 
# Bad Blood

### VBI #2

## Claire Farrell

### Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

About the Author

Books by Claire Farrell:

# Introduction

Bad Blood (VBI #2)

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A missing husband should be an easy case to solve, but a bitter single father and a heartbroken hellhound are probably not the right people to ask—especially when the case leads them straight to a succubi brothel. A deadly disease has been striking down human clients, and while everyone else is busy covering up their tracks, Val and Peter are ready to hunt down the real truth, even if that means exposing a member of the Senate.
**Copyright © Claire Farrell**

Book cover provided by Bukovero

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**Licence Notes**

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All Rights Reserved.

# One

_P eter_

* * *

Their first and only client of the morning was already close to tears, and Peter had to feel at least a little responsible. Her hands had been shaking as soon as she stepped into the room, her fearful eyes darting in every direction. Her concern for her missing husband wasn't because he might be dead—she appeared far more alarmed about the idea that he might have left her. But he couldn't seem to find the words to either console her or soften the impact of Val's more harsh reaction.

"It's only been two days," Val was saying in that abrupt tone she'd been hanging on to for a while now. Her own love life wasn't exactly roses, and she'd been taking that into the office. Not that Peter could talk.

"But he always calls me," Fidelma Gaynor insisted, carelessly sweeping her forefingers under her heavy-lidded eyes as the stubborn tears that had kept her gaze glassy for the last ten minutes finally decided to fall. "Even when we... even the times we split up, he still always called me. He never made me worry."

"So you have split up before," Val continued, her eyebrows furrowing until she looked even more severe than usual. "This is a habit."

"We've been together for two decades!" Spittle flew from Fidelma's thin lips. Her face was shiny, as though she'd scrubbed it clean, and she wore no makeup. Her shoulder-length greying hair had been left loose but neat. Or at least it had been until she started knotting it around her fingers. "Of course it hasn't been perfect every single day. We're only human." She covered her face and broke down, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

Peter shot Val a meaningful look. The half-hellhound shrugged as though indifferent, but Peter had learned to see through that. They hadn't worked many jobs together, all things considered, but he knew she was hurting as badly as the woman in front of them. She just had a different way of dealing with it.

As he waited for Fidelma to calm down, he reached into the drawer of the tiny desk to find some tissues. None. Not that they generally needed anything like that. Most clients weren't waiting outside the office door before he arrived. Most kept well away. Maybe for a good reason. Val wasn't exactly at her welcoming best.

Then again, even their one-roomed office looked designed to keep people away. Apart from two secondhand office chairs and a desk he had managed to snag from a business that had closed down in the area, the room was rounded out with an uneven bookcase and a well-used filing cabinet that inexplicably smelled like oranges. He'd also been forced to steal a third unsteady chair from a skip because he didn't have cash for luxuries like furniture. It was that rickety looking dining chair that Fidelma was currently perched on as she bared her soul. He made a mental note to replace it as soon as possible—it somehow made the situation even more absurd.

Finding absent husbands wasn't the kind of business he wanted, but Valeria/Brannigan Investigations couldn't afford to turn people away. Not that Fidelma was rolling in it either—her wedding ring was thin and cheap-looking, and her clothes were threadbare at best. Then again, that could have been a ploy. He tried to shrug off the cynicism, but sometimes it gripped him too tightly. A tiny voice in his head whispered that at least she was human. That voice would ruin him someday.

"Why is this time different?" he asked when Fidelma appeared to pull herself together again.

She discreetly wiped her nose on her sleeve, blinking back fresh tears. She stared at her hands, at the blisters and callouses, and made a face. "Everything's changed, hasn't it? Since we found out the truth about this world."

Peter exchanged a knowing look with Val. The reveal of the supernatural world had been a shock to a fair chunk of the population, and a lot of people they came across simply didn't know how to cope with their nightmares turning out to be truths. "The... change affected your marriage?"

"It affected _him_." She sucked in a breath. "He was obsessed with finding out more. He used to be a great one for telling stories, you see. In the pub, he'd be the one holding court with the rest of the idiot drunks, telling them his ghost stories and unexplained phenomena that he'd experienced. He's... sensitive."

Val raised a brow. "Sensitive?"

Fiddle brushed her hair behind her ears. "He... experiences things that other people don't. He feels things, atmospheres, he calls them. In the pub, they become ghosts, but he's always thought he had a connection to something... out there." She smiled, but it was pained. "Then everything changed because he learned it might have been true. He might have been really experiencing something. They weren't stories anymore. They were mysteries to be solved. They were... I felt so lonely. He was always gone—investigating, he called it—trying to connect again. But he couldn't, and he got frustrated, and so... so did I."

"Is there something we need to know?" Peter asked, sensing they were finally getting close to the actual issue.

"I... I had an affair. It was brief, and I ended it, but I told him. I don't know why. A part of me didn't think he cared, thought that maybe telling him would provoke a reaction, but he withdrew from me even more. He said he understood, said he forgave me, but he was so _cold_. Worse. Calm. I would have preferred it if he shouted at me. At least it would have felt... I don't know."

"Maybe he left you," Val said sharply. "Maybe he doesn't want to be found."

Fidelma found her backbone and straightened. "If he didn't want to come home, that's one thing. Not letting me know is another. He's not cruel. For all his issues, he was never cruel. He wouldn't just leave." She pressed her hand against her heart. "He's my soulmate."

Val made a scoffing sound. "Yet you cheated on him."

"I wanted his attention!" Fidelma yelled. She looked shocked by the sound of her own voice. "I'm so sorry. I... You're right. I hurt him, but it wasn't... I didn't even enjoy it. Things got out of control before I could figure out how to end it. But you don't know Kierán. He's kind to everyone whether they deserve it or not. So I know something's wrong if I haven't heard from him. Something's happened to him, and I can't go to the police."

"Why not?" Peter asked.

Fidelma's lips thinned. "Because they'll look at me the way you two have, but they won't be discreet about it all. The last thing I need is for the neighbours to find out about... all of this. I want to know the truth, either way. I just need to find somebody who'll help me."

The crack in her voice got to Peter. "Sometimes people need space, Fidelma, but if you really want to hire us, we'll look for him and give you some closure."

Sniffing, Fidelma rose to her feet, putting her handbag on the desk. "I have things you might... I didn't know what you'd need, so I brought a lot. Photos, ID, details about his car and job and whatever I could think of."

"Is that his passport?" Val asked, gesturing toward the handful of items Fidelma had taken from her bag.

"Yes, we keep ours together in the kitchen drawer." Fidelma brightened. "He couldn't have gone far, could he? Not without his passport." Her lips trembled. "He'd have to come back for it first."

On a whim, Peter reached across the desk to touch her arm. "We'll find out what happened. You'll get through this. Either way."

She shook her head. "If anything happened to him... He could be laying dead somewhere. I can't bear it. It'll be my fault."

"You're not responsible for the actions of others," Val said in that cool tone again.

Fidelma hesitated, her husband's photo clutched in her hand. "I love him."

Peter glared at Val before taking the photo. "This will be a good start. We might have to speak to you again later if there's anything we need to confirm, but for now, you should get home and take care of yourself. Okay?"

Fidelma nodded, still reluctant to leave. "The house is so empty without him."

"You'll be okay, Fidelma. We'll get you some answers."

After another few minutes of promises and assurances, Peter finally escorted Fidelma outside to the taxi he had ordered for her. As he watched the car drive away, he relaxed against the wall of the building and sighed heavily. Matters of the heart were not his forte. And emotional women were probably one of his weaknesses. Val was going to kill him.

He headed back upstairs to the office they had rented—for next to nothing, thanks to their friendship with the landlady. Val had a face like thunder when he returned. She never exactly looked soft or comforting, but lately, her eyes were prone to turn bloody at the drop of a hat, and the bumps on her heads were almost constantly sharpening. She needed to get a good night's sleep before she lost her damn mind.

"What were you thinking?" she demanded. "You're giving this woman false hope."

He sighed as he took in her appearance. Her hair had been scraped back into a tight bun that revealed just how different to the rest of the world she could be. A couple of short spikes on the back of her neck made that even clearer than the magic-infused tattoos on her face or the crimson wash of colour in her honey-coloured eyes.

"She just needs to know what happened." He sat at the desk and picked up the photo of Fidelma and her husband, Kierán. They looked happy together, both in their forties, neither particularly attractive, but each wearing a certain look of contentment that made him envy them. Pictures never told the whole story, but these people had blissful moments amongst the pain.

"She cheated on him," Val said scornfully. "She ruined their relationship and decided to blame it on people like me instead of taking responsibility for her own actions."

"Stop taking everything so personally. She's hurting, and she's sorry. Why not help her?"

"Because she doesn't deserve it!"

He met her gaze and found her red-faced and shamed. Vulnerable. In pain. He was only a couple of steps ahead of her on that very same road. If only he could figure out how to help her, but he couldn't even help himself. "Val..."

"Okay," she said in a gentler tone. "I'll help her."

He opened his mouth to address the real issue—the one that had Val in such a temper in the first place—but he wasn't quite sure where to start. And if he poked at her wounds, she would surely return the favour. He decided to focus on the case instead.

"This shouldn't take long." He picked up Kierán's passport and flipped through it. "We have this. He's not leaving the country without it. Not now. We can talk to his boss, maybe some friends, find out whose sofa he's been sleeping on, and then be done with the whole thing. It'll be quick."

Val muttered something about picking up strays before taking a look at one of the photos left on the desk. "Fine. We'll go through the motions, but I'm telling you, he got sick of her hurting him and left. That's all there is to this."

Peter realised that she needed that to be true to validate whatever she was going through in her own head. Getting her to deal with her problems wasn't going to be easy, but it was better than dealing with his own.

Kierán Gaynor worked as a teller at a bank not far from his home.

"Not very ambitious," Val murmured as they approached the small branch.

Which translated as boring. Peter couldn't quite disagree, but there was something to be said for safe and reliable.

"We can't all be rockstars from Hell," he replied, which earned him a wry grin from Val. At least she was still capable of facial expressions other than threatening scowls and murderous glares. "I wonder if his job was good enough for the neighbours."

"If she was really worried about him, she would have gone to the police," Val said. "Who cares about the neighbours?"

"Not everyone's equipped to go about life not giving a shit. And if he did leave her, she's probably scared of wasting police time. Cut her some slack. She's all over the place right now."

Val rolled her shoulders. "So she gets to waste our time instead."

That wasn't worth arguing over. Peter hesitated outside the bank. "I think it's best if we go straight to the manager."

"The other tellers might know more about Kierán personally."

"We'll see what vibe we pick up from them." He smirked at her. "You first."

She made a face and pushed open the doors. A cool breeze struck Peter as he stepped into the darkened interior. The bank looked even smaller on the inside. Two tellers stood behind open windows, waiting for customers while wearing matching fed-up expressions.

"Next?" the younger female said, her eyes glazed over with boredom.

Peter stepped to the window. "We want to see the manager."

"She's not available right now. I'm sure I can help you here."

"I want to talk about a staff member. Kierán Gaynor?"

Both tellers exchanged a look and sniggered as though it were a joke. "Kierán? Really?" Their teller looked to her colleague. "She's going to love that." The second teller burst into uncontrollable laughter.

"Yes, Kierán," Val snapped, apparently losing her patience. "Tell the manager we're coming in whether she's busy or not."

The teller cleared her throat, a fleeting look of fear crossing her features. "There's no need to be rude," she muttered under her breath as she picked up the phone.

Val clenched her fingers into fists, the bumps on her head sharpening frightening quickly. She raised her arm, and Peter felt a second of true fear.

"Val," he said as firmly as he could manage before the hellhound could take another step.

Val slowly lowered her fist. "I wasn't going to hurt her." She narrowed her eyes at the young woman. "Yet."

After a brief muffled conversation on the phone, the woman slammed the phone down, taking one significant step back from the window. "She'll see you now. The door to the left."

As they walked away, the tellers broke the silence with another fit of laughter, but Val's louder growl shut them up fairly quickly.

"Are you trying to get us sued?" Peter asked as he knocked on the manager's door.

Val showed him her teeth. "They can't sue if I disembowel all of the witnesses."

He really hoped she was kidding.

He opened the door without waiting for an invitation. The manager's office was barely bigger than a storage room. One tiny window gathered little light and offered a depressing view of a dried up canal.

The woman behind the desk pressed her lips together, her wary eyes on Val as they entered the room.

"You're here about Kierán?" she asked, reaching for her glasses.

Peter nodded. "He may be missing, and we're trying to confirm that he's missed work this week."

"This week?" She snorted. "Kierán wasn't capable of performing to our expectations. He was fired two months ago. I haven't seen him since."

Peter glanced at Val whose jaws had clenched. "So he hasn't been here."

"That's what I said. Look, I'm incredibly busy. Can we hurry this along?"

Val slammed her hands on the table, making everything shake, including the manager. "A man is missing. For all we know, he could be dead. Maybe that's a little more important than your pathetic schedule."

Peter laid a warning hand on her shoulder blade, but she shrugged him off. He decided it was best not to poke the Hell bear when she was on a roll.

"Look, I don't know anything about Kierán," the manager said, rushing her words together until they slurred. "He kept missing days, and when he'd finally show up, he'd be... vacant. He messed up everything he touched, and he didn't even care. He acted like he didn't want to be here anymore. I gave him plenty of chances, but he didn't even fight for his place, and he definitely didn't fit in with the rest of the staff. So I let him go. I had no choice. If that sent him off the deep-end then—"

"The deep-end?" Peter frowned. "Why was he missing work?"

"He was depressed or something. I don't know. I started working here less than a year ago, okay? I barely knew him. I thought he was just lazy."

"Let's go," Val said. "She's wasting our time."

"Excuse me," the woman began indignantly, but Val was already walking out the door.

"Did he get a new job?" Peter asked. "Ask for a reference even?"

"No." She made a show of tidying her hair. "And I'm too busy to waste any more of my time on a loser like Kierán Gaynor. Do you mind?"

With a shrug, Peter followed Val.

"Well," he said as they left the building, sensing all eyes on their backs. "That was enlightening."

"Kierán was depressed. Not surprising, considering he discovered his wife cheated on him."

Peter snorted. "Oh, I'm talking about you. Rein it in just a tad, all right? Before you get us both into trouble."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He felt tired all of a sudden. "Get your shit together, Val. Stop taking it out on the world. You're hurt. I know that, I feel for you, and I'll be here for you when you finally decide to talk about it, but we have a job to do. As you said in there, this man could be dead. Maybe you were right in the first place, and he's hiding out to deal with his marriage falling apart, but what if he's not? You acted just like that woman in there when Fidelma came to us."

"Don't lecture me," she all but snarled.

"Fine," he said. "But don't screw this up either."

He chanced a look at her, but he didn't like what he saw. His hellhound was well on her way to erupting.

# Two

_V al_

* * *

She hadn't been having the best morning. Or month, for that matter. Val wore brittleness like armour, determined not to let another soul in to tear apart her heart again. She had been broken many times in her life, but violence had never hurt so much as love. A woman seeking her missing husband after she broke his heart wasn't the best case for her.

Because the same scene kept running through her head. The look on Lucia's face when she ended their relationship, passing the blame to Val who had no idea what she'd done wrong. A pathetic hope lingered, waiting for the pieces to fit together, for Lucia to change her mind, or... _something_.

Work kept her from crumbling, from thinking and wondering and screaming about the whys. Why didn't she deserve love? Why couldn't she keep it?

"He didn't have many friends," Peter remarked from the driver's seat of his crappy car, disturbing her reverie.

Val bit back the voices in her head that mocked her, telling her she got what her blood deserved. "Nobody has many friends. Not really."

"If you could stop depressing me any time soon, that'd be great."

She glared at him as he drove out of Dublin's city centre toward the home of one of Kierán's so-called friends. "What is a friend then? Somebody you can rely on? Depend on? Nobody even knows if this man is missing. So much for friends."

To her surprise, he laughed. "You're on fire today. But I suppose anything's better than you being broody and miserable, so good for you."

"I'm not..." She shook her head. She couldn't talk to him about the madness in her soul. "I'm just saying true friendship is rare. Most people have less friends than they think."

"Says the woman who would literally die to protect... how many people is it now?"

She huffed and looked out the window. "I wouldn't die on purpose for anyone."

He nudged her. "Hey, Val. Remember that time there was a bomb scare at the school?"

She glared at him and noticed grey hairs prominent amongst the sandy brown of his hair. For a brief instant, she felt a pang of regret as she realised she would likely outlive him by decades at least. "Leah was there. I'm her guardian and bound to protect her."

"Yeah, yeah. I had to stop you from going back in even after Leah got out. There's nothing wrong with caring about people."

It was her turn to laugh except hers was dry and withering. "So says Peter Brannigan. Don't think I haven't noticed how people react when they hear your name. You were the monster under the bed for a lot of supernaturals in the past. You're a hypocrite to preach love and forgiveness when you haven't lived it yourself."

"I'm different now." He didn't bother to hide the hurt in his voice.

She felt a pang of regret. She didn't want to drive a wedge between them, not really. And he had changed. His eyes were bright now, no longer bloodshot from long nights of drinking alone.

His jaw twitched. "Reputations like that can protect us. And now I have a hellhound next to me. We're the ones who'll get things done while other people are still discussing tactics."

Maybe she hadn't hurt him after all. For a human, he had a fierceness about him that most people didn't expect and an underlying intensity that hadn't died, even after he was reunited with his missing son—the initial loss had ignited that flame in him in the first place. He erred on the side of reckless most days, but sometimes that was needed. Still, she wasn't sure if she could count on him in a crisis—or even if she would try to save his life if it could possibly cost her own. She couldn't even talk to him about much other than work. But spending time with him was so much better than being at home feeling sorry for herself.

"How's Leah getting on after everything anyhow?" he asked, surprising her once again by sounding as though he actually cared. "Emmett seems to have gotten over the big drama at school fairly quickly."

"It was scarier for us than them, I think." She vividly recalled the fear when she discovered Humans First protesters were trying to breach the school, and that only worsened when false rumours of a bomb threat had surfaced. In reality, a sick man had been manipulated into attacking children to make a statement. Leah was still in her teens, but she'd kept calm and protected the vulnerable students around her. Just as Val had taught her. Pride warmed her chest. "Leah's been through far worse before. We talked about her leaving school, but she's not ready. They're planning on running classes for adults in September, too. To give the older teenagers more time, probably. This summer won't be enough to catch them up."

"It's a good idea, either way. Too many people out there have no idea how to deal with what they are." He sighed. "On both sides of the fence." He nodded as he slowed the car. "Here we are. Kierán's oldest friend, Robert Hayes."

"How do you want to play this one?"

"Nice and gentle," he said. "If Kierán is hiding out, we don't want to scare him off. If we let him know we only want to give his wife an answer, he might come out just to get rid of us."

"And if he's not here?" she asked.

Peter shrugged. "Then we move on to the next one, then the next."

"What happens if the wife doesn't pay when she gets the answers she doesn't want to hear?"

He grinned and cut the engine. "Are you kidding me? Everyone's too scared of you to screw us over. Why do you think I asked you to partner up?"

She glared at him before deciding to follow him out of the car without knocking him out.

Robert Hayes's home was small but neat, one of two dozen similar looking terraced houses, all with the same half-grown tree planted in the centre of a cemented square of pavings that counted as a front garden.

Peter pressed heavily on the doorbell.

"Ever think about taking Emmett to live in the countryside?" Val asked as they waited for the door to open.

"Sometimes. I'm too used to the city though. When I went to stay at my dad's, I was bored out of my tree. He lives in the middle of nowhere in Spain. Lovely scenery for five minutes, but then what else were we supposed to do besides drink his manky homemade wine on his balcony?" He pressed the bell again. "What about you?"

"Too hard to hide. In a city, nobody notices you. In a village, everyone knows everything there is to know about you."

The door finally opened, and a squat, rotund man answered. "Yes?" he said impatiently. "If this is about Humans First, I'm not interested."

"They've been campaigning?" Peter asked with interest.

The man's gaze fell on Val and seemed to realise she wasn't human. "Ah. Yes, well, they aren't the only ones. Can I help you?" He had gained a degree or so more politeness.

"We're here about Kierán Gaynor," Val said, keeping her focus on Robert. "Have you seen him?"

"Gaynor?" Robert whistled. "I haven't heard from him in, oh, it must be months now. Is he in trouble?"

"Months?" Peter glanced at Val, his eyebrows furrowing. "You don't meet up to attend the local football matches then?"

"I mean, I still go with some others, but Kierán stopped showing up ages ago. He sort of cut me off, I suppose. We didn't have an argument or anything. The friendship just... faded away. It happens."

"You're sure you haven't seen him." Peter folded his arms across his chest. "He's not in any trouble if you think you're protecting him."

Robert held up his hands in protest. "He's not been in touch with me. I swear. Kierán's... an up and down kind of person. He flakes, always too whipped by the wife to hang out with the lads anymore." His sudden laughter died when he met Val's gaze. He cleared his throat. "I mean, he just wasn't interested in us anymore."

"The lads," Peter scoffed. "Right. If you hear from him, please contact us." He passed one of their business cards to Robert.

The man peered at the card. "Private investigators? What is this? Is Kierán all right?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," Val said. "Let's go."

They left a bewildered Robert at his doorstep and returned to the car.

"That was a bust," Peter said.

"Sounds like it wasn't surprising for him to disappear," Val said, but a feeling of foreboding had been creeping around her heart all morning. She'd ignored it to feed her hurt feelings. Maybe that had been a mistake.

Instead of starting the car, Peter ran his hands through his hair, his typical "thinking" position. "Maybe everything got to be too much. Or else he was having an affair of his own. I mean, he didn't tell his wife he lost his job, and then there's the friend she thought he had. Where was he going when he left the house all of those months?"

Val squirmed. It was possible the man had gotten so depressed that he'd harmed himself. "Let's hurry up and deal with his other friends. Surely one of them knows something."

But the other two had a similar story to Robert. Kierán hadn't been around for months, and nobody appeared to know why.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Peter admitted as they drove away from the last clueless friend's workplace.

"If we can't track the man, we might have better luck finding his car. We could call Shay for help and cut some time."

Peter drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "I'll call him when I get home. Want to get something to eat or will I drop you off?"

The thought of going home, being so close to Lucia and yet not close at all, felt like icy hands groping her broken heart. And yet, spending time with Peter might give him the false idea that she was willing to share her pain with him. "I promised Anka I'd eat with her," she lied.

He hesitated, and she knew he didn't believe her. "All right," he said at last. "I'll drive you to the shop." He looked as though he wanted to say more, so she looked out the window and pretended he didn't exist. It worked.

When he dropped her off at Anka's apothecary shop, he seemed reluctant to say goodbye, so she did it for him, as curt and abrupt as she could manage. She didn't watch him leave, instead strode straight inside the shop.

Anka was surprised to see her, but she welcomed her warmly.

"I thought we'd have a late lunch today," Val said nervously, although she wasn't sure why. Aka counted as a friend. Anka understood.

"Tough day?" Anka asked.

"Just... frustrating."

The blonde nodded. "I'll make us a cup of a new tea I've been brewing. It should help us relax." She went into the back room, leaving Val in charge of the apothecary shop.

Anka hailed from Poland where she had run from her cruel boginka mother. After an abusive relationship with her daughter's father ended for good, Anka had eventually partnered up with a neighbour to start a business. The apothecary shop had its up and downs—the latter leading to her partner leaving her with the business—but Anka was keeping it going, with the occasional help from Leah.

When the tea was ready, Anka closed the shop and welcomed Val into the back. "Now sit," she said. "Relax, eat a cookie, tell me about your day."

Anka knew about the breakup, knew that Lucia had figuratively severed Val's heart from her chest, but she rarely asked questions that Val didn't want to answer.

Val reached for her cup. "A woman asked us to find her missing husband. There was infidelity involved, and I thought he simply left her, but now I'm not so sure."

"You do that now? Find... missing people. Humans?"

Val shrugged. "Beggars can't be choosers. Jobs don't come frequently enough from the government for us to start turning down money, and all we've managed to find for ourselves is security on a building site. Besides, Peter has a soft spot for strays." She smiled. "He can't turn down anyone with a sob story."

"Not the Peter the world knows and fears," Anka said with a knowing smile. "But you think this man might be in trouble?"

"Maybe. Or else he had a secret life that his wife didn't know about. I'm not sure what to think. None of it makes sense. Maybe it's because they're humans. I don't know how they think."

"Oftentimes, exactly the same as the rest of us," Anka said, taking a sip of her drink. "And how are _you_ feeling?"

Val tilted her head and stared at the ceiling. That was a loaded question with multiple answers. She settled on, "I'll be fine."

"If there's anything you need, you know I'm here."

Emotion bubbled, had to be tamped down. Val made a show of checking the time. "I should go. I have some leads to follow."

"All right," Anka said softly. "But you know where I am if you change your mind."

"Thanks," was all Val managed to say. And then she forced herself to go home, to sense Lucia's presence in the nearby house and torture herself knowing she was out of her reach. _That_ was how Val was feeling.

# Three

_P eter_

* * *

Peter held his breath, waiting for the reaction to his home-cooked dinner.

Emmett's mouth twisted into a grimace. "Um, it's not as bad as last time."

Peter sighed. "Let's face it, kid. I'm never going to be a chef. Want a takeaway?"

"I can make us scrambled eggs," Emmett said hopefully. "Or brownies. Melody taught me."

"I'm pretty sure Melody is supposed to be teaching you how to control your freaky ghost gifts, not how to cook."

Emmett grinned. "If she hears you call them ghosts one more time, she's not sending me home with any more cakes."

"Heaven forbid." Peter shoved his plate of congealed... mess away. "Go on then. Save the day."

Emmett jumped up from his seat and searched in the presses. "You forgot the eggs again, Dad."

Peter groaned. "I did. I'll run out now and get some. Want to come with or stay here?"

"Stay. Can I play for a bit? Homework's already done."

"Fine. Will you be all right here alone?"

Emmett rolled his eyes. "Oh, no. It's so dangerous in the alarmed house in the magically protected neighbourhood with the—"

"Fine, I get it." Peter rose and tapped his son across the back of the head. "And lay off the teenage attitude for five minutes."

"I'll try." Emmett ran into the living room to switch on the gaming console Peter had bought him for his eleventh birthday. It didn't make up for the birthdays they'd missed together, but it hadn't hurt either.

He sought out his keys then left for the local shop, spotting Anka on the way. He stopped to give her a lift. "Where are you going?"

"Just to the shop," she said. "Dita's with Val and Leah, but I ran out of milk."

"Hop in," he said. "I'm on my way there, too."

He drove her to the nearest shop and got the eggs then waited at the car for her to finish. He decided to try Shay again in the meantime.

"Finally, you answer," he said when the Garda Sergeant picked up the phone. Technically, Shay had become an overseer to a new branch of law enforcement called Integration Agents, but he was still officially a garda.

"You only ever call me when you want a favour," Shay complained.

"That's true, but who else do I trust with favours?"

"You just don't know anyone else here. What is it this time?"

Peter rubbed the back of his head. "Looking for a client's missing husband. He might have run, but in case he didn't, I wanted to find out if you could tell me anything about his car. If it's been picked up somewhere or whatever."

Anka got into the car and waited for him to finish.

"Go on then," Shay said. "But that's it. No more unofficial favours. Especially not for runaway husbands."

Peter grinned then gave him the information he needed.

"I'll call you if anything pops up," Shay said before hanging up.

"Sorry about that," Peter said to Anka, starting the car. "Just needed Shay's help on a case."

"The man who is missing?" she asked.

"Possibly missing." He checked the rearview mirror before pulling away from the pavement. "He could be on a bender for all we know."

She went quiet for a few minutes, twisting and kneading her hands in her lap.

"Everything all right?" Peter asked.

"Do you know why I ask you to take Dita to the boxing club with you at the weekends?" she asked. "Why I don't take her myself?"

He shook his head. Obviously, the answer wasn't about convenience.

"I cannot bear to watch her learn to hurt another person." She looked at him, her pale blue eyes glassy with emotion. "But it would be worse to know she cannot protect herself."

"Anka, has something happened?"

"No, but..." She sucked in a breath. "You look for people. Could you... could you find Dita's father?"

Peter hesitated. Dita's father had been in the habit of beating Anka. "You sure you want him back in your life?"

Her slim fingers clenched around her handbag. "Dita has been asking questions, and I cannot even know for sure if he is still alive. Mrs. Yaga scared him off, and we all know she could be terrifying."

The infamous hag had been Anka's landlady until she died. If she had driven off the man then who knew where he had hid. "I mean, we can try, but..."

"I know. I just want it to be Dita's choice. She has been happier since he left, but she has had no... what is that word, closure?" She refused to meet his eyes. "It is _not_ for me."

"Anka, I'm the last one to judge."

Her cheeks warmed with colour. "I judge myself harshly enough. I let him treat me badly for far too long because I thought I deserved it."

"Nobody deserves that." He studied her profile, noting her cheeks had filled out just enough to make her look healthy. She was wearing a light summer dress, but he easily recalled a time when she had covered herself in ill-fitting clothes as though they would turn her invisible. She'd gazed at the ground while she walked, flinched when he spoke to her, and constantly looked ready to run. The apothecary shop had done wonders for her confidence, but he suspected being away from her husband had helped her more.

She relaxed slightly. "It is so hard to know the right thing to do. I have changed so much in the last few years, convinced myself I... I _matter_. I don't want him anywhere near her, but how can I let my experiences warp her life? She has always been fearless. I do not want to be the one who teaches her to be afraid." She sucked in her lower lip. "I never want her to feel so pitiful."

He made up his mind there and then. "Send me over any info you have about him, and I'll look into it."

"Privately."

He reached out and patted her arm. "Of course."

"His name is Connor Daly," she said after a moment. "I have very little to give you. An address, a few places he was sacked from." She made an odd sound in her throat. "Our marriage certificate. I know it is not much, but—"

"Anka, I'll make it work."

They arrived back at the cul-de-sac. Anka hesitated before leaving the car. "Thank you, Peter. Val... may not understand."

"Let me worry about Val," he said. But he already knew she wouldn't be able to resist punishing the man if she found him. This was a job he needed to do alone.

Shay Whelan called Peter while he was stuck in traffic on his way to the office the following morning.

"What's up?" he asked sharply, inching the car forward.

"That car you were interested in? It's been impounded."

That was a start. "Any idea why?"

"Illegal parking."

He blew out a sigh of relief. Probably a drunken bender that went past its best before date. He'd had those himself in the past. "Where was it parked? Can I see it this morning?"

"Peter, no. No more favours. Treating people differently is what has the Senate in so much trouble. Tell the wife to come release the car. She'll be given all the information, and if she wants you to have it, so be it."

"What's with you?" Peter asked, more curious than offended by the sharpness of his friend's tone.

Shay sighed. "It's been a long few months. I can't help you unless she files a missing report, and if she does, we'll be taking the case off your hands."

"Fair enough." There was obviously _something_ going on behind the scenes. "Still on for Saturday?"

"I'll be at the club early. We have a new volunteer who wants to get the kids to try out something other than boxing, so it should be fun."

After a brief conversation, they hung up. Peter finally got through the traffic to update Val at the office. They decided to head over to Fidelma's house together.

"Did you find him?" Fidelma asked when she answered the door to them.

Her eyes were rimmed with red. He pitied her, but at the same time, he couldn't help comparing her to the women in his life. He couldn't imagine any of them falling apart so publicly. He glanced at Val. Her jaw was twitching again. Maybe Fidelma was handling her pain the healthy way, after all.

"We might have a lead," Peter said, "but first I have to make sure that you don't want to make an official police report."

"No. They have all these rules, and I... I don't trust them." She lowered her voice. "I've heard... things. How are we supposed to know who to trust anymore?"

"But you trust us?"

"I'm paying you," she said, looking surprised. "Why wouldn't I trust you?"

Peter exchanged a glance with Val who looked close to losing her patience.

"Your husband's car was towed," she said. "It's impounded. You need to release it so we can search the car and figure out what to do next."

"Was it in an accident?" Fidelma asked, sounding horrified.

"No, it's a parking thing," Peter said. "Can you come now?"

"Now?"

Her reticence was likely to do with what she was scared of uncovering, but it still irritated him. "The sooner we do this, the better."

"But I was just about to—"

"Do you want to find your husband or not?" Val snapped.

Fidelma's lip trembled. "Of course I do."

"Then let's go."

Peter widened his eyes at Val, but she ignored him. Still, he could plainly see her eyes were now resembling a gruesome mix of blood and honey. He had to keep a closer eye on her.

Fidelma didn't speak on the way to the police station, but she fidgeted the entire way, filling the car with nervous energy. Her husband's car had been impounded in the city centre, and while it wasn't being kept at the station, Fidelma had to go there first to release the vehicle.

"This is it," Peter said, pulling up outside the building. "Just go on in there, and they'll help you."

She hesitated, her cheeks flushing with colour as she stared at her hands.

"What's up?" Peter asked, noting her reluctance to leave his car.

"I just... I don't have the money right now to release the car. I've set something aside to pay you so—"

Peter clenched his fingers around the steering wheel. He couldn't look the woman in the eye anymore. "Just use that money to get the car."

"Oh. Oh, thank you." She fled from the car, scurrying like a rodent on the run.

"Very generous, aren't we?" Val remarked.

"Don't start." He opened the windows to let a little fresh air into the car. Sitting directly in the sun was turning the vehicle into an oven. The air conditioning hadn't worked in too long to be of any help.

Fidelma soon returned with a release form and instructions to find the car at an impound centre. "We shouldn't be long," she said nervously. "It's not far."

Peter wordlessly drove her there and waited outside the compound for her to recover her car. They watched cars being towed through the gates for so long that he started to worry Fidelma had done a runner.

"She's not coming back," Val said after they'd waited for an hour, switching from one crappy radio station to another.

"Shut up." The heat hadn't improved his mood any, but the hellhound didn't even appear to notice the rising temperature. He was about to lose the will to live when Fidelma came jogging toward them. She reached his window, short on breath.

"I have it," she said. "Meet me in the carpark of the supermarket on the corner. You can take a look at the car there." She dashed off again.

Peter exchanged a glance with Val. "She seems cheerier."

"Let's just get this done."

He headed to the half-empty carpark, managed to get stuck behind a tow-truck traffic jam, then finally found Fidelma waiting for them.

"She doesn't look depressed," Val remarked as they left his car.

They approached Fidelma. She was holding a wallet in her hand. She held it up. "This is his. It was in the car. His money and bank cards are in here. So he didn't leave, right?"

She sounded triumphant, but Peter wasn't so sure it was a good sign. He was starting to wonder if the man had hurt himself.

"We'll just take a look in the car anyway," Peter said, keeping his tone non-committal.

He rolled up his sleeves and started in the front of Kierán's car while Val took the backseat. The interior was clean and well-kept, no junk food wrappers anywhere.

Fidelma unhelpfully leaned through the window to gape at them. "What are you looking for exactly?"

"Clues," Val said bluntly.

Peter stopped what he was doing to address Fidelma. "We talked to the people at the bank and his friends. His stories about where he's been going when he leaves the house didn't add up. He's been lying to you."

"Lying? About what?"

"He lost his job a while back. And he hasn't met up with his friends for a long time."

She screwed up her face in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Trust me. Neither do we," Val said under her breath.

"But... where has he been going?" Fidelma's lower lip trembled. "Who has he been with?"

"That's what we're hoping the car can help us find out. Did they tell you where the car was found?"

