The female werewolf—who, by the time we arrive at the hospital, has begun to call herself —lays stable in the hospital bed. City officials permit enough technology at least that removing the embedded shackles is an easy but careful process. The flesh is smooth and misshapen but nevertheless intact, a different shade of pink than the rest of Zarcha’s legs. She tries to leap out of the bed as soon as Jason sidles in behind me, and it’s only my quick reflexes that catch her before she smashes her face into the railing of the hospital bed as exhausted muscles strain against her attempts to use them.

  Jason obliges her instead, sitting on the edge of the nanofiber mattress and clasping her hand in his own. Zarcha positively beams, an immense odor of satisfaction wafting off of her. It hurts a little to be here for the express purpose of uncovering whichever ring she belongs to. I clear my throat, but Jason waves me away. His case, after all.

  “Zarcha. What a pretty name. I suppose even your mother told you that old story.”

  “Maybe. I don’t remember, really. It was just a name that came to mind when they asked me for my own. I’ve never…had a name before. Not a real one.”

  “Well,” Jason sighs. “I hate to be a man of business…but, what do you remember?”

  “So much, and so little.”

  “Do you know where you escaped from before coming to the station? Any landmarks?”

  “I remember a statue of some kind. I think. A statue of a werewolf perched up on something. I remember…thinking it was real for a second, only a second though. I just wanted to get away.”

  “How far from the statue were you when you made it outside?” I interject. “Did you break any windows or anything on the way out?”

  “A window. Yes. I jumped from an upper floor somewhere nearby. I could see the statue before I jumped.”

  I nod, keying the exact detail into a message for dispatch. Doubt the news of a feral this close to the city center hasn’t hit every news station by now, the culprits already packed and fled. The window, though, they can’t hide in time.

  “You were very brave to run away.”

  “No. Not brave.” She shakes her head. “Smart. They trusted me to see the window. They shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Do you remember anything about your captors? Any markings or anything to identify them?”

  Zarcha reaches down and scratches the flesh where her shackles had been.

  “The mark. They all had the mark.”

  “All? How many were there?”

  “Four. Three vampires and one….well one other person. I’m sorry. I can’t be more specific.”

  Something stinks to me immediately. “This other person. Can I make a wild guess?”

  “They were always…different, but I could tell they were the same. Does that make any sense?”

  “Like the face?” Jason asks. “The face changed but the smell didn’t?”

  Zarcha lights up. “Yes! That’s it. They never looked the same twice, but their smell was always the same. It makes me uncomfortable, even now. Like that thing is trying to crawl into my skin.”

  I growl under my breath. “Fuck.”

  Jason scratches his head and closes his eyes. “Yeah, fuck, that’s about as good a word as any.”

  I stand up and stretch, cracking my neck one way and then the other. We’re silent for a while, Zarcha absentmindedly squeezing Jason’s arm as he works his mouth around, mulling over this new information. Really, I ache for a cigarette, some quick burn to focus my mind around. It’s a dated habit, lots of safer drugs on the market for cheaper, but something about the process dragged me in at some point. Growing the tobacco, shredding it, rolling it. The sheer magnitude of labor compared with a synthesizer simply powering on and zapping chemicals into a shape puts weight to the taste.

  “Do you know this creature? This…shape changer?”

  Jason nods and explains. Of the many races in the known galaxies, there are only a handful that don’t belong to the Night Republic by proxy at least, or swear fealty to the High King and his order. And of that handful, they keep to themselves, preferring pure isolation rather than risk exposing themselves to the wider universe. Except the Nelotha. Every rule has an exception, and the Nelotha have proved themselves time and again to be that exception. They swear no allegiance, no home world even, and choose to meddle everywhere their shifting claws sink into. A species of indeterminate form, artificially birthed on moons just a little too close to their gas giants, spun from strange configurations of particles. They need no ship, having the ability to travel space in leaps and bounds by their evolutionary nature. They need no sustenance as far as research has seen. Beings of pure chaos abetted, as Zarcha has beautifully put, by the ability to freely alter their forms at will.

