was the strong one. I just couldn't bring myself to believe she was a demon."

"Until that night." Ray joined Gerri, who hissed at her to stay back. She ignored her, though she didn't get in the way. Just stood there at Gerri's side, one hand extended. "What happened, Curtis?"

"I wanted to be with her." The wail was back in his voice, so hurt it cut Gerri to the quick. "I gave her what she wanted, gave in to her temptation. And I discovered the truth." His face darkened, hardened as his hand tightened on the knife again. Gerri's grip on her gun shifted slightly, finger slipping from the side of the gun to the trigger. Ready to kill him if she had to. "When I finally gave in, she laughed at me when it was done. Told me she never loved me. And left me to the demon within."

Heartless. Gerri shivered.

"Curtis." Ray's voice ached with her own hurt. "You're not possessed. You're gay. There's nothing wrong with you."

Maybe not once. But now? One look at him told Gerri he was so broken he'd never put himself back together again.

"Why Roxy, Curtis?" Gerri tried to mimic Ray's tone, hit it well enough. "What did she do to you?"

He gestured with the knife, a casual move, as though stabbing a phantom in his head. Gerri shifted sideways, pushing Ray back. Any second now. Were she alone, she'd risk it, tackle him, take him down. But she just couldn't risk the girls getting in the way. And despite his obvious madness, Gerri was reluctant to kill him. Selfish reasons. She needed someone to prove Aisling was dead. His confession might be the leverage she required to find out what the hell was going on.

"She knew," he said. "About me and Aisling and the demon making me do bad things." He quivered, shot leg buckling once before his knee popped back into place "She had the Bible I gave to Aisling, the special one I took from the reverend. That proved she was a demon."

The symbols. "Why the symbols, Curtis?"

He stared at her a long moment, suddenly still. Then, his free hand settled on the hem of his T-shirt. "The truth and the word," he said, jerking it up. Gerri's stomach heaved. Six brands, burn scars. The same symbols embedded in his chest. Ray gasped, or was that Kinsey? Didn't matter. "The demon inside can't survive the truth and the word." But he laughed then. "That's what he told me! He lied!"

Gerri didn't know what to say to that. But Curtis had to be talking about Sterling.

And he wasn't done. He shook his head as though dazed. "Roxy said she was going to tell on me, tell the reverend." His eyes grew huge, bulging, hand clenched around the knife. "I couldn't go back to the center," he said, his desperation so powerful it hit Gerri like a wave. "To the treatments. They couldn't know." He hung his head, shoulders stiff. "And she was possessed. So I did my duty."

This was it, the final piece she needed. "Curtis," Gerri said, controlled and precise, the tingling returning to surge around her, through her, drawing her focus tight. "Did Reverend Sterling order you to kill those women?"

Curtis looked up again, something truly horrible shining in his eyes. "No," he said. "I did that myself."

Damn it.

"Please, Curtis, put the knife down." Ray was almost in tears from the sound of her voice. "Let us help you."

He wavered, the darkness leaving him, just a hurt and scared kid left behind. "You can't," he said. "The devil owns me."

"He doesn't." Ray walked around Gerri again, this time too far for her liking. What the hell was she doing, trying to get herself killed? The trigger compressed ever so slightly, barrel end aimed at his chest. "Just, give me the knife and let's get you somewhere safe."

Curtis slumped, mouth pulled down in sorrow, the blade in his hand swinging as his grip loosened. "You really understand," he whispered.

"I really do." She held out one hand and, for a moment, Gerri was sure she was going to do it. Disarm him, damn her, just like that.

"Meyers!" Jackson and his perfect fucking timing. Curtis spun at the sound of Gerri's partner's voice, a mask of rage surging to the surface. He took a step toward the end of the alley where Jackson stood, gun drawn. His arm came up, the blade flashing in the light.

And Jackson pulled the trigger. Once, twice the muzzle flashed, the booming sound of the weapon's discharge ricocheting down the alley. Curtis spun part way around on impact of the second bullet, one to the chest, the second to the center of his forehead. Just in time for Gerri to watch the light go out of his eyes.

