Dying Bites: The Bloodhound Files-1 by DD Barant Page B
Authors: DD Barant
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Romance, Fantasy fiction, Fiction - Fantasy, Fantasy, Fantasy - Contemporary, Contemporary, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Occult fiction, Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, Vampires, American Science Fiction And Fantasy, Horror & Ghost Stories, Werewolves, Serial Murders, Criminal profilers, Serial Murder Investigation
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people had no idea what ballistics even were. “Never mind. What else is there?”
Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01
Page 54 of 370
“That’s it. No fingerprints, just some snowshoe tracks. The site itself was a modular metal pen, set up literally in the middle of nowhere. The dogs were used as transport there, but we don’t know how the killer left.”
“It’s Antarctica. How many ways could there be?”
Gretchen speaks up. “We’re working on that. We believe he may have access to unorthodox transport.”
“You mean like the way I was brought here?”
She shakes her head. “Not exactly. That sort of thing is very rarely done, and only by government agencies. No, we think he might be using a shape-shifting spell—
transforming into something that can fly, or possibly swim.”
“Is that unusual?”
“Extremely. It’s a form of magic that both hemovores and lycanthropes are unable to use—and only a handful of human sorcerers have the necessary training.”
“Sounds like a good place to start.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that easy.” Gretchen sighs. “Unenhanced humans are not very well documented. Many live in isolation and have virtually no contact with anyone else. We know the number of human animists that could do something like this is small, but we don’t know exactly what that number is—or where, in fact, all of them are.”
“Oh, this just keeps getting better and better,” I mutter. “What next? Are you going to tell me the suspect is short, dresses all in green, and speaks with an Irish brogue? Were traces of shamrocks and breakfast cereal left at the crime scene?”
Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01
Page 55 of 370
“Leprechauns are just as mythical here as on your world,” Gretchen says. She sounds more amused than annoyed. “We also have an appalling lack of elves, fairies, sprites, pixies, ogres, trolls, hobgoblins, and unicorns. The jury’s still out on UFOs, Bigfoot, and the Loch Ness monster.”
Charlie’s voice rasps from behind me. “There’s always Santa.”
“If the murder happened near the North Pole instead of the South, I’d agree with you,” I say. “Still, I guess we can’t rule him out entirely; maybe he used flying reindeer for the getaway. . . .”
Eisfanger chimes in, his eyes bright. “Yes, and maybe the Easter Bunny painted the dog’s teeth!”
We all glance at him, but the line falls flat and nobody laughs. Even lycanthropes have their geeks, it seems, too-bright people with an obsessive interest in their field and slightly off-balance social skills. I’ve known my share—hell, some people would describe me the same way.
“Okay,” I say, “the Australian vic. Do we have the murder weapon?”
“Yes,” says Eisfanger. “Unless the gremlins have hidden it.” His smile confirms my analysis: the subtle cues that indicate a change in topic are more or less invisible to him.
“Take me to it,” I say. Directness usually works.
The sarcophagus is in a corner of the lab, covered with a white sheet. Eisfanger removes the sheet as carefully as if he’s revealing a body, and turns on twin spotlights over the table.
Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01
Page 56 of 370
About the size and shape of a coffin, but maybe half as deep. Heavy-duty hinges and a thick metal latch, the kind that locks automatically when it closes. I touch the surface with one gloved hand. “So this is the silver maiden, huh? Cheap wood. Looks flimsy.”
“It’s not.” Eisfanger undoes the latch. “Open it.”
I grab the lid with both hands, hoping that Eisfanger’s sense of humor doesn’t lend itself to newbie hazing pranks. It’s much heavier than it looks, but I expected that. I open it fully, the lid coming to rest at an angle against the table. The smell that rises from it is rank and animal, blood and excrement and spoiled meat. The blades that jut up from the inside of the lid are caked with dried blood, bits of flesh,
Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01
Page 54 of 370
“That’s it. No fingerprints, just some snowshoe tracks. The site itself was a modular metal pen, set up literally in the middle of nowhere. The dogs were used as transport there, but we don’t know how the killer left.”
“It’s Antarctica. How many ways could there be?”
Gretchen speaks up. “We’re working on that. We believe he may have access to unorthodox transport.”
“You mean like the way I was brought here?”
She shakes her head. “Not exactly. That sort of thing is very rarely done, and only by government agencies. No, we think he might be using a shape-shifting spell—
transforming into something that can fly, or possibly swim.”
“Is that unusual?”
“Extremely. It’s a form of magic that both hemovores and lycanthropes are unable to use—and only a handful of human sorcerers have the necessary training.”
“Sounds like a good place to start.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that easy.” Gretchen sighs. “Unenhanced humans are not very well documented. Many live in isolation and have virtually no contact with anyone else. We know the number of human animists that could do something like this is small, but we don’t know exactly what that number is—or where, in fact, all of them are.”
“Oh, this just keeps getting better and better,” I mutter. “What next? Are you going to tell me the suspect is short, dresses all in green, and speaks with an Irish brogue? Were traces of shamrocks and breakfast cereal left at the crime scene?”
Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01
Page 55 of 370
“Leprechauns are just as mythical here as on your world,” Gretchen says. She sounds more amused than annoyed. “We also have an appalling lack of elves, fairies, sprites, pixies, ogres, trolls, hobgoblins, and unicorns. The jury’s still out on UFOs, Bigfoot, and the Loch Ness monster.”
Charlie’s voice rasps from behind me. “There’s always Santa.”
“If the murder happened near the North Pole instead of the South, I’d agree with you,” I say. “Still, I guess we can’t rule him out entirely; maybe he used flying reindeer for the getaway. . . .”
Eisfanger chimes in, his eyes bright. “Yes, and maybe the Easter Bunny painted the dog’s teeth!”
We all glance at him, but the line falls flat and nobody laughs. Even lycanthropes have their geeks, it seems, too-bright people with an obsessive interest in their field and slightly off-balance social skills. I’ve known my share—hell, some people would describe me the same way.
“Okay,” I say, “the Australian vic. Do we have the murder weapon?”
“Yes,” says Eisfanger. “Unless the gremlins have hidden it.” His smile confirms my analysis: the subtle cues that indicate a change in topic are more or less invisible to him.
“Take me to it,” I say. Directness usually works.
The sarcophagus is in a corner of the lab, covered with a white sheet. Eisfanger removes the sheet as carefully as if he’s revealing a body, and turns on twin spotlights over the table.
Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01
Page 56 of 370
About the size and shape of a coffin, but maybe half as deep. Heavy-duty hinges and a thick metal latch, the kind that locks automatically when it closes. I touch the surface with one gloved hand. “So this is the silver maiden, huh? Cheap wood. Looks flimsy.”
“It’s not.” Eisfanger undoes the latch. “Open it.”
I grab the lid with both hands, hoping that Eisfanger’s sense of humor doesn’t lend itself to newbie hazing pranks. It’s much heavier than it looks, but I expected that. I open it fully, the lid coming to rest at an angle against the table. The smell that rises from it is rank and animal, blood and excrement and spoiled meat. The blades that jut up from the inside of the lid are caked with dried blood, bits of flesh,
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