She nodded and searched through the papers. "It was parked badly in a loading bay overnight. This is the address."

Peter glanced at the information. The car had been parked in the centre of town, but the location didn't trigger any hint as to where he was actually going. Still, they'd have to check it out. He went back to glove box and looked through the receipts there. Nothing stood out as important. He picked up a pen. There was a Greek looking symbol that seemed vaguely familiar. He pocketed it, just in case.

"Anything?" he asked Val.

"Nothing," she said. "It smells clean. When she said it was parked badly, I thought perhaps he was drunk, but I don't smell even a trace of alcohol."

"I'll take the boot. You go through here again and see if there's anything we missed."

But there wasn't, and Fidelma wanted the car back. "I have places I need to be," she said, looking uncomfortable. "You haven't found anything, so..."

"Take the car," Peter said. "But we'll keep looking for your husband. Have your phone on in case we need to confirm anything."

Fidelma nodded then fled in her car. He wasn't sure what had gotten into her—unless the idea of her husband's lies sent her checking up on something she didn't want to divulge.

Peter ran into the supermarket for a couple of cold treats then returned to the car where Val was waiting to discuss their next move.

"What do you think?" Val asked. "Did he ditch it?"

"Maybe." He handed her an ice-pop. "Did you catch any perfume in the car? Could he have met a woman?"

"Nothing."

"A suspicious lack of scents or...?"

"Normal scents. Scents you expect from a car that's been driven to and fro from work. Nothing out of the ordinary, and it hasn't been cleaned since he left it. But he kept it well before that."

He massaged his temple with one hand, feeling a headache coming along. "We need to prepare for the chance he might have harmed himself."

"Suicide?" She sounded disgusted, as though that was the worst thing a person could do.

"He's depressed."

"Plenty of people are depressed," she said snidely. "They don't take the coward's way out."

"Seriously," he barked. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You'd better cut that shit out before I..."

Her upper lip curled. "Before you what, Brannigan? What will you do?"

He threw the remains of his melting ice-pop out the window in disgust. "If you hate me and this case so much, then why the hell are you here, Val?"

Her face drained of colour. She looked out of the window and avoided his eyes. "I apologise," she said at last. "It's been hard for me to put myself into this man's shoes."

"Even though you're hurting, too."

"Don't." Her voice cracked on the word. "Please, don't."

"All right," he said softly. "We don't have to talk about it. But we're going to take cases we don't like sometimes. If we can't manage to get along, then how is any of it going to work?"

She twisted in her seat to look at him. "You want to end the business?"

He shook his head. "Of course not. But snapping at each other isn't getting us anywhere."

"I know. What do we do next?"

"Keep looking for him." He leaned back in his seat, relieved the argument hadn't ended in the loss of his head. "All we can do is go to the last place the car was seen. He parked the car and left it in the middle of the city centre. Somebody had to see him do it. We can take his picture and ask the staff working in the local businesses if they've seen him."

"And if we find nothing?"

"Then we can probably assume this man doesn't want to be found. Or that Fidelma's hasn't given us all the information we need." Peter stretched, tired of sitting in hot cars on nice days. "Let's just get to it then."

They drove to the address on the documentation Fidelma had given Peter. It was a busy street on the south side of the city, full of small businesses and office buildings. They went from door to door with Kierán's picture, asking if anyone had seen him. Nobody had.

Just as Peter was beginning to think the man was invisible, a woman at a dry-cleaners nodded. "Oh, wait a second. Let me get a closer look." She took the photo and peered at it. "Yeah, he looks so different in that photo, but I think that's the man who fell."

That caught Peter's attention. "He fell?"

"I thought he was drunk. He tried to park—failed miserably—then staggered out into the middle of the road. He collapsed, almost got hit by a truck."

"Was he all right?" Val asked.

"We tried to help him, but he brushed us off. He was sweating. He rolled up his sleeves, and his arms were covered in a rash. He looked really sick. The hospital is only around the corner. He was probably trying to get to the emergency room and missed a turn or something. That happens."

"Great, thanks," Peter said.

They left the launderette. "To the hospital then?" Val said.

"If he really was sick, then he could well be there. He left his wallet behind, so he's probably not on a bender somewhere. She could have the wrong man, for all we know, but we have to keep asking."

"He doesn't have the most memorable face," Val remarked, taking another look at his photo. "The average person wouldn't remember him."

"We can't all be hellhounds," Peter said under his breath, earning himself a thankfully soft thump to the shoulder.

"Besides, you wouldn't want to be a hellhound."

The sun beat down. Peter was sweating, but Val looked fresh as a daisy. "I'm sure it comes in handy sometimes."

"Until somebody like you comes along. I know that you reacted badly when you first met Ava," she said as they walked toward the hospital. "I've been curious. If the old Council had asked you to kill me before we met, would you?"

"Yes."

"You think you would have succeeded?"

Her tone made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. "I would have tried my hardest, Val. That's who I was. I didn't fear death, and I had nothing left to lose."

"Did you like it?" she asked curiously. "The things you did for the Council?"

He couldn't lie. "Yes."

"Was it the hunt or the kill?"

"Maybe a bit of both." He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "I'm not going to lie and say I'm the most well-adjusted person in the room. My first instincts are strong and mostly negative. But I'm trying, and I know that different doesn't always mean terrible." He glanced at her. "But sometimes it does, and I can't forget that either. I can't forget how I lost my son in the first place. Having him back makes a lot of things easier, but if I thought you were a threat to the world, I'd have no choice but to try to take you down."

"Because I'm not human," she said bitterly.

"That's just the way it is. If you shift loyalties, you'll be the most dangerous person I know. You can't blame people for being wary. You're literally a creature from Hell, even if you're half-human or whatever."

"And Sparky?" She nudged him. "You didn't try to kill the demon dog."

He allowed himself a smile. "I must be getting soft." He nodded toward the hospital. "This is it. I thought it closed down."

"It did," Val said. "Reopened earlier this year, for some reason. I read about it in a newspaper."

"Probably the government trying to earn some brownie points."

As soon as they stepped into the hospital, a gust of warm air hit them. Peter pitied anyone who worked there.

Behind the reception desk, a brunette typed furiously at a computer that was probably worth far more than Peter's car. He got the woman's attention by tapping on the counter then held up Kierán's photo. "Have you seen this man in the past couple of days?"

The receptionist looked from Peter back to Val. Reactions to Val tended to vary from over-excited to overly-terrified, and this receptionist had a severe case of the latter. She gazed at her, her expression frozen into place bar the quivering of her lower lip.

Peter read her name tag. "Ann-Marie? The photo?"

"Oh." Ann-Marie looked at the photo then shook herself. "Do you have a name?"

"Yes, but—"

"He's in room six on the upper B wing," a passing nurse said. "No ID on him. Are you family?"

"Yep," Peter said.

The nurse shot Val a skeptical look. "Yeah, right."

Peter held up his hand. "I'm as human as he is. Can I see him?"

She rolled her eyes. "Only for a few minutes. He's heavily sedated at the moment. It's down that hall, up the stairs, then take the third door to the left."

Peter turned to Val and lowered his voice. "Okay, you call Fidelma while I go make sure it's him."

"What if they're wrong?"

"Then we'll have the excuse to pick her brains for something she's not telling us."

He left Val at reception and followed the nurse's directions, surprised by how easy it was for him to get into the patients' rooms unhindered.

Kierán was laying in a bed in a small room with one other occupant.

"He's out cold," the other patient said, getting up. He pushed his drip in front of him. "Talks in his sleep, too."

"Has he been awake since he got here?"

"Not for long." The man reached the door. "Has a temperature, and a crazy rash, but they don't know what's wrong with him yet. He better not be contagious, or I'm suing."

"Thanks," Peter said.

The man left the room, still muttering about his intent to sue the hospital.

Alone with Kierán, Peter tried to read the charts, but he couldn't figure out what was supposed to be the matter with the man. Kierán had lost weight since his photo had been taken, and he was pale. Sheets covered him up to his chin. Peter couldn't see any signs of a rash on his face.

A nurse came into the room, a different one than before. She started when she noticed Peter. She brushed her damp curls away from her face, looking him over for a couple of seconds before smiling at him. "Did we find out his identity then?"

"Yeah," Peter said. "Kierán Gaynor. What's going on? Was he in an accident?"

"Oh, no. He's just picked up a, uh, nasty bug, we think."

"A bug?" That was vague.

She smirked. "Well, more like an infection, I suppose."

Peter took a step back from the bed. "Not contagious though."

"Not airborne," she clarified. "We don't have all of the facts, but it's more likely to be passed on through bodily fluids." She adjusted the blanket until she freed Kierán's hand. "That's the usual nowadays."

Peter couldn't help grimacing as she injected a cloudy needle into the veins on the back of Kierán's hand.

"Where could he have caught a disease? His wife isn't sick."

The nurse met his gaze, an odd look in her eyes. "Then it wasn't his wife he caught it from, was it?"

"So you think—"

She rose and moved to the door. "I reckon too many men these days are fooling around with _people_ they shouldn't."

He gaped after her, wondering at the emphasis on the word 'people'. It took him another moment to cop on to her meaning. While he waited for Fidelma to arrive, he pulled the pen from his pocket and stared at it. Everything had just clicked. He knew where he had seen the symbol before.

Fidelma walked into the room, and her face crumpled. "Oh, my God." She flew to Kierán's side. He was still unconscious. "This is just... I..." She swallowed hard. "I suppose you should send me your closing invoice now. You found him."

"He's been here a couple of days," Peter said.

She stared at her husband, aging visibly in front of Peter's eyes. "He lied about so many things. I don't even know why, and now I can't ask him." Her gaze returned to Peter. "Can you... keep going? Find out more about what he's been doing, how he's gotten sick?" She shuddered and looked at Kierán's sleeping form. "I mean, I know it's not the same job, but... could you do it anyway?"

"We'll see what we can find out," Peter said. "Val, let's go."

She soundlessly followed him out of the room. "What now? We're not doctors. What do we know about his sickness?"

"We might be able to find out where he got it from." He pulled the pen he had recovered out of his pocket. "If we find out where he's been hiding."

Val frowned. "That looks familiar."

"It's the symbol the succubi brothels use," he said. "I found it in Kierán's car and didn't connect the dots until now. Maybe it's nothing, but one of the nurses back there seemed pretty sure Kierán had been messing around with non-humans and that's why he's laid up."

"Are you serious?"

"It's worth a look," he said. "There's too much here that doesn't make sense, and it's set off all of my buzzers. Besides, the woman basically rehired us. We agreed to find out what her husband's been up to."

"You agreed," Val corrected.

"Well, you make Fidelma cry any time you open your mouth, so I thought it best to do the speaking."

She rolled her shoulders as though shrugging off his comment. "We've little else to go on right now. Will the succubi even speak to us? We're effectively going there to accuse them of being disease carriers."

"Only one way to find out." He ran his hand through his hair. "First, let's talk to more staff members and see if they're all on board with the STD angle, then we can talk to the succubi. If they won't talk, then we'll go to the Senate."

They talked to the matron of the ward and a number of nurses. No doctor had signed off on a diagnosis, and only one of the nurses was willing to admit to a new strain of supernatural virus being the culprit.

The matron dismissed the idea almost immediately. "That is a rumour, and when I find out who started it, there's going to be hell to pay."

"Rumours come from something most of the time," Val said.

"We don't know why the patient is sick yet," she said briskly. "It's dangerous thinking to assume in a place like this."

"But it's possible," Peter said.

"Anything is possible," she relented. "But we have no proof one way or another."

"Why is he in with another patient if you don't know anything about his illness yet?" Val asked.

The matron looked at them both with scornful eyes. "He's lucky he's not laying in a hallway right now. We have no room, little funding, and we're doing the best we can. The government does not care about this place. The only reason we reopened was... Oh, never mind. If you'll excuse me, I have a job to do."

Little funding, but the computer system was state of the art.

Without finding any satisfying answers, they left the hospital and drove across the city to what was becoming unofficially known as the supe quarter. A stretch of land on the Northside had been taken over by supernatural businesses. If you wanted to buy a love potion or a protective charm, you travelled to the same area as those who wanted to shag succubi. Peter rarely entered the district. It reminded him of old jobs and dead bodies in voodoo infested salons.

The streets were moderately busy, but in the mid-afternoon light, the drama and flair fled to the shadows. The succubi brothel was dank and sleazy looking on the outside. One symbol hung above the darkened windows upstairs, and it was that very symbol that had been etched on Kierán's pen. A crappy lead was better than no lead.

Peter and Val hesitated outside, keeping out of the way as a smiling man left the building. Peter's skin about crawled off his body at the vacant look in the man's eyes.

Val watched the man walk away. "So this is the famous succubi house."

"Yup. And it's probably the place Kierán caught his disease from."

"Why have we never heard of anything like this before?"

Peter shrugged. "We didn't hear about a lot of things. Doesn't mean they never happened. This is going to blow up in the Senate's faces if we don't figure it out."

"Do you care?"

"Eh, I'm human. Would you like somebody to come along with some kind of contagious hellhound disease? I don't think so, Val."

She held up her hands in protest. "Nobody's chasing you with a disease. What's your problem?"

"People don't have a clue how to protect themselves!" That was the kicker. Even now that the supernatural world was out in the open, half of the human population still acted like it never happened. They had no idea how to keep themselves safe from predators. The bigger problem was the other half, the ones who watched everything new and waited for ways to blame it on the fall of mankind or something. "Look. I don't like the idea of new mysterious diseases randomly striking people down. And some people seem to think that our world is teetering on the edge of enough danger without us fuelling the fire, so maybe it's best that we sort this before the papers break a story."

"Some people." Val snorted. "Right. You heard the matron. Nobody knows what's wrong with Gaynor. This could be completely unrelated to the succubi."

"Could be." Peter hesitated. "But maybe we should wear gloves or something. Just in case."

She glared at him. "Get. A. Grip."

"Fine." He headed up the stairs, avoiding the sticky handrail. Upstairs, through the main entrance, he was surprised to find the air fresh and clean. It was less sleazy inside, although a muskiness hung in the air and lingered.

Layla approached warily, her dark eyes fixed on Peter. _Shit_. A representative of the succubi on the Senate, Layla also kept her people in check while running the brothels. "Can I help you?" she asked. "If you want to book in a session, you'll have to fill out some extensive paperwork first. We don't run a walk-in service."

"Do I look like a customer?" Peter snapped.

Layla rested her hands on her hips. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

"We have questions," Val said.

Layla bristled. "And we don't have to answer them. You have no authority here."

Peter dug out his PI ID, clearly stamped by a number of departments within the civic and integration offices. "We're Senate approved investigators on a case. We have a right to be here."

"So you're not just here to cause trouble then?" Layla scowled. "Who sent you here? The Senate?"

Peter and Val exchanged a look. "Surely you'd know that already," Peter said.

Layla looked about ready to implode.

"We just need to talk," Val said.

"In private," Peter added. "You'll probably prefer it that way."

Layla looked over her shoulder before beckoning them to follow her into an office. Her expression had flattened as though she were bracing herself for a storm. "What's this about?"

"STDs," he said.

She looked completely baffled, as though that had been the last thing she had expected. So what else had been brewing?

He held out Kierán's photo. "Do you know this man?"

"Kierán," she murmured, taking the picture from his hands. "Is he in trouble?"

"You know him then," Peter said. "He's been here."

"Poor Kierán." Layla's expression softened. "He comes here. He told me about his situation, so I offer him work sometimes. He cleans up the place. Probably demeaning work for him, but he's desperate, and it's the only way I can help."

"But he's been a client before," Peter clarified.

Layla's cheeks clenched. "Yes."

"He went missing," Val said. "We found him today in a clinic. He's sick. The hospital is having trouble making a diagnosis."

"What's that got to do with us?"

Peter cleared his throat. "They're saying it could be a new kind of disease, as in transmitted by supernatural creatures. As in..."

"I know what you're saying," Layla said snappily. "But it's impossible. And doubly so for Kierán."

"How so?" Peter asked.

She leaned forward, resting her palms on the desk. "We don't carry diseases. We can't. We burn infections before they affect us. Our blood runs too hot." She reached across the desk to touch his hand as if to demonstrate. He yanked his hand out of her reach. He knew what harm succubi could cause.

"That doesn't mean you're not carriers of some new disease," Val said. "It's possible."

"For other men, maybe," Layla said. Her eyes were sad. "But not Kierán. He didn't come here for sex."

Peter couldn't hold in his laughter. "Right," he said. "A man comes to a brothel for the jokes and atmosphere."

"We don't actually call it a brothel," Layla said. "You do. We call it a house, and we invite those who need us to join us."

"For sex," Peter said, earning himself a kick in the ankle from Val.

"Kierán came here because he's lonely and confused and depressed," Layla continued. "We help him deal with that, and siphon some of that pain away. It gives us energy, and it helps him live another day."

"Live another day?" Peter rose to his feet. "He's in a hospital bed."

"Not because of us," Layla said firmly. She stood, too. "You call this place a brothel, but it's far more than that. We're providing a service that isn't purely sexual. Yes, some of our girls prefer that, and some of our clients find that an easier way to let their emotions free, but you've no right to judge them for it. You certainly have no right to tell us what to do with our bodies."

"But you do kill people," Val said.

"They almost killed my friend," Peter said, feeling his anger grow. Carl had been completely under control of a succubus, ready to die for her desires.

"A lone succubus twisted the rules, and she was punished for it," Layla said. "In general, we don't kill. We suffice on what we're given, but every now and then, yes, we need to go all the way and devour a person's energy completely. But it doesn't have to happen in the way you think."

"Yeah, right," Peter scoffed.

"You think people don't get sick? Or have fatal injuries? Do you think everyone should die in pain and suffering? If they ask us, we take their suffering away, and they repay us with the best parts of them." Layla's eyes glittered. "But Kierán wasn't harmed here. And that's why I'm going to hire you two to help prove it."

# Four

_V al_

* * *

Layla left them alone in the office. It was nicer than their own, full of soft, muted colours and furniture that looked expensive, but functional. Nothing appeared ready to fall down if one breathed too deeply.

Peter took in the room with a slight sneer on his face. He didn't look impressed, but Val had to admit she was curious. "What do you think?"

"We signed up for a missing husband." Peter strolled across the room to poke at the bookshelf. "Not this."

"Layla's more likely to pay us than Fidelma."

Peter gave her a wry grin. "Stop trying to appeal to my pockets. You really don't think this is all a bit suspicious?"

"You don't believe her?"

He shrugged. "I don't believe anyone in case you hadn't noticed. Do we want to get involved in this?"

_Yes_. "We can at least talk to the other clients here and see if they back up the story."

Peter's fingers curled into fists. "When Carl was under the thrall of a succubus, he thought whatever she wanted him to think. I'm not so sure the clients can be trusted either."

Val wanted the case. She believed Layla, caught the scent of her sincerity. There had been empathy in those dark eyes when Layla spoke of Kierán. The succubi had sounded as though she cared about him, perhaps even went out of her way to help him. Val thought about the service Layla declared her people offered. If she were dying, suffering and in pain, she would want somebody to give her mercy.

But the disease changed everything. It was easy to lay the blame at the feet of a supernatural brothel, but what if something else was going on? They owed it to Fidelma to figure out more about what Kierán had been up to—and exactly where he had contracted his disease. Val wanted the truth, but Peter needed to be twisted into thinking he wanted that, too.

"So we don't trust them."

He raised his eyebrows in question. "And then what?"

"Look, if somebody here is passing on life-threatening diseases, then we need to stop it. And if they're not, then we need to get to the bottom of what's really going on." She pretended to flutter her eyelashes. "It might make us famous."

He really did laugh then. "If I say yes, will you promise to quit that eyelash thing?"

She held out her hand. "It's a deal."

"Fine. We'll look into it, but we better get paid by somebody."

"The succubus will pay us."

He eyed her suspiciously. "And we're going to take somebody down, even if it's her?"

"We're the good guys, right?"

He looked thoughtful. "Right. Let's go break the good news."

Outside the office, Val spotted Layla looking through attendance books, a frown etched on her face. "Everything all right?" she asked.

The succubus shot her a wary glance. "Depends on whether you two take me on as a client or not."

"We're going to find out what's happening," Peter said gruffly.

A slow smile crept across Layla's face. "You want to prove we're guilty, you mean. You won't find anything. We're as clean as it gets."

"For succubi?" Peter said in a mocking tone.

She pinned her gaze on him. "For people, Peter Brannigan."

"We'll just have to see. I'm going to take a random list of names from your books and visit them. Any objections?"

Layla shook her head. "It can't be helped. It might ruin my business, but at least it'll clear our names for a while."

Peter made a sound though his nose then moved away from them to start making a list.

Layla nodded at Val. "Are you suspicious, too?"

"I just want to find out what happened."

"So do I," Layla said in a quiet voice.

Val believed her. "Exactly how much time did Kierán spend here?"

"A couple of hours a day at the most," she said. "Before that, he'd visit maybe twice a month."

"And you don't know what he was doing when he wasn't here?"

"Why would I?"

Val held her gaze. "His wife hired us to find him. Now she wants to know where he's been when he's pretended to be working or meeting friends. If we find out, we might pin down the origin of this disease."

"So you don't believe it came from here."

"Nobody knows where it came from, so we have to look at every angle. The medical staff working on Kierán won't be able to give us anything until they figure out more about his illness. It could be something as simple as an allergy, for all we know."

Layla stared at her client books. "Even a whisper of accusation against us is damaging."

"What do you think is happening here?"

Layla bit her lip. "I've no idea. I mean, we have some clients who are here solely for sex, so I can understand why all of the clients must take regular health tests, but—"

"Wait, what?"

"Oh, of course, you wouldn't know. It's not exactly public knowledge, but the Senate put certain rules into affect on all species who... _take_ , particularly those like us who physically feed. To protect humans." She made a face. "As usual."

Interesting. "If your clients all face regular health tests, then how did this one almost die before somebody noticed what was wrong?"

"That was going to be my next point. You'll have to ask the health providers that one. His paperwork was up to date and stamped. I am very careful about that."

Val shifted her weight to her other foot. "Can I see it?"

Layla left to get the paperwork while Val brought Peter up to date.

"Should be easy to find out what happened then," Peter said.

But when Layla returned with the paperwork, Val noticed something odd. "This is from the clinic he's in right now, yet they had no idea who he was."

"Oh." Layla folded her arms across his chest, obviously displeased. "Our clients are so risky that they have their own little section of the hospital. It's actually treated like an entirely separate establishment."

"Is the main hospital a cover-up?" Val asked, thinking back to the conversation with the matron of Kieran's ward.

"That's one way of putting it," Layla said. "There's an unmarked entrance at the back of the building to keep things discreet. It looks like a block of offices with an underground carpark. That's where they go."

"We should probably make the hospital aware of that," Peter said. "In case they haven't connected the patient with his own medical records."

"Thank you," Layla said.

"We'll do that now," Val said. "Then move on with checking up on some other clients."

"Good," Layla said, the word clean with sincerity.

Val beckoned Peter to leave.

Outside, she turned to him. "I believe her," Val said. "She wasn't lying."

"Doesn't mean it's not happening. She may not be aware, but something's going on. I didn't pick random clients, by the way. Looking at the most recent records, some regulars have stopped showing up. Just like Kierán."

"There are millions of reasons why a person changes their schedule," Val said. "It doesn't prove anything. Don't let yourself twist the evidence to suit your prejudices, Peter."

He shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm not saying they're sick or dead or anything. I'm saying they might be worth looking into first. Maybe we _should_ have checked on the health of the clients in the brothel today."

"In the evening would probably be a better time, no?" Surely the men who visited the succubi had jobs if they were to pay for it. Or was the payment solely of the physical kind? She hadn't thought to ask.

"You're probably right." Peter glanced at the time on his watch, giving her a clear view of the crosses tattooed onto his wrists. Val had seen them before, but she still didn't know what had spawned that particular idea. "I need to get home soon. Are you okay with continuing this tomorrow?"

She nodded and waited for him to unlock the car. "But I can start visiting the other clients if you like."

Peter hesitated too long then ducked into the car as though avoiding her.

"Excuse me," she said fiercely after she climbed into the passenger seat and pulled the seatbelt across her chest. "Is there a reason I shouldn't be interviewing people alone?"

He rested his hands on the steering wheel, his expression conflicted. "It's not that I don't think you'll do a good job," he said at last.

She shifted her body to face him. "Then what?"

He winced. "It's just..." He turned to look at her. "They're customers in a freaking demon brothel."

"The succubi aren't considered a true class of demon."

He snorted. " _Anymore_. And that's only because of Layla and her good PR. They come from darkness, and we can't forget that."

"So does Ava," Val said softly. "So do I."

Peter's gaze turned cold. "Don't do that. We agreed not to bring that shit to work."

"I'm trying to help you realise how you sound. Anyway, we've faced an actual demon before, even befriended one. You can't tell me that your problem with the succubi is because of their origins. Besides which, I'm not interviewing any succubi. I'm going to talk to their clients."

"Exactly!" His cheeks had flushed with colour. "Little sleaze bags who are probably under the thrall of demons. And you want to go alone?"

She leaned back as she took in his words. He appeared to realise what he had said and held up his hands. "Now don't start with the red eyes shit. I didn't mean to—"

"Peter Brannigan," she growled as menacingly as possible. "You think I can't take care of myself? Against _humans_? Because you don't like how they choose to spend their time? Or is it the succubi? Do you assume I can't resist? Am I that pathetic that I'll forget how to think for myself? Am I that desperate that I'll fall into the bed of the first—"

"Stop!" A trickle of sweat rolled down Peter's temple. "Stop working yourself up. That's not what I meant at all. I was thinking of you as a woman, not a hellhound, and I don't want those creeps making you uncomfortable." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Jesus, I'm making this worse." His lids flung open, revealing the dread within. "I was trying to say I think of you as a person, but I know you're tough, and so does everybody else. Which just brings us to the possibility that these men will say anything to stop you from killing them." He gushed out a panicked breath.

"My God," Val said in wonder. "You're a _complete_ idiot. I hadn't realised the depth of the affliction before."

But her rage had dissipated in the face of his rambling. He didn't mean to be offensive. It was just part of his makeup. "Maybe you're the one who shouldn't be alone with anyone."

He let out a relieved burst of laughter. "I'm not in total disagreement." He started the car, but she sensed his discomfort as he drove.

"I'm not going to kill you today," she said impatiently.

"I'm not afraid of dying," he said. "I like working with you. I want us to stay partners, and I want you to know that I do trust you. If you want to go it alone, then I'm not going to stop you."

She made a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat. As if he could _stop_ her. "We'll see." But she watched him as he drove. He was a strange man sometimes. "Why do you still distrust this world so much?" she asked. "You found your son, and you now know that humans were involved in the schemes that took him from you. Why is it you hate supernatural people so much more than humans?"

"I don't hate." He corrected himself. "I don't _mean_ to hate. It just takes me longer to trust supernaturals than humans. And it's not like I'm frolicking through meadows holding hands with all of the humans either." He glanced at her. "Besides, you're not exactly a lover of mankind yourself. I mean, you see the worst in men as a whole."

She thought about it. "I suppose past experiences made me warier."

"Ditto. It's pretty hard to change the habit of a lifetime. If you had seen Carl when the succubus had him... the magic didn't just affect him, but everyone else, too. And the bitch drained Ava on a regular basis. She's so much stronger now than when we first met, and I don't just mean mentally. Being away from that succubus gave her a chance to regain her strength. Imagine how shitty things would have gone if she had been weaker back during the war and such."

"Ava sometimes brings out the worst in people. Perhaps there was more to that story than you know."

He shot her a surprised glance. She shrugged in response. She liked and respected Ava, but nobody was perfect. There was always more than one side to a story.

Near the hospital, they drove around backstreets until they came to a set of offices that looked to be located right behind the hospital.

"Ready?" Peter asked. "This has to be it."

They left the car in the blissfully cool underground carpark then took a lift upstairs. The reception area looked like one of an ordinary business, but the scent of disinfectant in the air couldn't be denied. The receptionist stopped mid-yawn to watch them approach the desk, his face brightening when he took in Val's appearance. Better than outright disgust, she supposed.

"I'm Shane. How can I help you today?"

"This is the clinic," Val said, removing any hint of question from her tone.

Shane nodded slowly.

"There's a patient in the main hospital who's extremely ill," Peter said. "He comes here as part of the regular health testing because he visits one of the succubi houses. We think he should be here rather than the hospital."

The receptionist paled. " _Another_ one?"

Val glanced at Peter while Shane picked up a phone. "What's his name?"

"Kierán Gaynor," Val said.

Shane made a phone call then turned his attention back to Val and Peter, his gaze lingering on Val. "Thank you. We'll transfer him shortly. Are you family members or...?"

Peter showed the ID again. "We're investigating the source of the disease, actually. And Gaynor's wife hired us."

"Then I suppose I can let you through." The man stepped out from behind the desk. "The wife might need a friendly face. It can be frightening back there. Follow me."

"There are more patients with the same illness?" Val asked as he led them down a stark white corridor beyond a set of double-doors next to the reception area.

"It doesn't appear to be airborne, but they'll probably have to quarantine the regular hospital—just in case. The first patient was discovered a month ago. He died last week."

"It's fatal?" Peter sped up. "Is Gaynor in danger then?"

"We don't know. That patient was a special case. But as far as I know, all of our resources are looking into it."

"Are all of the patients human?" Val asked.

"Yeah." Shane looked uncomfortable. "There are three or four right now including your guy. The last one was discovered in the very early stages by one of our doctors during a routine checkup. He was lucky, but we don't have a treatment yet." He lowered his voice. "His condition deteriorated once he was admitted." He pointed down the hallway. "Take a seat over there. They'll be bringing the new patient through shortly, and his wife will be better for the company."

They sat in the corridor on cushy grey seats. "What do you make of it?" Peter asked.

"Nothing yet. He said all of their resources are looking into the matter. But what kind of resources do we have for unidentified diseases?"

"I don't know. We should find out. Do you think this could be a demonstration? As in, a pharmaceutical company will show up with a cure and prove their value."

"At the risk of some dead humans?" Val shook her head. "That's a bit chancy for a monetary motive."

"It could be natural." Peter's knee jerked up and down. "Some kind of reaction to the succubi. The way humans developed an immunity to vampires. Maybe their DNA is working overtime to form a barrier to the succubi's influence. I mean, it's possible."

"Surely that would take generations," Val said.

"How long have succubi been feeding on humans? Maybe somebody here would know. Or we could track down a geneticist and see if they have an opinion."

"Opinions aren't worth much when humans are dying." She cracked her knuckles just to give her hands something to do. "We need to talk to the families of the patients and figure out the links between them."

Peter gave her a pitying look. "We both know they're all brothel clients. Have to be."

"We still need to confirm it. Are you going to be biased throughout this whole thing?"

He ran his hands across his face. "I'm trying to deal with the facts."

"Do a better job."

He grunted in response. "I wonder what the first patient died of exactly," he said after a moment. "That receptionist called him a special case. And if the succubi are causing this, will they be punished?"

"The brothels will have to be closed down," she replied. "But they can't stop the succubi or they'll go extinct."

"What if that's for the best?" He looked at her. "Would you kill a species if it meant saving another one?"

"Let's hope it won't have to come to that."

"But could you do it?"

She clenched her jaw. "I could do anything, Peter. Never forget it."

A commotion sounded from behind the set of double doors closest to them. The doors burst open, and a hospital bed was pushed through, the hospital staff running alongside it all wearing masks over their faces for protection.

Val rose to her feet as they passed. Kierán lay on the bed, still unconscious, but not looking visibly worse. That was something, at least. Fidelma staggered into the hallway last, looking bewildered and scared. Peter caught her before she fell.

"Stay here," one of the nurses warned. "Somebody will come for you when we've finished with him."

"Finished with him?" Fidelma's lower lip trembled as she watched them take her husband away. "What's happening?"

"Take a seat," Peter said. "You can only wait."

She looked up at him with fearful eyes. "Will you wait with me?"

Peter didn't hesitate. "We'll wait."

Fidelma sat between them. "I don't understand. What is this place? What's happening?"

"It's just another part of the hospital," Val said. "There are other patients with the same... sickness as your husband."

Fidelma looked momentarily relieved. "So they know what's wrong with him? They can fix him?"

"No," Val said.

"Not yet," Peter added hurriedly. "They think he might have caught a disease from some supernaturals."

"What?" Fidelma's face scrunched up. "What supernaturals?"

"Succubi," Val said, wondering why she couldn't stop herself from making the woman's pain worse. It was as though she could only survive the day knowing that other people were hurting more than her.

"He worked there sometimes," Peter said before Fidelma could ask. "Cleaned up the place and such. He might have picked up a new... bug."

"Will he be all right?" Fidelma asked in a dazed voice.

"The doctors are going to do their best," Peter said.

"And so will we," Val said. "We're going to find out where this illness came from to help them stop it."

Fidelma took her hand and squeezed it. "Thank you."

Val felt uncomfortable. "It's our job."

Fidelma fell silent, staring at her feet. When she next spoke, her voice was subdued. "So that's where he's been? With prostitutes?"

"They tell us he didn't sleep with anyone, but he was a client," Peter said.

Fidelma gasped. "I thought you said he worked there."

"He did," Val said. "They helped him with his depression."

"Oh." Fidelma fidgeted with her handbag. "I couldn't do that. Help him. I knew he was... down, but I didn't know how to stop it."

"That's because you can't," Peter said. "It's not something you can fix. You can only be there for someone. The succubi didn't stop his pain either. They just siphoned the worst of it away. You can't blame yourself."

"I can," she said stubbornly. "He would never have been upset if it wasn't for me."

"You don't know that. Sometimes things happen, and they don't have a reason. People get down even when life is going great for them. You can't blame yourself for _this_."

She gathered her arms around herself. "Did those women make him sick?"

"That's what we're going to find out," Peter said. "They want to find out, too."

"If they did, it'll be swept under the carpet just like everything else," Fidelma said bitterly. "Nobody cares what happens to people like us. We're not important, not..." Fidelma broke down into tears.

Peter let her cry on his shoulder while Val let her hold her hand. Maybe she didn't want anyone else to suffer after all.

# Five

_P eter_

* * *

Peter and Val began the task of poking around the hospital in an attempt to find answers. It involved some red eyes, an ID, and a bit of quick talking, but security eventually decided not to throw them out.

_This time_.

"You have a habit of provoking authority," Val remarked as they searched for the doctor who had taken care of patient zero.

"Please. Hospital security holds no authority over me. Besides," he said with a grin. "You're the one who threatened to crush his skull."

"I was making a joke," she said solemnly. "Humans never get my jokes."

"Pretty sure he was a shifter."

"Those too. Besides, why should they concern themselves with our questions? Surely they want answers as much as we do."

One would think. "Nobody likes to hear that Senate sanctioned investigators are snooping around their business."

"It's a hospital," Val said.

He laughed. "You keep telling yourself that. The medical industry is the biggest business there is. Sick people mean profits."

"Does it hurt?"

He blinked at the sudden turn in subject. "What?"

"Carrying that chip on your shoulder. Is it very painful?"

He rolled his eyes. Sometimes that was the safest response.

They turned a corner and reached the office of the woman they had been searching for. Peter knocked, didn't wait for an answer, then let himself in. "Dr. Kavanagh?" he asked.

The bored looking woman spinning on a desk chair glanced up in surprise. She let the chair take one last full spin before coming to an abrupt stop. "Can I help you?"