And see the peace that fell over him in his last moment to the sound of Ray screaming his name.

***

# EXT. – THE STARLET LOUNGE – EARLY EVENING

Gerri lowered her gun as Ray shot past her, falling to her knees beside Curtis's body. When she looked up, her face twisted in fury, Gerri holstered her gun as quickly as possible, grabbing Ray before she could hurtle herself at the approaching Jackson.

"He was giving himself up!" Gerri had never seen Ray break down before, wasn't sure what to do with her. Suddenly she was all slippery and boneless, making it impossible for Gerri to hold her back. Kinsey appeared at Gerri's side, leaping between Ray and Jackson, finally giving her the leverage she needed to keep Ray from lunging at her partner. "You fucking bastard, you didn't have to kill him."

Jackson shrugged with a frown, his own gun going in the holster under his jacket. "Dude was coming at me with a knife."

Gerri hated to admit it, especially in front of this asshole. "It was a good shoot, Ray." As much as she'd like to think otherwise, that maybe Curtis would have given up the knife instead of forcing Gerri to pull the trigger before he could plant it in Ray's chest. "Let it go."

Ray turned away from her after staring with so much hurt Gerri worried she might never forgive her. Kinsey shook her head and led Ray away, though not in anger. With sympathy. Gerri wished her blonde friend hadn't triggered her guilt.

"What's with her, huh?" Jackson's casual attitude spun Gerri around, a snarl on her face.

"Call it in," she said, teeth grinding together. "And keep your stupid fucking mouth shut."

Ten minutes later and Curtis was on the bus, the paramedics taking him to the morgue. Ray went with them, refusing to look at Gerri, leaving Kinsey behind to reassure their friend.

"She'll be okay," she said, blue eyes huge behind her glasses. "She just needs to see this through."

"She's not the only one." Gerri spun on her heel. "Go home, Kins. I have something I need to do and you don't need to be part of it." She didn't bother to see if Kinsey left or not. Gerri's attention was on her partner and his damned rotten attitude.

"Where the hell were you?" She'd called him well before she made it to the city. He was supposed to be here ahead of her.

"I got held up." And that was it, no further explanation. Gerri ground her teeth together before turning her back on him and striding away.

***

# INT. – 9th PRECINCT to REVEREND STERLING'S MANSION - EVENING

Gerri didn't pause, didn't let herself think. There was nothing to think about. She bypassed the gathering crowd, ignoring their questions, their stares. They didn't matter. She had her killer.

And was about to take down his maker if it meant giving up her badge to do it.

She made it to her car without exploding. Slammed the door and drove far too fast to the precinct. Stomped up every single step to the bullpen at the 9th and through the captain's door.

He was still there, working in front of his glowing computer screen. He didn't seem surprised to see her.

"I heard," he said, voice low. "But, even if the kid was alive, we have no case." He pushed a folder toward her. Gerri didn't bother flipping it open, waiting, vibrating, for an explanation. "The second body and all evidence is gone. We're to pretend these are missing persons."

"Says who?" Gerri bit her tongue, drew a breath past her rage. "Sir."

"Says someone so fucking high above my pay grade I bent over." His words crackled in the air between them. "You drop it. Understood, Officer?" The threat was clear. Bring this up again and her badge was at risk.

"There's another matter. Sir." Gerri stuffed her hands in her pockets to keep from slamming both fists down on his desk. She'd never felt such anger before, and that alone reined her in. She felt as though she could literally tear this entire room apart with her bare hands. "The bartender."

"Curtis Alexander." He nodded, looked away. "Attacked a police officer with a knife. Good shoot." Again he fixed her with his black eyes. "End of story."

"Not quite." She felt need uncoil in her gut, begging her to get this right. "He's also a victim."

That caught the captain's attention. "Of what?"

When she told him what she suspected, what she feared went on in that mansion in the suburbs, the captain sank back into his chair with a terrible expression she feared meant the end of her career. But she didn't care.

