Dead Shifter Walking by Kim Schubert

death was exsanguination.
Thankfully I had watched enough crime TV to recognize the fancy
medical term for extensive loss of blood. There was an up-close
picture of the wound on her neck. I turned it, studied it, and
couldn’t say what the fuck did that.
    Next was her brother, eighteen, about to
graduate high school, a wrestler and straight-A student. There was
bruising around his left eye and rib cage; he fought back before
his throat was torn out, same as his sister. No clues as to
what.
    The mother was next, forty-five-year-old
biologist, relatively successful if her daughter’s education was
any indication. I compared the picture of her neck to the
children’s. It was larger, and four hardly evident scratch marks
began at the base of her neck.
    I meticulously went through the rest of the
files: father, grandmother, grandfather, aunt, and uncle; they were
all the same, except for the mother. I held the wound picture
apart, what made her different? If I was a betting women, I might
think she was the real target and everyone else collateral damage.
Who the fuck had she pissed off?
    The files didn’t give any detailed personal
information aside from the basics. I would need Mercer to move
forward; I had a nagging suspicion he had planned it that way.
Rummaging through the files, I found his number and dialed.
    “Mercer,” he answered, gruff and short.
    “Olivia,” I said, waiting for acknowledgement;
getting none, I simply plowed right over, “I need the financial
workup on the mother, Jane, and the father as well. Also—” The line
went dead; well, that was just rude.
    I gave serious thought to finding him, tapping
the hotel pen against the files. He didn’t seem the type to let
this file gather dust while intentionally sabotaging me; certainly
didn’t mean he wasn’t. Typically, my instincts were dead on,
literally; I’d give him the rest of the day before I started making
his life interesting.
    Checking my watch for the time, I laughed. He
wasn’t the rude one; I was. It was 2 a.m. He, being a human, would
be sleeping at this time of the night. Oops, guess I deserved that.
The four scratches bothered me; did something rip out their
jugular? Where the fuck was all the blood? I pulled the pictures,
scouring all of them, looking for pictures that showed the carpet
or furniture. Nothing. All I had were close-ups in the morgue. I
was missing a large part of this file.
    I almost called Mercer back, looking down at my
cell phone and debating; he apparently didn’t like sharing. Moving
to lie down on the couch, I took my wine, but left the files as the
information and pictures ran through my mind. I was missing
something, probably more than one something, and truthfully, I
wasn’t sure if it would be in Mercer’s file or not.
    I turned on my side either way I had to resolve
this. Human law enforcement thought it was a vampire. I wonder what
the vampires thought of that. Let’s see, it was Wednesday, no,
Thursday morning according to my phone. Mallory was off; I wondered
what she was up to. No time like the present to find out.
    I texted her, You hear about the “vampire”
murders?
    I waited all of three seconds before she
responded, Not vampires.
    How can you be sure? I texted back.
    My phone rang at that point.
    “Are you fucking serious?” Mallory demanded.
    “Typically,” I responded evenly, trying to hide
my amusement at her.
    “Do you have any idea of the fallout we are
seeing because of the murders? I have people carrying stakes around
the complex, holy water on every surface outside, and torches. Do
you hear me?” she screamed, “TORCHES!”
    Mallory, when not at Kitten, ran security for
the Centennial House; she was just as pissed as me when the house
came forward, announcing their presence to the public.
    “You need me to run interference?” I asked
hopefully.
    “Fuck no!” she yelled again, “I have enough
issues without a bloodthirsty executioner darkening my doorstep.
Figure out what