Panther Prowling Read online

  For those of you new to my books, I hope you’ve enjoyed your first foray into my worlds. For those of you who have followed me for a while, I want to thank you for once again revisiting the world of Camille, Menolly, and Delilah, and invite you all into my two new worlds later this year. Check my website, galenorn.com, for information on my short stories, for release info, and to find the links to where you can find me on the web.

  Bright Blessings,

  The Painted Panther

  Yasmine Galenorn

  “Hurry up, damn it! Get a move on, woman!” Alex shoved me toward the stairwell and jammed the door by shoving a wooden wedge beneath it, but that would only buy us a little time.

  “I’m trying but the camera’s stuck!” I yanked on the strap, which had got caught in the door as we’d beat a hasty retreat from the apartment where we had been spying. We couldn’t afford to lose the camera—we needed the pictures on it. Not to mention, if we lost it, the cost for it would come out of my salary. I wasn’t about to leave it behind.

  “Oh, for cripes’ sake, Shimmer. Just cut the bloody straps! For the love of . . .” Alex grabbed the straps out of my hand and yanked out Juanita, his trusty big-assed bowie knife. The blade glittered dangerously in the dim light. Alex sliced through the leather straps like they were butter and, bingo, the camera came free in my hands. I managed not to play fumble-fingers and drop it as we returned to beating a hasty departure. Someone was pounding on the door behind us but we knew who was on the other side, and we weren’t about to let him in because he wanted to do really bad things to us at the moment.

  “Get your ass down to the parking garage.” Alex bared his fangs, looking pissed out of his mind as he shoved me toward the stairs. I didn’t protest, just raced down the steps with the vampire following.

  We made it to the third level of the garage and piled into Alex’s sedan that he used for stakeout work. As he revved the engine and we swung out of the parking spot, the door to the garage slammed opened and Jackaboy Jones came barreling out, his eyes glowing—and he wasn’t alone. His pack of good ol’ boys followed. They were shifting into wolf form even as we managed to swerve toward the exit. With the wolves racing behind us, we hit the streets of Seattle.

  Lucky for us, it was 2:00 A.M. and there was no traffic to speak of. Alex made a sharp right turn at the intersection and we left Jackaboy in the dust, his cronies now gathered behind him.

  I let out a long sigh and leaned my head against the seat. “That was close.”

  Alex grinned at me. “Not really, love.” He still had a slight Australian accent, even though he’d been over in the U.S. for almost one hundred years. It was charming, in a boyish sort of way. “I’ve been in far tighter straits. We have the pictures and that’s what counts. His wife will be able to press ahead in her case, we’ll get paid, and we have one more divorce notched on our belts.”

  With a twinkle in his eye, he began to whistle. “But next time you get the urge to wear a pair of stilettos on a case, maybe rethink the idea? I’m not advocating Birkenstocks but . . .” He laughed and held up the broken heel from my sandals. It had come off on the stairs and I’d left it, but apparently Alex had noticed.

  Blushing, I tried to hide my embarrassment. “You’re a dick, you know that?” I had picked up Earthside vernacular pretty damned quickly.

  “Oh, sweet pea, I’ve known that for years. I’ll grow on you. See if I don’t.” He switched on the MP3 player and AC/DC’s Highway to Hell came blaring out. As we headed back to the office, I couldn’t help but think that he was all too right. Alex Radcliffe was growing on me, and I couldn’t afford to let that happen.

  * * *

  “Holy fuck, what the hell are they doing in there?” I grimaced as another crash interrupted my conversation with Bette. We were eating lunch—well, what passed for lunch. It was midnight, but since our office hours were 8:30 to 5:30 A.M., this counted as our noon meal.

  Bette sat behind the receptionist’s counter of the Fly By Night Magical Investigations Agency. A fine gray marble veined with rich gunmetal, the counter stood between the back office and the waiting room. Bette was our official meet-and-greeter, and as unconventional as she was, people liked her. She netted us a number of new clients just by the way she welcomed them when they came through the door. Something to do with pheromones, she said.