For Ray. For Curtis. And Aisling and Roxy and every other freak show out there. She had to try.

"Meyers." He stopped, lowered his head. Then looked up with an evil gleam in his eye. "Get a warrant. And put that bastard out of business."

An hour later, after banging on a sympathetic judge's door for a signature, Gerri stood on the front steps of the reverend's mansion. Her SWAT team already cut the security to the front gate as well as the house, making short work of the iron doors with their battering ram. All while she breathed a little too hard inside the snug fit of her bullet proof vest. Everything hinged on her being right. She was right, she was sure of it.

And yet...

No. She had to trust her gut. Police work got her this far. But her instincts refused to let her go.

The upper floors were empty. Didn't matter when the basement gave her all the proof she needed. They tried to stop her, the three towering bikers with their tattoos and guns, but SWAT made short work of them. Fast enough she caught the half-naked reverend hard at work over the writhing body of a boy. The kid couldn't have been more than fifteen, skin marred with scars, branded with the six symbols she knew now all too well.

Sterling's eyes held his own madness, Mary crouched in one corner, weeping, back turned to the room of horrors with its whips and chains and knives. The slab to which the boy was strapped. The selfsame scars Curtis bore shining on Sterling's gleaming skin.

"YOU DARE ENTER THE HOUSE OF THE HOLY!" Sterling lunged at her with a knife in his hand. But she wasn't about to let him die, oh no. He had far too much to answer for.

SWAT handled him, a beanbag taking him full in the chest. He fell back with a whoof of exhale, landing hard against the wall. Gerri turned her back, eyes falling on Mary who looked up at her with fear at war with self-righteousness.

"He's dead," Gerri said, voice dead, heart, too, for the time being. "Curtis. And this," she waved around herself at the room. "This makes it your fault."

Gerri left to the sound of Mary wailing, leaving the rest of the officers behind, ignoring the judging look on Jackson's face, the way they all avoided her. She didn't stop until she stood in the fresh air, on the grass beside the driveway, looking up at the moon and breathing in great gulps of Silver City night time.

Where she stayed for a long time, trying to convince herself she wanted to keep her badge after all.

***

# INT. – GERRI'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Kinsey knocked on the apartment door, holding up a bottle of red wine when Gerri pulled it open.

"For that," the detective said in a weary voice, "you can have my first born."

Ray shuffled in after her, a bag of groceries in her hands. Gerri didn't say anything as the brunette helped herself to her kitchen and started to cook. Kinsey poured, handing off full glasses to each of the girls before sampling the vintage herself.

Cheap and potent. Perfect.

Silence held them as Ray puttered, the smell of garlic and onions mixed with something spicy soon filling the small space. Gerri's apartment wasn't her ideal, but she fell in love with the view and the small balcony the moment she set foot inside. She could deal with the water stain on the ceiling in the bathroom and the questionable wiring as long as she could sit outside at night and watch the city go on without her.

When Gerri finally broke the silence, she saw both of her guests jump a little. "Shitty day," she said. The wine burned the back of her tongue, making her mouth feel tight.

Kinsey clinked glasses with her as Ray turned around. Gerri's worry her friend's gaze would hold anger was unfounded. Instead, her hazel eyes were thoughtful.

"Shitty all around." She joined them in their salute. "I heard they arrested the reverend."

Gerri took another drink. "I have a feeling Sterling is having a far shittier night than we are at this point. And things will only go downhill for him." While she held out little hope he might actually pay for his crimes—this case's far-too-convenient cover up had made her cynical—he might, at least, suffer some indignities in lockup. Especially considering she made sure the other cons knew what he'd done.

Life was a bitch, sometimes.

"What's wrong with people?" Kinsey stared down into her glass. "He was torturing gay boys, for what?"

Ray's bitter laughter hurt. "He's not the first, or the last," she said. Gerri's guilt grew in a swelling crescendo she'd been unable to save Curtis and, maybe, the boy she'd found with Sterling. Surely he was ruined, too. But, when Ray met her eyes, her anguish was gone. So there was that. "Thank you," she said. "For not letting them get away with it."