They entered the room. Val closed the door behind them. The doctor had long hair dyed black, but the roots were ash blonde, and the tips an odd mix of lilac and grey. Her lips and ears were pierced with black jewellery. Even her nails were painted in a dark tone that drew attention. He was pretty sure that went against some kind of dress code.

"We're here about the unidentified disease," he said. The thought occurred to him that a randomer had walked in and put on a white coat. "You are Dr. Kavanagh, right?"

"Yep. That's me." She brightened. "Infection X. It's extremely interesting."

"Interesting?" Peter exchanged a look with Val. "That's one way of putting it."

"Missing pieces are very interesting." She resumed spinning the chair around.

Peter shot Val a bemused look. She lifted her shoulders into a helpless shrug.

"Samples are being examined by our researchers as we speak, but there's nothing I can help you with. I only worked on the first patient, and he died before we realised others had the same disease." Dr. Kavanagh stopped the spin by slapping her palms onto the desk to hold herself in place, knocking over a bottle of pills in the process. "I believe it's virulent, but non-contagious."

"If it's not contagious then how did anyone catch it?" Val asked.

Dr. Kavanagh lifted a finger. "And that's why I've been _excused_ from working on the other patients. Apparently, my opinions are based in fantasy and not fact." She gestured toward a bookcase full of books and papers. "And the fact I've been published multiple times because of my studies means nothing."

"You're an expert?"

"There's no such thing." She smiled. "Actually, I'm a medical doctor first and foremost, but genetic research is kind of my thing—with a leaning toward diseases. I aimed for a position with a busy hospital as a research associate. I came _here_ for the chance to examine supernatural cell structures. Let's just say the job description was a little misleading. Infection X was the only interesting thing that happened, and I was pulled from it. _C'est la vie_."

"Who pulled you?" Peter asked.

The doctor jerked her chin upward. "The managing director on behalf of the board." She sank back with a sullen frown, but her fingers kept moving, frenetically tapping the arms of the chair. "They don't like the idea of me publishing my findings because they prefer keeping their little clinic a secret from the outside world." She shrugged. "We've parted ways. This is my notice period, during which I've been given less than nothing to do. I'm just biding my time until I'm free to go, but there's only so many videos of cute baby goats I can watch in a row, so I'm a little... restless right now."

Peter pressed his lips together. The more he heard, the less he liked. He took a seat in front of the doctor.

"What can you tell us about the infection?" Val asked, standing by his shoulder as though she were his personal bodyguard. "You said you cared for the first patient."

"And he died before I could do much to help him." Kavanagh made a face. "So those in charge took all of my notes and refused to let me have the test results I ordered. I'm flying blind, so unless you can get me a sample, I can't help you."

Peter held his breath for an instant. "What if we could get you a sample?"

Kavanagh froze, but her eyes gleamed. "Why would you do something so risky?"

"We've been hired to find the source."

"Wait." She frowned. "I'm sorry, but who exactly are you?"

Out came the ID again.

She touched the mark of the Senate and murmured, "State approved. It wouldn't be illegal. Technically." She sat back in her chair. "I have contacts who would be happy to get a look at this before it becomes an outbreak."

"You think it will?"

"No." She grinned. "I'm trying to sound dramatic. You get me a blood sample from one of the patients, and I'll have it tested vigorously. But I get to publish my findings when this is all over. No more secrets."

Peter looked at Val who nodded. "Not our business what you do with the information. But are you certain it's not contagious?"

"If it were contagious, we'd all be under quarantine."

"The main hospital building is."

She waved a dismissive hand. " _Now_ it is, and that's just to keep some investors happy. The Senate may be in charge, but they're not funding us so well. Don't worry about what happens to the main hospital. They only reopened that building to cover this place's presence."

That did it. There were enough secrets to be uncovered to make an alliance. Peter held out his hand. "All right. I think we can help each other."

She took his hand and shook it, her grasp firm and sure. "I'd be happy to." She bit her lower lip. "I may not be able to tell you what you want to hear, but I can confirm enough information on the disease to give you a headstart. The big bosses here are too busy managing the situation to actually resolve it. It'll take me a while, too. My resources can only help me in their spare time, but they'll be as thorough as possible."

"We'll be back," Val said. "With a sample given with permission from a family member."

Kavanagh beamed. "All the better."

They left her and found a quiet corner of the hospital to discuss the situation.

"She seemed overly keen," Val said.

Peter agreed, but he also saw possibilities in a working relationship with somebody as open to bending the rules as Kavanagh. "She's probably thinking the same about us. She seems to be more interested in answering her own questions than ours, but if she has access to a lab that specialises in this kind of thing, then we need to stay friendly with her."

"Her interest could just as easily involve revenge. She seemed irritated by the way she was treated here." Val stood. "We should try to get in touch with family members of the other patients, see if they can figure out a timeline of events for us. If the first patient died, then Kierán's going to run out of time eventually. If we can just figure out where they've all been, then we can try to establish how this happened."

They found Shane back in reception. "You ask him," Peter murmured. "He's in awe. Milk the shit out of that."

Val sucked in a breath before lurching toward the counter. "I need help."

Peter almost laughed.

"What can I do for you?" Shane asked.

"I need to talk to family members of the other patients. We've been hired by a patient's wife and a member of the Senate to get to the bottom of this, so if you get in my way—"

"Here to help," Shane said breezily. "Not many family members sticking around, to be honest. Oh, there is the old lady, Jackson Martin's mother, but," he checked the time, "she's on her walk right now. She should be back this afternoon. I mean, I can call you when she shows up."

Val looked startled. "I... Okay, that's fine."

Shane held up their business card. "Got your number here, Valeria."

Val looked blankly at Peter as though struck helpless.

"Great," Peter said. "We need to pop out, but call when you have news for us." He grabbed Val's arm and led her outside. "What's with you? Can't handle people who are actually nice to you or something?"

She shrugged. "Maybe."

"We can fill time chasing down clients who have missed appointments. Up for that?"

"I'm fine, Peter."

"Uh-huh."

She scowled in answer. He had to admit to being amused by her. She often went on attack first, so helpful people like Shane were enigmas to her. The comedy factor of her uncertain confusion was worth the occasional death threats. Mostly.

He cleared his throat. "Right. First client lives right across the Liffey. Won't take us long to get there at this time of day."

"What do we know about him?"

Peter furrowed his brows at his notes. Very little, all told. "The file said he's single and works as security in a large chain of shops. And his name is one of those unpronounceable Irish ones that I'm not even going to attempt to try."

Back in the car, they ended up stuck behind a learner driver who appeared incapable of driving a few yards without accidentally cutting out the engine.

Peter tapped the steering wheel. "We would have been quicker walking."

"You have no patience," Val said stoically.

Finally, they made it across the Liffey and to a block of apartments where the first absent client lived.

A bleary-eyed young man answered the door on the second ring. Over six foot tall, he looked down at Peter and Val. "I'm not buying," he said gruffly.

"We're not selling," Peter replied. "Are you, em, **** Toirdhealbheach?" He stuttered a few syllables before giving up on the name. Even if he'd paid attention during Irish in school, he still probably wouldn't have a clue.

"I go by Turlough now." The man sighed. "Just call me Tor. Everyone else does."

"How are you feeling?" Val asked. "Any rash or bruises?"

He blinked. "Uh, who are you?"

"Layla sent us," Peter said.

"Jesus." Tor looked around then sort of ducked back into the doorway. "I didn't realise missing an appointment was so serious. I forgot to call it in."

"We were checking your health," Peter said, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden. "The succubi are concerned with... absentees."

"Look, I'm fine," Tor said in a low voice. "Somebody left a tap on at work, the place got flooded, and I've had to work nights to keep an eye on things while the place gets fixed up. I promise I won't miss an appointment again."

Peter glanced at Val. Her mouth was twitching suspiciously. "Rightly so."

Tor yawned widely. "Can I sleep now?"

"Sorry for disturbing you," Peter said, completely uncomfortable now.

He followed Val to the car.

"Why do I feel dirty?" he asked aloud.

"I'm not interested in dissecting your mental state," Val said. "Where to next?"

"Rathfarnham would probably be closest. Might as well stick to the Southside while we're here." He flipped through his notes. "We've a short-term client to see."

They found the second client easily. He was on his way out, wearing a suit that was at least a half-size too small. When they explained why they were looking for him, he beamed.

"Oh, I got a job," he said triumphantly. "I've been looking for months, couldn't get a thing, and ended up a bit, well, depressed. The succubi convinced me that my state of mind wasn't helping in the job market. They gave me a bit of confidence, and then I rocked three interviews in a row. Tell them thanks for me, but I don't need to go anymore."

He breezed past them.

"He looks pretty healthy, too," Val said.

"And happy," Peter added. "Next up is a long-timer in Sandyford. A GP."

"Another link to the medical world," Val said.

"Is a doctor more or less likely to get sick?" Peter asked. "Surrounding themselves with sick people all day must take a toll on their immune systems. Or have they just built up a barrier from exposing themselves to pretty much everything out there?"

"We'll find out," Val said.

The drive went by quickly. They discussed theories on Layla's clients and avoided anything personal. That was always safer.

When they reached the GP's office, they were informed that Dr. Coyle only worked three days a week lately. They had to visit him at home instead, but he lived so close to his surgery that it took them less than ten minutes to find his house.

A short, plump man answered the door and paled when they explained why they were looking for him.

He closed the door behind him and stepped into his well-kept front garden. "Lower your voices," he hissed.

"Have you been unwell?" Val asked.

"No," the man said impatiently. "I never get sick. Why on earth are you here?"

"Layla was worried," Peter said. "You stopped showing up for appointments."

Sweat gleamed on the older man's forehead. "My wife wasn't happy about my appointments. Somebody told her, and suddenly, our marriage is no longer happy." He let out a mirthless laugh. "And now I really do need the succubi to help me."

Peter's phone rang. "I need to take this."

"We're done here anyway," Dr. Coyle said. "Tell Layla I'll be back... when everything has died down."

He went inside. Peter took the call from Shane.

"Jackson Martin's mother is here," Shane said. "If you want to talk to her, now's a good time. You won't be disturbed for another couple of hours."

"We'll be there as soon as we can." Peter hung up then nodded at Val. "We should head back to the hospital to meet with the mother of one of the patients."

In the car, Val was quiet for a while. "That man didn't care that he hurt his wife. Did you notice? He was only bothered by the inconvenience. How is that love?"

"Maybe he loves her," Peter said. "But that was probably boredom speaking. People get stuck in a rut, used to a certain way of life. Something else comes along that's exciting, and they can't help themselves. They think they're not hurting anybody."

"People can't be trusted then," Val said bitterly.

He glanced at her. "Not everyone is the same. It's just... complicated."

She didn't speak for the rest of the journey. Neither did he. He was too consumed with thoughts of what might have been. If the supernatural world had never come for his son, would he have ended up as heartless toward Emmett's mother? Lisa had been his first love, but they barely had the time to find out if that love had even been real, if they had a chance at making it together. The thoughts made him uncomfortable. He was glad to reach the hospital and let Shane direct them to their target.

The second patient was in a lone room accompanied by his mother who rarely left his side. Peter peeked into the room and softened his voice. She was an old lady. He didn't want to scare her into submission.

"Excuse me," he said. "We're private investigators hired to find the origin of the disease infecting your son in order to speed up the process into finding a cure."

She nodded as though she didn't care who they were. "Sit," she said in a husky voice. "You won't disturb him. He never wakes." She took in Val's appearance and shrugged. "I'm not sure how I can help you."

"This is your son?" Peter said.

"Jackson is my only child. He's all I have."

Peter looked at the man in the bed. He looked to be in his fifties. "He's your only family?"

"Always," she said, looking affectionately at her prone son. "We've only had each other for his entire life. He takes care of me, and I take care of him. So when he didn't get up for breakfast, I knew something was wrong. I called an ambulance immediately, you know, because of his condition."

"Hold on," Val said. "What condition?"

"Diabetes," the woman said. "Had it since childhood. I give him his insulin injections myself. That's why I'm staying here. They know it's best if I just... keep looking after him." For the first time she wavered. "They brought him in here because he's on some list. The ladies he visits, you know, they have to be careful. I don't... I don't think it was the diabetes after all. They're calling it a rash, but it looks like blood bruises to me. Infected, I think."

"He's unconscious because of a rash?" Peter asked.

"They think so because the other patients have them. So a nurse told me." She gently pulled back the blanket to reveal her son's bare arms.

She had tucked him in, Peter realised with a start. But then the arms distracted him. Jackson's skin had turned purple and black, covered in red, raised weals. It didn't just look painful. It looked full of pus.

"They drain him every day," the woman said sorrowfully. "But it doesn't help. When they try to drain him, some thick, congealed blood comes out, and the swelling goes down for a while, but eventually it gets back to _this_. And it happens every time. They don't understand it, and I'm starting to worry." Her voice shook. "Some days, I don't think he's coming home with me."

"I'm sorry," Peter said.

"So am I." She discreetly dabbed a tear from her cheek with a handkerchief. "It'll be the end of me, too. But he doesn't seem to be in pain. That's something."

"So he did visit the succubi then," Val said hesitantly.

The woman's head whipped up to glare at her. "He's a good boy, but all boys have needs. There's no harm."

"No," Peter said. "Of course not." Strike two though. "Do you have any idea of the name of the succubus he visited with? Layla, perhaps?"

She shook her head. "I've no idea. It was the occasional visit a couple of times a year. So rare. I mean, I'm not sure why he even has to come all the way to Dublin for a health check. I'm sure our local GP could do the same job."

"Wait," Peter said. "Where is it you live?"

"Oh, Limerick," she said. "But I haven't been home since Jackson was admitted here."

"So he visited a brothel in Limerick?" Val asked.

"Yes, there's one in the town," the woman said. "They have no shame advertising, so I have no shame..." She bent her head. "Could you leave us be now?"

"Of course," Peter said before Val could protest.

In the corridor, Val looked furious. "I wasn't finished asking questions."

"She was done." He paced the hallway. "I suppose it makes sense that the same disease could come from any brothel."

"It might mean we won't have any luck with Layla's clients."

"Or that this is worse than we thought." Peter frowned. "You can't deny it looks bad for the succubi now, but we still need to keep trying to figure this out. Let's check back with the chatty receptionist, see if he can place all of the patients for us."

He did. None of the patients lived in the same town. "Are there any other diabetics?" Val asked.

Shane checked the records. "Just one, but a lot of them are sick in other ways. Two with thyroiditis and the one who died actually had HIV."

"What about Gaynor?" Val asked.

"He has some kind of chronic pain, I believe." Shane screwed up his face. "No wonder they go to the succubi for relief."

"Is that normal for clients of supernaturals?" Peter asked.

"I don't know. You'd have to ask the succubi. But even though there's been a death, it's been chalked up as an AIDS related complication. They can't say that about the others when they go."

"They're expecting more deaths. But no quarantine here," Val said.

He shrugged. "I suppose they're trying to keep things quiet."

"Jesus." Peter swore under his breath a couple of times. "Anything else you can tell us?"

"No, sorry. I mean, I shouldn't have told you as much as I have, but I'm beginning to get scared." He lowered his voice. "This is starting to feel like something out of a film."

"Right." Peter gestured for Val to follow him outside. "Maybe it's time to start warning people."

"We can," Val said. "Call Layla and ask her if she has information on clients who have diseases like HIV. I bet she does."

"Why would she when the succubi can't get infected?"

"Sanitary reasons like cross-contamination between clients?" Val looked uncomfortable. "If Kierán worked there, is it possible he caught the disease from washing up after a sick client? I don't know how this stuff works. Do you?"

Peter wanted to go home and get into bed and never get up again. "I'll call Layla." He rang the succubus and briefly explained what they learned. "Did you know you have so many sick clients?"

"Yes," she said. "It's normal. We can't contract their diseases, and when they suffer, we can ease their pain. People come to us with chronic pain, even migraines, and we help them. A client who is a long-term sufferer of HIV may be unusual right now, but not so odd as to throw up any red flags." She breathed a sigh. "But it still doesn't make sense. Kierán's the odd one out."

So she was still going with the virtuous Kierán story. Fine. "Are there any sick clients we should be checking up on?"

"I'll find out," Layla promised. "Do you want to come in and check with me to verify the information?"

"No." He didn't feel like going back to the brothel if he could help it. "Just text me if you realise anyone else has gone missing or may be at risk somehow. The least we can do is warn them."

"I'm going to start contacting every client so they can be tested. If I can't get in touch with any, I'll send their info to you if you want it. Do you?"

"I want to ask them questions, too." He thought of something else. "Can you give me a sample of your blood?"

She fell silent for a moment. "What for?"

"To test, obviously. We found someone who will run tests on the blood of the victims for us. Yours could be valuable."

He was surprised when she agreed and promised to text them the address of any other clients who hadn't shown up in a while or were a potential medical risk.

"We should go to Kierán's room and find Fidelma," Val said. "To ask permission to take his blood."

Back in Kierán's room, his wife was huddled in a chair in the corner of the room, as far away from the bed as possible.

"He's not contagious," Peter said.

"We haven't had sex in months," she said in a distant voice. "The doctors tested me for his disease anyway. I don't have it. They asked me a lot of questions about our sex lives. They think that's what caused it, but you said he was working at the brothel as a... cleaner."

"That's what we were told," Val said.

"What if you were told wrong?" Fidelma raised her eyes to meet their gazes. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Trust him until he has the chance to explain," Peter said, surprising himself. "The problem right now is that nobody knows anything for sure. So if you let us have a sample of his blood, we'll test it alongside a succubus's, and a doctor might be able to see if anything matches up, or if anything can be done about it."

She blinked. "You want his blood?"

"We made a contact who's willing to test it further," Val said.

"Surely the hospital are doing that already," Fidelma said.

Peter took a seat and looked at her. "We'd rather find out for ourselves."

"You don't trust the hospital." Fidelma sat up straight. "What the hell is going on?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," Val said. "Can we have his blood?"

"Can you promise me you'll fix him?" Fidelma asked desperately.

"We can only promise that we won't stop trying," Val said. "You have to be strong now. Strong enough for the both of you. Can you do that?"

Fidelma nodded then made her way back to her husband's bedside. "You can have the blood."

"Thank you," Peter said. His phone beeped with a text message. Layla. He glanced at Val. "Layla found one. Let's go." To Fidelma he said, "We'll be back later."

He gestured for Val to follow him out of the room. "You did good in there."

"What did Layla say?" she asked brusquely, completely ignoring his statement.

"Got one in Crumlin. Shouldn't take us long to run over unless traffic is bad."

"Another one on the Southside? Is that relevant, I wonder. We need to bring him in for a checkup either way," Val said. "Even if he's not sick yet. Just in case."

"We could be too late. Layla said the client missed their weekly appointment today for the first time."

"Then we should hurry."

They jogged to the underground garage to find the car. Peter held his breath as he turned the key, but his baby thankfully started on the first try. "Lucky," he couldn't help saying.

"You need a new car," Val said. "One that doesn't run on prayers and bribes."

"You forgot wishes," he said with a grin. "So. We get to the client and they refuse to come in. What does our intrepid duo do next?"

"Drag him to be tested," Val said as though that were obvious.

"Works for me, I suppose." He glanced at her. "Think Layla will give us a sample of her blood when it comes down to it?"

"Yes." She frowned at him. "She's been forthcoming so far. We have no reason to distrust her."

"She's a demon on the Senate. Two very good reasons not to trust her."

"Demon is just a word used to isolate certain species." Val shrugged. "I don't sense anything demonic from her. If she didn't belong, I'd feel the need to destroy her, wouldn't I? And at some point, you're going to have to trust the Senate. They send jobs our way, ensure we get paid. We need them right now."

"We'd be fools to completely trust the Senate as an institution. As individuals, I have even less trust in the likes of a vampire, siren, succubus, businessman, and a creature that was evicted from Hell for being so annoying."

"And Phoenix," Val said with a smirk.

"You don't like him either."

She didn't respond, but he already knew. Her shoulders tensed in the man's presence. Peter trusted Val's instincts more than most other people's; that was a given.

The traffic wasn't as jammed as usual leading out of the city, and they made it to Crumlin in good time. They drove around a neighbourhood three times before finding the right house, and when they did, newspapers had gathered on the doorstep.

"Post stuck in the letterbox," Val murmured. "Either they've left, or something's wrong."

"I think we're concerned enough to force our way in," Peter said. "Even a member of the Senate is concerned. Go on then. Kick in the door."

"You must stop getting me to do destructive things just so you can shrug your shoulders and say, "Oh, the hellhound did it. Couldn't stop her." I do have some control."

"It's quicker if you do it," he said with a grin. "Hurry up."

She obliged, lifting her foot and knocking the front door off its hinges with one swift kick. Before any of the neighbours came out to see what was going on, Peter slipped inside. The curtains were all closed, leaving the house murky. In the living room, the television was on, but nobody was there. In the kitchen, milk had soured on the table, and a half-eaten meal had been left there to congeal next to it.

"Is that liver?" Val lifted the plate and sniffed.

"Vile," Peter said. "I hate liver."

"It smells like it's a couple of days old," Val said. "Let's take a look upstairs." A whine from the back door stopped them.

"What was that?" Peter asked. "A dog?" He peeked out the door. "Jesus, it is." He opened the door and a half-grown pup raced in and almost knocked him down.

"Did he leave his dog here?" Val looked out the back. Peter tossed the liver to the dog and followed. The garden was well-kept, but the dog poo hadn't been cleaned up recently.

The dog wolfed down the food.

"Poor thing." Peter rubbed its ears. "Mad looking yoke, too." The dog had one blue and one brown eye, and blue merle patches all over its fur like some kind of sheepdog, but the texture was too fluffy for a typical working dog.

"I think it's pretty," Val said.

Whining, the dog raced from Peter to the door and back again. "All right, Lassie," he said. "Who fell down a well?"

The dog cried all the way up the stairs and ran straight into a bedroom where a prone figure was stretched out in bed, unmoving, even when the dog pawed the covers.

Peter rushed to check. "It's a woman," he said in surprise. The woman was covered in the same purple and red blotches that had covered Kierán's arms. "Think he passed the disease onto his girlfriend?"

Val opened the wardrobe. "Not very feminine clothes, but they're all petite. No, I think Jamie is a lady."

"Okay, call the hospital. They need to send an ambulance over here."

While Val went outside to call, the pup jumped up onto the bed and licked Jamie's face.

"Get off, you," Peter said, pushing the dog off the bed. He felt miserable. Yet another victim, and nobody had a clue what to do about it.

# Six

_V al_

* * *

The hospital sent a private ambulance. The paramedics made quick work of dealing with Jamie and taking her out of the house. A group of neighbours approached Val who was keeping the dog out of the way while Peter helped the paramedics.

"Isn't that her dog?" a woman said.

Another nodded. "The poor thing's been barking for days."

"Then why didn't you do something?" Val snapped.

"The animal's been barking since she got it." The woman folded her arms across her chest. "Besides, it's none of my business."

Val allowed herself a tiny growl. The women moved off in a hurry. An elderly man with a small terrier on a leash leaned against the wall and waited for the path to clear. The pup jumped up to reach him.

"Hi there, Riley," he said, giving the dog some attention. He nodded at Val. "Striking animal, right? Half Malamute, half Australian Shepherd."

"You know Jamie?" she asked.

"Not exactly," he said. "We bump into each other in the park on occasion. I give her a few tips on training sometimes. I saw her struggling too many times not to help. She's very delicate, always pale, not strong enough to contain the dog when it grew bigger. She got landed with the pup when her boyfriend left her."

"Her boyfriend?"

The old man nodded. "He left a couple of months ago, and this pup has been growing ever since. The poor girl was very depressed when it happened, but she's been a lot better lately. It's a shame. Is she sick or was there an accident?"

Val looked at the ambulance. "We don't really know yet. Does she have family around here? Somebody who could take the dog?"

"No, she's from Cork. Moved up here to be with her boyfriend, then when he left, she couldn't afford to move back. She works in the gym next to the park. Maybe somebody there would know more."

"Thanks for your help." Val handed him a business card. "In case you remember anything else. Ex-boyfriend's name would be nice."

He accepted the card and moved on.

Peter moved to her side, absent-mindedly petting the dog as they watched the ambulance leave together.

Val gazed at the dog. They couldn't leave it behind, could hardly take it with them. "That man told me that Jamie was depressed when her boyfriend left her. She has no family here. What do we do with the dog?"

"She had a boyfriend?" The dog licked his hand. He wiped it on his jeans. "We could send the dog to that pound we went to when we were looking for Sparky."

"You wouldn't," she blurted.

He grinned. "Look at you, being all caring. No, I wouldn't. It'd be a bit shitty if Jamie came home and even her dog was gone." He sighed. "We'll have to take care of the thing."

"It's called Riley."

The dog looked up at the mention of its name.

"We should probably feed and water it," Peter said with a sigh. "Poor thing must be starving."

They went back inside and found some dog food. It was an expensive brand, and a quick look in the presses revealed that the human food was all of the cheap and cheerful variety. Val felt a pang in her chest.

She poured water into a bowl and set it next to the dog who promptly knocked it over in its excitement over the food. She sighed and refilled the bowl.

"Now we'll have to wait for it to shit." Peter sat at the table and ran his hands over his head, looking exhausted. "What next?"

"We could go to the gym Jamie works in and find out when they last saw her," Val suggested. "See how late we were in getting to her."

"This is ridiculous," Peter said. "Why the hell haven't they been warning people to get tested since the first death? We need to talk to somebody at the hospital."

"We'll do that after the gym. Layla's still trying to get in touch with her clients to make them aware of what's happening, but we can at least push the hospital to do the right thing."

Peter rooted around in the presses for a lead. "The collar is a little tight," he said, struggling to contain the hyper dog who spun out of control at the sound of the lead clicking open. "Jesus, how does that tiny woman cope with this shit." The dog twirled, twisting the lead around and almost strangling itself and breaking Peter's fingers in the process. "Sit!" he bellowed.

The dog leapt up and licked his face.

"Oh, God." Peter recoiled, his hand to his mouth. He ran to the sink and spat a couple of times. "It licked the inside of my mouth." He dry-retched.

Val lost control. The laughter bubbled up out of her in waves that she couldn't stop. She couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed like that. The dog calmed down and stared at her as though fascinated. "Good... good dog," she gasped while Peter scowled at her.

"Why does every job with you devolve into ridiculousness?" he demanded.

"Just lucky." She reached the dog, growled a little when it bounced around the room, and easily attached the lead to the collar. "There. Riley's ready to go for a walk. The park is about five minutes away. We might as well walk through it to give the animal a chance to do its business. Then we can go to the gym and ask about Jamie."

Peter made sure to lock up the house as best he could. Val took the lead, deciding that Peter had probably had his fill of Riley. The trio strolled to the park, Riley relentlessly pulling on the lead the entire time.

"I feel like this dog swallowed a tornado at some stage in its life." Peter peeked under the dog. "I think she's a girl, by the way."

"She has a lot of energy. The man I spoke to outside the house said she's a mongrel. Malamute and Australian Shepherd, I think he said."

"Working dogs," Peter said. "They need to be occupied even more than the average dog or they get bored and destructive."

She shot him a surprised look. "Since when do you know anything about dogs?"

"Ah, after we went to that pound, I started thinking about getting Emmett a dog and looked into different breeds. But we work too much to take care of one. It wouldn't be fair." He shrugged. "I mean, a normal kid would be on their summer holidays right now. Emmett's still taking half-days just to catch up on the basics like Maths and English."

"Helena tried to teach us." It hurt to remember those days trapped in Hell, but less and less all the time. "The girls who took care of the children would try, too. We passed on stories we'd heard about the real world. I remember that much."

"How come you can talk about it?" Peter asked, his voice shaky. Emmett and so many children couldn't talk about their time in the slave market in Hell for magical reasons.

"I don't know," Val admitted. "Maybe the magic didn't work on me, or... they didn't bother. Nobody ever expected a hellhound to fit into the outside world. I mean, look at me." She gestured toward the magical tattoos and the bumps on her skin that sharpened in her anger. "I stand out. They probably didn't expect me to run, and even if I did, they expected to easily catch me. I was never for sale." She frowned. "That's a lie. When I was a little girl, they tried to sell me to somebody who wanted a guard dog."

"You're kidding," Peter said.

"My father showed them that I was a coward, and they never tried to sell me again."

"I'm sorry," Peter said softly.

"Don't be. A different life wouldn't have helped me keep Leah safe when we ran. My father may have tried to break me, but he just taught me how to survive."

They wandered through the park, letting Riley sniff every tree they passed.

"I wish Emmett could tell me what he went through," Peter said.

"No, you don't." She stopped walking and held his gaze. "You don't want to know what he went through because you wouldn't be able to sleep again. He had a terrible life, but now it's over, and all you can do is make the rest of his life better."

Peter's face fell. "I can't control anything that happens. He's seen so much with me that he shouldn't have."

"You, better than anyone, can teach him how to survive it. Look at Dita, how delicate she appears at first glance. You've told me she's one of the best fighters in Shay's gym. And I've seen the determination of both children whenever we train in the cul-de-sac. They have what it takes to survive whatever comes."

"I hope so," he said. "I just wish they didn't have to work so hard to survive." He cleared his throat and nodded. "I take it that's the gym."

The gym was a large warehouse, right outside the side gates of the park. "I can hear people inside. Somebody who works there might be able to take Riley off our hands until Jamie recovers."

_If_ she recovers, she didn't say. But it was there, the thought on their minds. All of the victims could easily die while they chased shadows.

A couple of people worked weights in the gym, while an energetic class went on upstairs. One of the staff members came over, a dark look on his face. He pointed toward Val. "She's barred."

Val let out a growl. "Excuse me?"

"He means Riley," Peter said, sounding amused.

"That dog is a menace," the man said. "Get it out." Then he hesitated. "Wait, do you know Jamie?"

Peter glanced at Val. "Who's in charge here?"

"I'm Allen," he said as though that explained everything. "I manage the place. Where's Jamie?"

"Can you follow us outside?" Peter asked. "We have some questions for you."

Outside, Allen stretched in the heat of the afternoon, glancing around him as though distracted until Riley let out a low growl. He glared at the dog.

"Jamie's been taken to hospital," Peter said. "Can you tell us the last time you saw her?"

"Uh, maybe three nights ago? She was working the evening shift, and she didn't feel well. I thought she was playing up. She's been a mess for a while."

"A mess?" Val said.

The man shrugged. "She had a bad breakup, couldn't focus. But even before that, she always had excuses. Women troubles." He snorted dismissively. "Anyway, she started to seem better, but then she flaked completely. Half her problems are that bloody dog."

"It's just a dog," Val said, strangely protective of the animal.

"Did she hurt herself? Is that why she's in hospital?" Allen ran his hands through his sweat-slicked hair. "Fuck. Who am I going to replace her with this time?"

Peter's jaw tensed. "She's sick. They don't know yet what the cause is. She was unconscious in her home, probably for at least a day."

"Jesus." He ran his hands through his hair again, this time glancing at his flexing biceps as though to check out his own muscles. "I meant to pop around to her place, but I didn't get a chance, and now... Jamie's a nice girl. She's a bit emotional or whatever, but she's a good worker on her best days. Can I visit her? Or, well, I won't have the time, but can I send flowers?"

A low sound emitted from Peter's throat. Val was sure he had just growled. "Was Jamie actually sick, do you know?"

"I don't know. She kept saying she was anaemic or something, but we kind of all assumed that was an excuse."

An excuse for what?

"Really," Peter said darkly.

"It's not like she broke a leg or had the flu," Allen said scornfully. "I mean, come on. Anaemia?"

"Just because you couldn't see her problems doesn't mean she didn't have them," Peter said, the apples of his cheeks turning red, a warning sign.

Val decided to get as many answers as possible before Peter punched him in the face. "Do you know her family or friends?" she asked. "Somebody who can check on her house and take care of her dog?"

"I'll look in on her house," he said. "But I'm not going near that dog. I don't know of anyone else. Jamie was a bit of a loner."

"I'll give you our business card. Let us know if you come up with anybody," Peter said.

The man looked at the card in confusion. "Private Investigators? What's going on?"

"We're just trying to find people who might have contracted this disease Jamie has."

"Is it contagious?" The man threw a horrified look at the gym. "Do we have to shut down?"

"You'll be notified if you do," Peter said.

"Maybe you should shut down anyway," Val said with a sneer. "In case anyone sues." She almost laughed at the distressed look on his face. "Let's go."

As they walked away, she said, "He's an arrogant pig."

"More than a little self-obsessed. I'm starting to feel a bit sorry for Jamie."

"The story is similar to Kierán's though, isn't it?" Val said. "Both depressed because of their love life."

"I hope I never get that depressed."

She bit back a comment that might have been too honest for Peter to hear.

They drove back to the hospital with Riley in tow. "We'll have to leave her in the car," Peter said.

"For now," Val said. "We won't be able to bring her to the hospital. What if she eats something?"

"The car's clean. What's she gonna eat? We shouldn't be long anyway."

They left a whining Riley in the car with the windows opened slightly. The underground car park was cool enough that she wouldn't overheat, but Val found herself hesitating.

"Come on," Peter said impatiently. "The dog will just sleep while we're gone."

She cast one last glance at Riley before following Peter out of the car park. Inside the hospital, they went to check on Jamie and found Dr. Kavanagh outside her room.

"Hi," she said when she spotted them. "Yet another one."

Val nodded at her. "We got permission to take Kierán Gaynor's blood from his wife."

She brightened. "Great. I'll take it when nobody's hanging around to stop me."

"We might be able to get you some succubi blood," Peter added. "Will that help?"

"Absolutely." She frowned at the window of Jamie's room. "What are they _doing_? Excuse me, I need to give that orderly an education."

She left them.

Peter sighed. "Let's go find the director of the hospital then."

The director's office was the largest in the building that they had seen so far. She had her own reception area where two secretaries worked diligently while a third manned the phones. The only other rooms on the floor were bathrooms, a canteen, a staffroom, and a couple of offices.

"I swear there's more clerical staff than doctors in this place," Peter whispered under his breath as the receptionist lifted her head to greet them.

"We're here to see the director," Val said, disliking the barely concealed insolence in the young woman's stare.

"Ms. Meehan's on a call right now. Please take a seat if you'd like to wait."

They reluctantly took a seat and were forced to wait for twenty minutes. By the time they were finally ushered into Meehan's office, Val had grown irritable.

Meehan was in her late fifties at the earliest, judging by the lines on her face and the age spots on the backs of her hands. Her eyes were small and beady, deceptively sharp—and not at all welcoming.

"Can I help you?" she asked briskly before they could take a seat.

"We're here about Infection X," Val said. "We're concerned about the hospital's handling of the situation."

Meehan rolled her eyes. "Have you been talking to Noeleen Kavanagh? It's nothing. An anomaly that's being dealt with. That's all there is to it."

"Somebody died," Peter said.

"A complication related to a pre-existing condition." Meehan leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "I don't have to let you wander around my hospital, taking up valuable time."

"And we don't have to keep quiet about all of this," Val said sharply.

"It's time to warn everyone at risk," Peter said.

"And who would that be?" Meehan huffed out a laugh. "Do you really think we can go around accusing a member of the Senate of being a disease carrier? I value my life as well as my job."

Peter's back went ramrod straight. "Have you been threatened?"

"Don't be so naive. We all know how this works. You do whatever it is you're supposed to be doing, and so will I." She cleared her throat. "As I've said, the problem is being dealt with. There's no need for concern. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm a very busy woman."

