Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Ember

I t takes approximately seven gallons of coffee to force myself out of bed in the morning. Talking to Veryn for an extra hour when I should have been asleep probably didn’t help, but I’m rundown in a way I’m not used to.

I still drag my ass to the office. It’s on the far side of Haven, close to the ward, which makes entering and exiting town easy.

Owen’s is like a supernatural bail bondsman’s office; only, most of our cases come from the paranormal council, which is not to be confused with Haven’s town council.

The town council sets the rules for living in Haven, and it’s headed by my grandmother, Octavia.

The human realm paranormal council is its own entity that creates laws and standards for all supernaturals. They’re a giant pain in the ass in some instances, but there’s a level of disconnect because I never have to work with them directly. I pop into Owen’s, get my assignment, and that’s that. I’m paid by him, and any targets are delivered to the office to be held for surrender to the council.

Climbing out of my SUV, I note there are a few cars in the parking lot. Sometimes that happens, but I hope this isn’t one of those assignments he tosses at all of us. Those jobs are the worst because only one of us is going to catch the target, meaning only one of us gets paid.

Not that I have a lot of bills, but I would like to move out of my parents’ house before I turn thirty…maybe even twenty-five, if I’m lucky. Haven is just so damn expensive.

My wolf sends me images of Veryn’s stubble-lined jaw and memories of the way his canines dig into his lower lip. She’s insinuating we could move in with our mate at any time.

I still don’t know how he lucked out finding the duplex he lives in. He’s lucky he got there first. I would have snagged it without an ounce of shame if the opportunity arose.

Grabbing the handle of the glass door, I head inside through the employee entrance. It’s louder than normal, but that could be from all the targets that were apprehended last night. Weekends are the busiest for some reason.

I sigh when I realize the chaos is actually from a room full of employees.

Luckily, Rogue is sitting on the edge of one of the desks. After almost two years, I probably should know whose desk it is. Either way, I beeline for her. She eyes me from head to toe, probably judging my messy bun.

She can judge away.

Her mother is a fae princess and her biological father is the former Spring Prince of the Seelie Court. She got killer genetics.

If I didn’t know better, I’d assume her hair naturally falls in beach waves right out of bed. It doesn’t, but she has fae magic. She can materialize an incredible outfit or perfect hair in the blink of an eye.

It’s kinda unfair to the rest of us who have to battle with our straightener unless we want an untamed mass of wavy frizz.

“Is that everyone?” Owen glances around as he stands with his ass leaning against his desk. “Good enough for me.”

He turns, grabbing a file folder.

Monsters are old school. Probably because they were around long before electronics.

“We’ve got a big one.” Owen leans back against his desk and flips a sheet of paper with four pictures. “This is the Market Heist Crew, or that’s what they’re calling them. They’re hitting everything from banks and jewelry stores to storage units and cash-only businesses. Seven dead so far. All the crimes have taken place in human cities that edge a sanctuary town…”

Owen goes on for so long that I start to examine my nails.

We get the point.

He goes over the four major players again and hands out their files to teams around the room.

My head tilts.

Not one of those folders was given to me or Rogue. Everyone else begins to file out while I glare at Owen unrepentantly.

“You could have saved us a trip if you had no intention of giving us an assignment.” I plant my hands on my hips for good measure. I dragged my tired self out of bed to be here, and he needs to understand how annoyed I am by that.

“I have something different in mind for the two of you.” The grouchy bear shifter twists to grab a separate file off his desk and takes the few steps to stand in front of us. “Where’s your third?”

Rogue’s sister is a nightmare demon and the third member of our team.

“Gemma is available if we need her.” Rogue pulls her shoulders back, and I glance between the two of them.

They always have a weird vibe.

Owen babies the hell out of her, and since she’s my partner on most apprehensions, it spills over to affecting me too. It’s not like we’re incapable without Gemma. Although, even I can admit how convenient it is to have a nightmare demon along for the ride.

“Did you plan to brief us…or?” Rogue rolls her icy blue eyes.

“Just give me your word that you’ll be careful.” Owen sighs, flips open the folder, and turns it to face us.

The picture clipped to the side is of a male in a black polo shirt with messy whitish-blond hair. Large black-frame glasses take up most of his face, and he has an extremely slender build.

Nothing about him really screams dangerous. Like, at all . But it’s not my job to make assumptions about his guilt or innocence.

“What did he do?” I study his picture before moving down to examine the information.

Name and species are always listed immediately below the picture.

Ethan Sanders is a suspected wolf shifter. His designation is unknown, but someone handwrote possibly an alpha or mixed species in the next empty space.

Female wolves are rare these days. If we can make contact somewhere in public, then he might come to me if he catches my scent. That’s likely why Owen is handing us this case to begin with.

“Nothing, that’s the thing.” Owen frowns, scratching his thick blond beard. “But the council believes he has knowledge of someone they want brought in.”

“Don’t leave us in suspense,” Rogue says, grabbing the file from Owen.

“The Plague Doctor, or just The Doctor for short.” He nods at the folder. “Don’t bother digging. You won’t find a picture. The guy is a ghost.”

“A ghost with a ridiculous name.” I snort and lean closer to Rogue to see if I can catch any important information.

“Listen…” Something in Owen’s tone changes just enough that my eyes fly up to meet his. “This is an order. If you gain information on The Doctor, you don’t follow the trail. You bring it right back here to me, and you’ll be paid the sum on the front of the folder. If you determine Sanders has information, but you can’t get it out of him directly, the same rules apply. Bring him in and your job is done.”

“That’s not weird or anything,” Rogue mutters.

“Not at all,” I agree, still a little stuck on the way the veins on Owen’s forehead stick out.

That usually only happens when he’s really stressed. He and Rogue better figure out their weirdness soon, or he might end up with high blood pressure.