Gerri almost said it was her job. But that was a lie. And she was tired of lies.

Ray dished out three plates of gnocchi. Gerri didn't comment, though she really was craving beef after the last few days. The spiced Alfredo chicken sauce wasn't going to cut it. Still, it tasted delicious. She carried her plate out to the balcony, perching on the low bench at the far end, leaving the two tiny chairs at the small table she'd squeezed into the narrow space for the girls.

"We really need to talk about this." Kinsey set down her plate and glass, head down, the sounds of the city traveling upward to muffle her words. Gerri paused mid-chew, stomach clenching around the food she'd already eaten. She knew what "this" meant.

"We do." Ray met Gerri's eyes. "About the weird, Gerri."

"It's not just the stuff we've seen." Kinsey drew a breath. "There are some things from that Bible I should tell you about. I don't think Sterling meant for us to see it. For someone like me to see it." Gerri was certain of that, read the concern in the man's eyes when she asked him about it. Fear. He'd been afraid to find out Roxy had the book, now in police lockup. "But, there's more than that, too." Gerri wished she could turn away, run away. She was absolutely certain she did not want to hear what Kinsey had to say, but was trapped, mouth full of pasta that tasted of bile as the blonde went on.

"I can influence people." She said it in a rush. Like it was some dirty secret. Gerri almost sighed in relief. So could she. With her gun. But Kinsey wasn't done. "Make them bend to what I want. With my... with my mind."

Gerri choked on her gnocchi, gulped a huge drink of wine to keep herself from asphyxiating. "You can what?"

Ray's eyes looked wild, as though she was as ready to bolt as Gerri. "I can see what's wrong with people." She covered her mouth with both hands after blurting that particular tidbit. "Oh my god, Kinsey. I gave up being a doctor because I knew what was killing patients and I couldn't save them."

They both turned to stare at Gerri. To watch her with their needy eyes and their hopeful expressions. And Gerri's gut whispered.

Tell them.

She surged to her feet, plate rattling on the small table. "You two," she said, "are fucking lunatics." No. Way. She was not a freak.

Not.

Kinsey looked away, down, but Ray refused to release Gerri from her gaze. "We're not," she said, heated, sharp with hurt. "There's nothing wrong with us, Gerri."

Gerri sank down again, jerking herself under control. "I'm sorry," she said. "Jesus. Just... this is crazy, you know that. We're talking about shit that only happens in the movies."

Kinsey nodded, clearly miserable. Gerri felt like crap for being so cruel. But she just couldn't bring herself to say a word. Because she was normal. Not like them.

Not like them at all.

"Something is going on," Ray said. "And we are the only ones we can count on. We can't trust anyone else. But we have to figure this out. Before another body goes missing."

Gerri didn't argue. Neither did Kinsey. Appetite gone, she sat there with the girls, the humidity of the California night breaking as a storm rumbled over the ocean, rain coming to wash the city clean.

***

# INT. – MARGOT'S CAR – NIGHT

Margot's wrinkled fingers tapped an irritated beat on the arm rest of the limo as she waited, entire body tensed, in anticipation of her visitor. Rain pattered a steady beat to match her tension on the roof of the car, washing the windows with streaks that threw reflections of light over her face.

There was too much at stake to risk pushing Kinsey further than she had just yet. The phone call was a mistake, and so was dinner. Margot heard Kinsey's reluctance in her voice, recognized her understanding. The moment when her granddaughter felt Margot's influence. Which meant she'd been using her own, on purpose, with purpose. She sighed, light catching the giant diamond of her middle finger ring, anxiety increasing by the moment. It had been hard enough to take over Kinsey's upbringing after Ahnet left, suddenly, abandoning the family and her only daughter. And Margot was well aware she'd likely done the girl a disservice over the years. She shrugged inside her jacket, lips pursing, sending thin lines of lipstick into the wrinkles around her mouth, staring out at the streetlights in the distance. She'd done her best. Hoped this day wouldn't come for Kinsey. Did everything she could to prevent it.