They left her there. Val didn't see the point in continuing the conversation.

"She's a walking cliche," Peter grumbled.

"That woman was scared."

"Of threats real or imagined?" He rolled up his sleeves. "Either way, this country is being run by fucking idiots."

She couldn't disagree.

They headed back to the car. Val strode ahead to peek in the back window at Riley. "Remember when you asked what she could possibly eat?"

Peter's face paled. "What did she eat?"

"The car, basically."

Riley had chewed up a significant portion of the backseat.

"That's all I need," Peter said. "We can't bring this dog with us. I'll take it home and leave it in the back garden for a few hours while we move on."

"Drop me off at the office on the way," Val said. "I'm going to call Shay and ask him about other deaths that might be connected and just never made it to the hospital. If Kierán fell through the cracks, somebody else might have."

"Good idea. If he can't help, he might direct us to somebody who will. I'll pick up something to eat on my way back. Any preferences?"

"Anything with red meat is fine," she said.

They drove off. Val mulled over everything they knew so far. It wasn't a whole lot.

Peter dropped her off outside the office building. Val thanked him then went inside, using the main staircase to avoid seeing anyone else. She trudged up the stairs, deep in thought, when she realised that the hairs on the back of her neck were standing to attention.

She hesitated, wondering why. Sometimes, her hellhound instincts worked faster than her brain. There were no unusual noises, nobody on the stairs or close by. But there was a scent, she realised. A strange, unfamiliar scent that made her skin prickle.

She moved cautiously, the bumps on her head and back slowly expanding in a way that made her tingle. She heard no footsteps and kept going, pushing the door open and moving along the corridor of her office. She could see from the other end of the hall that the door was wide open.

She ran then, rushing toward the office. It was bare, almost empty, but the room had been ransacked. The books on the shelves had been ripped off and thrown around, pages scattered everywhere. Their files consisted of badly written notes, mostly, but the small filing cabinet had been thrown over, the contents strewn about the room. Even the bin had been upturned, the rubbish scattered wildly as though kicked around the room. Had someone been looking for something specific? Or was it simply mindless destruction?

She jogged downstairs to the main offices belonging to a solicitor and his assistant. Martin Breslin had only one client who happened to own the building, and there was a chance his place had been ransacked, too. It was well known that he kept items of importance in his office.

She knocked on the main door of the office and let herself in. Alex, a young man covering maternity leave, stuttered when he saw her. "Uh, I... we weren't expecting you."

"Have you had any trouble today?" she asked. "Did somebody try to break in or anything?"

"No. Nobody's been here."

"Is Mr. Breslin around?"

"He's at court today."

She frowned. "Did you hear anything upstairs? Unusual noises? See anyone in the hallways?"

His eyes widened. "That wasn't you? I mean, about an hour and a half ago, I thought you two were being a bit excessive, but sound travels around here. Is something wrong?"

"Someone broke into our office and ransacked the place. Are the camera's working?"

The security cameras were another recent acquisition. Alex led her to his computer and hooked up to the monitors. "I can get the footage up in about five minutes. Hold on."

It took him less than three minutes to show her footage of three figures sneaking through the front door. Two were hooded. Both looked small and young, possibly teenagers—one was most likely female. The third led the others as though he knew exactly where he was going. He didn't wear a hood, and his tightly cut dark hair did nothing to hide his face. A tattoo she couldn't make out coloured the entirety of his neck, but there was nothing familiar about it. She didn't recognise the scents either.

Val went back to her office and sat amongst the destruction for a long time before texting Peter with the news.

# Seven

_P eter_

* * *

Peter grumbled aloud all the way back home. "You know what, Riley? If I were you, I'd be a bit more grateful to the people who basically saved your life. I didn't see any of your neighbours throwing food at you."

Riley whined in response. Great. She was probably going to get sick next.

Back at the cul-de-sac, Peter was relieved not to see a soul because he didn't want to discuss how he ended up with Riley. He wasn't sure how to explain to his son that they were dogsitting only. He grabbed the dog's lead and tried to pull her into the house, but Riley kept whining and pulling on the lead.

"You don't need to go again, do you?" He glanced at his car, wincing as he recalled the destruction. "Of course you bloody do. Come on. One quick walk, then you're done, all right? I need to work." He needed to buy dog food and a chew toy when he got lunch before the dog ate his house, too.

He walked briskly outside the cul-de-sac, imagining he felt a shift in the air when he stepped out of the protection surrounding the properties. A pleasant breeze made the heat manageable, but a chill ran down his back all the same. Something was off. A half-forgotten instinct awoke before he could tell what exactly. He switched into hyper-vigilance, his back straightening, his free hand flexing its readiness for action. The dog whined, the hair on the back of her neck rising. Probably a reaction to Peter's defensiveness. He could have turned back around—should have returned to safety—but the adrenaline rushing through his body made his nerves tingle in the best possible way.

About a half a mile away from the cul-de-sac, on the other side of the road, an unfamiliar dark-coloured van with tinted windows sat with the engine running. The body of the vehicle took up half the road, which was why nobody parked there. Ever.

He kept walking, sensing somebody watching. He grew closer to the van and heard a door open. Two figures stepped out from behind the van and crossed over onto his side. Their stances were as taut as his own. There was no way he was over-reacting. Not this time. His fingers tightened around the lead.

"Stay calm, dog," he muttered. "Try not to run away."

The pair grew closer, Peter slowed his pace, and Riley growled louder. Their hoods were pulled low over their foreheads, and their hands were stuffed into bulky pockets.

"You must be sweating in this weather," Peter called out. He was in a short-sleeved T-shirt, and _he_ was roasting alive.

One of the pair pulled out a dagger and held it at his side, quickening his pace.

Peter smiled. As if he was going to make it easy on them. "Riley, stay." He dropped the lead—hoping the dog didn't run straight out in front of a car—and stood his ground.

Both figures—likely men, given the bulk and size—rushed at him. He braced himself, letting them come to him. He didn't care why they were there or what they wanted; he simply missed the battle. It didn't matter how much of a family man he tried to shape himself into. He would always enjoy the fight. And it had been far too long with far too many problems weighing on his shoulders. It was time for a little relief.

The man without a weapon reached him first, swinging wildly. Peter ducked then punched him in the gut in one swift movement, following up with an elbow to the chin. He stepped out of reach of a weak returning strike. He shoved his attacker onto the road while the man struggled to catch his breath.

"Next," Peter murmured, readying himself for battle against a blade. It was time to walk around armed again. Odd that the pair hadn't attacked simultaneously. Maybe they intended to warn him off rather than take him out. Maybe somebody wanted to see how he would react.

He rolled his shoulders in preparation of the next attack. Too stiff. Foolish.

When the second attacker lunged with his blade, Peter gripped his wrist and twisted upward until the knife was pointing away from him, but he pulled something in his shoulder in the process. Ignoring the pain, he kicked the man's left leg. He didn't fall. Peter spun, headbutted his attacker. His success didn't last. The first man wrapped his arms around Peter, holding him into place long enough for his partner to punch Peter in the jaw. The dog flew at the man containing Peter, snarling and biting at his leg. Swearing, the man hit out at the dog, making the animal whimper, but more importantly, loosening his hold on Peter.

Peter half-turned, elbowed his way to freedom, then put space between them. "You don't hit a dog, you prick." Before either man could react, Peter kicked the first in the groin, then spun and knocked the blade out of the second man's hand. Peter backed up, Riley pressing against his legs, and readied himself for the next attack.

The car with tinted windows beeped.

"Come on," one of the men said. Both men ran.

Peter chased them, but he had screwed up his knee, too, and by the time they had jumped into the car and drove off, he was hobbling. "Fuck it." He sat on the edge of the road and ran his hands over Riley's ears. "Maybe you're not so bad."

Riley looked uninjured. His own jaw was tender, but that was about the worst of it. Everything else was self-inflicted.

"I'm too old for this shit," he muttered, massaging his knee.

When that didn't work, he took his phone out of his pocket to call Val. She'd sent him a message first. The office had been ransacked. Good thing they couldn't afford any valuables.

He called Val. "Are you all right?"

"I missed them," she said grumpily.

"I didn't. Got jumped outside the cul-de-sac. The dog turned into Cujo for half a minute to help me. They got away in a car. Write down the reg for me. I think I got it." He rattled off the car's registration then sighed. "You know what this means?"

"What?"

"We're on the right track. Somebody doesn't want us asking questions."

"Who?"

He frowned. "Has to be the succubus."

"You think you were attacked by succubus clients? Victims?"

He hesitated for only a second. "For all I know, they could have hired some idiots to scare us off. But think about it. Who else knows what we're doing and would care? Maybe us finding Jamie tipped her over the edge."

"I don't know, Peter."

"Layla's the only one with anything to lose. I'm going over there right now."

Val huffed out a breath. "Pick me up on the way."

"I will. I don't think anybody's home around here, and I'm not sure I want to leave the dog alone in case anything else happens. Besides, if Emmett sees her, he'll think she's his. Can you ask Alex to watch him for us?"

"He'll watch him. He's terrified of me. Just bring the dog."

He hesitated, wanting her to be safe but not wanting her to know he was worried. "And you watch your back until I get there. I think they're just trying to scare us off, but they'll have to do better than this. Don't they know who they're dealing with?"

"Layla knows us," Val said. "That's why I don't think she'd do this."

A pinprick of doubt nudged him, but he couldn't drop the bone once he got hold of it. The attacks had to be connected to the disease because all of their other cases of late had been tame and unimportant.

He hurried back to the office with Riley, stopping in at a pet shop on the way for supplies. Alex seemed afraid of the dog, but he bravely said he'd watch the animal until they got back. Peter checked his watch. He'd never make it home for dinner at the rate they were going.

"I forgot lunch," he told Val. "We can pick up something on the way."

"Forget it." Her chin had taken on a determined set to it again. "We can eat later."

Riley whined as the door closed behind them. Peter couldn't help feeling sorry for Alex as the dog obviously threw herself at the door, making it rattle.

They took the car and drove back to the brothel. It was quiet again. Peter had somehow been under the impression that non-stop orgies took place there.

Inside, one of the succubi eyed them warily as she greeted them. "Can I help you?"

"Layla," Peter growled. "Where is she?"

"She's with a client. You'll have to wait."

"Peter," Val murmured.

"No." He slammed his hands on the counter. "We'll see her now."

The succubus folded her arms across her chest. "We don't interrupt appointments."

"Now's the day to start. Where is she? I'll check all of the rooms."

"She's in room five. Just let me quietly alert her to your presence before you go barging—"

Peter pushed past her and strode down the corridor. Room five. The sign was surrounded by black flowers and vines. Peter hesitated for only a second before opening the door. He had half-expected some dominatrix vibe, but the room was full of lit candles and bowls of water. Layla was massaging a man laying flat on a bed. Anger flared in her eyes, but she merely beckoned the other succubus to take over.

Layla picked up a towel and wiped her hands before striding out the door, taking Peter by the ear, and hauling him toward her office. Suppressed laughter came from Val. He was going to kill somebody just as soon as his ear stopped feeling as though it were close to being ripped off his head.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Layla snapped, pushing Peter across the room. She let Val in and shut the door behind them. "You're lucky he had fallen asleep. Have you no concept of privacy? You ill-mannered... _caveman_!"

"You sent people after us," Peter said. "Why? Were we finding out too much?"

" _What_?"

The surprise on her face looked absolutely genuine. Peter's stomach sank. Why couldn't just one thing be as simple as it appeared for a change?

"We... were attacked." Val cleared her throat, sounding embarrassed for some reason. "Our office was ransacked. We've obviously gotten in somebody's way."

"Are you all right?" Layla blinked a couple of times, looking from Peter to Val and back again. "Are you... You think it was me. Me, your client? The one who paid you to find out too much? Is this a joke?"

"He thinks you hiring us was misdirection," Val said.

Peter shot her an angry look, but she shrugged apologetically.

"It wasn't misdirection. I just want to know what's going on." Layla sounded less angry. "What have you found out?"

"Next to nothing," Peter admitted.

"Then why is somebody trying to scare you off?" She looked him over with a wince. "That looks painful."

Peter gingerly touched his jaw. "I've had worse. I got the feeling they weren't exactly trying. It seemed like a warning to back off. Honestly, it was more of an annoyance than anything else."

"But we must be on the right track," Val said. "And if we're getting in somebody's way, then that must mean there's somebody to find."

Peter nodded. "And we'll find them."

Layla's eyes widened. "Wait, did you reach Jamie?"

She looked so hopeful that Peter felt guilty about telling her. "She's in hospital now. What's the deal with her? She had a boyfriend, but she comes here?"

Layla's eyes narrowed. "Some people are open to enjoying the company of more than one gender. But Jamie didn't come here for sex. Some women do, but she was depressed, close to suicide."

Peter was starting to doubt the STD theory. It just didn't fit into anything they'd learned so far.

"Jamie was that bad?" Val said softly.

He glanced at her worriedly. Val wasn't in the best condition herself.

Layla nodded. "She came here in a desperate moment, and we helped her, so she returned to us. She's doing much better. Oh, her dog. Did you see her dog?"

"We have it taken care of," Val said. "But you're saying that neither Kierán or Jamie had sexual relations with the succubi here."

And she seemed to know both of them personally.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Layla replied. "Are they still harping on about it being an STD then?"

"That's the company line," Peter said. "Okay, then. Say it's not an STD. How did they catch it? The only link is your people. Maybe it's a severe allergic reaction. Or something about your buildings. Maybe you weren't as clean as you should have been, and some people couldn't fight off a bug they picked up here. How else can we explain it?"

"The same bug in every single one of our buildings? All of a sudden? They didn't get it here," Layla said. "Besides, you just said you obviously got in somebody's way. Who would want you to stop investigating this illness unless they have something to gain?" She frowned. "Somebody might want it to look as though it's my fault. Maybe I have an enemy I don't know about, but I guarantee you this disease did not spread here."

"The only things the victims have in common are this place and the hospital," Val said.

"And depression," Peter added. "That receptionist in the hospital told us pretty much all the victims were sick in some way already. The common denominators so far are the succubi and the medical industry."

"I already told you we didn't cause this," Layla said.

"What if it wasn't on purpose," he said, thinking hard. "What if there is a cover-up though, because nobody noticed what was happening soon enough."

"But _what's_ happening?" Layla said, sounding frustrated. "And who would cover it up?"

"Some new drug that has unintended side-effects because it wasn't tested with succubi in mind," he offered. "Maybe the depressed clients had been through the system with their own doctors, were on medication. Some common ingredient that just... reacted badly to the succubi." The more he thought about it, the less sense the succubi angle made. What if some anti-depressant really was the problem? Sick people getting depressed enough to visit the succubi was about the only constant so far. Then again, Kierán and Jamie were the only ones they could confirm.

"I think it's time we check out the backgrounds of the hospital staff," Val said. "To be thorough."

"Layla, can you help with that?" Peter asked. "We're being stonewalled by the director because she's scared of being seen to accuse you of spreading disease. It'd be good to have the assurance that all doors are open to us."

"Give me twenty minutes," Layla said with a determined air. "Let me deal with the director. I'll give my blood, and we'll all be able to rest easy. Wait here."

She left the office.

"What do you think?" Peter asked Val.

"She's being honest with us. She's scared, too."

"Of this falling back on her?"

"I don't know. I just sense her fear."

Peter thought it over. "Maybe she's worried somebody else on the Senate is involved, trying to oust her from her place or something."

"Who could do this?" Val asked.

He shrugged. "Maybe the witch? She's new, but she could use her coven to cast malignant spells to advance her own standing. Callista's not a fan of Layla. She could use her gifts to persuade somebody to help her."

"Yes, but help her do what? We still don't know how anyone is coming into contact with this disease."

"I know." He sighed. "This could easily be a purposeful attack. I just don't know the endgame. Who benefits most from this?"

Val didn't answer. He hadn't expected her to. Neither of them knew anything for sure, and it was bugging the hell out of him.

"Kierán and Jamie have to be the key to this. We follow up on their behaviour over the last year, and we at least eliminate possibilities."

"We could try to track down the men who attacked you, too, see if we can work back to a lead that way," she suggested.

They discussed possibilities until Layla returned, but neither of them came up with anything tangible. He might even have played the whole thing out as a freak of nature accident except for the attacks on himself and the office.

"Are we ready to leave?" Layla asked.

"You're in a hurry," Peter said.

"Aren't you?" she said smartly. "I'm opening myself up to accusations with this little trip. At least appreciate the strain it puts me under. There's no more sweeping this under the carpet. Word will get out, and my people will be accused. Nobody will care about the truth anymore."

An earnestness in her voice made him feel sorry. "We will."

The corner of her mouth lifted. "Thank you. Both of you."

"We should get moving," Val said. "Every day lost is another victim at risk of death. We don't want to lose anybody else."

Peter watched for Layla's reaction to the car, but to her credit, she didn't mention the chewed up backseat. He drove the women back to the hospital, only stopping to fill up the tank. He was bleeding money over the job, but he couldn't let it go now. It had become personal. He and Val had both called around to make sure Emmett and Leah were safe, but the safest path was solving the mystery.

At the hospital, Layla didn't wait to be invited into the director's office. She stormed in, Peter and Val on her heels. Peter couldn't help feeling impressed as she glared the secretaries into submission. Amazingly, a woman in heels and a pretty dress was scarier to them than a hellhound. He glanced at Val, wondering if that irked her, but she looked just as awestruck as he felt.

Meehan was on a call when they entered the room. "I'll have to call you back," she said, hanging up. She stood, looking wary. "I wasn't expecting visitors."

"Audrey Meehan," Layla said. "Were you unaware that I hired investigators? Were you perhaps confused when you didn't give them exactly what they asked for? Have you forgotten why you have a job here in the first place?" She drew closer to the desk, laying her palms flat on the table and leaning forward until she drew level with the director. "When the Senate speaks, you must listen."

"This is..." Audrey Meehan swallowed hard then glanced at Peter and Val. "These two are distractions. My staff are trying to—"

"Save lives? They should be. And these two can help with that by rooting out the source of the infection." Her voice turned cold. "Because it didn't come from my house, and it was not transmitted sexually. That's all your staff have so far, and they're wrong on both counts. So excuse me if I trust _these two_ more than I trust you and your staff."

Meehan adjusted her skirt, dropping her eyes from Layla's piercing gaze. "Well, I'm sure I don't know what you mean. I haven't removed your investigators from my building."

"You haven't made anything easier on them either. From now on, they have access to all files."

"Patient files are confidential."

Layla smiled. "Then staff files will just have to do."

"And deceased patients," Peter added quickly.

"Also, suppliers and labs, anywhere the hospital outsources to," Val said in her hellhound tone.

Meehan squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm not supposed to—"

"Now you are," Layla said. "If you'll excuse me, I need to visit a few patients."

Peter couldn't resist winking at a red-faced Meehan before following the succubus out of the room.

In the hallway, Layla grinned at the others. "That went well. Don't expect her to bend over backwards, but you should have more access now."

"Thank you," Val said. "That will help a lot."

"Can you take me to see Kierán and Jamie?" Layla asked. "I want to see how they're doing."

They took her to Kierán first. Kavanagh was there, taking a blood sample from Kierán. "Hello," she said brightly. "I'll send this to my contact today."

"You want my blood, too," Layla said.

"Can I take it now?" Kavanagh asked eagerly.

A little too eager, Peter thought.

"Of course." Layla sat next to the bed and gazed at Kierán. "Poor man." She looked at Fidelma. "Is there anything we can do for you to make you more comfortable?"

Fidelma shook her head and watched as Kavanagh finished up.

"Meehan took Dr. Kavanagh off these patients because she told them the disease wasn't an STD," Val said.

"Is that right?" Layla practically purred. "Making friends everywhere, isn't she?"

"I'm still a doctor here for a while—albeit in name only," Kavanagh said. "But I'm good at reading charts if that's any help."

"You and I must talk more later," Layla said.

When Kavanagh left, Fidelma sat up and looked at Layla with accusing eyes. "Are you one of them? One of the succubi?"

Layla's eyes softened. "I am. I can see you're worried about Keiran and his behaviour before this happened, but I promise you that what he came to us for was not physical." She moved to kneel before Fidelma. "He was grieving something that had broken between you, and he blamed himself. He couldn't forgive himself, so we helped ease his guilt and sadness just enough for him to cope."

"Blamed himself?" Fidelma sniffed. "But it was me. I was in the wrong. I hurt him."

Layla shook her head. "You blame yourself. He shoulders the blame, too. He was distant, he told me, and you did what anyone would. That's how he sees it. He neglected you, and you screamed out for his attention in the only way you could. If he hadn't been so obsessed with things he couldn't change, then perhaps it would have been different."

"He didn't deserve what I did to him," Fidelma said. "I loved him, and I hurt him anyway. He's not to blame for that."

"There are so many things to worry about in the world, Mrs. Gaynor. Guilt is just a waste of your time. Now, take my hand."

Fidelma hesitated, but Layla held out her hand steadily.

"If you take my hand, I'll show you why he came to us. I'll help you the way I helped Kierán."

Fidelma reluctantly took her hand. She gasped, tears streaming down her face.

Peter found it hard to swallow.

"Let the guilt go for a while," Layla said softly. "Let me take your burdens."

Fidelma closed her eyes, and a long, wheezing gasp emitted from her mouth. The stress in her face relaxed slightly. Not completely, but enough for her shoulders to stop shaking.

Layla lowered her voice, and Peter strained to hear her. "When two people love each other," Layla said, "you two are the only ones who can end your relationship. No matter what happens here, you love him, and he loves you. You will always have that."

Peter left the room. He couldn't take another second of it.

# Eight

_V al_

* * *

Val debated following Peter out of the room, but Layla's act was too absorbing. The succubus held Fidelma's hand and spoke softly, but the emotion that broke free from the human lingered in the air—caressing Val's skin until it prickled—then wrapped around Layla like a scarf before disappearing. The only sign it had been taken by the succubi was a slight twitch in her right shoulder. Fidelma's pain was mostly made up of guilt and regret, but the release of both had held no darkness, nothing that made the hellhound within Val do anything but purr with contentment.

Startled, Val realised she'd momentarily shared the peace that Fidelma had obviously gained. The human's face was completely relaxed, almost slack, and for the first time since Val met her, she stopped fidgeting.

"Is that better?" Layla asked.

That was one word for it. Intoxicating was another. A soft exhale escaped from Val's mouth. Layla glanced over at her, a small, understanding smile gently curving her lips. She patted Fidelma's hand, repeating her question. "I know it can be overwhelming the first time."

Fidelma nodded, seemingly incapable of words.

"You'll feel like this for a while. Relax here for as long as you need." Layla stood. "Val, please take me to Jamie. Quickly."

The urgency in the succubus's eyes made Val obey without question. The women hurried out of the room and into the hall where Peter was waiting, his face ashen. It was a pity he'd left. He might have tasted a sliver of peace, too, if he'd stayed.

"We're going to see Jamie," she told him.

"Is Fidelma all right?" Peter asked gruffly.

"She's relaxed," Layla said. "We should hurry."

Peter nodded then led the way. That was lucky because Val still felt too dazed from the experience to find her way around the corridors.

All of the patients afflicted with Infection X were in the same small wing of the hospital, so it didn't take long to reach Jamie's room.

Inside, Layla's jaw clenched as she pulled the sheet away and yanked up Jamie's sleeves to see her arms.

Peter moved to stop her. "What the hell are you doing?"

Layla took a step away from the bed, swallowing hard. "I think I've seen something like this before," she said, unable to keep the horror from her voice.

"Then why are the doctors clueless?" Peter demanded.

Val wished he'd calm down; his aggression was triggering her own, cancelling out the good Layla had done.

"They haven't seen what I've seen. Not here. Not now." Layla waved a hand. "Many years ago, in the rainforests of South America, a large group of my people thrived. Until a plague that looked a lot like _this_ arrived."

Peter exchanged a surprised look with Val.

"We need to warn people before this becomes an epidemic," Val said hoarsely. "Humans could be wiped out."

"No, you don't understand," Layla said. "Humans carried this plague, but it didn't kill _them_. It killed the succubi."

Val couldn't help glancing at Peter. A frown had frozen on his face.

"Explain this properly," he said, taking a seat. "The whole story."

Layla wrapped her arms around herself. "After the sirens ran us out of Greece, many of my ancestors travelled to South America only to experience something altogether too similar to this."

"Wait," Peter said. "You told us _you_ saw the disease, now you're saying it was your ancestors."

"It's one and the same." Layla blew out a breath, brushed Jamie's auburn fringe off her face then perched on the edge of the bed, her hand on Jamie's. "We're the kind of species that communicates as a group. We can reach a collective consciousness, access those memories."

"Meaning?" Peter asked.

"This access lets us see through each other's eyes, and the eyes of those who came before us. Memories are carried forward throughout generations. Some are lost, others aren't important. But this... those who went before me made sure we all remembered this. I wasn't in South America, not ever, but my ancestors were, and I have their knowledge of that time."

"How accurately?" Peter said.

"I'm confident in the memories," Layla said.

Val leaned against the wall, her newfound peace thoroughly destroyed. "What happened to your ancestors?"

"They were revered for a time, had everything they needed, were treated like... goddesses."

"Of course they were," Peter said wryly.

Val squeezed her eyes shut. She wished he wouldn't sound so accusing. Layla would make a good ally—if he'd just let her.

"I won't claim that none of them took advantage of that, but when humans believe, they believe in force, and my people in turn were strengthened from that belief. Faith is the most powerful entity in the universe, and faith took my ancestors to another level. They were Amazons, warrior queens, goddesses, anything they needed to be. This was long before Christianity changed the concept of faith around the world. Before Islam created a golden age. This was an era of many deities and beliefs. It was the perfect time for people like us to thrive. And we did."

"But it went wrong," Peter said. "How?"

"Nature," she said. "Or at least, that's what my ancestors first assumed. Over time, later generations have come up with their own theories."

More distortion. "Such as?" Val asked.

Layla massaged her temples. "There was a festival, I think, a celebration of some new discovery. That part's a blur—there were celebrations for everything and anything back then. At first, nothing about the event stood out. But we now believe it's possible that somebody opened something they should have kept shut, dabbled in the occult, something that went beyond the ken of humans. Those memories are particularly thin because the sickness had already begun to addle minds. It was a tumultuous time."

"Magic?" Peter said. "Humans messed with magic they didn't understand."

"That's the theory. The humans fell down with a plague in great force, and my ancestors tried to care for them." She closed her eyes and breathed through her nose. "I see so many bodies with marks very similar to those on Jamie and Kierán."

"Why would succubi help humans?" Peter looked doubtful. "We're bottom of the food chain."

"You have to understand," Layla said patiently. "My people were deeply embedded in the community. Some loved humans. And if humans die out, so do many other species. We co-exist. We should be protecting each other. These fights to the top only hurt us all."

Peter's cheeks turned pink. Val couldn't tell if he was abashed or annoyed. But she saw the sense in the words. In days past, before supernaturals turned to secrecy, they'd been closely connected to humans. Now they were as divided as they could be.

"Most of the humans began to recover, but it wasn't long before the succubi realised that they, too, were sick. Except the sickness showed no signs on my kind until death came abruptly. Terrified, some of the succubi escaped, and the farther away from South America they travelled, the less of them that died. They had to watch their sisters die so far away, but enough survived to carry on our bloodline elsewhere. As far as I can tell, the disease vanished, but we moved to Europe because it was clean, and none of us have been back to South America since. We were never as powerful again."

"Until now," Peter said wryly.

Layla narrowed her dark eyes at him. "I've worked hard to protect my people, to be forthright about what it is we need from humans. I've made nearly all of my sisters see the sense in willing offerings rather than forced. Don't try to make me feel lesser because my work paid off."

Peter's lips thinned, but he shut up.

"Maybe some South American artefact made its way here," Val offered.

"It's possible, but it could be a natural occurrence. Nature's reaction to what we do, to our numbers." Layla shook her head. "We've no way of knowing for sure."

Peter looked at Jamie, seemingly dazed. "These people could kill you, yet you're holding Jamie's hand."

Val bit back a smile at his confusion. Peter was obviously having trouble keeping up. Perhaps the succubus had more of an effect on him than she realised.

"If they are contagious, I'm already infected. At least I'll do some good here. I'm going to close all of our houses for business. I'll consider an evacuation order. I just don't know where to send my sisters. Where is safety?"

"This is fucked up," Peter said, massaging his temples.

Val couldn't disagree. "Let's think this through. You said all of the humans fell ill. Every single one of them?"

Layla nodded then glanced at Jamie. "But that hasn't happened here. Then it could be a variation of the same sickness. Or I could be completely wrong. But I can't let my people risk death because I doubt myself."

Peter ran his hands across his face. "This suddenly got a lot harder to fix. Could magic be the cause? Some kind of malignant spell against your people?"

"Somebody using humans to take us out?" Layla shrugged. "Who can say? The memories I have are murky at best. The sickness fogged the brain, made it harder for my people to realise what was wrong."

"You seem clear-headed," Val said.

"I feel fine," Layla said.

"Kavanagh could keep an eye on her for us," Peter said.

Layla looked momentarily surprised. "I'll still need to tell someone on the Senate. In case I don't survive. Somebody who won't set out to destroy everything I've built along the way once they learn I'm vulnerable."

"Who do you trust?" Val asked.

She thought about it for a moment. "Phoenix should know."

"You trust _him_?" Peter said mockingly.

"More than the others," Layla said. "He cares more than they do, no matter how cold he appears at first glance. I don't think he would use this against me. The Senate is fractured right now, but he's not the type to hurt my sisters for his own gain."

"Are you trying to convince us or yourself?" Peter asked.

Val was curious about the answer, too.

"I watch and listen a lot," Layla said. "Phoenix has a ruthless streak, but only when he's under attack. Others on the Senate smile while they work to stab their friends in the back. And I'm currently backing him against new proposals for the register, so we're on the same side for now. I'll contact him. He's been obsessed with ancient objects since Egan's death. He may know if something unusual has entered the country. We're feeding Customs with resources right now, but there's only so much we can do."

"Why all the interest in what's coming into the country?" Peter asked.

"Phoenix is concerned with a mirror that may not be real, but he made his case well enough to concern the others, too. There are a number of dangerous objects that have been flagged in case they're moved in or out of Ireland. We've become a trading blackspot which has increased illegal trade over the last two years. Some governments are punishing us for that while others won't even communicate with the Senate." Layla sighed. "People think to take advantage of our fledgling governing bodies. We're trying to hit back harder, but we don't have a lot of leverage right now."

"All right, tell him," Peter said. "We need to talk to Shay, too, in case there are bodies elsewhere that the hospital here hasn't discovered yet." He nodded at Val. "Wouldn't hurt to give him that car reg while we're at it."

Val hesitated, discomfort curling within. "Layla, you mentioned changes to the register. Will that affect me?"

Layla's features twisted with disgust. "Not if some of us can help it."

The live register for supernaturals was a bone of contention on many levels. Any changes would have to be more restrictive.

Peter folded his arms across his chest. "She asked you a question."

"I haven't agreed to any of the new proposals," Layla said. "We're split over them all at the moment."

"But they're a big deal," Val said.

Layla nodded. "There's been a lot of blowback from various... incidences. We need investors and commerce to survive. Some agreements hinge on adjustments to the register. There's talk of assigning levels of inhumanity to the population. Base level one is a human who can prove there has never been a drop of supernatural blood in their heritage."

"Who the hell can prove that?" Peter scoffed.

Layla shot him a meaningful look. "There are ways."

"So what am I? A two?"

Layla hesitated. "Those who can prove their parents and grandparents are pure-blood human are level two and also considered human. Peter, you're a level three because you have an immediate relative who is... different."

"What would Emmett be?"

"At birth, similar children would be registered as a four, but if they showed signs of owning a gift, they would progress to a five."

"And what does that even mean?" Val said. "What difference does it make to his life?"

"The intent is to restrict higher levels in education and employment. There is funding waiting for prestigious schools that are open to level one and two members of the population, for example." Layla added hurriedly, "The same would happen for higher levels, inevitably."

Peter looked away. "That's disgusting."

"It's a means to an end," she said. "But I don't like it any better than you do."

"What's my number?" Val asked. "What's yours?"

"Right now, myself and Phoenix are teetering between six and seven." She faltered.

"What is it?" Peter said warily.

Layla winced. "If we agree to the changes, we've been assured our people will have a lower number. The rest of the Senate are more inclined to agree."

"Even vampires will have a low number?" Why was she surprised? Being on the Senate—not to mention having large numbers—obviously had certain advantages.

"Yes, while people like you and Ava Delaney are being tentatively marked as eights and nines, depending on the individual cases."

Val stared at her feet. Did Lucia know about the caste system that would come into play? Had she cared?

Peter's lips had twisted as though he'd just tasted something better. "What about a ten?"

Layla squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. "A ten is unacceptable."

"Fuck," Peter whispered.

"Listen," Layla said softly. "This may never happen, but if it does, unique opportunities will open for those on the higher level of the scale. There will always be sides fighting for their own when there are divides, but eventually, it will all balance out. If it goes wrong, I will warn you before it's too late. I give you my word." Colour drained from her cheeks. "If I survive this."

After an awkward few seconds of silence, Peter nudged Val. "No point worrying before it happens, eh? And we have more immediate problems right now."

Val agreed with the latter, if only to keep her mind off the register. "If there is a contagion, we need to contain it. Do we have a system in place for infectious diseases?"

"Not supernatural ones," Layla said. "This hospital was supposed to have enough resources to deal with any outbreaks, but it looks like we need to fund something more specific."

"There must be research labs and the like," Val said.

"You should get all that information from Meehan," Layla said. "I don't actually know of the details, personally. Another member of the Senate deals with that."

"Are you sure you want to stay here?" Peter asked the succubus.

She nodded. "I don't like to think of Jamie laying here alone anyway. But it's safer for the others if I remain here. The brothel will be closed, but you can take a look at our records in the morning if you wish."

"Thank you," Val said. "We should get started on everything." She hesitated. "I'm sorry about this, Layla."

Layla looked fondly at Jamie. "So am I."

Val beckoned Peter to follow her outside. She nudged him as they walked down the hallway. "Believe her now?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure what to believe. But these changes to the register sound like bad news. What if you piss off the wrong person and suddenly find yourself on level ten?"

"If we make enough allies on the Senate, we'll have a better chance at some forewarning," Val said, but the thought of having to flee made her stomach turn.

"If it comes to that, you won't be alone," he said firmly. "Whether we run or fight, you have plenty of people by your side. So no running off with Leah without a goodbye, all right?"

"Thanks."

He cleared his throat. "Think you can face the dragon upstairs alone while I call Shay and ask if any weird bodies have shown up?"

She nodded. "I can handle one little lady. Try not to tell Shay too much."

"We can trust him."

She blinked. "Even still."

"I'd rather him know than Phoenix."

"That's Layla's choice," she reminded him. She left him there and headed back upstairs to Audrey Meehan's office. The secretarial staff were all abuzz when she approached.

"She's gone home for the day," the youngest female said, sounding excited. "We're to give you anything you want."

"We need access to staff records and any suppliers or labs that deal with the hospital. Any blood samples in or out. Especially the lab that tests the blood samples from the health checks related to... supernatural activities."

They scurried about, passing her relevant files in between their fervent gossiping about their boss. "I need a private room," she told them, losing patience with their chattering.

