"Exactly what he's been asked to do." Lily took the woman's arm and firmly urged her back. "By Chief Delgado."
"He was asked to sniff a corpse?" she exclaimed, outraged.
Lily lifted both eyebrows as if the question were absurd, rather than the action. "Yes."
The attendant looked as if she would have bolted from the room if regulations hadn't called for her to remain. Lily didn't much want to watch him, either, but perversity or pride kept her from looking away.
He made a thorough job of it, smelling all up and down the body, paying close attention to the wounds and the cold, flaccid hands. He was intent, focused, and somehow still impossibly elegant. Not like a beast at all—more like a wine connoisseur about to deliver a verdict on the bouquets of various vintages.
And that thought was both absurd and macabre. Lily bit her lip to keep from giggling like an idiot
At last he straightened, met her eyes, and shook his head slightly.
"You couldn't tell."
"He was killed by a lupus," he said flatly. "Beyond that..." He shrugged. "Very little scent remains."
"We already knew the killer was a lupus."
"Perhaps you did. I didn't until now. There are some who might want to fake the slaying of men by lupi."
Lily remembered their audience, a wide-eyed attendant who might talk to the wrong person, like a reporter. She jerked her head, indicating she wanted him to follow, and headed for the door.
He thanked the attendant politely. She should have done that, she thought, upset and not knowing why. Had she counted so much on his sense of smell to give her a lead? That was foolish.
He caught up with her at the door and took her elbow. “I want coffee. Something to get the taste of this place out of my mouth."
Before she stopped to think, she'd agreed. Together they left that cold, bright room with its neatly filed bodies.
INSTINCT TOOK HER to Bennie's Bar & Grill. Bennie's was large, dark, and noisy, known for its cheeseburgers. As soon as she stepped inside, Lily sighed. Usually her instincts weren't this lousy.
Bennie's was a cop hangout.
It wasn't crowded at this hour. She only spotted two faces she knew as they headed for the back, but everyone seemed to recognize the man with her. The looks she and Rule drew varied from startled to snarly. Cops were good with faces, and his was memorable.
By the time they sat in a booth near the rest rooms, she was feeling self-conscious and prickly. "I wonder if this is how a white woman felt inSelmain 1960 if she went into a restaurant with a black man."
He shook his head slowly. "Our fellow customers aren't going to take either of us out in the alley and beat us up for having dared to be seen in public together. The waitress won't even refuse to serve me."
She grimaced. "I'm overreacting, you mean."
“There are parallels. If people hadn't started refusing to sit at the back of the bus back then, measures like the Species Citizenship Bill wouldn't be possible now. Have you given any thought to going out with me?"
She blinked. "For a supposedly sophisticated man, you have lousy timing. I just watched you sniffing a corpse."
"It's a subject that will keep coming up, good timing or not."
A waitress drifted up—young, blond, and pierced. There was a ring in her eyebrow, three studs on one ear, and another ring in the belly button her midriff-hugging top exposed. She set Lily's water in front of her without glancing in her direction. Her eyes were wholly on Turner, huge with fascination ... and fear.
And he knew. Awareness of the girl's fear was there in the flicker of his eyes, the softness of his voice as he ordered coffee.
"I'll have a cup, too," Lily said, peeling the paper from her straw. "Make it blond."
The waitress nodded and left.
Lily crossed her arms on the table and leaned forward. "Is it because you're a lupus? Or do you get all this attention because you're a celebrity?"
He didn't pretend to misunderstand. "I'm probably the only lupus she'll ever meet—knowingly, at least."
Lily nodded as a piece fell into place. “That's the reason for all the black, isn't it? I've never seen a photograph of you where you're wearing colors. Just black. You want people to recognize you. You want them to know they're meeting a lupus."
Amazingly, a touch of color sharpened those hard cheekbones. "Black is good theater."
"And your face is unforgettable. When people see you, they remember. You do the mystery bit well—a hint of glamour, the allure of the forbidden or the dangerous. That's the image you want people to associate with lupi. You're sort of a poster boy for your people."
"Thank you."
He was insulted. She grinned. "You don't like being called a boy or cocky, which is for puppies. I think you've started to believe your image."
All at once he grinned back. "Maybe I have."
The grin transformed his face, turning it from dark and disturbing to someone outrageously appealing—but someone who wore ragged jeans on weekends, played baseball with the guys, and changed the oil in his car. Lily didn't even think about trying to reply. She was too caught up in that grin, what it did to his eyes and the way it lifted her heart
"Here you go." The waitress deposited their coffee, dumping a couple of containers of creamer beside Lily's cup.
Lily hadn't so much as glimpsed her approach. Shaken, she tore one of the creamers open and dumped half the contents into her coffee.
Had he used some kind of magic on her? Or did it just spill out from him naturally, without his willing it? If it wasn't magic ... she didn't want to think about what it would mean if she could react like that to him without any magic involved "Does magic have a smell?"
His eyebrows lifted. "It can. Why?"
"You knew the attacker was lupus. Our lab did, too—at least, they could tell it was someone of the-Blood, because magic leaves traces. I wondered if you were smelling the same kind of traces they found."
"I don't think so. Magic does have a distinctive scent, but only when it's active. When a spell is being performed, for example. What I identified was the smell of lupus, not magic itself."
"Is there anything else you can tell me about the killer?"
He frowned and sipped his coffee. She was not surprised to see that he drank it black. "He wasn't a juvenile."
"You can tell that from the scent?"
"No. The body wasn't eaten."
Coffee sloshed in her cup. She set it down carefully. "Explain."
"It's pure superstition that an adult lupus will be overcome by bloodlust and attack whatever moves. Young lupi lose themselves in the beast, but we learn control. If we didn't, we really would be the ravening beasts depicted in movies like Witch Hunt.”
"So a child or adolescent wouldn't have acquired control yet."
"Not a child. The Change arrives with puberty."
She thought of a particularly improbable photograph she'd seen while waiting in the checkout line at the grocery store recently. A woman had been sitting up in a hospital bed with several blanket-wrapped bundles tucked into her arms. Bundles with puppy faces. “The National Tattler would be disappointed to hear that."
"I doubt the Tattler allows facts to interfere with its editorial focus."
"I guess not. Talk about raging hormones." Lily gave herself a moment to think by sipping her coffee. This was completely new information. She hadn't heard it, read it, anywhere. Why would he trust her with this knowledge? Was it true? "You’re saying that a young lupus kills. And eats what he kills."
"If he is allowed to, yes. But we are careful with our children. None go through the Change unsupervised."
Her lips twitched. Embarrassed, she took a quick sip of coffee.
"Something amuses you?"
"I have an odd sense of humor," she said apologetically. "I thought of those ads—you know, the public service ones?— where parents of teenagers are told to nag them about where they're going, who they'll be with, all that. And I pictured one aimed for the parents of teenage lupi: 'Where are you going? Who else will be there? Have you eaten? I expect you back before the moon rises, young man!' "