So much for her best laid plans.

The passenger side door opened, his tall, broad shouldered body blocking the light as he slipped inside. The car barely moved despite his large size. His head bowed as he turned to greet her.

"Mistress Nightshade," he said.

"Where have you been?" Margot didn't mean to be short with Benedict. But, her fears for Kinsey made her testy. If only she'd been able to tell her granddaughter everything. To explain her heritage. Maybe their relationship would have been more amiable. Water under a very old bridge, one not built by her, but by generations of DanAllarts.

"Watching her." His black eyes blinked slowly, pale skin flawless. There were times Margot envied him his immortality, the perfection of his beauty, the lushness his race granted him. But, to be a Nightshade, she must remain human. And not even the lure of vampirism was enough to deter her from her destiny.

"She's safe?" Margot's body unwound. Of course she was. Benedict would die before he allowed anything to happen to Kinsey. It was his duty to protect her as much as it was Margot's to shield her from the truth until the time was right.

He shrugged, a small smile on his face. Not enough to show the tiny fangs of his retracted canines. But enough she knew he humored her.

"For now," he said. "But things are moving faster than expected."

"Things aren't supposed to happen this way." Margot fretted, hands wringing together. She could be weak around him. He would never judge her. He'd known her far too long for that. Since her mother died and he was left to tell her, as he'd told generations of her family, just who and what she was.

"There are those who disagree with you," he said, sitting back, shadows darkening his face. "Who would choose to hasten the arrival of awareness. To this generation."

The Nightshade League planned fifty more years before humanity was to know about paranormals. Five decades to soften them through popular literature, through Hollywood blockbusters. Slow and steady introduction, as was intended all along. Not in bursts of reveal that hit tabloids, growing in violence and obviousness.

They might be able to hide the truth a little while longer. But with powers working against them... Margot had to talk to the others. It might be time to prepare the girls for what was coming, no matter the cost.

"We may not like it," Benedict said in his low, deep voice, "but if we want to protect them, we need to tell them what they are." He paused. "And stop stealing bodies from the morgue."

"You know what's at stake." Her hands tightened in her lap, squeezing into fists. "The damned incubus and his heartless body. Who knew they could suffer from transsexualism?" Margot sighed. "It's paranormals like the dancer Aisling who put all of us in jeopardy. We both know if the boy hadn't killed her, a hunter would have tracked her for illegal feeding and killed her before long."

Benedict didn't comment on that. "I don't understand why the second body," he said. "The s/he was human."

"I know Geraldine," Margot said. "Dog with a bone, that one." With good reason. But Margot wasn't focused on the detective's heritage just then. Her main fear was, as always, for her granddaughter. "Best to remove everything from sight for now."

"Regardless," he said, "the deed is done. Now what?"

Margot nodded sharply, mind made up. While she might disapprove of the actions of those who pushed the original agenda, she trusted her granddaughter and her friends were up to the task. They had what they needed. They just needed the rest of their ability awakened.

"Go, watch over her." Kinsey was most important of all, but Rachel and Geraldine were vital, as well. "All of them, if your family can manage it."

"We can. Of course." Benedict paused, reaching for the door handle. Light caught on the ring he wore, the symbol etched in the silver, swirling edges and sharp "V" indentation marking him as one of the blessed undying. "One more thing," he said. "Simone and Julian are here."

Margot almost swore out loud, preferring to curse in her head instead. Her power rippled inside her, snarling fury. She suppressed it with old experience. The magic of the Nightshades didn't like to be challenged and neither did she.

"Of course they are," she snapped. "Because we need more complications. Go. And keep me informed."

Benedict left in a flow of fluid motion, his weight not even registering this time as he departed. She waited a moment, brow furrowed, lost in thought, before tapping the intercom button beside her.

"Take us home," she said. "I have work to do."

Only the tall form of the vampir lord standing with preternatural stillness, soaked by the rain, saw her go.

