Once Bitten (Shadow Guild: The Rebel 1)

The shorter, skinnier one was just as familiar, and my heart sank.

Banks.

He thought I was full of shit. Worse, he thought I was probably a killer. He’d made it his life’s work to get me for crimes I hadn’t committed. At the memories, ice chilled my veins.

A quick scan of the alley and building corners revealed none of the cameras that were so ubiquitous in London. It was one of the most heavily surveilled cities in the world, and this poor bastard had got himself killed in one without government eyes watching.

Just my luck.

It’d been purposeful on the killer’s part, I had to imagine. But now there was nothing easy and quick to clear my name.

My arms felt awkward above my head, but I didn’t lower them. “It’s not what it looks like, guys. I’m here to help, just like all the other times.”

“You’ve never been standing right over a body wearing killer’s gloves before,” Banks said.

“They’re standard issue, just like yours.”

“Except no one issued them to you, did they?” Banks was close enough that I could see the triumph in his ratty little eyes. His pale skin was sallow and his expression pinched, but he was more excited than I’d seen him in years.

No one should be that excited while standing next to a person who’d just been viciously murdered.

But Banks was right. I’d failed out of training. I was just a wannabe.

My gaze flicked to Corrigan. His warm, dark skin looked ashen, and his eyes flickered with worry. “Carrow.”

The disappointment in his words sent cold fear through me.

Shit, shit, shit.

“This looks bad, Carrow.” His deep baritone, which normally comforted me, was heavy with concern.

“Looks bad?” Banks’s voice was high with annoyance and excitement. “Bad? It looks like we caught our killer. Finally.”

The satisfaction in his voice made me want to kick him.

My heart pounded. “You know I didn’t do this, Corrigan. You know it.”

His keen eyes assessed the scene. “Then how are you here so soon before us? The body isn’t even cold yet, is it?”

How did I explain to him that I was here because I’d touched the wrong thing? A random rag thrown at me by a raccoon, in this case. It’d probably been owned by the victim at one point, though I’d seen no clues on it. One touch with my bare skin, and I’d seen it, along with a location.

I didn’t always get a location—a gut-deep knowledge of where on the planet something was happening—but this time, I had.

And I couldn’t ignore it. Even though I knew I was already so many strikes down that one more “coincidence” would get me in real trouble, I hadn’t been able to ignore the possibility that I could help this poor man. That I could help Beatrix—at least by finding justice for her.

That symbol burned into both bodies meant that a serial killer was back, and I could find them.

I gave Corrigan my most serious expression. “I’ve helped you catch so many killers, you know I could never do this.”

Corrigan’s lips twisted with regret.

He’d been a temporary lecturer when I’d gone through training, and we’d kept in touch, even after I’d failed out for insubordination and unusual methodology—my term, not theirs. He believed in my strange talent, or at least, he wasn’t willing to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He was the only one, though.

I’d helped him catch killers, but no one else believed me, so they’d assumed I got my info the bad way. The way they could understand. The way that was going to lead to my arrest.

“I’m sorry, Carrow,” Corrigan said. “Maybe we can clear this up at the station.”