One of the secretaries brought her to a tiny room with an ancient computer then handed her a sheet with passwords and instructions. "If you need help, just ask. This is our records room. Any hardcopy files on suppliers are in the cabinets behind you." She pointed at the corner. "Staff records are in there, but they might not be up to date. You'll want to use the computer." She bit her lip, her eyes flashing with daring. "Are you going to look _me_ up?"

"Are you infecting humans with a deadly disease?"

The woman shook her head slowly.

"Maybe I will anyway."

She fled the room, leaving Val shaking her head. What was it with humans? Terrified of something different yet unable to stop themselves from getting as close to it as possible.

Alone, she moved to the cabinets and began looking through files. Anyone who had contracted Infection X had their files available on the computer. Val wanted to cross-reference staff who had come into contact with them. She hadn't gotten very far when Peter found her.

"Hey," he said, popping his head around the door. "The flock sent me here. This our new base or something?"

"For now." She gestured toward the computer. "Can you use that? It hurts my brain to even look at it."

He sat in the chair in front of the computer. "What is this? Kierán's records? Funny though, isn't it? We would never get this kind of access in an ordinary hospital."

"You mean a human hospital." The register and the changes to it seemed ripe for official segregation.

"Jesus, those health checks are frequent. Whoever tested their blood samples has no excuses."

"Which makes me suspicious of them," she said. "They have enough access to hide this mess. But why would they? Maybe they're just a kind of data collection agency. I wonder if the health checks ever flagged anything unusual."

"We'll figure it out."

"How did this even start?" Val said, flipping through a thick file of medical records. "These tests are so invasive and frequent. Something must have happened to kick them off in the first place."

"Maybe," Peter muttered. "Could be something to do with insurance. Covering their arses, just in case."

"You said the testers have no excuses for not noticing anything wrong," Val said, "but maybe they had no idea what to look for."

Peter shrugged. "If it has anything to do with Layla's ancient disease, then that's a decent enough excuse. But they'd hardly put all of this effort and resources into health checking these people without having something to look for. Unless it's all a money-making scam—which wouldn't surprise me in the least."

"What if Layla dies?" She closed the file. "We're too close to this for a Senate member to die on us."

"Think they'll set us up for it?"

Val clenched her fists. "It wouldn't be the first time the wrong person got accused of murdering somebody in power."

"Then we had better work fast. Shay's going to get back to me about the morgue. We'll see if he finds anything as soon as he gets the chance. Hey, I've another connection already. Jamie and Kierán had different GPs, but both were referred to a counselling service in a health clinic across the city. I've never heard of it, but counselling is just one of the services available."

She moved to his side to find the name. "I'll look for the file. I wonder how many of the others were depressed."

"Or visiting a health centre other than this one," Peter said. "Okay, this is odd."

She looked at the screen but couldn't make sense of it. "What is it?"

"The health checks are every two weeks, right? And if there's anything unusual, somebody notes it in the file. About a month ago, both Kierán and Jamie had an appointment within a couple of days of each other. Both of them fainted during it. That's weird, right?"

"Maybe. What happens during these health checks?"

He shrugged. "I don't understand the lingo. We should talk to the staff who perform the checks, see if they have any idea what happened."

"Look into the other patients' files. See if the same thing happened to any of them."

She found the health clinic's file before he was finished. A disturbing lack of information filled the skinny file. No information that couldn't be googled. She moved back to staff records, trying to find the names of anyone who worked with the infected patients.

"Yeah," Peter said. "It's happened to all of them, I think. Different periods of time, and every single patient has had at least one clear health check here afterward. It could be nothing. But I'm not a believer in coincidences."

"Do you want to take on the staff separately?" she asked.

"Nah, you might pick up something I missed. Let's haunt the staff room for a bit. Get them when they're relaxed."

The staffroom wasn't busy during the two hours they spent there. They managed to talk to somebody who had seen a patient, but received no little information.

"It's a revolving door," the male nurse explained. "High staff turnover. The checks look involved, but they're pretty basic stuff. Just the frequency is off. But I haven't been working those in over a year, so maybe the system changed."

"Did you notice anything unusual while you were taking part in the health checks?" Val asked.

"I would have noted it in the files if I did," he replied. "Have to go. Break's over."

He left before she could think of another question.

"Maybe we should organise proper interviews," Peter said with a sigh. "This isn't in any way efficient."

"I have an idea first." Val took the list of names and scribbled them onto a large page with directions to contact VBI immediately. "Be right back." She found a storeroom and had a quick look before anyone could stop her, stealing a roll of duct tape from a toolbox. She used that to stick the list to the staffroom television, winding the tape around the screen a number of times. "Let them relax in here now."

Peter grinned. "I like your style." His phone beeped. "That's Shay," he said after checking the message. "A body ended up in the morgue a couple of days ago that might match up to this. Want to pay a visit?"

"Might as well. This crowd will take their time coming forward."

He shrugged. "The order of appearance might be interesting though. In the meantime, we can look into Kierán and Jamie's lives before they showed symptoms to see if there are any further commonalities."

"And if there are?"

His eyes sparked with life. "Then we'll just have to dig into those, too. Let's go."

On the way to the morgue, Peter yawned. "I'll need to stop for dinner with the kid at some stage, but what do you say we carry this on afterward?"

"I think we should, for Layla's sake."

Peter snorted. "Are you getting soft on the succubus now?"

"She hasn't done anything wrong," Val said, not bothering to hide her irritation. "She helped Fidelma, and I believe her when she said she helped Kierán and Jamie, too. Nobody else is sitting in that hospital room with the girl. Maybe you should give Layla a bit of credit for the things you know she's done, except for vilifying her over the ones you imagine in your screwed up little head."

Peter let out a gush of breath. "Wow."

"Yes, well, you deserve worse. You've been acting like a bigoted little Humans First wannabe." That was about the worst insult she could think of. She hoped he didn't make her aim for more. Humans First were a hate group masquerading as a political party. As the name said, they wanted humans on top. The only problem was that they wanted everything else wiped off the earth.

"Fair enough."

Val looked at him in surprise. His hands had clenched the steering wheel. "The worst part is I would have been one of them. I am bigoted. I was worse. I wanted nothing more to wipe the vampires and everything else off the face of the earth. But as it turns out, anything strange or supernatural includes my own son and most of my friends." He let out a strained laugh. "And according to Layla, my inhumanity level is a little high to be judgemental."

"Your number doesn't make you," she said. "It doesn't change you at all."

"It'll change how the world sees us," he said. "And appearances can be deceptive anyway. When I met Ava and realised she wasn't human, I despised her. She repulsed me, but I hated myself more for actually liking her. When you spend time with people, you see the humanity in them. You can't not. And I had to learn to reconcile that even supernatural creatures have that streak of humanity. And that sometimes humans don't. it's a tough lesson."

"It's not humanity," Val said. "It has nothing to do with being human. Maybe it's called decency. I don't know. But human is just a word, less than a label now that we know so many "humans" have powers. What will "human" even mean once it's on a scale? Something's happened somewhere along the way. The line has blurred, and it seems as though there are way more humans who are a little bit _other_ now. I'm not sure it has to do with us dropping the notion of secrecy."

"We have enough on our plates without you hinting at evolution or some shit," Peter said lightly. "Ah, forget it. The Senate can shove their register where the sun doesn't shine."

By the time they arrived at the morgue, both of them were relaxed. It was always that way when they got something bothersome out of the way. They discussed their sides, then managed to let it go. That in itself was surprising to Val. It was probably the hellhound thing. Nobody in their right mind liked to argue with a hellhound.

They had already been vetted to enter the morgue and take a look at the suspect body. Shay met them inside. He was handsome and courteous, but the mild mannered man was tougher than he first appeared. Val didn't know him well enough to trust him entirely, but he appeared to be decent when and where it counted.

He nodded at Peter and Val. "How's it going?"

"All right," Peter said. "Any news on that second car reg I sent you?"

"Stolen car," Shay said. "Sorry."

"Typical."

"Our office was broken into, too," Val said. "We caught the culprits on camera. Two hid their faces with hoods, but the other had a tattoo—"

"On his neck?" Shay gave her a wry smile. "Just some vandals who have been terrorising the city on a weekly basis lately. Turn invisible when I try to hunt them down. It's probably not connected."

"Bit coincidental though," Peter said.

"Maybe they were hired to piss you off then. I'll keep looking for them. Don't worry." Shay glanced over his shoulder. "I haven't seen the body yet. Shall we?"

Peter's jaw tensed at the change in subject, but he let it go. "No time like the present."

"And will you tell me exactly what's going on when we do see the body?"

"You should ask yourself first if you really want to get involved in my mess," Peter said.

"I wouldn't want to know," Val said, trying to be helpful, but Shay looked more conflicted than ever.

The scent of the morgue disturbed her. Death and who knew what else hung in the air.

The morgue attendant was grinning when he saw them approach. He had a body covered up next to him. His grin wasn't a good sign, Val decided.

"Ready?" he asked, his fingers curling as though itching to show them his prize.

"Go ahead," Shay said.

The attendant pulled the cover away from the body. The stench of decay immediately rose into the air. Val physically recoiled. She had never seen a dead body quite like that before. It was obvious the person had been inflicted with the same disease that bruised the limbs of Kierán and Jamie, but it had crept all over his body. And whether before or after death, pustules had formed and burst.

"It keeps getting worse," the attendant said excitedly. "Even in death, the infection keeps growing." He pointed at a patch of green on the worst of the markings. "That's actual mold growing there, recycling the blood. It's amazing."

"That's not the word I'd use," Shay said. "Is there anything else unusual about the body?"

"Not unusual. Missing tonsils and spleen, but that's about all we gathered. We were too excited about the pus."

"Is this contagious?" Val asked impatiently.

"Nah." The attendant dropped the sheet. "I took some samples, but they died before I reached the lab. Mad, eh? It needs a host to survive, even a dead one, but it can't physically leave the body."

"Would that mean a blood test wouldn't pick up the infection?" Peter asked.

The attendant shrugged. "The infection would die, but the blood would have to be changed." He lifted the sheet again. "I mean, _look_ at that thing."

As they watched, a boil rose from the chest of the victim, growing larger and larger before their eyes.

"What the...?" Shay murmured.

The attendant stepped away from the gurney in a hurry. Val followed suit.

The boil surged then receded. Peter and Shay bent over the body to get a better look. The boil suddenly expanded rapidly until it exploded with a distinct pop, the contents flying up into the air and landing on the heads and shoulders of both Peter and Shay. Val held in her laughter only long enough for the retching to begin. _Then_ , she lost it.

# Nine

Peter

* * *

He didn't speak to Val on the way to her home. He was too busy trying not to inhale the fumes from whatever the hell had spewed up all over him.

They passed Phoenix when they drove through the driveway. The fae prince stared into the car in confusion, his nose wrinkling, but Peter refused to meet his gaze in his mortification. He would never get clean again.

"You should keep the windows open for Riley," Val advised, barely even trying to hide her amusement. "She'll have trouble with the smell."

"Fuck. Off." Peter ignored her chuckle as she closed the door behind her.

"See you later," she called out.

He drove off, finally allowing himself to gulp in fresh air from the window. " _Jesus_." The smell. The bloody smell. He'd have to burn his clothes. He shuddered at the thought of his appearance. He'd probably have to shave his head, too. Fucking dead bodies. Fucking succubi diseases. He accidentally breathed in the stench too deeply and gagged.

He dropped in at the office to collect Riley from Alex, thankful the street was empty.

When he pushed open the door to Breslin's office, Alex gaped at him in shock, taking a couple of steps back, probably from the smell. "Is everything all right?"

"Peachy," Peter growled. "Dog. Car. Now."

Riley obediently followed him outside, but when they reached the car, she whimpered and pulled back, her tail curled between her legs. He had to force her into the stinking car. The morgue attendant had given him a towel for his seat, so there likely wouldn't be lasting damage, but that rotten sulphuric smell lingered hard.

They had gotten half way up the road when the dog vomited onto what remained of the backseat. Peter swore under his breath for the rest of the journey.

Back at the cul-de-sac, he was lucky enough to find the road empty. Outside his front door, he looked down at his clothes. He couldn't walk inside with that gunk all over him. He'd felt it sliding downward on the way home, almost as though it were consciously trying to cover him completely.

"Fuck it." He ripped off all his clothes where he stood and left them there. He'd bin them later while wearing six pairs of rubber gloves, most likely. He hurriedly ran into his house with Riley and slammed the door after him.

"Stay," he warned the dog who immediately wandered into the kitchen.

He grabbed a towel and some clean clothes then jumped into the shower and stayed there for too long, trying to wash the stench of sickness, death, and decay out of his hair. He stopped long enough to vomit into the toilet, then took another shower. It was never going to go away.

The only thing that coaxed him out was the sound of his son's voice, screaming, "We got a dog!"

"Ah, shit," he muttered, reluctantly leaving the safety of the shower. He dried and dressed quickly, still feeling as though he were covered in the contents of a pustule.

Downstairs, Anka leaned against the doorway of the kitchen and watched Emmett and Dita play with Riley who bounced around like a puppy, almost knocking them over in the process.

Dita beamed, the scar under her eye wrinkling. "What a cute dog!"

"I thought you were watching him after school," Peter said to Anka.

"Oh, I was, but when Emmett heard you were home, he had to see you." The corner of her lips lifted. "So is there a specific reason why you were naked in your front garden, Peter Brannigan?"

The blood rushed to his head. The humiliation of the day was not going to go away with a shower. "I... I just..."

She looked him up and down slowly, a smirk on her lips. "Maybe I do not need to know the answer to that question."

_Oh, God._

Emmett rushed to Peter and wrapped his arms around his father. "You got me a dog?"

"No," Peter had to say, his stomach churning at the crushed look on Emmett's face. "I'm just... dogsitting. This is Riley. Her owner is very sick right now, and there's nobody to look after the dog."

"So you took it?" Anka asked. "Have you lost your mind?"

"If the owner dies, can we keep the dog?" Emmett asked.

"Jesus, Emmett." Peter shook his head. "You can't wish people dead just to keep their dog."

"I didn't wish anyone dead. I just said 'if'." Emmett turned to Riley. "I think she likes us better than her owner."

"Riley doesn't belong to us."

"Can we play with her outside?"

"Only if you keep her on the lead. If you lose that dog, I swear..."

"I won't lose her, Dad." Emmett grabbed the lead, attached it to Riley's collar with a speed that belied his lack of dog ownership, then ran outside with Dita.

"That was a mistake," Anka said warningly before making to leave.

Peter held on to her arm to stop her. "I'm sorry about... the naked thing. I was covered in this—"

She laughed and shrugged him off. "Don't make it worse, Peter."

She left his house, and he recalled he had promised to track down her husband. Anything to take his mind off the stupid succubi disease. He took a quick look at the info Anka had left for him, and almost immediately, something triggered in his memory.

He ran to the car, to the box with paperwork in the back. He had taken a list of all of the names of the succubi's clients. He scanned the list, and sure enough, there it was. Connor Daly. Anka's husband had been a client twice. His paperwork had been filled out thoroughly. Peter had a last known address that was more up to date than Anka's.

Peter ran his hands over his head. He was getting really tired of everything leading back to sex demons. Yet another thing to question Layla about.

He put everything away then ordered Chinese food before doing his best to clear out his car. Once the food arrived, he brought it over to Carl's house.

"What do you want?" Carl asked. "You only bring me food when you want a favour."

"Enough food for you and Emmett. Babysit for me?" Peter asked pleadingly. "I need to work, and you can take the kids with you to school in the morning. I don't know when I'll be back."

"Why not ask Ava?" Carl folded his arms across his chest. "You have to stop avoiding her."

Peter resisted the urge to look at her house. He wanted to talk to her, but everything was awkward again. He wasn't sure what to say—what he even _wanted_ to say—anymore.

"Fine," Carl said. "Emmett can stay with me. But you need to grow up and deal with your shit, Peter."

Peter winced. "There's another thing."

Carl sighed. "What now?"

"I need you to babysit something else, too. Just for the night. You can put it back in my garden when you head to school, and I'll find somebody else."

"What are you on about?"

"I kind of need you to take care of a dog for me."

Carl's face transformed into one of delight and elation. It was Emmett in grown up form. "A dog! Where? I love dogs."

Peter took a step back in surprise then pointed toward Anka's house where the children were trying to teach Riley how to play fetch. It wasn't going well.

Carl made an odd squeaking sound. "Oh, my God. Look at the fluffy. It's so freaking cute."

Peter squinted one eye to look at the dog. He thought it looked more weird than cute, but whatever. "So you'll do it?"

"Hell, yeah."

"Thanks. I'll be leaving in the next hour or two." He tried not to be offended that Carl was far more enthusiastic about babysitting a dog than his kid. But Carl had always been an oddball. He had made the woman who bit him in an attempt to drink his blood his best friend, after all.

Carl went outside to play with Riley like an overgrown kid, giving Peter time to look through his files again—this time with a calmer eye. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to find. He had been a hired executioner with the previous government. He wasn't equipped to deal with medical mysteries. And Val had been a guard in Hell. It wasn't like either of them were genius material.

But he got a sense that they were close to an answer, or maybe they had missed something obvious. But in that case, so had the hospital. Nobody would expect VBI to be the ones who got to the root of the issue. Was that why Layla hired them? Because she thought they were incompetent? And if everyone did underestimate them, then why had he been attacked already? As a distraction, perhaps? He didn't buy Shay's good old vandalism theory, but nothing made sense when he put it all together.

He heard more voices outside and realised Val had arrived with Leah. He went outside to greet her. She approached him, looking amused as Leah joined in with the rest of the Riley fan club.

"Who would have thought a dog would have this affect on them all," she said then wrinkled her nose. "I think you overdid it with the cologne, Peter."

"All I can smell is death!"

"Ah." Her lips twitched. "I'm sure it'll wear off eventually. Leah's staying with Anka tonight, so we can work late if we need to."

"Carl's taking care of Riley and Emmett," Peter said. "I was thinking we should talk to Fidelma again, try to figure out Kierán's habits or whatever."

"We should bring food to Layla. She's going to be exhausted at the hospital," Val replied.

"She has plenty of her little sisters to bring her stuff. We're not her servants."

"She knows that, and she's trying to keep her people safe if she's infected, remember?" Val said coldly. "We need to keep people on our side, Peter. That's how you get repeat business."

"Says the hellhound who threatens everyone," he muttered under his breath.

She shot him a sharp look.

"Fine," he said. "We'll take food. But if we find out she has something to do with this, I'll destroy her."

Her stare grew intense, making him uncomfortable. "I'm starting to think there's more to this than just your prejudice."

"I'm in a bloody bad mood is what it is." He scowled. "Ugh, fine. I'll try to play nice. Happy now?"

She shrugged noncommittally.

They said their goodbyes to the others and got into the car.

Val choked, lifting her top to cover her mouth. "I think you overcompensated with air freshener, too."

"I had no choice," he said through grit teeth.

The decaying smell remained, but mostly, they spent the trip choking on the scent of fresh pine—although that was preferable, in his opinion.

They picked up some food and took it to the hospital. Layla was still in Jamie's room, but she wasn't alone. Phoenix was next to her, that same old haughty, holier than thou look in his eyes. His features were as sharp as his children's, but he had none of Lorcan's good humour or Lucia's vulnerability to soften his expression. When his eyes were pinned on Peter, all he saw was hardness behind his stare. Layla, on the other hand, was striking rather than beautiful, and both creatures held themselves as though they were better than everyone else. Maybe that was one reason why they provoked such animosity in him.

Peter swallowed down more rage than most people could handle to face Phoenix without sounding off. He didn't trust the fae prince, and the only time they'd been on the same side, they'd let a human die. A terrible, sociopathic human, but still. Peter was the one who'd looked like the bad guy while Phoenix wore the vulnerable act like a shield. And Ava had been suckered right in, which in turn hurt Emmett. As far as Peter was concerned, every negative act could be traced back to Phoenix. He would never like him.

Judging by how Val had tensed, she wouldn't either. Phoenix had never approved of her relationship with his daughter. He was probably loving the fact Lucia had broken Val's heart.

Peter moved closer to Val, stepping a little in front of her. If Phoenix said one word to hurt Val, _one word_ , he was decking him. That was it.

"We brought you food," Val said in a strained voice. "We thought you might be hungry."

"That's so thoughtful," Layla said with a smile. It was only then he realised just how tense her expression had been when they entered the room.

"Did something happen?" Peter asked.

"Maybe," she said. "Something happened a while back, and now I'm thinking it might be connected. I've told Phoenix everything. He thinks he might be able to help."

"There's a black market that sells various goods it probably shouldn't. It wouldn't be beyond the realm of possibility that some ancient artefact landed there," Phoenix said. "I can't go back, but you two might be able to visit the place and hunt down some information."

"Why can't you go back?" Peter asked.

"There was... an incident," Phoenix said. "I'm too well known besides to mingle at a black market of this magnitude. If something was brought into the country, it's likely that it passed through the market. I'll give you all of the relevant details, but you'll have to visit after dark. There's the issue of an invitation, but I'm sure you'll figure a way around it. If not, I can seek out some help."

Good thing he'd hooked up a babysitter for Emmett. There was no way he was waiting for help from Phoenix. "What's on your mind, Layla?"

"I didn't think of it at first," she said. "I don't know why. It's... Last year, one of us went missing."

"Missing?" Val asked. "A succubus? How is that possible?"

"It shouldn't be," Layla said. "Usually, when a mind is cut away from the rest of us, it means death. This particular sister of mine had some troubles, and it wasn't impossible that she took her own life out of shame. She was shunned by the rest of us for being... an embarrassment. To be honest, most of us were relieved to be rid of her. But I can't find any of us who actually saw her harm herself. It's possible that she used some kind of enchantment designed to isolate herself."

"Is that possible?" Val said.

"Anything is possible with enough magic," Phoenix said.

"She had... separated from the rest of us," Layla said. "Gone rogue, in a sense. She had her own clients, wasn't part of an official house. She was watched carefully, but looking back, we've begun to realise there were gaps in the consciousness. Missing memories."

"Forgotten memories?" Peter suggested.

"No. More like an absence of them. At first, they lasted a couple of seconds at most, then grew longer until she disappeared completely. This disease makes our minds murky. What if she contracted it and got sick? That would explain the absences and gaps."

"She'd be dead by now," Val said. "Where's her body then?"

"I don't know." Layla bit her lip. "There's another problem. This particular succubus is sort of connected to you, Peter. It's Alannah."

"No," Peter said, dread filling his gut. "Not her."

Phoenix sat up straight. "What is this?"

Layla shot him a sheepish look. "A couple of years ago, Alannah lived next door to Ava Delaney. She regularly drained her without her knowledge or permission. She had a bit of a vendetta against Ava, and she marked her... friend for death."

"Carl almost died," Peter snapped. "That troublemaker... What the hell did she get herself into to contract a dead disease?"

"Could she have been targeting the rest of the succubi?" Val asked. "She sounds vengeful as a rule."

"And risk her own life?" Layla shook her head. "That seems foolish."

"Targeting Carl was foolish," Peter reminded her. "Do you know where she lives?"

"Yes. I've advised my sisters to stay away. Just in case. Can you visit her and see if she's alive?"

"Absolutely," Peter said. "We can do that now."

"Have you found out anything else?" Phoenix asked.

"Nothing concrete enough to share," Peter said brusquely. His phone beeped with another message. "One of the nurses," he told Val. "Eager to speak to us."

"If she's in the building, tell her to come here," Val advised. "She's the first one keen to talk."

Layla told Peter everything she knew about her missing sister while they waited for the nurse. The first one to willingly make contact interested him. Maybe she had something she was dying to say.

While they spoke, Peter made an effort to ignore Phoenix as best he could. He wished he could punch his face. Sometimes, he forgot why exactly.

"If you do find Alannah, and she's alive, be careful," Layla warned. "If she really is cloaking herself with some kind of magic, she may have made a deal with the wrong person. She wouldn't want us to find out. She's running out of chances, you see."

"What happens if she runs out?" Peter couldn't resist asking.

Layla's expression flattened. "We have our ways of dealing with it. She tends to get defensive. If she's alive, she could try to mark you. I don't know if she'll connect you with Ava, but that might not be enough to protect you in any case. If she does mark you, she'll be able to see everything you do and say, she'll be able to influence you, and you'll slowly die. I just need you to be prepared for what you might be walking into."

"Or she could be dead," he said slowly.

"I don't know." She shivered. "I never felt the moment of her death. I'm concerned about the gaps in the consciousness. It feels uncomfortable the more I try to prod them. It's hard to explain, but none of us are complete with gaps around us."

"I'll figure it out," Peter promised. "How are you feeling yourself? Any murkiness or other symptoms?"

"I feel fine, but my ancestors thought they were fine, too. It's only in hindsight that we see the symptoms," she admitted. "Maybe I'm wrong about this disease. It's not exactly the same, but it looks so..."

"It could be a strain of the same disease," he said. "Some kind of evolution."

"Whatever it is, it could quickly get out of hand," Phoenix said.

Peter literally bit on his tongue to prevent a smart remark from slipping out. His shoulders stiffened, and he clutched the pen in his hand a little tighter. He didn't dare move when the door opened, and a woman's voice said. "Hi, I'm Meredith. I—"

"Wait!" Val called out.

Peter turned to see the door slam shut.

"She freaked out," Val said. "Wait here. I'll try to find her."

"Was that the nurse?" Layla asked.

"I don't know what's going on," Peter said honestly.

Val returned after a few moments, looking confused. "She won't come back, says she changed her mind. She left the building. I don't understand. She was the one who contacted us, but she took one look into the room and ran."

Peter frowned. "Maybe she didn't want to speak in front of members of the Senate."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Phoenix demanded.

" _Peter_ ," Layla said warningly.

Peter ignored her. "What do you think it means? A witness gets spooked for a reason."

"A witness." Phoenix smirked. "You don't even know what she was going to say."

"She wanted to speak to us," Val said. "She was ready to tell us something. Peter's right. Maybe she wanted to tell us something about somebody in this room."

"Do you dare?" Phoenix said lightly, looking unnervingly relaxed.

"Enough," Layla said worriedly. "The nurse has nothing to fear from us. She might have gotten overwhelmed from the amount of people in the room."

"Yeah, right," Peter said gruffly. "Something doesn't make sense about any of this, and we're going to find out. If you want to stop us, either of you, you had better start right now."

Phoenix rose to his feet. "Who do you think you are to talk to us so?"

"I'm somebody who doesn't fall for your bullshit," Peter said. "Got a problem with that?"

"You're on thin ice," Phoenix said coolly. "The jealous little boy act isn't pretty, Peter."

Peter stood, too. "Jealous is not the word I'd use."

Val got in the middle of both of them, her eyes red, and her horns showing. "That's enough," she said thickly. "This is getting us nowhere, and the longer it takes us to solve this, the greater the chance there is of people dying. Get a grip, the pair of you. I'm not so scared of either of you that I won't bang your heads together." She shoved, and both men fell back into their chairs.

The silence was broken by Layla's chuckle. "Thank you, Val. If you ever get sick of running around with Peter, I'm sure I could find a job for you."

"Thanks, but I quite like running around with him. We get things done when he's not being thickheaded." Val calmed slightly. "Now let's go before one of you says something to make me really lose my temper."

"Good luck," Layla said. "I'll pass on the information about the market shortly."

Peter obediently let Val lead him out of the room. She was strong. He had never doubted it, but that was different than being physically reminded of her strength. She had shut up Phoenix, too, which made him laugh as they strode down the hallway.

"Don't even," she said. "You don't get to gloat when you're as bad as him."

"Oh, come on," he said. "Just let me have a moment of happiness." He nudged her. "I bet it felt good to push him around, right?"

She smiled then, a flicker of lightness shining through. "Enjoy your moment. Because we have a rogue succubus to find and a black market to visit, and that's aside from the mountain of paperwork we have to get through. Tomorrow, we need to visit that lab and push the staff here for interviews. Until we hear something back from Kavanagh's tests, we're going through the motions."

"All right, boss," Peter teased. "We can't go to the market until after dark, so that gives us at least a couple of hours to spare. We'll go to the succubus's last known address, try not to kill her if she's not already dead, and then move on quickly."

Val gave him a wry look, but her stride never faltered. He beamed. When it counted, she was on his side.

# Ten

_V al_

* * *

Val adjusted the sun visor to stop the glare of the evening sunshine from blinding her as they drove. Peter was muttering under his breath again. She wondered if he noticed he was doing it. Then again, he was operating on a higher level of agitation than normal.

"Will you be able to contain yourself if we do find this succubus?" she asked, alarmed by the slightly crazy look in Peter's eyes.

"I'll try. Alannah was a psycho bitch obsessed with Ava who could have killed Carl if we hadn't figured out what the hell was going on. I hope she's dead."

"Lovely," she murmured, turning her head to look out the window.

The succubus's last known address happened to be in a part of the city that had once been affluent but was now considered mostly dead or dying. People had gotten out when the troubles had grown too close for comfort. Many of the wealthy residents had probably been a part of the trouble in some way. It wasn't considered human or supernatural. Segregation had come too late for that particular area, but memories of the past definitely haunted the landscape.

Val rolled down the window to scent the sea air. They were near the coast. If it weren't for the massive trees on either side of them, they'd probably catch sight of the sea. Close to Howth, the roads they travelled had once been taken by holidaymakers desperate for some sunshine and sand.

"I took Leah to the beach here once," Val said. "It was warm, like today, and we couldn't move for people. Leah was invisible, just another skinny little girl chasing waves and digging in the sand. It was a good day. But it had to end."

"This place doesn't get good days anymore," Peter said. "I used to go to Bray when I was a teenager. Obviously not for sand. We'd hang out in the arcade and eat junk all day. I think I took Lisa there, before she got pregnant. Never had the chance to take Emmett."

"You still can."

"It's not the same anymore." He gestured to a point ahead of them on the road. "Nothing is."

A break in the trees came, and a portion of the beach came into view. Gone were the sandy dunes and stretch of clear water. The sand was covered in rubbish and grime, and the water looked cold and gloomy.

Val sat up straight. "Are those tents?"

"Yeah. A rumour went round about squatting in the big houses, and it sent all but the brave down to the beach for the summer."

"What was the rumour?" she asked.

"The official word was gas leak, but I heard from Shay that a mass case of hysteria and hallucinations was covered up last year."

"Think it could have something to do with our succubus?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. Especially if she slipped the leash." He grimaced. "She won't be happy when she sees us spoiling her fun."

"You seem sure she's alive."

He shrugged. "Makes more sense to me. Layla didn't see her die. Those gaps she was talking about? I've been thinking, and I bet it was some kind of magic. They tested it out for a while before going all in. Alannah's too spiteful to give up. She'd get her revenge first. Who better to target the succubi with their biggest fears than one of their own?"

Val didn't know. She wasn't sure she cared either. The whole situation was unbelievable and getting farther out of their league by the day. "Do you think we'll find dead humans out here?"

"It's possible. Whether it's from some ancient disease or not is another thing."

"How could a disease survive that long without infecting anyone?" She was frustrated by their lack of progress—and of things to beat into submission. She just wasn't any good with mysteries.

"Somebody could have come up with the disease to destroy the succubi in the first place—maybe it's magic rather than a true sickness. As Layla said, her people were pretty popular. Maybe another species with a need to be godlike thought it was time to push them out of the way."

Val nodded. "South America has a lot of mythology."

"And we all know that myth has a habit of being true somewhere along the line," Peter replied. "Check the map for me. Do I take the next left?"

"Yeah, it's kind of a circle that travels up a hill. We're heading for a cul-de-sac at the very top."

"That's just great. She still wants what Ava has."

Val wasn't so sure. Ava's home was modest and cosy. The street they were driving along was surrounded by massive houses that had once cost seven figures—before the world had turned mostly to shit. Windows were now boarded up, and the gardens had been allowed to become overgrown. A skinny cat sprinted across the road then dove into an upturned recycling bin.

"It's sad," Peter said. "We did okay out of the change, but so many places are just... like this now. I don't think anybody's going to get around to fixing them."

"Nobody was forced to leave their homes." But Val shivered anyway. She'd never had a home of her own, not really. She wasn't sure what it felt like to settle down, really settle down, and then have no choice but to leave.

"It's just freaky how fast things change." He looked at her. "I know you don't want to talk about it, but are you leaving the sanctuary? It's not healthy for you to be stuck there, relying on the fae when they... Well, I worry about you over there."

"I don't know where else to go," she admitted. Her heart had been frozen into place, her mind so stunned that she had no idea what her next move should be. "It's safe for Leah there."

"There are empty houses in the cul-de-sac. One of them is yours."

"I told Ava I couldn't accept it, to keep it for those who needed it more."

"You know Ava. She's waiting for her friends to come home, whether she admits it or not." He nudged her. "What's so bad about coming back?"

"Because then I'll just be relying on Ava. I need to make my own path. I just... don't know where to begin. Maybe I like where I live." Leaving meant giving up on Lucia for good, and she just wasn't ready for that yet.

"There's no shame in having a community," he said. "You and I already rely on that crowd to watch over Leah and Emmett when we can't. It might not be a perfect situation, but it's better than living in the sanctuary. It's not even a proper home."

"I sometimes think it feels more like a home than any other place in the world," Val admitted.

She had hid there once, and it was the closest place to Hell she knew about. Sometimes, she went downstairs and touched the walls, wondering if she could really hear the roars of other hellhounds, or if it were her imagination playing tricks on her.

"Here we are." Peter parked in the middle of the street. They hadn't passed another car in an age.

"Which one is it?"

"Black door."

They got out of the car and strolled along the street to get a good look at their surroundings. Their target was narrower than some of the other buildings, but taller, as though the owner had expanded upward in an attempt to keep up with the neighbours. It was an ugly house, a grey tower, really, and the front garden had long since withered and died. "Pretty."

Peter laughed. "That's one word for it. Let's take a look inside."

"You go through the front. I'll take the back door."

Peter's face creased as though he were trying really hard not to make a joke.

"Don't," she said warningly before leaving him behind.

The gate had been pulled off the hinges, so she walked into the front garden unhindered. The stone slabs that marked a pathway were cracked in some places, angling upward as though something had burst through. She vaguely wondered if something had been trying to dig its way up. She kept going around the side of the house.

She opened another gate to the back of the house and froze to the spot as she took in the scene. The back garden was nightmare fuel, or it would have been if Val hadn't already seen enough by her teens to last her a lifetime.

There was a lawn table, complete with chairs and an umbrella, and in one of the seats, a mannequin had been displayed, her legs splayed in awkward angles. Rusty stains splattered her limbs. A crimson wig had been tossed onto the dummy's head, and a knife had been stabbed through her chest, severing the plastic.

On the ground, another mannequin was naked and on her knees, a dog lead wrapped around her neck. The first mannequin held the lead in her lifeless hand. The mannequin on the ground wore a wig of dark brown curls, and large brown eyes had been drawn onto its face. Rain had washed away some of the colour, streaking one half of the face.

If that was meant to be Ava and Layla, Peter was going to freak.

From the back of the garden, a scent of death and decay blew toward Val. She reluctantly moved to investigate. A mound pressed against the fence was full of dirt, faeces, and the occasional remains of a dead animal. The newest addition was a scrawny dog, an arrow piercing its rib cage. There was absolutely no way Peter could be allowed into the back garden.

With a sigh, she made her way back. The back door was unlocked. She looked up before entering the house. All visible windows upstairs had been smashed at some point, and dirty grey curtains blew outward.

"Lovely," she murmured under her breath.

