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

I forced a grin and shoved my balled fists into my pockets. “Sounds like they have a grudge.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time Paulus managed to get her claws into the force. And she’s done it through blackmail, cash, and pretty faces before. Anyone who doesn’t see that is either a fool or already in her pocket.” He tilted his head, eyes narrowed. “Which are you?”

I admired a person who didn’t like Paulus, but I didn’t have time to provide an education about my relationship with her.

“You interrupted your workout to be here. So are you going to insult me, or did you want to view a crime scene?” I asked. “What was it, anyway—a quick jog around the block?”

Auberjois straightened and stepped back. Eyes on Harris, he asked me, “Do my teams talk about my habits?”

I rocked onto my heels. “There’re lumps around your hips, shoulders, and waist.” He glanced down at his outfit as I continued. “They move, indicating cloth. But not on your knees, so shorts. And since you’re not wearing a tie,” I pointed at his unbuttoned collar, “we can all see the green collar of your T-shirt. Most undershirts don’t have splashes of color, so I’m guessing you threw on clothes over your workout outfit. Looks like you have something on your arms as well. I figure sweat bands.”

His eyes crinkled and one mandible quivered. “Not quite,” he said, bringing his forearms together with a jarring metallic clank. “And I always run in the evenings. I don’t suppose it said anything before you shot him?”

The sudden shift in topic took me by surprise. “I didn’t kill anyone. That was my partner.”

“I didn’t say kill, I said shot. You shot him first, correct?”

I sucked at my teeth. “What are you getting at?”

“The big mouth growing out of his stomach. Did it say anything? Did it growl or yip or howl?”

I thought about it. “No. It just bit into anything that came within range.”

“Like it was angry.”

I considered that. “Like it was hungry.” I didn’t say, Like Sheena had been hungry. Like I’d been hungry so often lately.

“Hm.” He blinked, then nodded, a single sharp movement that felt like he’d filed something away. “Very good, Detective. If I need you again, I’ll let you know.”

I didn’t care for his attitude toward me, but I liked the way he thought. He seemed like the kind of cop who could follow breadcrumbs.

“I think the music had something to do with it.”

Auberjois blinked rapidly, as if disturbed from a slumber. “The what?”

“The music. The store’s speakers started playing a new Dinah McIntire track right before—” I broke off, not sure what to call the thing on the streets before us. “Before this happened. Put that together with what happened at Shelter in the Bend, and you know there’s some kind of connection.”

“When the body of Bobby McIntire—”

“Bobby Kearn,” I corrected.

“Yes. That’s right. When his body transformed, was this song playing?”

“No,” I said. “But the feedback on the radio, the buzzing, that’s all started since McIntire’s been in town.” My volume edged up slightly. “You said you watch for patterns. The music’s a pattern. I think McIntire and Vandra Cedrow are tied into this, somehow.”

He looked at the sky, eyes moving, pondering that. “That song has been on at least one radio in this town every second for the last month. Hells, my daughter wore out the 8-track we bought her for Titan’s Day, and that’s only been a couple weeks. The fact that there was a song or some kind of noise at each event? You might as well point out there was oxygen in the room at all the crime scenes. And as for the Cedrow family,” Auberjois gave a polite cough, “it’s not surprising that they’re still top of mind for you.”

I shook my head, angry that yet another person was ignoring the obvious. I started to speak but Auberjois interrupted.

“It’s a reasonable thought,” he said. “And you’re right, it is a pattern. But seeing patterns is only the first step. Patterns are everywhere, and an equal part of my job is sorting out the truly relevant. You and your partner were at the Bobby Kearn and Saul Petrevisch events, and now you’re here. That’s a painfully obvious pattern. Were you responsible for the transformations?”

My throat constricted. I made a sound, but it was far from a fully formed word.

“No,” he said. “You’re here because it’s your job. Whatever the real cause, it’s got something to do with magic and those who wield it without concern.” As he spoke, his eyes drifted mountwise, toward the city center and the seat of the government, where Paulus kept her offices. There was no mystery about who he saw as the connecting fiber of this mystery.

Another black-cloaked DO approached, and Auberjois’s voice took on the tones of someone ending a conversation. “Thank you for the input, Detective. We’ll take it under consideration.” He turned away, and I opened my mouth to protest, but Harris touched my back, warning me to bite my tongue. I stalked away from them, walking blind until I almost ran into a Mollenkampi woman standing slightly to the side of the major activity. She had her back to me, and I began to mutter an insincere apology when I got a look at her face.

“Hello, Klare,” I said. She wore her camera on a leather strap, slung over one shoulder with the easy grace of a soldier whose relaxed posture betrayed a weapon always at the ready. I held my hand at an angle, preventing her from raising the camera to attack position. I signaled a patrol officer and pointed at Klare. He walked our way, and I turned to the photographer. “Where’s your partner? He sneaking into the store?”

“He’s back at the Union Record, developing the film from earlier. Trying to beat the rush,” she said. Then she quietly added, “This wasn’t your fault.”

I started. “What?”

“We mostly work the crime beat,” she said. “It’s our job