  I was sitting beside her, counting the crashes. “That’s how many? Four?” The sound of breaking glass would have alarmed me and sent me running into Alex’s office if I hadn’t known who was in there with him.

  Bette cackled. “Three. Something’s got her knickers twisted, that’s for sure.” The older woman—well, she looked like an older woman, even though she didn’t act it—grinned and winked at me. “Glenda can be a real bitch when she gets worked up. And she gets worked up a lot.”

  She leaned over her plate and enthusiastically bit into the hamburger. Dripping with bacon grease and secret sauce, the sandwich smelled wonderful, and the look on the Melusine’s face told me just how much she enjoyed it. We had that in common, at least. Snake shifters and dragons both were major carnivores. There, though, any resemblance ended.

  Bette was a sight, with her long gray hair curled into a bouffant and eyes the color of a green leaves with sunshine sparkling on them. She routinely dressed like a biker mama. Today she had on skintight jeans, a glittering gold belt, a V-neck T-shirt stretched so tightly over her ample boobs that the material looked ready to tear, and a pair of Doc Martens. All that was missing was a leather jacket, and that was hanging on the back of her chair. At least she didn’t smoke while she was eating—that would have killed my appetite.

  We made quite the pair. When I’m in my human form I’m six feet tall, with long black hair streaked with blue. The streaks are natural, not dye. My eyes are the same royal blue, leading to a lot of people asking: “Do you wear colored contacts?” It’s just easier to say yes. Add to that I’m strong and muscled, and—like Bette—I have big boobs, and I get a lot of interesting looks and a few too many hands I have to slap.

  As I finished my fish and chips, another crash split the air. This time it was followed by Alex shouting, and Glenda shouting right back at him. The argument was escalating, all right. Apparently it had reached match point because the door to his office slammed open and the succubus came storming out as fast as her formfitting pleather skirt would allow her to walk. She glanced over at us, glowering.

  “Don’t even ask. Just mind your own business, bitches.” And then, without another word, she vanished.

  Alex peered around the corner of the heavy steel door. “She gone?” He looked properly cowed, but the twinkle was still hiding there in his eyes. It wasn’t like this was the first time the pair had fought up a storm.

  Bette nodded, licking her fingers. “Sure is, precious. I’ll get a broom and dustpan after I finish my lunch.” She paused, then before he could disappear back behind the door, she added, “There was a call that came in while you and Miss Prissypants were occupied. Patrick Strand needs to talk to you.”

  Alex slowly emerged from his office. He was about my height—six feet, and had wheat colored hair that was always lightly tousled. It reached his shoulders, and a stubble of beard covered his chin. His eyes were frosty gray, and he was fit, with a fine spread of pecs and abs. I knew that from seeing him without his shirt a couple times.

  He could also be the most annoying man I’d ever met, except that he wasn’t exactly a man. He was a vampire. And he happened to be my boss so I had no choice but to put up with him. He owned and ran the agency, and I had been assigned to him for a five-year stint, so I did my best to get along with him, even when he drove me up the wall. I didn’t have a choice.

  “Patrick Strand? You’re sure it was him?” He looked puzzled. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time.” He leaned against the wall, gazing at Bette, his expression thoughtful.

  “
Twenty some years, if I’m on my game.” Bette polished off the last of her meal and wiped her hands on a paper napkin, then tossed the bag and container in the garbage. “The last time you two talked, it ended up with a major argument, if I recall correctly.”

  I perked up. I hadn’t heard this story. I’d only been around a few months. And so far, with what I had heard of Alex’s exploits, I had come to realize that I was dealing with someone as volatile and chaotic as myself, which was in itself a scary proposition.

  “What happened?” I had no shame when it came to butting in.

