Free Shrouds of Darkness by Brock Deskins Page B

attractive woman, but her true charm is the strength of personality that seems to emanate from her like the heat of a bonfire. Fortunately, decades of being a surly, cold-hearted prick makes that urge little more than a minor nuisance.
    As she retracts her hand, she smiles at me as if her gaze pierces my invisible shield and sees my little emotional battle. She turns with military precision and makes for the door with Roger close behind her. He turns to me just before crossing the threshold of the doorway.
    “You had better worth this expense,” he warns me with a parting glare.
    Upon the advice of my shrink, I had gotten myself a dog several years ago. Stanley seemed to think that since I was unwilling to tolerate human company that perhaps a pet would help me maintain some sort of social dependency or some such crap.
    That was right after I first started seeing him and Dr. Morison was not accustomed to tailoring his advice to best suit his few undead clients. First of all, dogs do not care for the presence of vampires or werewolves. It took me two years to build enough trust just so the little shit wouldn’t bite me every time I walked into the room.
    When he died three years ago, it just served to remind me once again that I would continue to watch those around me die off as I continued my unnatural existence, forcing me to change my identity every few decades.
    “Roger,” I call out as I reach into the wide, center drawer of my desk, “you were a very good boy,” I tell him and toss a dog biscuit at him that was years past its freshness date.
    Given his obvious temper and lack of humor, I expect him to hurl it back at me with a sharp invective but once again, I am caught by surprise as he catches the treat in one hand and takes a large bite from it. With a self-satisfied grin of triumph, he tips the biscuit towards his brow in a mock salute and saunters out of the door.
    Damn. Now why did he have to go and do that? If he keeps that up, I may start to like the angry little mutt.
    I lean back in my chair with my hands behind my head and mull over what Angel told me last night. Tracking down a werewolf means I will have to go and talk to other weres. Not an appealing prospect. It’s a good thing I’m such a likeable sort or getting information out of them could really be difficult.
    I am still formulating my plan of attack when the phone rings.
    “Malone,” I say into the receiver.
    “Leo, It’s Raj, from the coroner’s office.”
    “I’m glad you clarified that. I thought maybe it was Raj from my Hindu prayer group,” I reply sarcastically.
    “Always a pleasure talking to you, Leo. Anyway, I have some—things down here I need you to take a look at.”
    Raj is this borough’s chief medical examiner and the only other human that knows what I am. We crossed paths years back while I was a Sheriff hunting down a rogue that was leaving the bodies of his victims around for the normals to find.
    Normally this isn’t too big of a problem, but Raj was far too smart and far too curious for his own good. He began doing some investigating of his own and asking questions that were going to get him killed real fast. I thought it was better to have someone in his position in on our little secret society than to simply quiet him—permanently. So I told him everything.
    He impressed me with the calm in which he took this disclosure. Most people would be in a panic to find out that their species was not at the top of the food chain. They are especially put off when informed that having that simple knowledge marked them for immediate extermination.
    Raj, on the other hand, found the entire thing fascinating. And after assuring me that he knew the consequences that if he so much as breathed a word of our existence to another living being, including vampires—especially vampires—he would likely be killed on the spot.
    He is an unofficial informant, and if the Council ever finds out he knows, and that I told him, we will