32
ASTONISHING ADVENTURES MAGAZINE
darkness was a relief after the harsh light of the diner. I slipped off my sunglasses and looked around. Nobody else was in the parking lot. I took another look, looking closely at the shadows. Nothing. I always take that extra look around, to see if there’s anything lurking that shouldn’t be. I was busy the next few days. A shape-shifter hooker had been killed out in Calabasas and nobody could figure out if she was the target or if some deranged fan had wanted to snuff the woman she was mimicking, a sexy Oscarwinning actress. Everybody’s a critic. I finally called Jon Etebari to see if he could fill me in on what was going on with his boss. He said he had some things to tell me, asked me if we could meet. I swear, I don’t know what it is with the paras and face-to-face communication. It’s like they never heard of e-mail. I told him I’d drop by his office, an idea he quickly vetoed. Which meant Jonny was going to be telling tales out of school. Interesting. We met at a dog park off Beverly Glen. I found him playing with a happy little dog of indeterminate breed and extravagant fluffiness. “What’s his name?” I asked. “Killer,” he replied and grinned, picking up the wriggling dog one-handed and bringing it close to his face. “Who’s a killer? Are you a killer?” The dog licked his nose and he laughed, showing his teeth. Werewolves always have great teeth. “Actually,” he said, “his name is Oscar. Like the Muppet.” “I see the resemblance,” I said drily, because the dog was pretty much the least grouchy creature I’d ever met. I liked that he wasn’t embarrassed by the little dog, didn’t try to claim he was watching it for his girlfriend. “So what’s going on Jon?” I asked and watched as the lightness drained out of his face. He put the dog down and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I wanted you to see this.” He clicked a few buttons and brought up a
photo of Haarith on the screen. It was blurry, as all photos of vampires are, but even so you could see the hideous burn marks on his face and his arms. “He showed me his scars the other night.” “What you saw happened last week. This picture is from three months ago. It’s been happening a lot.” “A lot?” He nodded, looking at the picture again. “So, what do you think is happening/ “I think he might be …I think this is selfinflicted.” “Why on earth would he be doing that to himself?” He shook his head. “Something’s up with him. He’s been distracted lately. And he’s … is this off the record? “Sure.” My spidey sense started tingling. If he wanted this conversation off the record, he must be something really juicy to say. “He’s stopped playing chess with Ragno, says it bores him. He spends hours closeted in his office, says he’s writing his memoirs, but nobody’s seen any pages. He has trouble making decisions, even simple ones. Mickey’s been laying out his clothes every morning for weeks. Otherwise, he just wanders around in his pajamas.” Mickey would be Jon’s older brother Michael, who is, according to Google, in line to take over not only the business but the whole Etebari clan. “And what does Mickey think?” Jon made a sound that was not quite a growl. “Mickey thinks that as long as the checks clear, everything is fine.” I was surprised by Jon’s candor. Betas often butt heads with alphas but usually not in public and almost never in front of norms. And I was surprised by something else. There was genuine worry in Jon’s voice. “You’re fond of him.” “I feel sorry for him. Mr. B is running the whole show these days and he doesn’t even