  Alex glanced at me, a smirk on his face. “Patrick conned me out of a thousand dollars that I happened to need very badly—”

  “You lost it in a poker game, sugar. He won fair and square. But you know that’s not the real reason.” Bette snorted and tapped out a cigarette, shoving it in one side of her mouth. She smoked like a chimney stack and smelled like one, too.

  “That was reason enough. Patrick cheated—”

  “You choked!” Her laugh was raspy as she lit up. The NO SMOKING sign above her desk never deterred her. She ignored it, just like she ignored just about everything Alex told her. But she ran the company with an iron fist. There was no doubt who held everything together for us.

  “You old bitch . . . I never choke.” Alex snorted.

  “Sure you don’t, sugar. Sure you don’t.” She laughed. They teased each other constantly. It was their pattern. “Why don’t you run along and call him. Patrick needs your help, and you two need to settle the past and put it behind you. It’s not like it was with Julian. Trust me on this one. Let the past go.”

  She held his gaze and I had the feeling there was something being said under the surface. Instead of arguing, he let out a grunt, turned, and went back into his office. And just like that, we were back to work.

  * * *

  So . . . I’m Shimmer, if you’re wondering who I am. And I happen to be a dragon. A blue dragon, specifically. If you don’t know what that means, here it is in a nutshell: I’m a water dragon. I’m connected to the element of water in more ways than you’d think, and I’m most at home when I’m in a lake, ocean, swimming pool. Hell, even a bath makes me feel more secure. Trouble is, I got myself in a really bad jam and—long story short—was exiled from the Dragon Reaches for five years and stripped of some of my powers.

  The Wing Liege—one of our main council members and the advisor to the Emperor—commuted what could have been a death sentence and sent me Earthside. He assigned me to work for his friend Alex Radcliffe. That the Wing Liege even admits to knowing a vampire still boggles my mind. And he didn’t give me a choice—it was accept the punishment or face assassination. This was by far the better option.

  So I’ve been here about five Earthside months, and I’m slowly acclimating myself to human culture, but it’s not easy. I don’t understand a lot of the mores and customs, and I’m still not sure how I’m supposed to fit in. I don’t even understand the other Supes very well. I miss the Dragon Reaches, but since I was never accepted there in the first place—long story, best saved for another time—I guess . . . maybe this might be for the best. It’s a new chance for me, and one I’d never get at home.

  So, I’m giving this stint my best because, really, there isn’t much else I can do. I’m on probation. I screw this up, and I get sent packing to a fate that might well include my execution. Working for Alex can be a little scary, but it’s not as scary as having an assassin on my tail.

  Oh . . . last thing. As to what I did? Well, let me give you one piece of advice: never, ever steal from a white dragon. Even if you think he might have clues as to who your parents were. Being an orphan is rough, especially in the Dragon Reaches. Being dead? Even harder.

  * * *

  I was just finishing up entering some info on a case we’d recently solved when Alex called me into his office. I made sure I had my iPad and headed in to see what he wanted.

  Alex’s office always gave me the creeps. The ceilings were high—which I did like. At about twelve feet, they gave the room an open, airy feel. But against one wall, a line of trophies faced the door. A rhino, a hippo, a giraffe, and a crocodile all jutted out in 3D living color from their mounting plaques. Over his desk was a giant swordfish. Occasionally I’d hunted them when I was in dragon form underwater, but I never thought to stuff one and stick it on the wall.

  At one point in his two-hundred-some-odd years, Alex had taken up big game hunting, and this was the result. He had told me when I’d questioned him on it that while he’d never do it again, he wasn’t going to disrespect the animals he’d killed by dumping the trophies in a thrift shop or just tossing them away.

  The rest of the office was a mixture of brilliant wall colors, old wood, and chrome and glass. Glass-covered cases displayed the numerous blades Alex had collected. He even had a bow and arrow slung over a coat rack. I wasn’t sure if he could use it, but chances were, he could. Alex was rough-and-tumble. He’d never pass for a cowboy, but he sure could pass for Mad Max.

