Read Online Under Her Skin by Margo Bond Collins - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Margo Bond Collins
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searched for that morning, before the parade of children in pain had begun its march through my office.
Every single video was entitled Mongoose vs. Snake—or some version of it.
And in all of them, the mongoose won.
I hadn’t really known what a mongoose looked like. In my mind, they were long and wiry, like a weasel. I hadn’t been entirely wrong, but the animals in these clips were more muscular and compact.
And fast. Damn, were they fast.
The snakes didn’t have a chance.
I watched the golden-furred creature in the latest video leap out of the way of the striking cobra. It used the serpent’s movement as a chance to bite down, just behind the head, rendering the snake helpless.
The skin on the nape of my own neck prickled in response.
Where were the videos where the snake won? Did people hate snakes so much that they refused to upload videos with different outcomes?
Or was this the inevitable end of any conflict between mongoose and snake?
The virtual extinction of lamias suggested that the mongoose always won.
After all, Kade hadn’t mentioned his people being wiped out.
“Screw this,” I muttered, closing out the window.
Most of the records of the murdered girls’ families were gone. Jason and Scott had taken the primary files to the DA’s office. But I still had my case notes, the ones I used to write up my reports. Flipping through the records for Preston Bryant’s family, I found an address.
I was beginning to be certain that all of these people were shapeshifters.
So why had none of them recognized me as a lamia? Why only Emma Camelli and Kade Nevala?
I didn’t see any other connections among the families. Jason and Scott hadn’t, either.
But maybe, now that I knew about the shifters, I could find out something that the ADA and the investigator couldn’t.
A glance at my calendar showed me that my next appointment wasn’t until 2:00.
I scribbled out a note to let Gloria know where I’d gone and stuck it to her office door on my way out.
* * *
The street leading to the Bryant’s home started out narrow and paved, albeit cracked, but petered out to a rutted track in the weeds by the time it reached their yard. Like many in this neighborhood, the house itself had once been a mobile home, but was now permanently settled on this scrap of rocky land.
I hadn’t been out here before, and even if I had, Gloria or one of the other counselors would have come with me. Home visits weren’t unusual, but we rarely made them alone. Occasionally, parents were less than thrilled with the information their children gave out in counseling. Often, they were afraid that we would call Child Protective Services to take their children away.
Sometimes we did.
There hadn’t been any notes in the file about the Bryants having any such concerns. And although it had been almost a year since I had seen them, I recalled then-ten-year-old Preston Bryant as being clean and well-spoken. My memory of his sister Kirstie was fuzzier. I had spoken to her only once or twice. The family had landed in my office when a neighbor’s gun-shooting rampage had ended with the boy taken hostage for an hour before being shoved out the door as the neighbor shot himself.
The family had been too poor to pay for counseling services, but the mother had persevered until Victim’s Services had referred them to us.
Not once had I suspected they might be anything other than they appeared: a poor, but loving family of humans.
And there had been no indication that they recognized me as a fellow shapeshifter.
Leaving my car in the overgrown grass of the yard, I picked my way to the rickety steps leading up to the tiny landing at the front door. The doorbell didn’t echo inside the house, as far as I could tell, so I pulled open the screen and knocked on the door, as well.
While I waited, the screen door propped open against my back, I opened up my serpent senses to see if my animal side could detect anything unusual.
No
Every single video was entitled Mongoose vs. Snake—or some version of it.
And in all of them, the mongoose won.
I hadn’t really known what a mongoose looked like. In my mind, they were long and wiry, like a weasel. I hadn’t been entirely wrong, but the animals in these clips were more muscular and compact.
And fast. Damn, were they fast.
The snakes didn’t have a chance.
I watched the golden-furred creature in the latest video leap out of the way of the striking cobra. It used the serpent’s movement as a chance to bite down, just behind the head, rendering the snake helpless.
The skin on the nape of my own neck prickled in response.
Where were the videos where the snake won? Did people hate snakes so much that they refused to upload videos with different outcomes?
Or was this the inevitable end of any conflict between mongoose and snake?
The virtual extinction of lamias suggested that the mongoose always won.
After all, Kade hadn’t mentioned his people being wiped out.
“Screw this,” I muttered, closing out the window.
Most of the records of the murdered girls’ families were gone. Jason and Scott had taken the primary files to the DA’s office. But I still had my case notes, the ones I used to write up my reports. Flipping through the records for Preston Bryant’s family, I found an address.
I was beginning to be certain that all of these people were shapeshifters.
So why had none of them recognized me as a lamia? Why only Emma Camelli and Kade Nevala?
I didn’t see any other connections among the families. Jason and Scott hadn’t, either.
But maybe, now that I knew about the shifters, I could find out something that the ADA and the investigator couldn’t.
A glance at my calendar showed me that my next appointment wasn’t until 2:00.
I scribbled out a note to let Gloria know where I’d gone and stuck it to her office door on my way out.
* * *
The street leading to the Bryant’s home started out narrow and paved, albeit cracked, but petered out to a rutted track in the weeds by the time it reached their yard. Like many in this neighborhood, the house itself had once been a mobile home, but was now permanently settled on this scrap of rocky land.
I hadn’t been out here before, and even if I had, Gloria or one of the other counselors would have come with me. Home visits weren’t unusual, but we rarely made them alone. Occasionally, parents were less than thrilled with the information their children gave out in counseling. Often, they were afraid that we would call Child Protective Services to take their children away.
Sometimes we did.
There hadn’t been any notes in the file about the Bryants having any such concerns. And although it had been almost a year since I had seen them, I recalled then-ten-year-old Preston Bryant as being clean and well-spoken. My memory of his sister Kirstie was fuzzier. I had spoken to her only once or twice. The family had landed in my office when a neighbor’s gun-shooting rampage had ended with the boy taken hostage for an hour before being shoved out the door as the neighbor shot himself.
The family had been too poor to pay for counseling services, but the mother had persevered until Victim’s Services had referred them to us.
Not once had I suspected they might be anything other than they appeared: a poor, but loving family of humans.
And there had been no indication that they recognized me as a fellow shapeshifter.
Leaving my car in the overgrown grass of the yard, I picked my way to the rickety steps leading up to the tiny landing at the front door. The doorbell didn’t echo inside the house, as far as I could tell, so I pulled open the screen and knocked on the door, as well.
While I waited, the screen door propped open against my back, I opened up my serpent senses to see if my animal side could detect anything unusual.
No
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