(CUT TO BLACK)

###
Find The Nightshade Cases at all fine retailers!

Exotica

Stolen

Shelter

Exorcized

Try Dying

Booty Call

Death Song

Zoology101

Teacher's Pet

Panic Room

Bad Shoot

Sicko

Federali

Witness

The Hit

Mimic

The Maze

Haunted

Splish Splash

Divided We Stand

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***

Author Notes

My very dear reader:

When I wrote this first episode in 2014, I didn't give a second thought to the characters who came to me to have their stories told. In fact, I never for a heartbeat considered who or what I was writing about outside the paranormal world I had been lured into by Gerri, Kinsey and Ray. That's my way of doing things. The voices come, I do their bidding, and so be it.

It wasn't until recently, with a heavy heart, I questioned one of the voices that shared her life (and death) with me, and even considered rewriting her truth out of a confused and conflicted need to do the right thing.

You see, Aisling Rose, as a trans woman murdered by her lover, suddenly felt like a trope, a means to an end, a worn out and, frankly, hurtful depiction of someone who had already been through so much. This representation of a trans woman, I feared, would be misconstrued, seen as a thoughtless and heartless and completely cis privileged white woman's decision to titillate and create conflict at the detriment of those living with real trans issues, who have seen those who identify, like them, as a different gender than they were born into, reviled, used as plot points, abused and murdered without full understanding or any care as to the truth of what it is to live as a trans person.

I have no idea what it's like to be trans. I do know what it's like to be gender fluid, identified as asexual for almost two decades. Does that give me the right, however, to allow this story and the life and death of Aisling to stand?

So, I asked friends, one lesbian, one non-binary, both advocates for LGBTQIA2S+, what they thought I should do. And, after a long conversation about human rights, about how popular culture has treated trans people, about writing inside and outside personal experience, I chose, in the end, to honor Aisling's wishes.

Turns out she didn't want me to change a thing. In fact, she demanded I leave her the fuck alone, thank you very much. This is her story as much as it is Gerri and Ray and Kinsey's. And while I know there will be those who disagree, who are hurt or triggered or judge me for leaving her story as she wanted it told, I choose Aisling and those gorgeous boobs she was pissed he destroyed. Because, she told me, she wasn't murdered due to transphobia. She was killed by the one person who needed her the most, whose addiction to her was, ultimately, the fault of her cubi heritage and the fact the only way she could feel was to feed from his poor, abused heart.

I strive to do my best. Sometimes I succeed, sometimes I crash and burn. But, in Aisling's case, I want her to have her moment of glory.

Best,

Patti

***

# About the Author

Everything you need to know about me is in this one statement: I've wanted to be a writer since I was a little girl, and now I'm doing it. How cool is that, being able to follow your dream and make it reality? I've tried everything from university to college, graduating the second with a journalism diploma (I sucked at telling real stories), am an enthusiastic member of an all-girl improv troupe (if you've never tried it, I highly recommend making things up as you go along as often as possible) and I get to teach and perform with an amazing group of women I adore. I've even been in a Celtic girl band (some of our stuff is on YouTube!) and was an independent film maker (go check out the Lovely Witches Club at www.lovelywitchesclub.com). My life has been one creative thing after another—all leading me here, to writing books for a living.

Now with multiple series in happy publication, I live on beautiful and magical Prince Edward Island (I know you've heard of Anne of Green Gables) with my multitude of pets.

I love-love-love hearing from you! You can reach me (and I promise I'll message back) at patti@pattilarsen.com. And if you're eager for your next dose of Patti Larsen books (usually about one release a month) come join my mailing list! All the best up and coming, giveaways, contests and, of course, my observations on the world (aren't you just dying to know what I think about everything?) all in one place: http://smarturl.it/PattiLarsenEmail.

Last—but not least!—I hope you enjoyed what you read! Your happiness is my happiness. And I'd love to hear just what you thought. A review where you found this book would mean the world to me—reviews feed writers more than you will ever know. So, loved it (or not so much), your honest review would make my day. Thank you!
