Read Gunmetal Magic: A Novel in the World of Kate Daniels for Free Online

photos faster than anything else on the market and stored the image digitally as a bonus. It was as close to an instant record of evidence as we could get.
    “Have the bodies been moved at all?”
    Stefan shrugged his shoulders. “Sylvia found them, she checked their pulses, examined the vault to see that nobody was there, and backed right out of the dig. We know the drill.”
    If they knew the drill, they would’ve kept a log. “Where is Sylvia now?”
    “With Raphael, being hassled by the cops.”
    In legal terms, the Pack had similar rights to a Native American tribe, with the ability to govern itself and enforce its own laws. If a shapeshifter died in the Pack’s territory, it was a Pack matter. These shapeshifters had died within city limits, and the PAD wanted in on the action. They weren’t exactly shapeshifter fans, with a good reason.
    We lived in the gray zone between beast and human. Those of us who wanted to remain human lived by the Code, a set ofstrict rules. The Code was all about discipline and moderation and obeying the chain of command. Sometimes the human brakes failed, and a shapeshifter threw the Code out the window and went loup. Loups were sadistic, murderous freaks. They reveled in killing, cannibalism, and every other violent perversity their insane brains could think up. The Pack put them down with extreme prejudice, but that didn’t keep the PAD from viewing every shapeshifter as a potential spree killer. Whenever a shapeshifter murder occurred in the city, they tried to muscle in on it.
    Not that they would accomplish anything. The Pack’s lawyers were ravenous beasts.
    I crouched by the nearest body and aimed the camera. The flash flared, searing the scene with white light for a fraction of a moment. The camera purred, printing out the image. I pulled it out and waved it a bit to dry, before sliding it into a paper envelope.
    The dead man appeared to be in his late fifties. Shapeshifters aged well, so he could’ve been in his seventies, for all I knew. The skin on his forehead was olive, a warm shade particular to those from the Indian subcontinent. That was the only patch of exposed skin left undamaged. Large blisters swelled everywhere else on his cheeks, neck, and arms, the skin peeling up from muscle, stretched taut and completely black.
    Another Polaroid.
    “I’ve never seen anything like that before,” Stefan said.
    I had. “Has the ME been through here?”
    “Yeah. But we chased them off.”
    That’s right, even if Pack members died outside of the Pack’s territory, the Pack still had the right to claim their bodies. And technically the building was Pack property, since Raphael had bought it. I should’ve remembered that. Getting rusty, Ms. Nash. Getting rusty.
    I handed him the Polaroid camera. “Could you hold on to this for a second?”
    He took the camera. I pulled a knife from my belt and sliced the man’s shirt straight down his chest. The thin fabric parted easily. I made a cut through each sleeve and gently turned the body on its side. A large swelling marked the top of the left shoulder, just above the clavicle. I flicked the knifeacross the bottom edge of the blister. Body fluids gushed out, black and streaked with blood. The stench hit me instantly, the foul, putrid reek of rotten flesh.
    Stefan cursed and spun away.
    “If you’re going to puke, kindly do it in the tunnel.”
    He bent double and shook his head. “No, I’m good. I’m good.”
    I stretched the deflated skin down. Two ragged punctures marked the man’s back, close to the top of the shoulder near the neck. The swelling had hidden them before.
    “What is that?”
    “A snakebite.”
    “Aren’t we immune to snake venom?”
    I shook my head. “Nope.”
    “You’re kidding me.”
    “No, I’m not. Shapeshifters don’t exactly advertise this fact, for obvious reasons, but yeah, a copperhead bites you, you’ll feel it.”
    Stefan blinked at me. “We regenerate broken bones, and we’re