She let herself in. The broken windows cleared out the smell somewhat, but there was still a strong underlying stink of dried blood and rancid food. She found herself in a hallway and could hear Peter's light steps in one of the front rooms. She checked out the kitchen. It was full of dirty plates, most of them broken or at least cracked. The fridge hung open, emitting an awful scent of rot. She didn't bother looking inside. The place was a disgusting pit all round.

Peter came into the kitchen, his shirt lifted up over his nose. He waved away a couple of flies. "How can you even stand the smell?"

"I'll cope."

He moved to the window before she could stop him. He looked out at the scene in the back garden for a full minute before turning around. She couldn't make out his expression, but his eyebrows had furrowed significantly.

"Stay calm," she warned.

He let out a gruff laugh. "Says you. Did you see that? Was that supposed to be... You know what? Let's not go there. This is too fucked up to think about."

A floorboard creaked upstairs. Peter froze. "Somebody's up there."

Val gestured for him to follow her. She was less breakable.

They crept up the stairs, Val taking the lead. She slowly took a hunting knife out of the sheath under her shirt. She preferred something hefty, like a mace or an axe or something, but Peter had persuaded her that it wasn't a good idea to scare customers when they first met. Her heavy stuff was in the car, just waiting to be used—preferably in a house of horrors—yet she'd left it behind. It was official. Peter had made her soft.

At the top of the stairs, they were faced with another staircase and four doors. They briefly checked each room. People had lived there recently at least. Dirty syringes lay scattered on the ground in one room. Had the place been taken over by a couple of junkies on a bad trip? Was she forcing meaning where none existed?

On the third floor stood another four doors, and a stairway up to the attic. Again, the rooms were empty, but an open can of energy drink in one room smelled too fresh to have been there for long in the summer heat.

Peter shot her a questioning look. "Keep going up?"

Something scuffed the floor over their heads. Great. Val nodded and went ahead. It was too narrow for both of them, so Val was the first to take in the scene.

A woman lay on a bed made of stacked mattresses and dirty sheets, stretched out inelegantly as a naked young man sucked on her toe. Bile rose in Val's throat. The smell was even worse in the attic.

Peter came up behind her and dry retched. "Ever tried to crack a window?"

The attic's window was the only one in the house unbroken and closed tight.

Val felt lightheaded. "Is this her?" she asked.

"Yup," he said. "This is Alannah."

The woman opened her eyes, her dreamy look clearing when she caught sight of Peter. "Oh, no. Not you."

"Layla sent us," he said. "She'd really like to know what you've been up to."

"Boy, kill them," she commanded in a hysterical voice.

The young man dove for Val, but she hammer-fisted his skull and knocked him out. She folded her arms across her chest. "Really?"

"It was worth a try." The succubus rolled onto her stomach and searched under the bed. She pulled a joint free, lit it and inhaled. "Layla doesn't give a shit about me. Why are you really here?"

"She thought you might be dead. She wanted us to check," Peter said. "You look alive to me."

"So you've seen me." Alannah snorted. "Now fuck off." The succubus's dark roots were greasy, and her eyes, half-closed.

Val gazed at the woman's bare arms. "Track marks. I thought the succubi don't do anything like that."

Alannah laughed. "Haven't you heard? I'm not one of them anymore."

"Oh, yeah?" Peter pointed at the unconscious man. "Is he here for your wit?"

"He's here because he wants and needs and desires, and I can help him... live."

"This doesn't look much like living," Peter said.

"We take what we can get." She sat up and glared at Peter. "Why are you here? Layla threw me to the wolves. She doesn't give a shit if I live or die."

"How are you blocking the others?" Val asked. "Why don't they see what you see?"

"What? _Now_ they're worried?" The woman let out a high-pitched laugh.

"She's insane," Peter murmured. "Even more than before."

"I got some magic," she said abruptly, adjusting her nightdress. "That's the big story. Now if you don't mind, I'm a very busy woman."

"Busy?" Val's temper rose. "Shooting stray animals and arranging mannequins?"

"I don't shoot anything. Some boys got too feisty while they waited. Look, if you've come to gloat about my fall from grace, you've done it. Go away. I'm tired of your voices and neither of you is pretty enough to attract my attention."

Val glanced at the unconscious young man and wondered if he had been pretty before his teeth rotted and open sores began to surface across his skin.

"We don't care about you. We've been hired to find answers to questions." Peter moved closer to the succubus. "Where did you get the magic?"

"I don't know." She made a face. "No, really."

"Come on," Peter said. "You know we're not leaving until you talk."

"I said I don't know! I came here because there was nowhere else. I was looking for a family because my one disowned me. I never fit in anyway. Couldn't fall in line for dear old Layla. No, she was happy to see the back of me. But here... people needed me here. People here had nothing. No hope, no lives, no money. No way of existing without me. I helped them, and they helped me, but sometimes, it got hard to bear. Layla's golden rule was avoid drugs. If you want to be a client, you better drop that medication, legal or not."

"Is that what the health checks are really for?" Peter asked.

"How should I know? But it makes us harder to read if we're high, so I stayed high for a while. I started siphoning off my new friends, but then it wasn't enough, and things got... bad. All I know is that I lost some time. I got caught up in the highs and lows and forgot about the rules. Sometimes it's okay to remember the rules." Her voice lowered conspiratorially. "Sometimes, the rules keep you safe."

Peter turned his back on her. Val could see he was close to the edge.

"So you got caught up," she said. "When did the magic come?"

"When the man did." The succubus stopped mid-movement to stare out the window. "I can't remember when. It was raining. The drops on the windows made shadows on the floor, and somebody thought they were beetles. They almost set fire to the house because they were scared. Of beetles. When they were in bed with a demon." She bared her teeth. "Oh, but we're not demons anymore, are we? Layla's the _best_ at putting a good spin on things, isn't she?"

"Just stick to the facts," Peter said.

"I thought I was." Alannah flopped back onto the bed. "Where was I? Oh, yeah, the fire. I had to go too far to stop it, but then somebody came, and he offered me a way out. Said he could give me a way to stay out of _their_ heads without drugging myself. And I was so far underwater that I wanted to remember to breathe, so I said yes."

"What was the price?" Val asked.

"The price?"

"There's always a price," Peter said. "People don't come to save you. Not you. So there had to be a reason for it. A price. What did you have to do?"

The succubus spread her legs wide, laughing hysterically. "Okay, okay, I joke. I forgot there was a price. I forgot everything for a while." She blew out a breath. "There were needles. Tests. And finally he only wanted my blood. Just a little bit. And I didn't even feel him taking it." She pulled the chain around her neck upward. "This little beauty was in my hands when I woke up. He never came back, and I started to stay awake more often." Her expression turned hard. "I learned my lesson last time. I only take what I need. But when you're alone long enough, sometimes you need a lot." She rolled off the bed and looked under it again. "Don't tell her where I am."

"She knows where you are. How do you think we found you?" Peter said impatiently.

"She knows?" The succubus sat up, a little girl lost look on her face. "She knew this whole time, thought I might be dead, and she never even checked?"

"I guess you're just forgettable," Peter said coldly before leaving the attic room.

Val watched the succubus's face crumple.

Alannah looked up at Val and tried to smile. "Well, good. I didn't want them here anyway. I like my life. Do you hear me? I love it!"

"I'm sorry for you."

"Don't pity me!" Alannah spat. "I have everything! _They_ are the slaves! They're the ones who gave up their freedom! At least I have a life of my own. At least I don't have to bow down to the bloody Senate."

The succubus was still screaming when Val found Peter in the kitchen, looking out at the back garden again.

"What will we do about her?" Val asked.

" _Her_? Nothing. She's lost her mind. Let her sleep in her own filth."

"That's no reason to be cruel," Val said.

"She's inflicted enough pain on the world," he said gruffly. "She deserves a little of her own."

But Val pitied the broken succubus too much to hate her. "What do we do next?"

"Go to the black market. Try to call Meredith again, and see who she was so afraid of."

"I meant about the succubus." Who had been so lonely and desperate, she willingly told them more than they had even asked to hear. How could she despise something so pathetic?

Peter heaved a sigh. "You can't save everyone, Val."

But the entire event didn't sit well on her shoulders. She abhorred weakness, but it wasn't strong to forget the weak either. If Peter or Layla weren't prepared to help, then perhaps _she_ should.

# Eleven

_P eter_

* * *

While they waited at a drive-through for a couple of burgers, Val tried in vain to call Meredith again.

"No answer?" he asked.

She shook her head, frowning. He knew it bothered her that Meredith had run off, but that had to be Phoenix's fault. Plenty of things were bothering him, too.

"What do you think Alannah meant about the demon thing?" he said.

Val shrugged. "People used to think of succubi as demons, and now they don't because Layla was smart enough to distance them from the term. It means something different now we know about other dimensions and books full of trapped souls."

"Maybe." The term left him uncomfortable. Words kept changing meaning. Monsters had become his friends. He'd even been on the side of a demon dog. What next?

The food arrived, and they drove off, killing some time before the black market officially opened. They didn't want to be conspicuously early.

"You could check in at the hospital and ask when Meredith's next shift is," Peter suggested.

"I'll have to if she doesn't return my calls." She hissed under her breath. "Humans get so antsy for nothing."

"I wouldn't call it nothing. Look at that crazy succubus. A mix of that and the vampire queen is probably what most humans think of when they consider supernaturals."

"We're not all the same," she protested.

He agreed. _Now_. "You're not. But think of it this way. The other side of the world was secret, so secret that supernaturals did whatever it took to not only keep it that way, but thrive. They got away with so much without any consequences aside from a corrupt Council. They weren't all corrupt. I know that. Gabe turned out to be all right in the end, and I know Koda thought he was bringing us toward a better world. But in the end none of that mattered. The only thing the public remember is the perception of cruelty and lies. Those were the people who stood for everyone non-human. Look to those who speak for you to get an idea of how the world sees you."

She fell silent. He knew she despised her own kind, the hellhounds who had almost destroyed her completely, but he wasn't sure if she saw herself as one of them or not. But the proposed new levels of inhumanity rubbish would group her with them whether she liked it or not.

They ate the burgers while he drove. On a whim, he stopped by the gym where Jamie had worked. It was still open.

"Maybe somebody we haven't talked to is working," he said when Val shot him a quizzical look.

Val balled her rubbish. "We've time to check. There's no harm."

He parked outside the building. Inside, dubstep pulsed upstairs. Peter rubbed his temples. He was too old for that shit, too. The place was packed. Most of the people downstairs lifted weights, and there were queues at every machine. The free weight section was impressive, Peter noted.

Val waved a staff member over. The woman was bright-eyed and sweaty, apparently high on the atmosphere.

"We're here about Jamie," Peter said. "Did you know her?"

"Oh, poor Jamie," she said. "She's such a quiet girl. Is she still in hospital? We called, but they said she wasn't allowed visitors."

"She's still unconscious," Val said.

Although why she wasn't allowed visitors was beyond Peter. Most of the other victims had family with them.

"Did you spend time with her outside of work?" he asked.

She shook her head. "She wasn't into going out with us. She didn't drink or anything. Her boyfriend used to drag her out, but then it ended, so... I think she was doing a class at some community centre though."

"What kind of class?" Val asked.

"I don't know. I can't remember. Listen, I have to get back to work. Duty calls, right?"

She left them and flitted off to the closest person.

"I feel so sorry for this kid," Peter said.

"She must have been lonely," Val said. "Think the class is relevant?"

"Probably not. Nothing feels connected. Are you ready to head to that market now?"

She nodded. "At least we'll have a chance of getting an answer to a specific question there."

He agreed. If anything dangerous moved through the country, it probably passed through a black market at some stage, and if the Senate were aware of it, then it must have been doing heavy business.

On the way, Peter said, "Don't you think it's weird that Phoenix and Layla aren't trying to shut this place down? I mean, it's obviously dangerous if we're looking for evidence of a dead plague there."

"Maybe they're trying to attract something."

That sparked his interest. "Such as?"

"I don't know. Something they want or need. If the black market closes, so does a lot of trade here. But if Phoenix and Layla know about it, then it's being watched. They might be trying to catch somebody important. Or if they lure something bad brought by somebody big, then they can clear up a couple of messes at once." She looked away. "Not that I'm an expert in how fae think."

"He's an arsehole," Peter said. "And maybe his daughter takes after him."

Val glared at him.

"I mean it. Lorcan has none of that mysterious creep factor about him. Lucia's disturbing. What the hell did you see in her anyway?"

"Maybe I wanted to protect her," she said slowly. "Maybe that's all it was. Frailty provoking my protective instincts. Looks like it meant nothing after all." That was probably the most she'd ever said to explain her relationship with Phoenix's daughter.

"Yeah, I totally get that." He'd wanted to protect a woman, too, but she'd outgrown him. His only consolation was that one day she would outgrow Phoenix, too.

They drove in silence after that. Val tended to drop the conversation when she said something too close to her heart. He was mostly okay with that, but Val desperately needed to talk to somebody.

The black market was located underneath a closed shopping centre in a deserted part of town. A couple of stragglers hung around the abandoned building, casting furtive glances Peter's way.

"I feel... there's something odd here," Val said. "This way."

He followed her farther into the building and down a flight of stairs. A lone hulk of a man stood in front of an old looking doorway. A chipped sign hung high on the arch above it, but the words gleamed as though fresh. Peter had to look twice at the name.

"Meribo?" He let out a low whistle. "I thought that was a myth."

"What's Meribo?" Val asked under her breath. Her posture tensed as the man guarding the way stared them down from a couple of feet away.

Peter ignored him. "It's an urban legend about some French vampire who came across the water with fancy trinkets to bring a bit of culture to the heathens here. Let's just say there were some misunderstandings, and he ended up dead, but not before he cursed them. The locals had to take over his little market stall to keep it running, even giving up their children to the place to avoid disaster."

Val made a sound of disgust.

"Every culture has a similar story. It's all bullshit. Anyway, the story goes that the locals called the market Meribo—some say because nobody could pronounce the vampire's actual name, and the story was passed on verbally—and it grew into a wonderland for the weird and nasty. Rumours started that the vampire hadn't been French at all—or a vampire, for that matter—and that there were thousands of Meribo markets, and all of them led to the same place. If you wanted to buy something nobody else had, you went to Meribo. Kind of makes sense that the black market took on its name."

"Maybe it really is Meribo," she said. "And it had to become a black market to survive."

He doubted it. Legends were generally somebody's exaggerated version of events. "Let's just be careful in there. Don't touch anything." He grinned. "Just in case. One of the stories about Meribo was how the vampire had placed magic on his trinkets in case they were stolen. For a couple of generations, the locals suffered the effects. The stories change. The only thing that stays the same is the fact you can find anything you need in Meribo."

"I've honestly never heard of this place."

"Most people haven't," he said. "Eddie told me about it, wished it were still open." He fell silent. His feelings about Eddie Brogan would always be complicated. The man had used him, but his reasons were desperate enough for Peter to understand them. It was easier on the soul not to think about him too much. The shades of grey in his past could get confusing.

They left the safety of the stairway and approached the archway. The doorman moved to get in their way. "Show me your wrists."

Val glanced at Peter. He shrugged and rolled up his sleeve.

The burly man folded his arms across his chest. "No invite, no entry."

"Really." Val stepped up to him. The glow of her red eyes reflected in the man's. He was at least a foot taller than her, but he cowered back from her true face.

"Just this once," he growled.

Val stalked past him.

"That's a handy trick," Peter whispered as he followed her.

"The hellhound didn't like his vibe," she explained. "And he knew it."

Peter glanced back at the man. He wasn't human, and while he held himself like a shifter, something was off about him.

Inside the market, Peter was stunned to see a huge expanse before them, full of stalls and booths containing all kinds of things. Dozens of doorways lined the walls, all of them beneath clocks—none of which told the same time. Maybe there was more to the rumours about Meribo than he had believed.

He stepped forward and felt as though he were in some alien land. The air had chilled, smelled of jasmine and something even headier.

"Don't breathe too deeply," Val warned. "There's something strong floating around."

Peter shook his head, but inside, he trembled. Meribo was Narnia. A dreamland that didn't exist. If he had found it before...

He moved amongst the first few stalls. An old woman in a shawl beckoned him with a sneer, her hands marked with scars that echoed the stories Eddie had told him about Meribo's thieves. It couldn't be. He looked at her stall. A select number of potion bottles were on display. The most noticeable was a blue bottle right behind the woman. It swirled as though alive. He pointed at it, but she shook her head and gestured towards the ones before her. Cerise, lilac, burgundy. The words came to him as though they had been whispered into his ear. He managed not to flinch, but followed Val away from the old woman who kept tapping the lilac bottle.

Some of the next stalls contained weapons. Not run of the mill weapons either. Stand-out, one of a kind, hand-made pieces made from substances he didn't recognise. All had to cost a fortune. He saw Val enquire about a particularly impressive morningstar, but the reply made her wince.

At the end of the first row, he found himself unable to pass the last stall. It was another weapons stall, but something kept him frozen to the spot.

"How much?" he said when he noticed the seller staring at him. He himself couldn't look away from a wide flat sword in the corner.

"No price," the seller said.

Peter blinked, confused. "What?"

"Weapons choose their owner. When you're ready, come claim your prize."

Peter backed into Val who gently guided him into the next row. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Yeah, just feel weird." His eyes watered from the fumes in the air. "Must be whatever's brewing."

"The smell is changing," she said. "This place is so strange. It doesn't feel... real somehow."

That was another theory about Meribo, but Peter decided not to get into it with Val. The real Meribo was said to exist on multiple planes, and that was why their selection was so exotic and unique. That couldn't be true, but there was a decided air of 'other' about the place.

They kept moving. It occurred to him that they should be asking questions, but he didn't seem capable. Eddie's voice filled his ears. _Meribo is the place where wishes are fulfilled._ Was it possible? __ "We need to find somebody who can help us," he said aloud, chancing a theory.

"I know," Val said, giving him an odd look. "Are you sure you're all right? You're kind of sweaty."

He did feel warm, but that was because his blood was racing. A woman was approaching them, a woman with a covered head and face. Nothing but her eyes peered out at them. And they were eyes both young and old, bright and yet weighed down with experience. Peter knew in that moment that she was there to help him. Maybe the jasmine was some kind of opiate.

"You have questions," the woman asked. Peter couldn't tell if she were young or old still. If she were even real.

"We need to find out if something came here carrying a disease," Val said. "A disease from long ago, in South America, that killed succubi and almost wiped them out. Is it possible that something ancient came through here, something that was still infected somehow?"

"It's possible," the woman said. "And there was a box that held traces of a dead disease. But that disease came from magic, and the magic wielder's name is long forgotten. It has no power still." She paused. "Not unless another woke it."

"The box came here?" Peter asked. "Who sold it? Who bought it?"

The woman waved a gloved hand. "We don't keep records. The one who sold it never returned. The one who bought it is a thief who will be punished if they come back to Meribo."

Peter looked at Val. "We need to find that thief then." He turned back to the woman, but she was gone.

"That was... odd," Val said.

"We got what we needed," Peter said, his head swimming. "We should go."

Outside, the clear air wiped his mind clean. He had been in a kind of trance within Meribo. And he wanted to go back.

# Twelve

_V al_

* * *

Val woke up at dawn. She'd gotten barely any sleep. The market had been a strange experience, and she wasn't sure they had found the answers they needed. But Peter had appeared satisfied—and a little intoxicated. He no longer carried the smell of alcohol in his pores, so seeing him acting so had unsettled her. Meribo was trouble—the unexplainable kind—and she wondered if Phoenix and Layla left it alone because they didn't stand a chance against it.

She checked her phone. Meredith hadn't called back still. Why? What was she hiding? Or afraid to say. At some point, they would be forced to track her down for answers. If the Senate didn't take over first. It was odd that they hadn't dealt with the situation themselves yet.

She got up and stretched. Home was humble. The converted garage was more of a bedsit—Peter had been right about that much—but the sanctuary below was much larger. The thought of leaving its safety gave her an ache—or was it the thought of leaving Lucia and the vain hope that close proximity to each other would make the fae princess see her mistake? That way lay madness. Her shaking fists were evidence enough of that.

She started breakfast, lonely without her ward's presence. Leah usually shared the morning meal with her. The teenage girl was quiet, an avid reader, and one of the most important magical creatures to the likes of those who ran slave markets. She could tell what a person could do merely by being in their presence. She was a magical radar, and that helped bad people do worse things. Leah was old enough to stay in the garage alone, particularly with the sanctuary below and a bunch of fae in the next house, but Val still felt better when Leah stayed with Anka in her absence.

As if on cue, Leah texted Val's phone to let her know she was awake and well. Val's chest warmed. Leah wasn't of her blood, but there was nobody she cared for more in the world. She had watched her grow, helped her learn, and been rewarded with a sensible, well-mannered teen who was thoughtful enough to reassure Val when needed.

Leah had been hinting about moving on again. Wanderlust born of a lifetime of travel sometimes reared its head, but Val was getting old and tired, at least in her mind, and the lure of a stable home cried out louder to her of late.

She sighed and took a good look around the garage. It felt stifling all of a sudden. Had never had a chance of being home. Knowing Lucia was likely waking up in the big house without acknowledging Val's existence made her stomach turn. Maybe that was what she loved about Leah—she had never managed to lose her as she did everyone else.

She rubbed her hands over her face to shake herself out of the melancholy. Being alone for too long helped her descend into a hell of her own making. She went downstairs before she could stop herself, wandering around the sanctuary where people had hid and died for so long. She laid her hands against the walls and imagined the heat of the place of her birth. She closed her eyes, and for a moment, she could swear she heard the call of terrible things, daring her to return. But that wasn't her place anymore.

Reluctant to leave, she shuffled back up the stairs. Ignoring pathetic distractions like thoughts of what Lucia might be doing at that very moment, she went through the paperwork she had brought home. She'd read it a dozen times. While the words obviously never changed, she kept waiting for something to jump out at her. Some answer to be revealed.

She ate porridge while she read, but she couldn't make sense of anything when her brain was so addled with memories of the past. All she wanted to do was gaze at Lucia's bedroom window and punish herself wondering if the fae princess even thought of her anymore, if somebody else had already taken her place. She waved away that thought before it overcame her completely.

By the time Peter arrived to pick her up, she had calmed herself sufficiently to behave like a normal person.

"You all right?" Peter asked after a few moments in the car.

Damn it. "Perfectly fine."

The night before, Peter had insisted on searching for the thief mentioned at the market, but she'd finally persuaded him that they had no leads to waste time on. Instead, she had convinced him to take her to the community centre that offered the voluntary counselling service which both Kierán and Jamie had attended. If Peter's head hadn't been clear the night before, it certainly was now if he noticed her mood.

"Maybe we should travel to the brothels that the other victims attended," Val suggested to distract Peter from her mental state. "Maybe we're missing too much by focusing on Kierán and Jamie."

"We'll have to if something doesn't pan out soon. What else links all of the victims?"

"The health checks," Val said immediately. "Unless they were all in counselling."

"We should have checked already. There are so many loose ends. We should have divided and conquered."

"When we split up, you were attacked."

He lifted his shoulders into a nonchalant shrug. "Their hearts weren't in it."

Meredith still hadn't returned her many calls by the time they reached the centre. The building was smaller than Val expected, yet hosting a free morning clinic for walk-ins. It was full of people with small, coughing children, desperate for help because they either couldn't or wouldn't pay their GPs fees. Val could almost feel the germs crawling her way.

At the reception area, a harried staff member directed them toward the manager's office. "He might be busy. Just knock and wait. He'll be out eventually."

"Great," Peter said as they walked down a dull green hallway. "More hanging around."

Val knocked on the manager's door when they found the office. The waiting area was littered with stragglers hoping to see a nurse. Half of them had visible injuries of some kind.

"This is a proper health centre," she said under her breath. "Shouldn't some of these people go to a hospital instead?"

"Maybe it's easier to come here than hauling the family out to the nearest hospital. Kierán was out of work and strapped for cash. When Jamie's boyfriend left, he ditched her with a bunch of bills she struggled to pay. I looked up this place this morning. Sounds like it helps all kinds of people by providing subsidised care. I can see why people come here."

A middle-aged man finally came out of the office, his glasses on top of his head, and his shirt hanging out of his waistband. "Can I help you?" he asked rapidly.

"We're investigating a possible outbreak," Peter said. "Two victims may have attended this centre."

The man's face paled. "Come in, quickly."

They went into his room. He closed the door behind them. His office was small and cluttered, and he struggled to make space for them both to sit. "I'm Malcolm. I'm in charge of things here. Are we being shut down?" he asked.

"Not yet," Peter said carefully.

"The victims may have attended a counselling service here," Val said.

"A...?" Malcolm frowned. "I don't understand."

"The outbreak may be of a supernatural variety," Peter said. "At least two victims are dead. Your two attendees are unconscious in hospital beds, and this is one of their only links. We have to look into it."

"We don't get many supernaturals," Malcolm said, scratching his receding hairline. "This is predominantly a human area. Humans First tend to be popular around here. There's a lot of fear. Although," he looked through a pile of papers on his desk before giving up, "there is a class in the evenings that aims to help people deal with the transition with supernaturals."

"Does it work?" Peter asked.

"More like preaching to the choir." Malcom smiled. "If people are interested enough to attend, then they're already willing enough to accept the otherness in this world."

"Can you check the attendance?" Val asked.

"Yes, of course." Malcolm turned to his computer. "What are the names?"

"Kierán Gaynor and Jamie Leahy," Peter said.

Malcolm pressed a few buttons on the keyboard then typed in the names. "Kierán's name is recorded in the attendance records, but not Jamie's."

Val deflated. It might have been a decent link.

"But I can see that both people attended counselling for a while then abruptly stopped coming here." He rubbed his eyes. "That might have been when they ended up in hospital."

Val didn't think so. They'd simply found alternative treatment with the succubi. "Can we speak to their counsellor?"

He shook his head. "Two different counsellors, both have left since. We have a high turnover. Even their nurse is gone."

"Nurse?" Val said.

"They go through a health check before counselling begins, to ensure they're not on drugs, for example. Trust me, it saves time if we make sure everyone gets the appropriate service. Anyway, their nurse was here long enough to take on both of them."

"Same nurse," Peter said. "Name?"

Malcolm checked. "Meredith Mulhern."

Val looked to Peter in surprise. There was their link. "That was helpful."

"Thanks," Peter said, getting up to leave.

"Do I close this place down?" Malcolm asked doubtfully.

"No, but make sure your nurses watch out for symptoms," Peter said. "I'll give you a phone number to ring to check up on what the early signs are. It's a hospital in the city that's dealing with these cases."

On their way out a few minutes later, Val browsed the leaflets and signs on the corkboard next to reception. A pamphlet about a helping hand from the succubi had been stuck in the centre of the board. Val plucked it free and held it up to the receptionist. "Is this normal?"

The woman waved a hand. "Oh, they leave those in periodically. People get curious, but I doubt anyone actually goes." She went bright red. "Well, I mean, I wouldn't know."

"Thanks."

Peter was poking through the other leaflets. "Look at this."

A sign-up sheet for the next series of classes about supernatural integration had a few names written down already. Jamie's was on top.

# Thirteen

_P eter_

* * *

On the way back to the hospital, Peter made some calls. Most weren't answered. The final call was picked up by somebody with an impatient voice.

"Echo Global Research Facilities."

"Hi, this is Peter Brannigan of Valeria Brannigan Investigations calling to—"

"I'm sorry. Who are you calling on behalf of? Valeria Brannigan?"

"No, we're a team. I'm Brannigan. She's Valeria. We're—"

"We have no need of investigators," she said scathingly.

"Maybe not, but your clients do," he snapped. "Put me on the line with somebody from the lab who performs testing on blood samples sent to them by hospitals."

"I'm afraid that's confidential."

"Confidential, my arse," he said. "I've been calling all week while you give me the runaround. Don't think I don't recognise your voice. Put me on to management."

"Nobody's available to take your call," she said in a sickly sweet tone. "May I take a message?"

He hung up and swore. "I'm getting really sick of that one. We'll have to take a trip out there to get answers, I think."

"They really don't want to talk to us."

"We'll make them talk. Although, if somebody at the hospital rings first on our behalf, it'll go better."

They stopped for coffee before heading to the hospital. Val carried Layla's coffee into Jamie's room.

Layla beamed when she saw them. "Good morning. Thank you." She took the coffee. "Is there news?"

"We found your rogue," Peter said. "She's high as a kite and seriously unbalanced, but I think she was telling the truth. She exchanged a vial of her blood for something that can block you from her mind."

"Clever," Layla said. "But why would anyone want our blood? It's not a big mystery or secret." But she clutched her cup so tightly, the lid almost popped off.

"Alannah was in a bad way," Val said. "She needs help."

"She doesn't deserve it," Layla said briskly. "Anything else?"

"We went to the black market," Peter said. "Somebody told us that a box did pass through, but any trace of disease was dead."

"She also mentioned something about waking it back up," Val added. "What if they tried using Alannah's blood? Maybe it just didn't work properly."

"But who would do that?" Layla shivered. "The worst part is that I'm completely unaware of these enemies. The sirens aren't fans, but this isn't their style. And if they replicated the disease, then why is it only affecting humans?"

"And only certain humans," Peter said. "We know very little for sure right now. We did find a link between the nurse who changed her mind about speaking to us and Kierán and Jamie. She worked at a health centre they both attended, came into contact with both of them. And Jamie signed up for a supernatural integration course, one that Kierán previously attended."

Layla smiled sadly. "I know about the course."

"You said you didn't know what Kierán was doing in his spare time," Val said.

Layla shrugged. "I'd half-forgotten. It was so... Kierán was trying to find people who had experienced the unexplainable, too. Jamie just wanted to make friends, thought she might find like-minded people there. But this nurse... Do you think she's a carrier? That she brought the disease from this place to the health centre? That could explain why she ran."

"I don't know." Peter shoved his hands deep into his pockets and leaned against the wall. "How would she even know about it?"

"And I'm not sure how the timing fits," Val said. "We still don't know how long the incubation period is."

"The problem is that we know nothing for sure," Peter said. "We don't even know what we're looking for. This could be a complete accident, somebody could have purposely spread the disease—or even tried to make it look like the fault of the succubi. This could all be an elaborate attempt to cover up human error. We haven't even figured out what's really going on yet."

"Finding where the disease originally came from might help. What about your medical contact in the building?" Layla said. "Do you trust her?"

"As much as we can trust anybody," Peter said. "We have to wait for results, but that doesn't mean we can sit around and do nothing."

"What will you do next?" Layla took a sip of coffee. "Do you need help with anything?"

"We have meetings with staff today," Peter said. "And we're still trying to get in touch with the lab. Kavanagh's busy testing the blood samples, so we're still in the dark about a lot of things."

Layla lowered her voice. "I checked on Kierán this morning, but his situation is the same. The staff aren't bothering with him or Jamie. Myself and Fidelma have been taking care of them as best we can. I think somebody else might be close to death, and everyone's with them, but nobody's talking."

"Maybe Shane can give us some info." Peter nodded at Val. "We should get going."

In the hallway, Val sighed. "We keep creating more questions than we're answering."

"I know. Shane's at the desk. Do your thing."

"What thing?"

"The thing that makes him get all breathless so he forgets he's not supposed to share so much information with us."

"I will hurt you," she growled.

He grinned and stopped off at reception. "Shane, can you try to call Echo Global for us? We're having trouble getting through to them."

"The blood testers? Sure." He eyed Val. "Anything else I can do?"

Val cleared her throat and shot Peter a death glare before turning back to Shane. "Is something going on with one of the patients? Layla told us there's very little staff around Kierán and Jamie today."

Shane leaned forward, glancing around before whispering, "Jackson took a turn for the worst during the night. They were only telling his mother yesterday that he was improving, then his heart almost stopped out of the blue."

"The poor woman," Peter murmured.

"Yeah. They've managed to stabilise him for now, but it's all hands on deck in case something happens again."

"Thank you," Val said then abruptly left.

Peter shrugged at Shane before following her. "Good job."

"I swear," she began.

"I'm just teasing. Let's go confirm our meetings for the day."

They walked back up to the administration offices in silence. Peter couldn't get Jackson's mother off his mind. He'd been destroyed when he thought he outlived his son. He could imagine all too clearly what she was going through.

Val took over with the clerical staff upstairs.

"What about Meredith?" she asked. "Has she agreed?"

"Meredith?" The secretary frowned as though thinking really hard. "Oh. Her. She quit."

"When?" Peter asked.

"This week, I think. She's a temp, was supposed to stick around until the end of next month but decided she couldn't hack it."

Val cleared her throat, likely to cover a surprised growl. "Well, could you call the first person on the list and tell them we're ready."

She strode off before the secretary could reply.

"Bitch," the woman muttered in her breath.

"What was that?" Peter asked.

"Nothing."

He followed Val. He was starting to hate the hospital and everyone in it. In the staff room, they waited for a nurse to appear.

His phone beeped with a text from Shay. "The body from the morgue has been identified," he said. "Single man, no family or permanent employment which explains why nobody declared him missing." He looked at Val. "He has no connection to the succubi."

She blinked, looking surprised. "He wasn't a client?"

"He's the only one." What did that even mean?

"He could have been a... friend of Alannah's."

That was possible. "Probably. It's weird about Meredith, isn't it?"

"We'll have to go to her house and figure out what's going on there," Val said. "There are too many red flags."

"After dinner?"

She nodded. "How's Riley?"

"Being adored still. She's being passed around so many people that she doesn't know what's going on. Still, at least she's not starving to death in that little back garden anymore."

The door opened. A timid looking woman walked in. "I'm one of the nurses who takes care of the patients suffering with Infection X," she said. "I don't know what I can tell you that you don't already know."

"Know Meredith?" Peter asked on a whim.

She frowned. "Not well. She keeps to herself. She doesn't chat much to anyone."

"Did you know she quit?" Val asked.

"No, but she was a temp. I expected her to leave soon anyway."

"What are your thoughts on this infection?"

"I'm just here for the patients," she said. "I don't get to experiment with cures."

Val leaned forward. "But what do you know for sure?"

The nurse sighed. "It's not contagious, or we'd all be infected. Something may have contaminated their blood, but we haven't been able to identify it. That in itself isn't so unusual."

"What makes you say that?" Peter asked.

She took a seat, looking more relaxed. "We've had cases with vampires before. They'll bite the wrong person, and their poison just... gets into the system in a way it's not supposed to. The person's antibodies aren't enough to fight against it. That's a simplistic version of it. I mean, they don't turn into vampires or anything, but that poison lingers. It can lead to some very nasty septic infections."

"How likely is it for supernatural beings to contract diseases by contact with humans?" Val asked.

"We don't have those kinds of answers," the woman said.

"What about humans catching diseases from supernatural species?" Peter said.

The nurse shrugged. "We're all protected from old diseases these days in a way past generations weren't. Genetics and medicine had changed everything, but magic has made the illogical possible. There are endless unanswered questions. Who knows what's out there and what our bodies are capable of these days?"

"How do you think _these_ people got infected?" Val asked.

The nurse flushed. "I don't know what they get up to in brothels. I'm not judging, but who knows what they're doing? We have people coming in telling us they're anaemic, but they're close to death because they've given so much blood to vampires. Or people with serious injuries because they've had sex with a species that just isn't compatible. But if all of these people ended up here because of the same place, then it stands to reason that place is the cause."

The cause, but perhaps not the source. "Thanks for your time," Peter said. "If you think of anything else, let me know."

She left, looking relieved.

"What do you think?" Val asked.