  Jason grabs my arm as I start a note in my phone, and he pulls me into the hallway just out of direct earshot. The look in his eyes tells me he has a theory already.

  “The smell, detective. What does it mean? I think I understand.”

  “Go on.”

  “Nelotha can change their scent as easily as they change faces. So why? Why keep the same one? Does it want to be caught? To leave a trail?”

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “You’re thinking of the symbol.” It isn’t a question.

  “Zarcha says she was trusted to be near the window. Why now, when any crime ring would have intercepted the bulletin with that symbol attached?”

  I just raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I want to say this ring and Vilat’s murder are closely connected, but I don’t even dare put the idea in my head without proof. It’s just….too much coincidence.”

  “Agreed. Don’t place a pin until you’re sure. So how do you intend to find out?”

  “That’s the central question. How do we track a Nelotha, even one who wants to be found, if all they’re giving us is scent.”

  That we ponder, but one thing is clear. We need Zarcha. Jason pulls aside a nurse to hash out the details of the woman’s condition and disappears back into the room. I pace for a while, turning over what few details we have. Then I make good on that cigarette. The street outside has thinned considerably since we arrived. Bustling traffic has turned into scattered cars breaking the twilight with their headlights as they return home, or leave for a late shift. Or whatever normal people do. My lighter sparks once, twice, but doesn’t catch. I curse under my breath. Try again, but still nothing.

  Someone clears their throat beside me. Framed by the streetlight between us, the man is a looming shadow. My own five and something feet are dwarfed by his almost eight, and I feel like a child standing as tall as his chest. The man reaches out silently and produces a flame for me. Not from a lighter, mind you, a flame simply appears on his outstretched finger. I light my cigarette like the very presence of magic doesn’t make my skin crawl. Like I don’t know this figure could kill me with a glance.

  “Parga Carter. Is your partner inside? And the female werewolf?” The man’s voice is the sound of the earth tremoring, and I feel my bones rattle with every syllable.

  “Could be,” I say, mustering my courage, “Who’s asking?”

  The man steps fully into the light, and I see the mess of burn scars that crisscross his dark skin. He reaches under his lapel and pulls out a pendant the same shape that’s plastered on every facet of government paperwork.

  “Harkon, Cardinal-Nuncio of Tvenry. Your presence, and that of your companions, has been requested by the High King himself on King’s Isle.”

  And right then every drop of anxiety in my body stabs me in the chest. “The…the high king wants to meet…us?”

  Harkon only nods. “As soon as possible. Gather what you need and I’ll meet you three at the main terminal.”

  The man doesn’t walk out of sight so much as the shadows seem to encompass him suddenly and his presence is gone, leaving only a faint smell of alabaster. The cigarette in my hand has burned down to a nub by the time I remember to take another drag. The High King. My feet carry me almost unbidden back into the hospital and to Zarcha’s bedside. The nurses offer vague glances, eyes wide as if some monster is tailing me. Jason is still perched on the edge of the bed. Zarcha is gone.

  “Where is she?”

  Jason nods across the room. “Bathroom. You figure anything out?”

  I shake my head. “No, the opposite in fact. Seems like questions want to find us faster than we can answer them.”

  He just furrows his brow at me, but I shake my head again. As soon as Zarcha is back, I wrangle the both of them outside. The nurses don’t stop us as we walk by or out of the hospital. It’s only in the car, speeding down the road, that I let myself breathe a little. The wind rushing by outside the open window is cold, only just countering the sweat on my brow. Jason sits in the back with Zarcha, keeping her calm after our sudden flight. It’s only back in my apartment, as I run straight for the liquor cabinet, that Jason finally pipes up.

  “Detective, what’s going on? What happened?”

  “We’ve been summoned.” I gulp the bourbon straight from the bottle.

