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valuable collating intelligence at HQ than in the field. I’m a little disappointed; she has the kind of Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01
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    sharp, ironic wit that the British do better than anyone else, polished to a fine edge by what must be decades of use. She reminds me a little of a predatory Mary Poppins.

    Who will be accompanying Eisfanger, Charlie, and me is our Japanese liaison, a lycanthrope already on the plane when we arrive. He quickly rises from his seat to greet us, an Asian man wearing a black business suit with a thin black tie. “Hello,” he says, bowing his head gently. “I am Kamakura Tanaka.”

    Tanaka is elegant in that way certain Japanese men are, his features sharp but delicate, his jet-black hair worn long but pulled back and fastened behind his head with a clip. He reminds me immediately of a praying mantis, alert and hungry.

    I bow back. “Thank you. I’m Special Agent Jace Valchek, and these are my colleagues Charlie Aleph and Damon Eisfanger.” The forensic animist bows, a little too deeply, and Charlie touches the brim of his fedora with a shiny black forefinger.

    “I understand that you wish to see the crime site as quickly as possible,” Tanaka says. “I have arranged transportation on the other end, and I will be accompanying you. Your luggage will be taken care of, as well.” About all I have is the overnight bag Gretchen gave me before we left, my laptop under one arm and my gun in my pocket, but I don’t tell Tanaka that.

    The plane is laid out with several seats facing each other near the tail and a small galley and individual cabins up front. Tanaka and I take seats opposite each other, while Eisfanger stows his luggage in a cabin and Charlie heads for the cockpit—could be he knows the pilot, or maybe he’s just reconnoitering.

    Tanaka studies me frankly as the plane begins to taxi; maybe he’s never seen a real, live human before.

    “Got something stuck in my teeth?” I ask.
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    “No. Forgive my curiosity. I have never met someone from . . . another place before.”

    Ah. So that’s it. “Cassius told you, huh? Funny, I thought it’d be a bigger secret than that.”

    He smiles. “It is. But David and I are old friends, and he knows I can do my job more effectively if I understand the situation—as can you. Please feel free to ask me anything, about the case or the world around you. I will do my best to provide answers.”

    “All right. What’s your official status in the investigation? You work for the NSA, local police, what?”

    “I am the official security liaison between your NSA and the Nipponese Shinto Investigative Branch. Our agencies perform similar functions in each of our respective countries.”

    “Not my country. . . .”

    He nods his head in acquiescence. “I was about to eat. Would you care to join me?”

    I notice for the first time he has a tray of nigirizushi in front of him on the low table between us. “Are you going to tell me the Batplane has its own sushi chef, too?”

    “I’m afraid not. I obtained this from the airport concourse before you arrived. I hope the food is amenable?”

    “I’m a vegetarian, but sushi is the exception to the rule.” I’ve already picked up chopsticks and grabbed a slab of glistening tuna on rice. I pour some soy sauce into a little ceramic bowl with one hand while I stuff the fish into my face with the other. It turns out I’m pretty damn hungry.
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    Tanaka is staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face, but the Urthbone tells me exactly what he’s feeling: disbelief.

    “What?” I say around a mouthful of raw heaven. “My table manners bother you?”

    “No, it’s what you said. You . . . you are a vegetarian? Does that mean what I think?”

    “Well, it doesn’t mean that I think God looks like a head of broccoli.” I chew and swallow. “It