"I don't know what to think anymore," Peter said. "What if we're wrong, and the succubi really are to blame?"

"Then Kavanagh should be able to connect the dots for us, right?"

He could only hope. The gross body in the morgue had changed the game—unless the dead man had in fact come into contact with the rogue succubus. But Alannah's current companion had shown no signs of the sickness—unless the sores on his face were a symptom of something other than drug use. And then there was the fact that the majority of Layla's clientele remained healthy.

They spent the afternoon meeting with staff and listening to theories, both interesting and ridiculous, on how the infection occurred. The only constant was that nobody knew for sure.

"This has been a waste of time," Peter said. "The place is full of temps who don't give a shit and students who don't know shit and are too scared shitless of catching the plague to take proper care of the patients. I'm going to grab Meredith's file and try to get in touch with some of her past employers, see what they have to say on the phone. They won't write anything incriminating on a reference, but they might spill something on the phone."

"I'm going to go cause a fuss upstairs and see if it'll put socks on anyone."

"Good luck."

Val left, and he turned to the staff files. They had gotten through a lot of staff that morning, but the only one who interested him was the elusive Meredith. He looked through her files. As a temp, she had worked in a number of places over the last eighteen months. She'd even been part of a drug trial program, but the number was disconnected. He decided to call her last full-time employer.

Mark Byrne was soft-spoken over the phone. He remembered Meredith clearly.

"She was... a good worker."

Peter noted his reticence. "But?"

Mark sighed. "But her personal views could be a tad... strong. She wasn't able to cope with her job when, you know, the big change happened. Once we saw vampires on the evening news, that was it. She became obsessed."

Hmm. Kierán had an obsession of sorts, too. Maybe they had more in common than a health check.

"I saw her face when she found out the truth," Mark said. "We were all watching the news together in the staffroom when it happened. It had been a crazy time in general, and we kept joking about the full moon, but we were all petrified. There was a serial killer in town, or so we thought. I saw fangs on telly, and I looked around the room, waiting for somebody to laugh and say it was a joke. Nobody did. And I saw Meredith's face. All twisted and repulsed by it."

"That's natural, no?"

"Shocked is natural. Afraid is natural. Disgusted? I'm not so sure. After that, we got busy. The hospital, in particular the emergency room, was jam-packed all of the time. And Meredith started refusing to care for certain patients."

"Supernaturals?" Peter guessed.

"Those, too. But she had a real issue with people she saw as allowing all of this to happen. She couldn't seem to understand that we'd coexisted long before we knew about the supernatural element. She started talking about supernatural sympathisers and the like. Nasty stuff, gave me chills. It wasn't long before we had to let her move on. I mean, imagine a patient arriving into the emergency room after a vampire attack only to be told by their nurse that they didn't deserve assistance. It wasn't productive for us or healthy for patients needing care. Overall, Meredith was a great worker, but she couldn't get over her prejudices." He sighed. "Still can't, it looks like."

"Oh?"

"Well, a private investigator is asking me questions, and I've seen her on the television sometimes, one of the stragglers with that Humans First monstrosity."

"She's part of Humans First?"

"I don't know. A supporter, perhaps. They're definitely her kind of people."

"Thanks for this. It's been a great help."

"I feel a bit guilty that I didn't do anything about her before. But who are you supposed to call about a hateful person? Anyway, I hope... she's not harmed herself or anyone else."

"Yeah, me, too." Peter hung up and rubbed his eyes. A nurse with connections to two patients was a supernatural hater and lover of Humans First. Humans First only hated those who catered for supernaturals more than supernaturals themselves. That put him in their crosshairs, he thought with a smile. Let them come after him. But had they gone after Kierán and Jamie? And how?

# Fourteen

_V al_

* * *

She despised the plastic flowers and the cloying scent of perfume in the room, and she was sick to death of the hospital, but Val stood tall in the director's office, appearing soundlessly forceful in the way only a hellhound could. She hoped. "Would you like the media to hear how your patients have been neglected?"

Meehan, although cowering behind her desk, managed to look pissed off nonetheless. "They are not neglected!"

"If family members and random succubi are changing bed sheets, then yes, your patients are being neglected."

Meehan closed her eyes for a moment before answering. "I will look into it."

Val waited.

"Immediately, if you just... go away!"

"I'll be back if this isn't sorted," Val said, striding toward the door. "And next time, I'll be bringing my favourite mace."

"Sweet mother of—"

Val slammed the door shut behind her. As she walked down the hall, trying her best to hulk back down, Kavanagh almost bumped into her, looking excited.

"Oh, there you are," she said excitedly. She didn't appear to even notice the horns.

"Were you looking for us?" Val asked.

"I got some results. I'm not done with the samples yet, but I have some thoughts. Some very intelligent thoughts in case that wasn't apparent."

Val resisted the urge to scratch her head and look oaf like. "Peter's in the staff room if you'd like to join us there."

"Perfect! They have a much better coffee maker in there than the lab. I guess that shows what the budget is being spent on." She practically skipped down the hall alongside Val. "It's nice to be able to use my brain for a change, you know?"

Val was relieved to get to the staffroom, just to avoid being alone with Kavanagh. She was too... fidgety. Smaller creatures that moved too fast made Val uncomfortable.

Peter's face lit up when he saw the doctor. "You have news?"

"Just a little," Kavanagh said. She scurried across the room to grab a coffee then pulled a seat up next to Peter. "This has been my most frustrating experiment ever because this infection doesn't follow any sequence I've ever seen."

"Does that mean you can't help us?" Val asked.

Kavanagh held up a finger. "I didn't say that. We've run a couple of tests. Okay, a lot of tests. The victim's blood has almost zero in common with the succubi blood which was deliciously interesting to test. I mean, the possibilities. If we can extract the—"

Peter cleared his throat. "How about sticking to our problem?"

"I'm thinking of using supernatural DNA to create cures." She made a face. "You're not interested. Fine. So we tested, and the blood samples have few commonalities, less than I expected actually. And here is the weird part. Well, one of the weird parts. Layla's blood is completely clean. No trace at all of the infection or anything else. We even made an attempt to infect her blood—not happening. The patient sample, however, does have a trace of something that's similar to Layla's DNA sequence, and absolutely not human, but not exactly the same."

"The victims aren't completely human?" Peter asked.

"That's not what I mean." She took a sip of coffee. "As we continued to test, the presence of those extra traces faded, but from what we could see, it's as though the infection is wrapped up in succubi DNA. In other words, succubi DNA can possibly be a host for the infection, but the succubus in this hospital is not infected with it."

Val did scratch her head then. "What does that mean?"

"No idea! It's exciting. This is why I wanted to work here—to have access to unanswered questions like this one. I wish I had more experience with supernatural cases, but I'm flying blind."

She wasn't the only one.

"I'm wondering if this is how it works with vampires and shifters—if there are conditions tied to infections." Kavanagh looked to be talking half to herself. "Perhaps vampirism was passed on through a sort of incubation period in which vampire DNA invaded the human body, protecting the infection from human antibodies in the process. Until humans developed a sort of immunity to it, that is. Our antibodies figured out how to fight against it. That could be what's happening here. The patients are ill because their bodies are fighting back so hard. Then why aren't all of the succubi clients sick, too? Could they perhaps be immune?" She frowned. "Genetic predisposition, perhaps?" She focused on Val. "I'll need to test the healthy patients for similar markers. Is that possible?"

"Layla should be able to work something out," Val said. "If her clients are willing."

Peter had gone pale. "If we get you another succubus's blood, can you test it, too?" He glanced at Val. "Alannah has to have something to do with this. If we compare her blood to whatever's present in the victims, then we might figure out how to help them."

"But how will that help the victims?" Val demanded. "When does this add up?"

"When we find out everything we should know," Peter said.

Kavanagh held up her hand. "Who's Alannah again?"

"A rogue succubus," Val said. "She's been exposed to different people than Layla, but she gave her blood to somebody in exchange for a piece of magic. If Layla's blood has no trace of the infection, maybe it's because the whole incident somehow comes from Alannah."

"And if we can run tests on her, then we could theoretically develop a cure," Kavanagh said.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "All right. Loose ends. I don't believe in coincidences, so I consider Meredith to be a huge red flag. Her old boss reckons she's a total bigot. A huge supporter of Humans First. Another red flag."

"That reminds me... there's something else, before you both go off on one," Kavanagh interrupted. "There's something odd in our records."

"Why am I not surprised?" Val murmured.

"I'll admit the instances of human error seem to be off the charts in this case." Kavanagh waved a dismissive hand. "So. During the mandatory health checks, a couple of samples of blood are taken. At least one is kept here, while the other is sent to the hospital's official lab. Not my friend's lab, by the way."

"Which is where?" Val asked.

"Oh, in a college. But it's cool. My friend teaches, and... never mind. I went through the samples of the current victims and chose randomly. We only tested the blood that was recorded in the last couple of checks to keep it simpler. By the way, don't tell Meehan I did this. Totally _not_ cool, but I had to know."

"You found something," Val guessed.

Noeleen Kavanagh beamed. "The blood samples _all_ tested positive for markers that are present in the infection we've been tracking here."

"Wouldn't that mean the external lab _and_ the hospital had infected blood all along?" Peter stood up to pace in front of them. "And _nobody_ noticed?"

"Exactly. The lab is outsourced, so I'm sure they check out, but they're supposed to return the samples once they're tested. They didn't. Or at least, I can't find them. But the samples here with the same timestamp are infected, so the lab had evidence months ago that something was wrong. Nobody could have foreseen what it would lead to, but abnormalities _have_ to be investigated. These health checks are a big deal. I'm surprised by how vigorous they are. I mean, they veer very close to violating basic human rights."

"How does it work?" Val asked.

"In theory, any red flag, no matter how small, kicks off a major investigation until both the human and supernatural can be cleared. I mean, even signs of a mild allergy can trigger this. We can safely say we've gone far beyond that. So between here and the lab, either there's a serious incompetence issue or somebody is covering up what's been happening."

"This is insane," Peter said slowly. "That means the succubi could have paid the lab to keep quiet."

"Or they didn't know anything about it." Val couldn't make sense of it all. "I wonder who set up these checks in the first place."

"They're super hard core," Kavanagh said. "If it were me, I just wouldn't bother going to the trouble of meeting with a succubi."

"Sounds like they're designed that way," Peter said. "So only the truly desperate and vulnerable wind up there."

"They wind up here, too," Val reminded him.

"We need to get Alannah's blood sample for comparison, but we should really check on Meredith's house. She knows something. It'll be quicker if we split up."

And more expensive considering Val would need to get a taxi.

Kavanagh held up her hand again. "I'm free now if you want me to come get that sample," A wry smile twisted her lips. "In case it isn't obvious, I'm bored out of my mind."

"Do you have a car?" Val asked.

Kavanagh nodded.

"You and I can go." Anything to keep Peter away from the succubus. His gaze had gotten too dark and intense. "Peter, you can try to track down Meredith."

"I might drop into Humans First headquarters, too," he said.

"Be careful. After we get the sample, we'll head to the research lab for answers," Val said. "The quicker we get on this, the better."

"I'll check Meredith's details with Shane then I'll head out." Peter gave her a grim nod. "Good luck with Alannah."

Val gestured for Kavanagh to follow her to the carpark. Her enthusiasm died when she realised Kavanagh drove a Mini. She squeezed herself into the poor excuse for a car. If she suddenly grew agitated, she would likely outgrow the thing completely.

"Uncomfortable?" Kavanagh asked in surprise. "My brother is taller than you and finds it okay."

"I like my space." She heard herself saying, "I need room to expand." What on earth?

"Oh, right. How cool." She looked at Val as though she were a test subject. "So what's with this succubus? What's her story?"

"She did bad and was exiled, I think."

"And that's why you suspect she's involved?"

Val shrugged then regretted it. She was sure the car swerved slightly. "There's another victim who wasn't a client at the succubus brothel. I want to ask her about him in case he was one of hers. Besides that, she remembers making an exchange during a drug haze. Somebody came to ask for her blood. They made a trade."

"Succubi are affected by drugs? I didn't know that. I've come across a number of supernaturals that see no effect from every day drugs. What about you?"

"I wouldn't know," Val said.

"What are you, if you don't mind my asking?"

"A hellhound. In part, anyway."

"Like, actual Hell?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Mind. Blown." Kavanagh gaped at her. "I'm sorry, but why isn't more stuff like that in the papers? You could answer questions so many of us have, and—"

Val growled. "I'm not a talking doll. I don't want to talk about Hell."

"Sorry." Kavanagh lasted about two minutes before asking her next question.

Val sat back in her seat and tried to massage away her headache. It was going to be a long day.

The succubus's house was empty. "This is weird," Val said softly as they searched around the house for signs of life. "She was here."

"This place looks abandoned." Kavanagh wrinkled her nose. "Not exactly fit to live in either."

"Maybe." Val took a look around the next couple of houses, but the entire street was empty. And in the back garden, where the mannequins had been, was a headless doll instead. How odd.

"Maybe she wasn't supposed to talk about the blood," Kavanagh suggested.

"What?"

"I mean, I'm guessing that the succubi hired private investigators because they believe something malicious is going on here. And maybe this succubus wasn't supposed to tell anyone she exchanged her blood. Maybe somebody found out she had been talking to you. Maybe she ran from them."

Or they caught up to her.

Kavanagh gave Val a sheepish smile. "I sound ridiculous, don't I? Sorry, I obviously watch too much television."

"We should go." Even without the succubus around, the atmosphere unsettled her.

As they drove away, she watched out for signs that somebody was looking at them, but she saw nothing. The only one who had known they were going to see the succubus was Layla. Was Peter right after all? Did Layla know more than she let on?

Kavanagh insisted on driving Val to the lab.

"Thanks for this. You didn't have to help us."

Kavanagh let go of the wheel to wave a hand at Val. "Ah, I'm curious to see the place. It popped up out of nowhere, I don't know any of the staff, and it somehow managed to get a government contract. I'm just nosy."

"Is that unusual?"

Kavanagh hit the indicator too late and swerved a corner, causing the car behind to beep multiple times. She continued the conversation as though nothing had happened.

"Everyone tends to know each other. This industry isn't large enough to have a lot of competition. Sometimes, a global company will set up a branch—for tax reasons—but it tends to be well publicised. I didn't see any jobs listed for this lab, and I look. Constantly. It's odd to have so many questions, but then again, this is a new world we live in. I think we all just assumed that some kind of supernatural company had taken the job. Not that anyone else was offered the opportunity to make a bid."

Val considered that, but bureaucracy rarely made sense to her.

"Most likely, somebody high up in the government owed a favour," the doctor continued. "I'm guessing staff were brought in from other countries. There isn't a large pool to choose from, but you'd think they'd have hired _somebody_ local."

"What made you go into it then, if the opportunities aren't there?"

"Because there was usually just enough to sustain us," Kavanagh said. "A couple of graduates would move on to somewhere glamorous, and one or two would find work here. That's how it is in some industries, particularly in a country this small. The government isn't exactly over-endowing us with funds, and we all have to do the best we can. This lab, EGRC, they're self-contained. A private company. That's unusual because costs are so high here, particularly now."

"When did the company appear?"

"I don't know. I've asked around, and there are labs elsewhere. One in America, one in Spain, at least two in Asia, although the locations appear to be secret, for some reason. Or, at least, I can't find any info on it."

"So this really is a global initiative." And globally speaking, there were higher powers out there with the means to interfere. "Could it have something to do with the paragons?"

"Who?"

Val shook her head. "Never mind. Are we almost there?"

"I think so." Kavanagh glanced at her. "You know, the first victim died because he was a long-time sufferer of HIV and AIDS. It wasn't my fault. His body just couldn't fight off a brand new infection. We develop a resistance to infections we've encountered before, but once the immune system is compromised then even something minor can become a problem."

"I didn't blame you for his death," Val said.

"Half the hospital did at the time. Nobody else has died, you know?" She frowned. "Wait, you said there was another victim, didn't you? Who took care of that one?"

"He never made it to the hospital," Val said. "We've no idea how long he was infected."

"Can I see the body?"

"It was... a mess. I'm not sure you want to. He looked much worse than the others do."

"It's possible he was the first case," Kavanagh said slowly. "Or that the treatments in the hospital are working to keep the patients alive for longer. There's no way of knowing for sure without testing his body. He could be the key to figuring this out."

"Maybe Layla can help us out there, too. The morgue attendant seemed to think the infection was still alive."

"That... doesn't seem possible."

"He was hardly as knowledgeable as you are."

Kavanagh made a non-committal sound. When Val glanced at her, the woman looked deep in thought.

They wove around multiple business parks to find the lab. It was part of a huge business district, and the lab's building was one of the largest.

"Wow," Kavanagh said longingly. "I wish I could see their equipment."

"Come with me as my specialist," Val said. "Maybe they'll be a bit more forthcoming with one of their own here."

Kavanagh parked badly, her excitement obvious. "This is going to be great."

But the doors of the large building were locked. Val pressed the buzzer and stared up at the sign. Something about it looked familiar, but she'd probably seen the symbol amongst the invoices and records.

Nobody answered. Val pressed the buzzer again. The intercom remained silent.

"Looks like nothing's doing," Kavanagh said, unable to hide her disappointment.

They returned to the car. "Wait a minute," Val said. "There are cars here. Somebody's in there. They're just not bothering to answer."

Kavanagh sat patiently for about ten seconds before her knee began to jump up and down. She fiddled with the radio for a couple of minutes before taking a bottle of pills from her bag.

Val eyed Kavanagh's trembling hands. "Problems?"

Kavanagh held up a finger, swallowed two tablets dry, and then tapped her right temple. "Need help focusing."

"Oh." Val wasn't used to people who fidgeted so much, but Kavanagh was starting to grow on her.

They waited for twenty minutes, but nobody went in or out of the building.

"We should get back," Val said with a heavy sigh. "I'll come back some other time."

Kavanagh drove out of the business park, mercifully avoiding contact with any walls or lampposts.

"Sorry that was a waste of time," Val said.

Kavanagh smiled. "It's not like I don't have the time."

"Do you have another job lined up?"

"I have some offers. Problem is that I'm overqualified for most of them. I've been thinking about pitching an idea to the Senate. Think they'll listen?"

"Layla will because you've helped her. It's all about favours and deals, I'm told. Earn favours. Make no deals."

Kavanagh pursed her lower lip. "Sounds tricky."

"What is the idea?"

"It's more of a dream. A fully funded lab of my own where I can run tests on supernatural strains and 'special' human DNA. There's too much mystery in this world, and not enough answers. I want to know what happens when a shifter shifts on a scientific level."

Val flinched. "But you'll need test subjects."

"Volunteers. Paid volunteers, the way ordinary medical research does it. Imagine if this infection was truly an airborne contagion. It's unsettling enough how the levels of infection differ, but if—"

"Wait. Different levels of infection? What does that mean?"

"I've taken a couple of samples by now. The levels of infection in the blood change hourly, never mind daily. The levels go down, probably because the patient's antibodies are figuring out how to fight back, and I start to think the patient will make it, then there'll be an unexplainable surge."

"As though something's causing it?"

"I thought perhaps it was Layla's presence at first, but I've tested other patients who haven't been in contact with her, and the same thing happens there." She winced. "Again, don't tell Meehan."

"The blood?" Val said.

"Oh, right. Sometimes, there are differences in the markers, too. As I said, we learn to fight infections we've previously encountered, but when they evolve, that's a whole other story. I'm just seeing a frustrating amount of inconsistencies."

"Could the cause be in the hospital?"

"There's no way to test that theory without moving everyone. And there's no other facility capable of caring for them right now. It's too risky to the other patients. But the infection started before they came to the hospital, so—"

"Not necessarily." Val tapped the dashboard. "They came to the hospital for check ups before they showed any signs of the infection. The blood that was sent to the lab. What were those levels like?"

"Pretty low, actually." She frowned. "And they were well enough to leave. Nobody had any cause for concern, not even the patients—until it was too late. That could mean the infection started in the hospital itself."

"Or somebody purposely infected the patients."

"Val, did the autopsy on the body you looked at bring up anything unusual?"

"Not that I know of, other than the boils and such. We were told his spleen was missing. Is that unusual?"

Kavanagh braked hard. Val's seatbelt snapped, and Val smacked her head against the dashboard.

"I'm so stupid!" Kavanagh helped Val sit up and took a good look at her eyes. "Are you all right?"

Val brushed her off. "I'm fine. Why on earth did you brake like that?"

"Because I just copped on to something super obvious." Kavanagh started the car and pulled in safely at the side of the road. "I've been looking at this all wrong. No wonder it didn't make sense. Idiot!"

"Are you going to share it with me, or...?"

"Sorry, sorry. Remember what I said about the immune system? _That's_ the common denominator here. People think the spleen is useless, but the loss of it can cause serious strain on the immune system. All of these patients have conditions that can affect the immune system. Diabetes, thyroiditis, HIV, even anaemia. The commonality is that they _all_ compromise immunity. That's why only certain people are getting sick."

"Okay, so there's an explanation for that. It still doesn't explain the source."

"The source. Your morgue victim was sick, but he didn't attend a hospital for treatment."

Val shrugged. "So he was embarrassed."

"Or he expected the symptoms. Was he by any chance a volunteer for some kind of medical trial?"

"I don't know." Val rubbed her temples. So much inadequacy was being exposed by their investigation. Was that the point?

"Maybe it was mentioned at the morgue. I'd bet my career he was a test subject." Kavanagh drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. "The patients are sick because the antibodies their bodies produce are either weak or non-existent, right? They can't fight this infection off. That was one thing, but then the levels kept receding and rising again. I thought they had been accidentally infected with a disease that was somehow naturally mutating and becoming stronger in response to their bodies fighting against it."

"This isn't news to you though."

"Right, but what if I was wrong? What if this is a manufactured virus? The dead man... you said he was in a bad condition. What if he was repeatedly given doses of this virus, and when his body fought back, the disease was altered in order to keep him sick?"

"Wait a second." Val struggled to control her breathing. "You think this was a purposely created attack?"

"Not only that," Kavanagh said. "A sustained one. I think somebody in the hospital could be _keeping_ them sick."

"That's a heavy accusation."

"Think about it. The levels in the body recede as the immune system fights back and eventually starts to defeat the virus, then they're given an updated version, and they get sick all over again, but this time, they're already weakened, so it does more damage. They don't get a chance to recover. It's a sustained, repeated assault. That's why they didn't seem sick during health checks for so long. It took time to really hurt them. I'm so sure about this, Val. Somebody is keeping them sick."

"Long enough for hysteria to begin," Val said slowly. "Can you prove this?"

"Given the access and resources," Kavanagh said. "It's the only explanation I can get to fit what I've been given. I'm not an expert in synthetic virology, but perhaps this was a controlled experiment of some kind. Could the Senate sanction something like this? Even as a way to research vaccines for new cross-species diseases?" Her brows furrowed. "Oh, or to study the effects on certain disorders. Ireland is a genetic isolate, so we can't rely on global standards for effects on disorders that are only seen here. The fact some humans here are "special" because of some weird God-water situation generations ago makes that clear. Not to sound like a conspiracy theorist, but the government can't exactly order people to allow themselves to be tested on, and medical trials can only go so far. The possibilities are endless."

Val didn't have much faith in the Senate, but Layla had seemed so sincere. Had she been wrong about her all along?

"This is what's bugging me. The virus has been protected by succubi DNA somehow. Either to strengthen it or protect it from standard medication which would have little to no effect on succubi."

"Layla said her blood runs hot. Wouldn't succubi DNA just burn out the infection?"

Kavanagh chewed on her bottom lip before shaking her head. "Except it's a different host, so it brings up different consequences. But how did the succubi DNA invade the body in the first place?"

"The succubi mark their victims. Maybe then?"

"Yeah, I've heard about that. It sounds parasitic actually. But these victims haven't been marked. You said the missing succubus gave up her blood. What if she was really giving up her DNA to people equipped with the means to create a synthetic virus, using that DNA to shield it from human antibodies. Or even to leave traces behind. What if the succubi DNA helps the virus survive for longer?"

"I'm probably only understanding about half of what you're saying. Does this fit with what we know to the point I can act on it?"

"I believe so. These people have been infected for a long time which made me think it was some kind of latent infection at first. Perhaps their sessions with the succubi even helped them fight the infection or at least protected them from some of the effects. On the other hand, the sessions could have triggered the infection."

Or perhaps the virus was an attempt to infect the succubi themselves. Possibilities whirled around Val's brain. Some invisible hand was moving all of the pieces. The key to everything would be finding out who controlled the board. "Get us back to the hospital. Quickly. Our first priority is to protect the patients. We'll have to work out the whys and whos later."

# Fifteen

Peter

* * *

Peter drove to the address on Meredith's file. It led to a post office. "Dammit," he muttered.

He went inside anyway, but nobody working there appeared to have heard of Meredith. He called Meredith's forthcoming old boss in an attempt to find her.

"I don't think I can give out her address," the man said hesitantly.

"As far as we're concerned, she's missing, and she may have valuable information on a life-threatening disease. Please. She gave a false address to the hospital she's been working in. If she's a danger, and you don't help us..."

Appealing to the man worked, and it didn't take long to find her last known address. Peter drove through a street that was hounded by a large group of teenagers. Not all of them looked human. The local corner shop had been closed down. Deeper into the neighbourhood, many houses had been abandoned. Including Meredith's. Her windows had been smashed, and the word "Rat" had been spray painted on every visible surface. Somebody had driven the woman out of her own home.

So where had she turned?

His best link was Humans First. They were the cause of most of the fear and hate in the country, and Meredith was obviously their target audience. If she joined them, and they used her training to target supernatural supporters, then every question he had been asking would be answered.

He drove to their headquarters in town. The official group, the ones setting themselves up for politics and equipped with a full legal team, no longer took part in protests and the like—they simply encouraged their supporters to act. The office of the fledgling political party was large and exuberant, full of young people ready to make their mark in the world. He couldn't help wondering what had gone wrong in their lives to make them determined to wipe out half of the country. Not that he had been any different at their ages.

He reached the reception area where a young woman beamed at him from behind a gleaming counter. "Can I help you?"

"I need information on one of your supporters who—"

"Humans First aren't responsible for the actions of our supporters." Her smile never faltered. "Leaflet?"

He took the proffered leaflet and glanced over it. Nothing truly inflammatory, but it was definitely designed to incite by appealing to certain personalities. Plenty of buzzwords to stir the pot. Clever for a hate group. "Is this how you reel them in?"

"Humans sticking together to protect their lives and rights isn't a trap, sir."

"Right. Listen, one of your supporters is a nurse who—"

"Many of our supporters have respectable jobs, sir."

He felt like shooting himself in the face. "Can you help me or not?"

"I can help you with information on our causes."

"Are you a real person?" he asked in exasperation.

"Would you like an application form?" she said brightly.

"Application form? People apply to be a supporter?"

"A fundraiser," she clarified.

"Then can you check the names of the fundraisers for the woman I'm looking for? She's missing. She might be in danger. We're just trying to find her. Can you help me? _Please_?"

She sighed, her false smile dimming for the first time. "What's the name?"

He told her. She spent a couple of minutes looking at her computer, but she could have been checking her email for all he knew. "Nobody of that name is fundraising under our umbrella."

"Did she even—"

"I'm afraid I can't give out that kind of information, sir."

He gave up. "Great. Thanks," he said grudgingly.

"Have a nice day, sir."

He left the building feeling as though he could use a good long shower. Life would be so much easier if everyone was upfront about their intentions in the first place.

He checked his phone. No battery left, and Riley had chewed up his car charger. Nothing left to do but wait for Val and regroup. He returned to the hospital, noting that Shane pointedly avoided meeting his gaze. He was sick and tired of the hospital, and he had obviously outstayed his welcome.

He made his way to Kierán's room, but when he peeked through the window, he saw Layla there, comforting Fidelma. He recalled how emotional he'd felt when the succubus connected with the woman the first time and decided not to interrupt. The succubus made him uncomfortable even when she wasn't playing with people's emotions.

He headed over to Jamie's room instead. Something about Jamie's story brought out his protective instincts. She was alone, far from her family—who hadn't made an effort to visit her—trying her best to get on with life when the odds were against her. She could have given up on the bouncy dog, but she'd kept struggling, trying to do her best and spending more money on expensive dog food than her own meals.

Inside her room, a nurse with messy brown curls stood next to the bed, about to inject something cloudy into Jamie's drip. The woman looked up and froze when she saw Peter.

He frowned, trying to come up with a name for her as the truth slowly dawned on him. She was the nurse in the hospital where he and Val found Kierán, the one injecting his drip with a similar looking fluid. He finally understood.

"You're Meredith Mulhern," he said incredulously. " _You've_ been hurting these people, haven't you? They didn't catch the disease from the succubi. You did this to them. How? _Why_?"

"They deserve it," she snarled, moving the needle.

"Get away from her," he warned, striding toward her. "You leave that girl alone. She's been through enough!"

She made to rush past him, but he moved into her path. Panic glistened in her eyes as she reached into her right pocket. He instinctively attempted to stop her, but she stabbed him in the neck with her other hand before he could react.

"What the fuck?" He pulled the syringe out of his neck. Empty.

"May you burn in hell, demon lover," she spat before running out of the room.

He chased after her, but his legs wobbled, his limbs unable to obey his brain. Meredith disappeared as he bumped against the hallway walls, struggling to stay up straight. The walls shrunk in on him. His mouth dried up. He leaned against the wall, propelling himself forward. He couldn't feel his feet anymore.

What the hell had been in that syringe? Unless... if she had been injecting patients with some poison or disease, then she could easily have used sedatives, too. Enough to kill? Shit. He forgot about chasing her and somehow found Kierán's room.

"The nurse," he rasped.

Layla and Fidelma stared at him in horror as he crashed into the bed.

His chest constricted, making it hard to breathe. "Meredith. Injected me with... something. I can't... I don't know."

Layla helped him sit. "You're going to be okay," she said. "Fidelma, get help."

Fidelma pressed the panic button then raced out of the room.

"Peter?" Layla said. "I'm going to try to help you, okay?" She pressed her palm against his forehead.

"Too late." His mouth opened and closed as he tried in vain to gather a deep breath. "Can't feel a thing."

Fidelma returned with Val and Kavanagh.

"We just got back," Val said. "We had a theory about somebody actually repeatedly injecting the patients with a disease."

"Yeah." Peter's eyes rolled. "Meredith. She stung me when I caught her. I saw her before. Other hospital before."

"I can barely understand him."

Panic deepened Val's voice. He wanted to reassure her, but it was getting harder to concentrate.

" _Kavanagh_ ," Val barked. "What's wrong with him? He's healthy. Why isn't he fighting this off?"

"This was likely a stronger dose than the initial ones all of the patients received." Kavanagh lifted his eyelid and peered into his eyes. She mostly looked like a dark blur to him. "We don't know what else was in her concoction."

"Feels like... sedative." The world kept dimming, but he hadn't lost consciousness yet. "Except I can't... I can't see."

"You're going to be okay." Kavanagh stepped away.

Footsteps. More people. An odd rumbling throughout his body.

"Is he infected?" an unfamiliar voice asked.

"He's likely been poisoned," Kavanagh said briskly. "Symptoms make me think methanol."

"I'm going to get that woman."

Ah. The rumbling was coming from Val. He tried to reach out for her, to make her calm down before she lost control, but he was energy trapped within a body that didn't obey him any longer.

"Confirm what she used as soon as possible so we can treat it immediately," Kavanagh said. "In the meantime, take a blood test, and somebody see if she dropped the syringe somewhere."

"I'll stay with Peter," Layla said. "Hurry, Val."

The door slammed, and Peter knew Val was gone. He hoped she didn't kill anybody—for her sake.

# Sixteen

_V al_

* * *

She raced down the corridor, Peter's car keys in hand. If he died, she was going to destroy Meredith, no questions asked. She caught the scent of panic and followed it, her hellhound instincts zeroing in on her prey. She made it to the carpark as Meredith was leaving, but she no longer worried. She would catch her worm, early or late. All she had to do was let the hellhound enjoy the hunt.

_But Peter might run out of time first_ , a small voice in her head whispered. She didn't want that. _Not that_. She shook off the lure of a prolonged hunt and tried to concentrate. She needed to be faster than her prey.

She hopped into Peter's car and mentally thanked it when it started on the first go. She squealed out of the carpark, busting through the barrier instead of waiting to use a parking ticket. Something rolled off the car, and there was a bump as she drove over it, but she couldn't care less. The only thing she saw was her target in her mind's eye.

She sped onto the street, almost knocking down a cyclist who came too close. She turned onto the main street and spotted Meredith's car stuck in traffic right ahead. Abandoning Peter's car at the side of the road, she raced toward Meredith's vehicle. The woman must have noticed her, because as Val grew closer, Meredith leapt out of the car and tried to escape on foot.

Val soon caught up to her, hauling the woman into the air by the scruff of her shirt. Meredith screamed, drawing attention. A group of people gathered around them, but one look at Val's red eyes kept them from interfering. The hellhound fed off the scent of their fear, and Val grew in height and width, surging with power she had kept hidden for a long time.

"What did you inject him with?" she bellowed, her voice deep and monstrous.

Meredith cried out in fear, but she still refused to answer.

"You _will_ be arrested," Val snarled. She set Meredith onto the ground then grabbed the scruff of her neck and hauled her back toward the hospital. Meredith fell, so Val dragged the woman after her instead. "You _will_ suffer for what you've done, murderer." She made a sound that reminded her of her father. "And you _will_ tell me what you did to Peter Brannigan."

Meredith wept all the way back to the hospital, screaming out for help. A couple of bystanders warily approached Val, but she let out a roar that knocked them off their feet. That felt so _good_. Red blurred the edges of her vision. She couldn't lose control, not until she had answers, but she itched to smash Meredith's skull against the pavement.

She broke the doors to the hospital with a kick then threw Meredith into the reception area.

"Help me!" Meredith wailed.

Shane stood, the taste of his confusion ripe on Val's tongue. "What are you doing?"

"Where did they take Peter?" Val managed to say.

Shane looked from the pleading human back to Val. "I'll show you the way."

She relaxed slightly.

Meredith stopped crying and grew defiant instead. "You'll burn like the rest," she screamed at Shane.

Val wrapped her hand around the woman's throat, tempted to squeeze, to choke the life out of her. The pain she had caused...

"Val?" Shane said softly.

Val shuddered then gripped Meredith's arm and pulled her after Shane.

Peter had been taken to an empty room. Kavanagh and Layla were with him, along with a couple of nurses. The nurses exchanged horrified looks at the sight of Meredith.

"Thank God!" Meredith gasped. "You have to help me."

"No," one of the nurses said. "You make me sick." She returned to her work. The others, looking disgusted, followed her lead.

"You're as bad as them," Meredith said. "You make _me_ sick!"

Layla stood before Meredith, her arms folded across her chest. "What was in that injection?" she demanded. "Why is he getting worse?"

"Because it was a final, lethal dose," Meredith said in a boastful tone. "They kept recovering too quickly, so the doses had to be intensified, adjusted for each person. His body has no idea what to do. But that won't kill him. I adjusted the dosage myself because I knew this would be my last visit. So it's the poison that'll kill him while his body is freaking out trying to fight back against the disease. He's done for now. He has hours at best left."

Val shoved her. The woman fell then giggled hysterically. "Doesn't matter what you do to me. I can't help him."

"Why would you do this?" Layla asked. "How did this even start?"

Val felt a slight change in the air and relaxed. Layla was working her magic, taking some of the fear and anger away from them all. It helped, but it weakened the hound.