  “Summoned?” he asks in a whisper. “Summoned where?”

  “King’s Isle. I don’t understand it either, but you don’t get a message from the high king and ignore it. We’ll swing by your apartment next so you can grab your essentials and then we’re off.”

  Jason plops down hard on the couch, spending the energy only to wave me over with the bottle. He takes a long drink as well and pats the seat beside him for Zarcha. I hear him begin to explain what this means to her as I rush around grabbing anything I can think of to bring. Clothes, case notes, phone. I almost call out that I’m done before I remember the box in the closet. The last remnant of my life before SCD. It’s dusty, but the smell of old smoke and cedar is still strong as I crack the lid. Waiting for me is a picture burned into my memory: Leori, Cory, and I on a rare outing together off-world, posing against the backdrop of the mountains on Wolven. Had I not already gutted myself at lunch, I would cry. Instead, I just smile hollowly and take the rest of the items out to pack away in my bag. A couple important documents I ought to upload already, my wedding ring, my old police badge, and a laser pistol. Never have used it, hope I never will, but chasing a Nelotha across the galaxy is no doubt enough to at least dust it off.

  At Jason’s apartment, I wait in the car with Zarcha. It doesn’t take him long to grab what few clothes he has and his personal effects. I almost feel bad for Zarcha that she has nothing to bring, but then again I don’t think there’s anything she’d want to remember of her captivity. I make a note to myself to hopefully grab her a couple things whenever we next land in civilization. Jason is back, and I start off towards the terminal. As expected, as soon as we’re parked, Harkon is there waiting. A valet comes to file the car away.

  Harkon leads the way to a warp pad, another modern wonder the vampires allow within the city, and suddenly the four of us are in orbit. Zarcha stumbles over to a window and looks out on the green world now visible a hundred miles below us. In her eyes I see the same wonder I remember seeing in Cory’s the first time he realized his world was small compared to the universe. Harkon clears his throat before I can get sentimental.

  “I have a suite prepared for you three for our voyage. This is one of the High King’s personal fleet though, so it won’t be more than an hour or so to King’s Isle.”

  Zarcha turns with that same spark. “How far is it?”

  Harkon smiles. “Farther than you can imagine, young one. I’ll leave it to your companions to explain that.”

  He gestures with a hand, and we follow him across the ship to our room. We’re high up near the command deck, one of the noble suites no doubt. It’s bigger than my apartment anyway. One wall is entirely plasma-glass that looks out onto the front of the ship and our flight path. Jason and I take seats at the dining table and break out glasses immediately.

  “We only have synthesized drinks on board, unfortunately,” Harkon rumbles. “Not a long voyage you understand. I hope that suffices.”

  “It’s no trouble. Very little liquor nowadays is fresh, they just stick that label on the bottle to jack the price up.”

  Harkon just nods and smiles. “We’ll be there soon. I’ll come back when we come to port.”

  With that, the large man leaves, and the atmosphere in the room relaxes a little. Zarcha wanders over to the window and watches as the ship jumps to FTL. The stars turn from pin pricks to a spinning kaleidoscope, and space pales to an eigengrau as the light bends around us. Jason taps into the computer so it can begin the minute process of remaking booze from essentially nothing. When it’s finished, we toast.

  “Nuncio of Tvenry, you said?” Jason asks.

  I nod. “It’s easy to believe. I’d hope the god of fear took me in if I was that big.”

  Zarcha peels herself away from the window to sit with us. She takes a tentative sniff at Jason’s cup before jerking back and covering her mouth.

  “Tvenry? The name sounds familiar but…well, there’s a lot that I don’t know,” she admits.

  Jason shrugs and takes a long drink. “I guess we have nothing better to do than fill you in on this ride.”

  To which I just sigh. “That’s a lot of exposition.”

  Jason shrugs again and turns to Zarcha. “Well, let’s start at the beginning.”