Free Teeth of Beasts (Skinners) by Marcus Pelegrimas

a full step inside, the metallic clack of a shotgun slide filled his ears.
    “My day was great,” Cole said cheerfully as he stepped in. “How was yours?”
    Even after she saw who was coming inside, Paige didn’t lower her shotgun. “What are you bringing in here?”
    “The Chupe.”
    “What do you want me to do with it?”
    “I heard they were good eatin’.”
    Cole used his hip to push the door shut and then walked through a large storeroom. Stopping well before reaching the kitchen, he dropped the plastic bundle and began working the kinks from his arms and legs. “I tried calling you a few times to see if you could use anything from this guy, but you never answered so I just brought the whole thing home.”
    The storeroom was illuminated by a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, making Paige’s hair look more like an inky mess, while giving her sweatshirt and jeans a dingy quality. Studying her carefully, Cole reached out for the other two light switches on the wall. When the rest of the bulbs came on, he said, “You look like hell.”
    Paige not only kept her shotgun against her shoulder, but seemed ready to use it. “And you’re home a day early. Your date must have gone real well.”
    Nodding at what seemed like a fair jab in response to his own comment, Cole said, “I scared her away, but it’s not the first time I’ve had that effect on a woman.”
    “And it won’t be the last.”
    “Okay, okay. Sorry I said you look like hell. We’re even.”
    Paige shifted the shotgun to her left hand and let it hang at her side. Now that the bulky weapon was out of the way, Cole could see the paleness of her face. Her black hair didn’t just look like a greasy mess. It was a greasy mess. Normally, she tied it back or wore a Cubs cap to keep it in check, but now it seemed just as worn-out as the rest of her. His eyes were drawn to her right arm, which was wrapped up in bandages and held tight against her torso by a sling. Although she’d been able to grip the shotgun and put her finger on the trigger, her hand remained in that position, like a claw that slowly curled into a fist.
    “How’s your arm?” he asked.
    “Fucked up. Next question.”
    She stormed into the kitchen and Cole followed. “Did Daniels take a look at it?”
    “Yes, Cole.”
    “Let me see it.”
    “No.”
    She’d led him through the kitchen and was on her way to her room. Before she could get there and shut her door, Cole ran ahead of her. “Let me see it,” he demanded.
    Paige was easily more than a foot shorter, but glared at Cole as if she was about to squash him under her sneakered foot. Eventually she let out a terse breath and shifted so her right side was a little closer to him. Cole was genuinely surprised she’d caved in so quickly.
    Reaching out tentatively, he placed one hand on the sling and slipped the other inside it. On the surface, Paige’s arm was smooth and finely toned. Her skin was on the cool side, but wasn’t as clammy as the rest of her body. Considering the heat of any given night in Chicago during the summer, clamminess wasn’t much of a shock. Since she hadn’t budged at his initial moves, he pressed his hand down a bit more.
    “Does that hurt?”
    “No,” she replied evenly.
    Beneath the skin, her arm felt more petrified than stiff. It reminded him of the process that had turned a sapling into the lightweight, almost unbreakable spear that was his now first line of defense against anything supernatural. He gently ran his fingers along her arm, watching her face for any reaction. The source of her injury was a smeared, jagged line that looked as if it had been left by a felt-tip pen. The mass beneath it felt like a thick piece of wire embedded in her flesh.
    “Can you move it?” he asked.
    “You had your look, Cole. Just give it a rest.”
    “You need to move it. And don’t look at me like that!” His fingers probed away from the line that had been tattooed into her skin and quickly