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Authors: Keri Arthur
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been earned through sheer hard work. She was my present to myself the first year our restaurant made a profit.
I retrieved my backpack, then walked back to my bike and double-checked the area before I stripped off and changed into the clothes I’d worn into the hospital. They were cold and damp, and smelled of antiseptic and death, but I guess they were better than rags.
I retrieved my keys and phone from the remnants of my jeans, then tossed them away. I shoved my phone into the pack and my keys went into my jacket pocket. Metal and plastic weren’t affected by the shift into—or back out of—particle form, but unless they were touching skin, they wouldn’t actually change. Which was why I’d wrapped my hand around them before I shifted. I knew from experience that there was nothing worse than metal and plastic bits stuck in the middle of your particle form.
Maybe they needed to find a way to make bras and panties out of soft, breathable plastic. At least then when I came back out of an Aedh shift, I’d be wearing lingerie. Right now, there were just annoying bits caught in unmentionable places.
I flicked off the alarm, then bent and studied the bike. There was nothing out of place—nothing that jumped out and screamed Bug . But I knew enough from hanging around Riley and her brother Rhoan to realize that bugs and trackers could be wafer-thin and virtually invisible.
And the only way to find them was to feel them.
I knelt and carefully ran my hands over the bike’s sleek silver frame. I found one on the front suspension, and another on the inside of the left turn signal. Both were little bigger than a toenail, and thinner than a piece of hair. If I hadn’t known every inch of the bike as well as I did, they would have been easy to miss.
I carefully peeled them both off, then jerked around—my heart going a million miles a minute—as the elevator dinged and the doors swept open. An elderly couple stepped out and headed left, not even glancing my way.
I looked at the sliver-fine pieces of plastic in my hand, then smiled and rose, quietly following the old couple. They stopped at a small brown Toyota about halfway down the ramp, the woman glancing at me as I strolled past. Her gaze swept me and her face pinched with disapproval. Clearly, she thought I was up to no good—and in that, she was right. I gave her a smile as I continued on, my hand brushing against the rear of the car and sticking the two trackers to the paintwork. Then I loped down to the next level and took the stairs back up to my bike. The knife inside my head swung back into action and I blinked away tears as I shoved on my helmet, then jumped on my bike and gunned the engine to life.
I was behind the Toyota in an instant, following it up the ramps and out the gate. The two shifters leaning against the gray Ute didn’t react when they saw me—although one touched his ear and began speaking. If they had in-ear communication units installed, then someone with money was behind all this. Those damn things cost a fortune.
I kept behind the Toyota, not wanting the men to realize that the tracker wasn’t on my bike. Only when I was absolutely sure neither car was in sight did I veer off and get the hell out of there.
But I didn’t head home.
I needed to talk to someone about what might be going on—someone who knew all about trackers, weird shifters, and would-be mugging attempts. Someone who also had a steady supply of chocolate and Coke on hand for drop-ins like myself.
My aunt Riley, former guardian and one of the most dangerous, kick-ass women I knew.
If she couldn’t help me sort out this big pile of shit I’d apparently landed in, no one could.
* * *
Riley and Quinn shared a big old warehouse in Abbotsford near the banks of the Yarra River with her brother Rhoan and his lover, Liander. Three of their five children still lived with them, but the oldest two—and the ones I was closest to—were currently undergoing training at the
I retrieved my backpack, then walked back to my bike and double-checked the area before I stripped off and changed into the clothes I’d worn into the hospital. They were cold and damp, and smelled of antiseptic and death, but I guess they were better than rags.
I retrieved my keys and phone from the remnants of my jeans, then tossed them away. I shoved my phone into the pack and my keys went into my jacket pocket. Metal and plastic weren’t affected by the shift into—or back out of—particle form, but unless they were touching skin, they wouldn’t actually change. Which was why I’d wrapped my hand around them before I shifted. I knew from experience that there was nothing worse than metal and plastic bits stuck in the middle of your particle form.
Maybe they needed to find a way to make bras and panties out of soft, breathable plastic. At least then when I came back out of an Aedh shift, I’d be wearing lingerie. Right now, there were just annoying bits caught in unmentionable places.
I flicked off the alarm, then bent and studied the bike. There was nothing out of place—nothing that jumped out and screamed Bug . But I knew enough from hanging around Riley and her brother Rhoan to realize that bugs and trackers could be wafer-thin and virtually invisible.
And the only way to find them was to feel them.
I knelt and carefully ran my hands over the bike’s sleek silver frame. I found one on the front suspension, and another on the inside of the left turn signal. Both were little bigger than a toenail, and thinner than a piece of hair. If I hadn’t known every inch of the bike as well as I did, they would have been easy to miss.
I carefully peeled them both off, then jerked around—my heart going a million miles a minute—as the elevator dinged and the doors swept open. An elderly couple stepped out and headed left, not even glancing my way.
I looked at the sliver-fine pieces of plastic in my hand, then smiled and rose, quietly following the old couple. They stopped at a small brown Toyota about halfway down the ramp, the woman glancing at me as I strolled past. Her gaze swept me and her face pinched with disapproval. Clearly, she thought I was up to no good—and in that, she was right. I gave her a smile as I continued on, my hand brushing against the rear of the car and sticking the two trackers to the paintwork. Then I loped down to the next level and took the stairs back up to my bike. The knife inside my head swung back into action and I blinked away tears as I shoved on my helmet, then jumped on my bike and gunned the engine to life.
I was behind the Toyota in an instant, following it up the ramps and out the gate. The two shifters leaning against the gray Ute didn’t react when they saw me—although one touched his ear and began speaking. If they had in-ear communication units installed, then someone with money was behind all this. Those damn things cost a fortune.
I kept behind the Toyota, not wanting the men to realize that the tracker wasn’t on my bike. Only when I was absolutely sure neither car was in sight did I veer off and get the hell out of there.
But I didn’t head home.
I needed to talk to someone about what might be going on—someone who knew all about trackers, weird shifters, and would-be mugging attempts. Someone who also had a steady supply of chocolate and Coke on hand for drop-ins like myself.
My aunt Riley, former guardian and one of the most dangerous, kick-ass women I knew.
If she couldn’t help me sort out this big pile of shit I’d apparently landed in, no one could.
* * *
Riley and Quinn shared a big old warehouse in Abbotsford near the banks of the Yarra River with her brother Rhoan and his lover, Liander. Three of their five children still lived with them, but the oldest two—and the ones I was closest to—were currently undergoing training at the
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