Titan Song by Dan Stout (top 10 ebook reader .txt) 📕

same chestnut complexion, the same dimpled chin. But she didn’t have Paulus’s unemotional shark’s eyes. Gellica truly cared about the people around her, and was working to make the city a more livable place. But she’d had the bad luck to be born a product of Paulus’s ego, and to be raised under the wing of her mother and employer. Gellica carried as many secrets as I did.

She stood across from us, and I thought that maybe, just maybe, she was about to approach. Then she turned on a heel and walked into the house.

“Carter?” Jax’s voice was raised, as if he’d called to me more than once.

“Don’t bother, young man. He’s only seeing something he can’t have.” Paulus’s sunglasses were back on, and she straightened her suit. “I do need to be going. My security will see you out.” She nodded to one of her aides, who scampered off, no doubt to fetch guards to shadow us as we departed.

We climbed into the Hasam and rolled out to the street, where I pulled over and glared at the wrought-iron gate as it drew shut.

“Okay,” said Jax. “So what did we learn from that?”

I couldn’t stop seeing Gellica disappear through the front door. She was a creature of science and magic, created by Paulus in a lab with the help of an amoral researcher. Gellica was as much of a freak as I was. She needed manna to stay alive, and I needed her to remind me we weren’t alone. Maybe the only person in the world who could relate to my secret, and I’d ruined the relationship like I ruined all the others I’d ever had.

“Not much,” I said.

Jax hummed, fingers drumming a rhythm on his knee. “There was one thing. For all the extra security she’d picked up, Paulus didn’t seem terribly concerned by the death threats. But when you moved forward, Paulus’s reaction was to back up.”

I didn’t answer right away, replaying the scene in my head. He was right.

“She’s more frightened of you than of desperate roughnecks,” he said. “What does that tell us?”

He stared at me, and I stared at the drive leading to Paulus’s plush mansion, my fists clenched on the steering wheel.

“That I’m dangerous,” I said. “Even if I don’t want to be.”

We sat in silence until Jax’s pager buzzed, followed a moment later by my own. We both fished them out and read the tiny green screens. Code 187.

“Well,” he said. “Looks like we have another homicide victim to meet.” He lifted the mic and radioed Dispatch for the address. I put the Hasam in gear and started down another winding road.

17

WE CHECKED IN WITH DISPATCH, and were given an address in the kind of new-money neighborhood that was mostly occupied by engineers and junior execs who had enough income to move to a warmer zone, but the good sense to not overspend and live beyond their means. It wasn’t a normal area for us to get a call; the crimes here tended to be committed behind closed doors and were less likely to be fatal, though just as likely to stay with the victims forever.

Our call brought us to a hardware store, and the cluster of lookie-loos fighting for the right to peer into the shop’s front window confirmed we were at the right place. In front of the store a TPD patrol car sat double-parked, an elderly Mollenkampi man in the backseat, with the rounded shoulders and forward lean that came with having his hands cuffed behind him. We cut through the crowd by displaying our badges and barking orders to clear the way.

When we reached the storefront I came to an abrupt halt, causing Ajax to collide with me briefly.

“Hells below,” I muttered.

The reason for the crowd’s interest was obvious. In the large display window a young Mollenkampi man wearing an apron and a name tag was draped across a half-built display of sale items. Around him white price tags had turned red, the result of dozens of nails that penetrated his skin and fastened him to the display. Some had gone clean through his flesh, while the heads of others were clearly visible, transforming the dead man into a giant pincushion.

“Let’s get inside,” Jax said, pulling me along into the store.

Past the door we found more confusion. The employees were gathered around, some weeping, some shell-shocked and terrified. A pair of patrol cops, looking equally shocked, were attempting to take down statements from multiple people at once. It was total chaos. Someone had to step up and fix it. I forced myself to rally.

“Alright!” I gestured to one of the patrol. “You. Get a tarp and cover that front window. That’ll disperse the crowd.”

“With what?”

“It’s a hardware store,” I said. I pointed at one of the employees, a freckle-faced human girl. “You have tarps here, right?” She nodded, her nose wrinkled, looking confused. “Then give one to officer dumbass here, and help him tarp over that window. Do it from the outside, so you don’t touch anything.”

“And you,” I wheeled on the patrol taking statements, “have these people separated into who saw something and who didn’t. And who do you have detained in your vehicle?”

“That’s the killer,” the patrol said, a little pride creeping back into his voice. “He admitted to doing the handiwork out front.”

The other patrol had finally started moving, accompanying the freckled employee through the front door, tarp in hand. Outside, a Mollenkampi woman pressed a well-used camera to the window, one hand cupped around the lens to prevent glare. I recognized her and the human who was grinning over her shoulder. That grotesque front window display was definitely front-page fodder, and Klare and Taran Glouchester would kill for the chance at this byline.

I signaled to Jax. “Help get this shit-show sorted out. I’m gonna chase off those vultures.”

I caught up to the patrol and employee as they attempted to hang the tarp. The reporter, Glouchester, lifted it immediately, giving his