Meredith sniffled. "I... I lost my job, my home, _my life_ because of you monsters. The only work I could get was with an experimental drug trial. I was the only one who didn't quit, the only one who was strong, so I was chosen for better things. I was told to find a placement here and report on patient treatment and recovery. I've seen exactly what those little syringes can do. _He's_ not going to make it." Her smile made Val sick. "And I'm glad."

"Is he overdosing on methanol?" Kavanagh demanded. "Was that your final plan for these people?"

Meredith reacted just enough to confirm Kavanagh's suspicions.

"You poisoned him," Kavanagh said in an unusually harsh voice. "And if you worked on these drug trials you're so proud of, then you'll have witnessed the experimentation that goes with it. And the cures."

"There's no cure," Meredith said quickly. "Even if you deal with the poison, his body is too weak. He can't fight this." She threw a scornful glance Peter's way. "You're. Too. Late."

"Don't lie to me, Nurse."

Meredith pressed her lips together.

"There has to be an antidote for the virus," Kavanagh said, taking Peter's vitals. "Nobody would risk creating something like this without working on a cure. We'll deal with the poison, but if there's something we miss..."

"I didn't _make_ it," Meredith said scornfully. "I just administered it. People far more clever than you made this."

Kavanagh raised her eyebrows. "Did you feel clever when you used it, Meredith?"

Meredith spat. The spittle didn't reach the doctor.

"Who made it?" Val said.

Meredith merely smiled.

"Meredith, help," one of the nurses said. "That's our job. Stop making it worse!"

"Sacrifices have to be made," Meredith said. "I can't help that. Not now."

"She's crazy," Layla said in disgust.

"I know," Val said. "What turns somebody who saves lives into somebody who takes them?"

"It's not murder," Meredith snapped, completely undone. "Not when it's freeing the world of aberrations. I hate you animals, and when the packages started arriving for me in the post, I knew I had to use them."

"Packages from whom?" Layla asked with a great deal more patience than Val could muster.

Meredith stared at the floor. "Friends."

"Who ran the drug trials?" Kavanagh asked. "Where was it run?"

"In a warehouse." Meredith hesitated, for the first time, appearing uncertain.

"You don't even know who's responsible, do you?" Val threw her hands up into the air. "You injected people with this crap, and you didn't even know who sent it?"

Meredith raised her chin. "I have friends who think like me."

"Who?" Val demanded. "Humans First? Are they your friends?"

Meredith folded her arms across her chest and looked away. "At least they're not monsters."

"If you think murdering people for no reason doesn't make you a monster, then we're the least of your concern," Layla said.

" _They_ tolerate this mess," Meredith said. "Am I the only one who sees the truth? Monsters like you are slowly killing us, and people like _them_ let it happen. I was driven out of my home by monster-loving thugs, had to go to work every day and hear from these sick people giving up on real medicine to go to you sluts instead." She rubbed her sleeve across her nose. "And then run back to us for help when it all goes wrong. As if we have to drop everything for some ungrateful shits who don't know—"

"So you kill them?" Kavanagh said evenly. "That's your plan for anyone who doesn't agree with you?

"Oh, I found people who agreed with me. Online, at meetings. I found people who understood that it's about what's right and natural! This isn't how it's supposed to be!"

"If we're so unnatural, then how do we all exist in the first place?" Layla said.

A sneer formed on Meredith's lips. "I know all about how _you_ exist. I wonder what the world would think if they all knew the truth."

Layla's cheeks flushed with colour. "Oh, shut up."

Meredith let out a humourless laugh. "Now I have you scared. That's what we want. You should know you can't fool all of us." She shot Peter a disgusted look. "I did the right thing. I'm not ashamed. I acted for the greater good, to save the human race before it's too late."

"Saving the... by _killing_ them?" Val couldn't tell if the woman was crazy or merely so devoted to her cause that she couldn't think logically anymore.

"We won't take it laying down," Meredith said. "We won't let you kill us off and use us. We won't let you enslave us."

"Nobody's trying to enslave you," Layla snapped.

Val glanced at the fearful look in her eyes and wondered what it was that Meredith knew about the succubi, decided she didn't actually care.

"Really?" Meredith glared at Layla. "Tell that to the house full of human children who were born slaves."

"The last person to have slaves was human," Val said. "And those children are monsters, too, by your standards."

"Lies. That poor man was set up. Everybody knows it. Everybody. And don't think we haven't realised the truth about those children. You monsters took them and tried to twist them into your likeness. It won't work. We're fighting back." Her eyes gleamed. "And the world will know about the succubi killing humans soon. It's going to hit the papers, and all of this will be worth it."

She'd had quite enough of listening to Meredith's ramblings. "I'm going to Humans First. If they've been sending her these doses, then they must have a cure."

"And if they don't?" Layla asked.

Val kept a lid on her panic. "Peter, I'll be back. Just... rest."

He didn't respond, but she ignored that part. He couldn't die. Not Peter Brannigan. It wasn't possible. And it certainly wasn't going to happen on her watch.

Kavanagh followed her out of the room. "If you find who's responsible, make sure we hear what was in that syringe immediately, so we can help him."

"Could he die?"

"We're trying to stabilise him, but that's exactly what these people will have planned for, so I need to be sure our treatment isn't what's hurting him." Kavanagh hesitated. "He's deteriorating quickly. Just... hurry, okay?"

Val ran. She took Peter's car and tried not to think too hard about how frail he looked back at the hospital. Meredith was a pitiful creature, too close to madness to see the truth of her own actions. Somebody had manipulated her. Somebody smarter.

At the Humans First office, she swung open the front doors, letting her true self shine through. This time, she wanted to intimidate. She slammed on the counter at the main desk. Security came running from every direction. Had they been waiting for her?

"I dare you," she said through teeth that felt too large for her mouth.

One uniformed man rushed up behind her to use a taser on her. Who had given Humans First permission to use tasers? An electrical charge surged through her, but she didn't even flinch. Felt nothing but her rage. Her cold laugh sent him backing away, dropping his weapon.

"Don't even bother," she snarled. "Who's in charge here?"

A woman leaned over the bannisters from the upper floor. "I am, and the police have been notified. They're on their way."

"Good!" Val bellowed. "Let them come so I can direct them to the nurse who's been killing patients in the name of Humans First."

"We can't control what our supporters do," the woman said.

Blood. All the hellhound wanted was to spill blood. Val picked up a fake plant and threw it at the wall instead. "She told us she was sent the poison by you people. She acted on your behalf because you supplied her."

"What poison? We don't keep poison." The woman looked flustered, but Val didn't scent a lie. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Then you better make sure your legal team is well prepared because you're about to fall into a shitstorm of trouble. And if I find out you lied to me, or that somebody here is hiding the truth," she twirled around to take a good look at the gaping people around her, "then I will be back, and next time, I won't look like this."

She let out a roar that cracked windows and sent everyone but the woman upstairs to their knees. Interesting.

Val stared at her.

"I'm in control around here. There is no poison, no plot. I guarantee it. I can't help you anymore, so you need to leave," the woman said meaningfully.

Val understood all at once. The woman wasn't even human. So who was she spying for? The Senate?

She strode out of the building. Humans First had no idea about Meredith. The woman had been manipulated by somebody who knew too much. But who?

Back in the car, she took one last look through the files Peter had deemed important. Her eyes fell to a sheet of paper that was upside down, and she saw it clearly. The same symbol that Carl had discovered on the search for a slave trader. Declan Egan, an evil, now dead, human had hidden the symbol in his business logos—the same symbol he branded on his slaves. She looked at the name of the company and could have groaned. It had been right in front of them all along.

The lab. Echo Global Research Centre. It was the only place with high-tech equipment, according to Kavanagh. The place that had gotten blood samples. What was it Meredith had said? The dosage was adjusted for each patient. Which meant they had been using a combination of succubi DNA, human DNA, and possibly even an ancient disease to infect innocent people. So where was the cure? Why hadn't they shown up to save the day and earn themselves a bumper payday? Had it always been a plan to frame the succubi?

She drove to the lab. No wonder they hadn't let her in before. Parked right outside the building, she looked in the boot of Peter's car. She strapped a sword to her back then took out her mace. She felt complete with it in her hands—untouchable.

Fully armed, she strode over to the front doors of the building. This time, she didn't press the buzzer. She hefted the mace in her hands, swung, and smashed right through the glass doors. Destruction fed the hellhound almost as keenly as blood.

An alarm immediately went off. She didn't care, desired confrontation. She kept going, forcing her way inside. She walked down a hallway full of doors. All empty rooms, but she smashed the glass panels anyway. The action gave her somewhere to put all of the boiling rage she was struggling to contain.

A woman screamed nearby, and the sounds of doors slamming echoed upstairs. The scream sent her into full shift. She sucked in a deep breath as scents and sounds merged, as her spikes protruded to their full length, as the need to destroy almost overtook her completely.

_Don't forget Peter_.

She shook off her initial murderous instincts and followed the noises, breaking down doors and any equipment she passed to appease the hound. The lower floors were full of small, clean labs. She made quick work of those, broken glass crunching underfoot as she strode to the stairwell.

It was on the third floor that she found the main lab, where a group of terrified looking scientists had gathered to hide. The room covered most of the floor and was obviously used as an operating room—and a testing centre.

She smashed her way into the room, the scent of cleaned up blood driving her crazy. Fear had been embedded in the surfaces. Somebody had suffered in that room.

She walked along an aisle of counters full of jars and vials, all full. She smashed everything she could reach.

A man who had been hiding under one of the counters tried to run, fell, and held up a silver cross with shaking hands when she leaned over him.

"Do I look like a vampire to you?" she bellowed.

"A... a... you're from Hell." So they knew her.

"And you have no faith in your little cross." She lifted him then flung him over the counter. A woman screamed and was hurriedly silenced by her colleagues.

"The police are on their way," a man in a suit warned from across the room. "You might as well leave." He was calming sitting in a chair. She hadn't even noticed him at first.

"Are you in charge here?" she demanded.

"Yes," he said. "I run this facility. We have no money, nothing you can sell."

"I don't want money," she said. "I want a cure for the disease you sent to Meredith Mulhern. She infected my friend with a lethal dose, and I'm not leaving until I have the cure for him."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said.

_Lies_.

She let out a sound she didn't know she was capable of. The air heated with it. The staff cowered, covering their ears. One woman fainted, while a man bled from his ears. The two dozen staff members—including the calm man in charge—moved toward the back of the room, and she stalked them.

"The cure," she said in a voice that didn't sound like her own. The hellhound was taking over. She smashed a counter clean in half then destroyed a table full of microscopes. She spun, grabbed the woman closest to her, and flung her to the floor. She dropped the mace and unsheathed her sword, laying the blade against the back of the woman's neck.

" _Now_ ," she commanded. "Before I cut off her head to throw at you."

"Do it," the manager said calmly. "We don't know what you're talking about." But he sank back with relief when the sounds of Shay's IAs bursting through the main doors drifted upwards. "It's too late," he said. "They'll shoot you before you can swing."

"I can crush her skull with my hand," Val said. "And a hellhound isn't so easy to kill." She bared her teeth. "Or stop."

"Please," the woman said. "I have children."

"So does my friend!"

She whimpered. "I... I'll show you where the cure is."

"Quiet, Miriam!" the manager barked.

"Where is it?" Val asked.

"In a safe in his office. I don't know the code."

"I don't need codes," Val sneered. "What else was in the final dose?"

"I'll tell you anything you need to know. Just please don't hurt me. I—"

She grabbed the woman's hair and steered her out of the room as IAs filled the landing.

"Val!" Shay cried, pushing his way to the front of the group. "What are you doing?"

"Peter's dying," she said. "These people caused it, and now I'm here for the cure."

"What are you—"

"Back off," she said with a growl. "I'm not in a good mood right now, Shay."

"I can't let you hurt anyone." He approached her slowly.

She let out another howl, and Quinn pulled Shay back. "Let her get the cure," she murmured. "Then she'll calm."

"I'll never calm," Val insisted. "This is another one of Declan Egan's places, creating disease to set up the succubi."

"Egan's dead," Shay said as though he were speaking to a child.

"Yet his work lives on. You. Show me the safe."

The crying hostage nodded and kept walking. Val followed, wondering what she would do if Shay really tried to stop her. She decided she didn't want to kill him if she could help it. "Call Layla," she shouted. "She'll explain."

In the office, Val smashed the safe.

"Everything you're looking for is in there," her hostage said. "Please, can I go?"

"No. Now take it."

With shaking hands, the woman retrieved a briefcase full of papers and some vials from the safe.

Bloodlust made Val's head pound. "If this doesn't work, I will kill you, and it won't be quick."

"Please," the woman said. "We just work here. We didn't kill anyone."

"No, you just gave a mad woman the means." She shoved the woman out of the room, still holding on to her hair. "I have what I came for," she told Shay. "And I'm taking it and this woman back to Peter to save his life."

"I have to arrest you," Shay said. "But Quinn will take the cure to Peter right now. And the woman, if she can help him. That work for you, Val?"

She considered the deal. She was exhausted, but she could rest if Shay helped. He and Quinn had been allies in the past. Peter often talked about Shay, how he'd helped him when Emmett went missing as a baby.

"All right." She handed over the briefcase. "You'll need to arrest the rest of these people, too."

"I'm on it," he said, carefully handing the things to Quinn. Her human partner took possession of the woman, too.

"There's a doctor with Peter," Val said. "Noeleen Kavanagh. She'll make good use of the research in there, I think. Make sure she gets it."

Quinn left with the cure, her partner, and the trembling scientist.

Val leaned against the wall, completely worn out. She hadn't realised how badly she wanted Peter to survive until he started dying on her. But it was done. The cure would work—it had to—and everyone would get exactly what they deserved.

# Seventeen

_P eter_

* * *

His vision came back slowly, blurred lights that struggled for clarity. Something wet bubbled around his lips, and a hand held his firmly. Deft hands poked and prodded at his skin, moving to his eyes and mouth and back again. Kavanagh's lilac and powder perfume reminded him of funerals as she leaned over him to check his vitals.

Oddly, there was no pain. The hand in his squeezed. The succubus was helping. Nice of her, considering how he'd treated her. He squeezed back.

All of a sudden, a beeping sound filled his ears, and it was as though he'd come up for air because noises crashed around him, and a light somewhere above his head gave him a headache.

Soon, he began to distinguish voices, and the one closest was Layla.

"We have the cure," she said anxiously. "You're going to be okay. You'll be dosed every couple of hours for that, and twice a day for the poison, but you're already improving. I know it doesn't feel like it, but I'll stay with you and help you through the pain."

"Val," he choked out. That was almost a word, and all he could manage.

"She got herself arrested getting you the antidote at the lab," Layla said with a weak laugh. "Don't worry. She'll be released as soon as she calms down."

Val had obviously hulked out again. But if she'd gotten herself arrested that meant she hadn't lost control completely. She would be okay. He closed his eyes and relaxed. The job was done. They'd made a mess of everything, but it was over.

He opened his eyes and found Layla playing a card game with Emmett. He tried to speak but couldn't, so he listened to them talk instead. He was alive. For a minute there, he'd given up hope completely. For years, he'd been convinced he'd die in battle at the hands of a monster, but a tiny human with a syringe had almost taken him out. A new perspective.

Emmett was giggling at something Layla said. God, he loved that sound. And he heard it all the time now. He'd thought he needed Ava to bring out Emmett's happiness, but all he really needed was patience. He watched his son interact with a succubus as though they were both normal, ordinary people who had never suffered hardship. Bullshit numbers on a scale meant nothing. Emmett was a person, and he'd never let anyone jeopardise his son's safety.

Layla caught Peter's eye. Her smile seemed so genuine, it confused him. "Look who finally woke up, Emmett."

"Dad?" Emmett rushed over and fell on to his father.

Peter gathered his arms around his boy and breathed deeply. It hurt, but it was the best kind of pain.

"I was scared, Dad."

"I love you," Peter murmured. "I'll never leave you."

Emmett relaxed against him. Time had changed so much between them.

Kavanagh entered the room then, interrupting everything. "Oh, you're awake," she said with a beaming smile. "How are you feeling?"

Peter kissed Emmett's hair. "Better."

"Uh-huh." She beckoned Emmett to her. "Let's let your da get some rest for now. You can come back tomorrow." She glanced at Layla. "Hopefully Val will be able to visit, too."

Peter wanted to protest, but he was too exhausted to argue. Kavanagh lured Emmett out of the room with vague promises of letting him play with hospital equipment.

Layla leaned over Peter's bed and pressed her palm against his forehead. "Thank you," she said.

His eyes refused to stay open after that.

He woke up later that night to find a girl in his room. He blinked a couple of times. A drip was attached to her arm, and she was quietly playing with her phone on the chair next to his bed.

"Jamie?" he said.

The girl looked at him and smiled shyly. "Hey."

She looked different while awake, but that sounded creepy, even in his head, so he kept his mouth shut.

"I heard you've been visiting me, so I thought I'd return the favour." She gestured with her good arm. "Staff are pretty busy."

"Everyone's... waking up?"

"Yeah." Her face fell. "I was first. I have a lot to thank you for." She looked uncomfortable. "We all would have died if you didn't help, and then there's Riley."

"Riley's safe," he said. "The most popular dog in my neighbourhood right now."

She huffed out a sharp laugh. "Riley's a good dog, just..."

"Crazy?"

"I was going to say badly trained. I tried, I did, I was just too tired for her."

"You're sick," he said.

"Nobody can really figure it out completely." She shrugged. "They've confirmed a couple of minor things that make life harder, but people can't see the symptoms, so they think I'm faking. Dr. Kavanagh says I have to take care of myself better. Could you..." She bit her lip. "Do you think you could hang on to Riley for a bit longer?"

"Yes," he said without even thinking about.

She looked relieved and scared. "But... could I visit her?"

"Of course," he said, an odd ache in his heart. "Any time you like."

"Thanks. Are you sure you can take her?"

"She saved me from being beaten up," he joked. "It's the least I can do for her."

Her expression blanked over. "Sounds like Riley." She bent her head and went back to her phone.

He already knew he would take the dog for as long as Jamie needed.

The next morning, Emmett arrived with Carl and Ava in tow.

Peter was sitting up alone by then, already feeling a lot better.

"How are you doing, lazybones?" Carl asked, handing him a paper bag. Knowing Carl, it was full of confectionary.

"Better." Peter nodded at Emmett. "I hope you're not staying up all night."

Emmett shook his head, looking a little too innocent.

Ava gave him a gentle push. "Not _all_ night."

Peter snorted. "The dog okay?"

"Dita's spoiling her as we speak," Carl said.

"We might have to dogsit for a while longer," Peter said. "Her owner won't be able to take her back for a while."

That got Emmett excited. He glanced at Ava. He'd been afraid to look in her eyes, afraid of the things he might see—or worse, wouldn't. But something had changed. No matter what happened, he had a feeling that he was going to be okay.

# Eighteen

Val

* * *

It took too long to calm down, but she came back from the edge and fit into her own skin again. Shay had been sheepish about arresting her, but she understood. It was better than the alternative.

"Where are you going now?" he'd asked warily before she left her cell.

"To see Peter." Then she was going home to Leah to spend time with the person who mattered most to her.

When she arrived at the hospital, she managed to avoid most of the staff and found Peter with Kierán Gaynor. She stopped at the door, surprised. "You're both awake then."

Peter grinned. "Alive and kicking. And you're free."

"For now." She shrugged. "I think I might be on some kind of watchlist from now on though."

Peter's expression briefly changed before returning to neutral. "I was just telling Kierán that his wife doesn't need to pay us because we were hired by Layla instead."

Kierán stared at his feet. "It's all a bit embarrassing, really. Having strangers know your secrets. And Fidelma. Can't seem to look her in the eye right now."

"She stayed," Val said. "By your side, even when she learned about the lies."

"She's tried so hard to make us work," he said. "But I just gave up."

"Almost dying puts things into perspective." She stuffed her hands into her pockets to hide her clenched fists. "Maybe you'll see what really matters now and start over with Fidelma."

"Maybe." He got to his feet. "But maybe not. I'll leave you now. Thanks for the help. I've learned I'm better off keeping out of things I don't understand."

He shuffled out of the room in silence.

Peter sighed when the door closed. "Poor man. It doesn't sound good for his marriage."

She sat in the nearest chair, thoroughly exhausted.

"So," he said. "What happened? What did you do to get arrested?"

"Went full hellhound." She squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to erase the images in her head. She hadn't just gone full hellhound—she'd enjoyed it, too.

"I thought you couldn't control yourself like that."

"So did I." She sat up straight and looked at him. "But I did. I knew exactly what I was doing. I was just mad about you and everything else. I really did not want you to die, Brannigan."

"Thanks," he said with a grin.

"I just don't have much else other than this job, and you're... I suppose we're friends now. And friends... talk."

"You don't have to," he said kindly. "I won't make you."

"I think I might want to let go of some of this." She cupped her hands together. "It's too much. I don't get close to people because I can't let go of anything. I can't move on, can't get past things that normal people get past. I cling on to everything because it's what keeps me... human, you'd call it."

"I'm going with person these days."

She tried to smile but failed. The muscles in her face didn't want to work that hard. "I feel so pathetic. So foolish. I'm mortified, but I was scared of Lucia ending things. She avoided me for so long, and I let her because I was terrified of what would happen. But I couldn't run forever, and she ended it in the worst way. She made me feel like dirt, like nothing, like she had always been better than me, and I was the bit of rough to kill some time with."

"She's not better than you."

She met his gaze. His eyes were hard and angry. "You're wrong. I was never good enough for her, but I didn't care because I felt so calm around her. So... at ease. Nothing was difficult between us, even though she doesn't speak in the conventional sense. She made it clear she was ending it because of me, and if I could change, I would, Peter, because I'd do anything to have her back, but..."

His hand reached out and held hers. She gripped back as tight as she dared.

"I can only be me. I can't be anyone else, but I'm weak, so I stayed at the sanctuary thinking that maybe if she saw me all the time, she'd figure out she really wanted me, and everything would go back to normal. But it didn't. It can't. It _won't_."

They sat in silence for a while.

The pain cut through her as though trying to make its way out. "How do you do it?" Her voice broke. "How do you just go around living knowing she doesn't love you anymore?"

"Ah, Val," he said thickly.

Her shoulders shook before she could stop the silent sob. "It hurts to know she's there, living a normal life without me. She doesn't need me, isn't hurting, and I'm here, falling apart. It's too much." She sucked in a breath. "The only time it hasn't hurt was when I let the hellhound take over. Suffer or be a monster. How's that for a cosmic joke?"

"You're not a monster," he said. "And she's not the world. The pain will get easier to manage with time. But you can't wallow. You can't put her on a pedestal and pretend she was the perfect one."

"She came close." She shuddered as she remembered the exact moment Lucia severed her heart in two. "But she looked like him when she ended it. Like Phoenix. That smug, haughty _fae_ look. For a minute there, I wanted to strangle her. There really is a monster in me, and maybe that's why I don't deserve love. Maybe I'm supposed to be alone."

"You're supposed to be happy," he said. "And you deserve the same things as anyone else. If Lucia can't see what she had, then she's too dumb to have it. You saved my life, Val, stopped my son from becoming an orphan. And if it makes you feel better, I know exactly how you feel."

She looked at him and saw the pain behind his eyes. She supposed he did know how it felt.

She bumped into Kavanagh on the way out of the hospital. The woman was standing outside, having a cigarette.

Kavanagh blushed when she noticed Val. She held up the cigarette. "Old habits die hard."

"You deserve a vice after the week you've had," Val said, dawdling. She didn't want to go back home anymore.

"I need a few more after today." Kavanagh leaned back against the wall and sighed. "It's been good though. Feeling useful. The notes you uncovered give me a headache. So much time and intelligence wasted on something so callous and vindictive. That woman the IAs brought here to help. She seemed so normal, but she took part, too, and for what? Money? But it's Meredith's face I can't stop thinking about. I heard they stuck her in some mental institution, but when we confronted her she seemed just... evil."

"Surprised?"

"Yes." Kavanagh frowned. "All of the work she did in her life to get to this point. It makes me sick that she'd use a hospital to punish people based on a set of made-up morals. What if there are more people like Meredith out there? More companies researching what amounts to biological warfare? We obviously aren't equipped to deal with it. I mean, you and your partner sort of accidentally fell into this. Imagine if you hadn't been around?"

Val had been imagining it for the past two days. "Things will change now."

Kavanagh stubbed out the cigarette. "Let's hope." She didn't go back inside.

Val shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Do you want to go for a drink?" she blurted. "As friends, I mean, as a celebration." She took a deep breath. "To celebrate a happy outcome for everyone."

"Except Meredith," Kavanagh said with a smile. "And yeah, I'll be free in about three hours. Where do you want to meet?"

Val was too stunned to say anything for a moment. She didn't encourage friendship or familiarity, so what on earth had possessed her to reach out? But she'd left something behind in Peter's room, an anchor of fear and self-doubt. Remnants would always remain, but if she wanted to be a... _person_ , then she had to start acting like one.

# Nineteen

Peter

* * *

Peter signed himself out of the hospital a couple of days later. He was feeling better, just tired, and he didn't want to miss the meeting. The Senate had requested a full outline of events, and Peter wanted to be there to see their faces.

A lot had happened in a short period of time. Kavanagh's new lab was busy studying the synthetic disease while Shay's agents were making progress into EGRC's background. Initially founded by the late Declan Egan, his overseas partners had continued funding the laboratory's projects—although there had been trouble locating all of the sources. Shay was pretty confident that one originated inside Ireland, but all of the connected accounts had been shut down already.

The man who ran the lab had been found dead in his jail cell before he could make a statement. The lure of police protection—and shorter sentences—had been used to get the rest of the staff to talk. According to their collective knowledge, Infection X had initially been intended to act as a semi-controlled test. They didn't know the next phase of the plan, only that EGRC was part of a worldwide industry involved in shady dealings. The Senate had already been able to inform several other ruling bodies about the connections they had uncovered.

After his death, Declan Egan's belongings had legally passed on to his brother who had been completely unaware of EGRC. After being informed of his latest inheritance, he promptly donated the research lab—fully stocked, apart from Val's warpath—to the Senate. Thanks to Layla, Kavanagh had gotten a new job, and the succubi were completely in the clear.

Val had learned from Kavanagh that the scientists working at EGRC had revived ancient samples of disease garnered from a number of artefacts. They'd used succubus blood along with samples of the patient blood to create a modified version of the disease. One that could be linked to the succubi on a surface level. And as they were the lab who would end up doing the work, EGRC could easily adjust the paperwork. Despite the drug trials they had run along the way, the disease had proved unpredictable. Meredith had helped them keep track of which clients showed symptoms. At that point, they focused their efforts into synthesising an incurable disease tailored for each person while preying on their autoimmune deficiencies.

Their plans terrified Peter when he heard it all. Meredith wasn't the only person to have been arrested outside of the lab—although she was the only one deemed unfit to stand trial. A Humans First secretary was also arrested for supplying supporter information to the lab, which led them to Meredith in the first place. Peter suspected that whoever had been sending orders to EGRC had been the ones who ultimately drove her to madness while convincing her that supernaturals were to blame.

Peter sat in his car for a long moment to gather himself before driving to the Senate meeting. He still felt weak. Val had promised to update everyone on his behalf, but it was better to show his face.

They had already started by the time he arrived. Layla smiled at him when he walked into the old courthouse. She had been kind in the hospital, he supposed. And she owed him a lot. It had been his semi-conscious idea to contact the reporter Áine O'Neill and break the true story. They had been just in time—a fabricated version had been about to hit a rival newspaper.

He moved to Val's side at the front of the room.

She shot him a concerned glance. "Should you be walking?" she murmured.

"I'm fine," he said. "Carry on." He took a seat though. Val sat next to him instead of standing. She carried on relaying everything that had happened before the Senate.

"Wait a second," Peter said, thinking of something as she told the story piece by piece. "Who exactly enforced the health checks in the first place? And hired EGRC, too."

James swallowed hard before raising his hand. "I thought the health checks were a good idea. And the company were well-recommended."

Phoenix snapped his head around. "Did you come up with the idea all on your own?"

James looked terrified. "I... no."

"Whose idea was it?" The fae prince's tone had turned ice cold.

"Declan Egan," James said reluctantly. "I didn't know! It sounded like a great idea, a way of protecting people, of stopping more embarrassing stories about us. I had to do something!"

"You fool," Phoenix snarled. "You don't deserve a place on this Senate. You barely deserve to breathe, you imbecile."

"I didn't know then that Egan was insane!" James protested. "And diseases can happen! We have to be prepared."

Callista rested her hand on Phoenix's arm. A calm aura emitted from the siren. "We can discuss this another time."

Val continued her story, but Phoenix had obviously stopped listening, choosing to sit there and sulk instead.

Peter observed the Senate's reactions as Val spoke. They seemed eager to move on from the event. But if they didn't prepare themselves, they'd face similar situations again. The problem had likely started because they chose to delegate to the wrong people while listening to bad advice. He was starting to wonder why the Senate even existed.

When it was all over, and they prepared to leave, Layla called Peter back.

"Hi," she said warmly. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah. Much." He rubbed the back of his head. "Listen, I've been meaning to ask you about one of your clients. Connor Daly?"

"Give me a moment." She closed her eyes, then her expression froze. "Ah."

"Ah?"

She opened her eyes and glared at him. "Connor Daly is no longer welcome at any of our houses. He's violent and unhinged."

"That sounds about right," Peter said under his breath.

"Is he a friend of yours?"

"Ex-husband of one of my neighbours. Her daughter needs to see him."

Her expression creased with concern. "Is that a good idea?"

"It's not my place to judge." He couldn't believe he'd just said that. By her raised eyebrows, Layla couldn't either.

"You're welcome to take his last known address from our files," she said. "Consider it a thank you for everything you did. If the plan had come together in full, the succubi would be on the Senate's most wanted list. We live because of you and Val."

"We didn't do a lot."

"There's another thing. I know you think what we do is distasteful, but I do help people. And I could help you, too."

He laughed then regretted the bitter sound. "You think I need help?"

"I know you do." She touched his arm. "You're surrounded by lingering pain that I can relieve you of. How I do that is up to you, but you've helped me, and now I want to help you in return. If you need it, I'll be there. It's an open offer."

His first instinct was to mock the suggestion, but he found himself saying, "Thanks."

On the way out, Val held out the door. "What was that about?"

"I've no idea." He tried to smile. "So. What now?"

Val bit her lip. "Now, I think I need to find a new place to live. Want to help me look?"

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and leaned on her. "Well, you did save my life."

Riley struggled on the lead, eager to dash away.

"You sure you want to do this?" Peter asked.

Dita nodded. "I want to hear what he has to say."

Peter spotted Dita's father sitting at a picnic table in the park. "Nervous?"

"A little." She swallowed hard. "I don't want to hurt my mother."

"She's not hurt," he said. "She understands you need this. Everyone deserves answers to their questions. What happened between your parents is between them. It doesn't have to affect how you feel about either of them. It's tough, kid, so I hope today helps."

She looked up at him. "Thank you for finding him."

He fought the urge to take her home. He'd learned enough about her father to know the man would never change. But she wasn't his child. He had to trust Anka knew what was best for her own daughter.

They reached the table and sat across from her father. His cheeks were puffy, and a trickle of sweat ran down his temple.

He shot Peter a suspicious glance. "Where's your mother?"

"She doesn't need to see you," Dita said. "I do."

He looked at his daughter, but he couldn't seem to focus on her. "Who's this? Her new boyfriend?"

"I'm a friend of the family," Peter said. "I'm the one who called you to set this up."

Connor rubbed his nose. "I wanted your mother here. I need to speak to Anka."

"She doesn't want to see you," Peter said, trying to stay calm.

The man slammed his fists onto the table. "It's not her place to decide!"

Riley whined.

Peter glanced at Dita. She had a resigned look on her face.

"I think it's time to go," she said softly.

Her father reached across the table and roughly grabbed her arm. "Wait! You only just got here."

"You're hurting me."

Riley snarled.

Peter pinched the man's wrist to force him to let go. "Don't put your hands on her like that again."

"She's my daughter!" he bellowed. "Not yours!"

Dita got up from the bench, took Riley's lead, then walked away as though nothing was happening. Peter didn't know how she stayed so calm.

Peter stood to follow her. Connor Daly lunged at him, but Peter managed to incapacitate him without much drama. Peter left him there on his knees, clutching his sore throat.

"I'm sorry," he said when he caught up to Dita.

"He wasn't like that before," she said, holding her chin up high. "It was bad, but he's worse now."

"I... maybe if somebody else had taken you."

"It doesn't matter," she said. "He just wanted my mother there so he could remind her that he's the boss. I think he used to care about me, but now he's too obsessed with fixing her to think about me. I'm glad I came. I wanted to see if he'd changed, or if he had an excuse for how he acted, but he's just a big bully." She glanced at Peter. "Can we go home now?"

Peter's heart hurt at the look in her eyes. "Want to pick up some ice-cream first?"

Her smile was weak but real. "That's a great idea."

As they walked away from Dita's past, Peter wondered why a child was so much more sensible about holding her pain like a burden than he could ever be. Maybe Layla's offer wasn't so crazy, after all.

# About the Author

For more information, check out Claire Farrell's blog or email the author. Sign up to be notified of new releases or like the Facebook page for more regular updates. Click here for an updated series reading order.

Contact Me:

  *     @doingitwritenow
  *     clairefarrellauthor

www.clairefarrellauthor.com

claire_farrell@live.ie

# Books by Claire Farrell:

**C haos Series:**

One Night with the Fae (Companion Prequel)

Soul (Chaos #1)

Fade (Chaos #2)

Queen (Chaos #3)

Usurper (Chaos #4)

Blight (Chaos #5)

Kings (Chaos #5.5)

Sacrifice (Chaos #6)

Chaos Volume 1 (Books 1-3)

Chaos Volume 2 (Books 4-6)

* * *

**A va Delaney Series (Completed):**

Thirst (Ava Delaney #1)

Taunt (Ava Delaney #2)

Tempt (Ava Delaney #3)

Taken (Ava Delaney #4)

Taste (Ava Delaney #5)

Traitor (Ava Delaney #6)

Awakening (Ava Delaney Volume I – Books 1-3)

Uprising (Ava Delaney Volume II – Books 4-6)

* * *

**L ost Souls Series:**

Tainted (Ava Delaney: Lost Souls #1)

Tethers (Ava Delaney: Lost Souls #2)

Tithes (Ava Delaney: Lost Souls #3)

Ava Delaney: Lost Souls - Volume 1

* * *

**V BI Series:**

Demon Dog (VBI #1)

Bad Blood (VBI #2)

* * *

**C ursed Series (Completed):**

Verity (Cursed #1)

Clarity (Cursed #2)

Adversity (Cursed #2.5)

Purity (Cursed #3)

Cursed Omnibus (Entire Cursed Series)

* * *

**S take You Series (Completed):**

Stake You (Stake You #1)

Make You (Stake You #2)

Break You (Stake You #3)

* * *

**S hort Story Collections:**

Sixty Seconds

A Little Girl in my Room

* * *

**O ther:**

Death is a Gift (A standalone banshee novel)

Zombie Moon Rising (A Peter Brannigan Novella)

Ghost Moon Rising (A Peter Brannigan Novella)

Crucible (A Phoenix Novella)

Bind (An Esther Novella)

Relativity (A Lorcan & Lucia Novella)
