Free Blood of the Pride by Sheryl Nantus Page A

thick it clogged the back of my throat as I tried to imbed it in my memory and my senses.
    It was the same as on the photograph.
    The Felis had not only killed Janey but taken the photograph and delivered it to Bran.
    There was only one target for me to hunt.
    It didn’t make me feel any better.
    “What are you doing?” The reporter sighed, rubbing his leather duster back and forth against the wall. “Dang, my back’s itchy.”
    Then I saw it.
    It might have just been a smattering of small hairs sticking out of a crack high on the wall but it was a whopper of a clue.
    Bran followed me as I stood up to pluck it from the dirty crack with my bare fingers.
    “That’s not evidence, is it?” He glanced back toward the street as if he expected the police to descend on us at any minute.
    “No.” I pulled a small baggie from my pocket and flicked the hairs in, sealing it tight. It was Felis and not the normal alley cat kind. Thinner, grainier and coarse to the touch.
    “If that’s evidence it should have been collected by the cops.” He shook his head, moving closer to me. “You’re going to get us both arrested.”
    “I didn’t think you were afraid of much.”
    Bran’s hand landed on my shoulder. “I’m not afraid of much but I do dislike being hauled off to jail for messing with a murder case.”
    “Well, you’re not. So there.” I pocketed the plastic bag. I pulled out the bent envelope and salvaged the photograph. “Come here, please.”
    “Do this, come here. Feels like I’m your boy-toy slave.” He chuckled as he moved to stand beside me. “Now what?”
    “I’m standing right over where the body was.” I handed him the photograph, pushing it into his hands. “Turn on your flashlight if you need to.”
    The small white beam sent jagged shards of pain through my eyes before I could adjust. “Does your cell phone take pictures?”
    “Do they make any that don’t?”
    I decided not to tell him about my ancient pay-as-you-go model.
    “May I have it, please?”
    He handed it over and waited.
    “Good.” I lifted the phone to my face and looked at the image. “This would be about where the photographer stood when he took the shot, right?”
    The light bounced around the narrow alley before landing again at our feet. “More or less.”
    I looked through the viewfinder and pushed the button. A quick flash illuminated the two of us. I handed the camera back. “How close is that to what we have?”
    “Hardly.” He showed me the backlit image. “You wouldn’t have caught her feet and hands.”
    “So I’m too short to have stood here and taken that picture, correct?”
    Bran shone the light on the black and white photo. “I’d say so.” The beam bounced around the narrow alley before returning to our feet. “Unless he had his hands over his head this picture must have been taken by some guy about my height, at least.” The reporter flashed the beam at our feet, illuminating us in an eerie glow. “He wasn’t a short one, that’s for sure.” He smiled at me. “I’d guess you’re about five foot four, eh? I’m a bit taller than that.”
    “Really.” I studied him for a minute. “Not by much.”
    “Hey.” Bran spread his hands with a smile. “You know us men. Always exaggerating something.”
    “Hmm.” I traded the photograph for the cell phone. “Well, that gives us some idea of the killer’s height.”
    “One guy grabs her, snaps her neck. Other guy stops by and takes a photograph,” Bran mumbled. “Sends me the photograph with a question about ‘What is she?’ Not who she is but what she is.” He turned toward me. “Why would he be asking that?”
    The illumination from the cell phone disappeared, leaving us in darkness. His heady scent threatened to overwhelm me, screwing up my thoughts and emotions. It was like a thick afghan blanket that started to curl up around and over me, cradling me in its warmth and rocking me to a deep, contented sleep.
    “Just take a step