“Locked,” Jeff said, glancing back at us.
“Allow me,” Damien said, sliding into Jeff’s spot, wiggling the knob, and then rapping his knuckles along the edges of the frame, as if testing for weakness.
“Stand back,” was the only warning we got, and he barely managed to finish the warning before his foot was up and out and he’d made contact, kicking the door in.
It flew open, slamming back against an interior wall with rattling force. When it swung forward again, still propelled by his momentum, he caught it in a hand, nodded at us.
“Not locked,” he simply said.
Quiet was Damien Garza. And effective.
The scent that wafted from the house was strong and not entirely welcoming. It wasn’t the smell of death—thank goodness—but of dirt. Old paper. Dust. Musty fabrics. And beneath it all, the acrid scent of animals. Cats, I thought. A few of them, considering the odor.
My eyes adjusted to the darkness. Aline’s house was small, dingy, and full of . . . everything. Dust motes floated through the few shafts of light that managed to penetrate the darkness and the tall columns of boxes, magazines, and flea-market finds. Ceramics from the 1970s competed with quilted jackets, and romance novels with bodice-ripping covers were stacked with tangled coat hangers.
“She’s a hoarder?” Damien asked.
Jeff nodded. “Apparently so.” He glanced around the room and the narrow paths through the stuff, then pointed at the pathway straight ahead. “Merit and I will go that way. You go to the right.”
“Roger that,” I said, and Damien quickly disappeared behind a towering stack of mismatched encyclopedias. I took a few steps into the other path, and Jeff fell in step behind me.
“So what’s the scoop on Damien?” I quietly asked.
“The scoop?”
“I’ve never seen him around before.”
“He stays behind the scenes,” Jeff added. I glanced back. He’d found a stack of magazines and papers and was flipping through them. He chuckled, pulled out a magazine, and held it up. Monthly Disco Review, read the cover, which featured a couple in flimsy chiffon beneath an enormous disco ball.
“A classic publication,” I said. “Better photographs than Disco Review Monthly and better articles than The Disco Month in Review.”
Jeff chuckled, as I’d meant him to.
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“Not avoiding,” Jeff said. “Just being discreet.” He slid the magazine back into its stack. “Damien handles the Pack’s messier matters. Sensitive matters.”
“He’s an enforcer?”
“He doesn’t have a title,” Jeff said. “He’s a trusted Pack member, and that’s all a nosy vampire needs to know.”
I snorted. “If I wasn’t nosy, Jeff Christopher, Gabriel wouldn’t want me here. It’s one of my finer qualities. And speaking of nosy, it looks like you and Fallon are getting along well.”
The circumstances might have been grim, but that didn’t stop the smile that lifted his lips. “We’re officially a couple.”
“Congratulations. I’m glad to hear it worked out.”
Something ghosted across his face, but he shook it off. “Me, too, Merit. Me, too.”
We walked quietly through the labyrinth.
“Looks like she found solace in this stuff,” Jeff said. “Or tried to.”
I nodded, gently pushing aside the dusty leaves of a silk houseplant as I walked past. The dust looked undisturbed, and there was no sign of life in the house. We continued down the path, the clearing so tight we couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of us, and crossed a threshold into a small bedroom. There was a bed, a single window, and piles of clothing and newspapers and knickknacks in every bit of the room that wasn’t occupied by the bed. The bed was neatly made, a glass of water on the side table. But a thin layer of dust covered the surface of the water.
“It looks like she hasn’t been here in a while,” I said.
“That’s my thought,” Jeff said. “But if she isn’t here, where is she?”
As if in answer, something skittered on the other side of the bed, rustling the ruffled curtain. I held up a hand to signal Jeff, pointed to it. He nodded me forward.
I took one step, then another, flipping the thumb guard on my sword as I moved. “Aline? Is that you?”
A stack of sweaters shuddered from the movement of some unseen foe. I swallowed, gripped the handle of my katana, and prepared to unsheathe it. “Jeff,” I whispered. “What animal is she?”
“I’m not sure. Gabe didn’t say.”
There in the dark, with shadows moving across unfamiliar towers of stuff, my brain decided she was a wolverine, teeth bared and claws exposed, pissed off and ready to defend herself.
I did not want a faceful of wolverine.
“Aline? Can you come out? We just want to talk.” I took another step forward.
Without warning, as quick as a fox, she attacked, a blur of black fur and teeth and bright green eyes. I let out a howl of surprise, my body jolting with fear, and slashed the air where the animal had attacked.
“Merit!” Jeff yelled out, rushing forward . . . as a small, sleek black cat dropped onto the bed. Oblivious to the commotion it had caused, the cat stuck its bottom into the air and began to knead the blanket.
Jeff howled with laughter.
I tried to slow my racing heart while mortification reddened my face. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“You screamed like a kid in a horror movie,” Jeff said, now doubled over and wiping tears from his eyes. “That was tremendous.”
“Any chance that cat’s a shifter?” I asked, hoping to save what remained of my pride.
“It’s barely a cat,” Jeff said, laughing as Damien emerged from a clearing across the room.
“Everything okay?”
“Merit found a monster,” Jeff said, gesturing toward my feline attacker. “And a fierce one.”
The cat looked up at Jeff and began to clean its paw.
“Thanks for the help, buddy,” I murmured, resheathing my sword and saying good-bye to what was left of my pride.
Damien glanced at me, and for the first time, I caught a glimpse of humor in his eyes. “I don’t suppose you actually found anything helpful?”
“Merit has decided she hasn’t been here in a while. I’d agree.”
“Although she hasn’t been gone long enough to bother the cat,” I said. Apparently clean enough, he sat on his haunches and looked between us, the picture of health.