So whatever intel Vik had, however bad … he’d find a way to deal with it. He called Bryce Kicks Ass and told her to get her ass outside to meet him.
“I don’t know, Mom,” Bryce was saying into her phone, falling into step with Hunt as they started down the street. The setting sun bathed the city in gold and orange, gilding even the puddles of filth. “Of course I miss you, but maybe next month?”
They passed an alley a few blocks away, neon signs pointing to the small tea bars and ancient food stalls cramming its length. Several tattoo shops lay interspersed, some of the artists or patrons smoking outside before the evening rush of drunken idiots.
“What—this weekend? Well, I have a guest—” She clicked her tongue. “No, it’s a long story. He’s like … a roommate? His name? Uh, Athie. No, Mom.” She sighed. “This weekend really doesn’t work. No, I’m not blowing you guys off again.” She gritted her teeth. “What about a video chat, then? Mmhmm, yeah, of course I’ll make the time.” Bryce winced again. “Okay, Mom. Bye.”
Bryce turned to him, grimacing.
“Your mom seems … insistent,” Hunt said carefully.
“I’m video chatting with my parents at seven.” She sighed at the sky. “They want to meet you.”
Viktoria was at the bar when they arrived, a glass of whiskey in front of her. She offered them both a grave smile, then slid a file over as they seated themselves to her left.
“What did you find?” Bryce asked, opening the cream-colored folder.
“Read it,” Viktoria said, then glanced toward the cameras in the bar. Recording everything.
Bryce nodded, taking the warning, and Hunt leaned closer as her head dipped to read, unable to stop himself from stretching out his wing, ever so slightly, around her back.
He forgot about it, though, when he beheld the test results. “This can’t be right,” he said quietly.
“That’s what I said,” Viktoria said, her narrow face impassive.
There, on the Fae’s Mimir screening, lay the results: small bits of something synthetic. Not organic, not technological, not magic—but a combination of all three.
Find what is in-between, Aidas had said.
“Danika freelanced for Redner Industries,” Bryce said. “They do all sorts of experiments. Would that explain this?”
“It might,” Viktoria said. “But I’m running the Mimir on every other sample we have—from the others. Initial tests also came up positive on Maximus Tertian’s clothes.” The tattoo on Viktoria’s brow bunched as she frowned. “It’s not pure magic, or tech, or organic. It’s a hybrid, with its other traces causing it to be canceled out in the other categories. A cloaking device, almost.”
Bryce frowned. “What is it, exactly?”
Hunt knew Viktoria well enough to read the caution in the wraith’s eyes. She said to Bryce, “It’s some sort of … drug. From what I can find, it looks like it’s mostly used for medical purposes in very small doses, but might have leaked onto the streets—which led to doses that are far from safe.”
“Danika wouldn’t have taken a drug like that.”
“Of course not,” Viktoria said quickly. “But she was exposed to it—all her clothes were. Whether that was upon her death or before it, however, is unclear. We’re about to run the test on the samples we took from the Pack of Devils and the two most recent victims.”
“Tertian was in the Meat Market,” Hunt murmured. “He might have taken it.”
But Bryce demanded, “What’s it called? This thing?”
Viktoria pointed to the results. “Exactly what it sounds like. Synth.”
Bryce whipped her head around to look at Hunt. “Ruhn said that medwitch mentioned a synthetic healing compound that could possibly repair …” She didn’t finish the statement.
Hunt’s eyes were dark as the Pit, a haunted look in them. “It might be the same one.”
Viktoria held up her hands. “Again, I’m still testing the other victims, but … I just thought you should know.”
Bryce hopped off the stool. “Thanks.”
Hunt let her reach the front door before he murmured to the wraith, “Keep it quiet, Vik.”
“Already wiped the files from the legion database,” Vik said.
They barely spoke while they returned to the gallery, grabbed Syrinx, and headed home. Only when they stood in her kitchen, Hunt leaning against the counter, did he say, “Investigations can take time. We’re getting closer. That’s a good thing.”