  I slid into a chair opposite his desk, looking around. Two of the vases that I had liked were gone, and one of the panes of glass on the display cases was also missing. No doubt the victim of Glenda’s temper tantrum. But I wisely avoided that subject and leaned forward, readying my tablet.

  “Ready. What you got for me, boss?”

  He laughed, folding his hands against his stomach. He had a flat stomach. Nicely flat. Way too nice. As he stared at me, that damned grin of his showed the very tips of his fangs.

  “What are you laughing at?” I squirmed a little. His gaze was cool, and yet there was always an underlying heat between us that made me uncomfortable. Half the time, I wanted to smack the guy. I conveniently ignored what I wanted to do to him the other half of the time.

  “You. You’re always so to the point when you come in here, love.” He leaned forward. “You need to learn how to loosen up.”

  “I just . . . You’re my boss,” I muttered. Truth was, I’d almost staked him a couple months back. Granted, I’d been under a charm at the time, but the end result? I’d just about dusted my boss and any chance I had at making a go of things. I still was amazed that he wasn’t holding a grudge.

  “I’m also your friend. Okay, here’s the deal. Patrick Strand? He’s an old friend of mine. We go way back.”

  “He a vampire?” Usually vamps associated with their own kind.

  “Actually, he is, yes. At least now. He wasn’t when I knew him. He runs a B-and-B joint up in Port Townsend geared toward Supes—especially vampires. He bought it a couple years ago, but just recently got around to converting it over. That’s when the problems started.” Alex winked at me. “Patrick always did know how to pick ’em, whether it was women or houses or jobs.”

  Considering Alex had once been involved with Bette, and now he had a succubus girlfriend with anger management problems, I wanted to point out the obvious hypocrisy in that statement, but decided to save it for later.

  “What kind of problems? And what’s the name of the place?”

  “The High Tide Bed-and-Breakfast. It was supposed to open last month but a series of accidents forestalled that. There’s more, though.” Alex frowned, staring at his notes. “Patrick thinks . . . he thinks he’s being haunted.”

  Ghosts. Wonderful. I had very little experience with spirits and wasn’t eager to add to my repertoire.

  “And what makes him think that?” I tapped in a few notes on my iPad.

  “Strange noises, poltergeist activity . . . cold spots. Typical stuff. I told him we’d come up and investigate.”

  Annnnd . . . there we had it. A real case landing at my feet at last. Over the past few months, we’d taken on some low-key items, but nothing out of the ordinary or that proved to be much in the way of dangerous. Mostly taking pictures for divorces or court cases. Supes were really good about knowing when they were
being followed. It took another Supe with a camera to manage the necessary proof. But until now, Alex hadn’t thrown me into anything major. He had told me that business was in a lull, but I suspected he’d been turning away clients until I got my wings about me. Now, it appeared, he thought I was ready.

  “Sure thing. Anything I need to bone up on?” I still wasn’t used to the concept of being a professional spy, but then again, I’d spent my life breaking into people’s—well, dragons’—houses and rifling through their stuff. I had a decent amount of experience at getting myself into tight places.

  “Not really. We’ll head up tomorrow night. Find the ferry schedules, would you? We need to go from Coupeville to Port Townsend. We’ll leave first thing after sunset, so pack a bag for a few days. You might want to do a little reading up on the town. It’s an odd place. Supposed to be spook-central, from what I gather. I’m telling Ralph to pull out all the stops and bring all the ghost-hunting equipment.”

  “Equipment? But . . . you’re a vampire. Ralph is a werewolf. I’m a dragon. What do we need equipment for?” I knew that the agency had a store of EMF meters and EVP recorders and whatever else that humans had managed to create in their quest to prove that ghosts were real, but really?

  “Listen to me. Always go in prepared. We probably won’t need it, but better to have it with us than not. I may be a vampire, but that doesn’t mean I know when there are ghosts around. Same with Ralph and you. Not all Supes are created equally psychic.”