Hunt asked, “You see anything unusual lately?”
Tharion’s tail idly stirred the sparkling water. “What kind of case is this? Murder?”
“Yes,” Hunt said. Bryce’s face tightened.
Tharion’s claws clicked on the concrete. “Serial killer?”
“Just answer the question, asshole.”
Tharion peered at Bryce. “If he talks to you like that, I hope you kick him in the balls.”
“She’d enjoy it,” Hunt muttered.
“Hunt has learned his lesson about pissing me off,” Bryce said sweetly.
Tharion’s smile was sly. “That is a story I’d like to hear.”
“Of course you would,” Hunt grumbled.
“Does this have to do with the Viper Queen pulling in her people the other week?”
“Yes,” Hunt said carefully.
Tharion’s eyes darkened, a reminder that the male could be lethal when the mood struck him, and that there was a good reason the creatures of the river didn’t fuck with the mer. “Some bad shit’s going down, isn’t it.”
“We’re trying to stop it,” Hunt said.
The mer nodded gravely. “Let me ask around.”
“Covertly, Tharion. The less people who know something’s happening the better.”
Tharion slipped back into the water, again disturbing the poor crab who’d clawed his way back to the quay. The mer’s powerful tail thrashed, keeping him effortlessly in place as he surveyed Hunt and Bryce. “Do I tell my queen to pull in our people, too?”
“Doesn’t fit the pattern so far,” Hunt said, “but it wouldn’t hurt to give a warning.”
“What should I be warning her about?”
“An old-school demon called the kristallos,” Bryce said softly. “A monster straight from the Pit, bred by the Star-Eater himself.”
For a moment, Tharion said nothing, his tan face going pale. Then, “Fuck.” He ran a hand through his wet hair. “I’ll ask around,” he promised again. Far down the river, motion drew Hunt’s eye. A black boat drifted toward the mist of the Bone Quarter.
On the Black Dock, jutting from the city’s bright shoreline like a dark sword, a group of mourners huddled beneath the inky arches, praying for the boat to safely bear the veiled pine coffin across the water.
Around the wooden vessel, broad, scaled backs broke the river’s surface, writhing and circling. Waiting for final judgment—and lunch.
Tharion followed his line of sight. “Five marks says it tips.”
“That’s disgusting,” Bryce hissed.
Tharion swished his tail, playfully splashing Bryce’s legs with water. “I won’t bet on your Sailing, Legs. I promise.” He flicked some water toward Hunt. “And we already know your boat is going to tip right the fuck over before it’s even left the shore.”
“Funny.”
Behind them, an otter in a reflective yellow vest loped past, a sealed wax message tube held in its fanged mouth. It barely glanced their way before leaping into the river and vanishing. Bryce bit her lip, a high-pitched squeal cracking from her.
The fearless, fuzzy messengers were hard to resist, even for Hunt. While true animals and not shifters, they possessed an uncanny level of intelligence, thanks to the old magic in their veins. They’d found their place in the city by relaying tech-free communication between those who lived in the three realms that made up Crescent City: the mer in the river, the Reapers in the Bone Quarter, and the residents of Lunathion proper.
Tharion laughed at the naked delight on Bryce’s face. “Do you think the Reapers fall to pieces over them, too?”
“I bet even the Under-King himself squeals when he sees them,” Bryce said. “They were part of why I wanted to move here in the first place.”
Hunt lifted a brow. “Really?”
“I saw them when I was a kid and thought they were the most magical thing I’d ever seen.” She beamed. “I still do.”
“Considering your line of work, that’s saying something.”
Tharion angled his head at them. “What manner of work is that?”
“Antiquities,” Bryce said. “If you ever find anything interesting in the depths, let me know.”
“I’ll send an otter right to you.”
Hunt got to his feet, offering a hand to help Bryce rise. “Keep us posted.”
Tharion gave him an irreverent salute. “I’ll see you when I see you,” he said, gills flaring, and dove beneath the surface. They watched him swim out toward the deep heart of the river, following the same path as the otter, then plunge down, down—to those distant, twinkling lights.