"Imagine how Liander feels. He's gone from a supercool, roomy house to a messy two-bedroom apartment. It has to be his version of hell."
"Never really thought of it that way," Rhoan said around a mouthful of food.
I smiled. My brother had always tended to think of his needs and wants first. It was something of a family trait, I guess.
I tackled my own food with gusto, and it was only when I'd finished that I said, "So how long are you actually going to be undercover?"
"Don't know. The full moon is coming up, so I'll be no good to anyone then. Maybe a week, maybe less." He shrugged. "I guess it depends on whether I catch any whispers or not."
"Then Jack hasn't got anything concrete on Armel's murder?"
"Nope. Cole's apparently waiting on the magi to finish up their reports before he submits his complete findings."
I frowned. "They're taking awhile, aren't they?"
"Some things do." He shrugged again. "How's the zombie hunting going?"
"About as well as everything else is going," I said, then grimaced as my cell phone rang. "How much do you want to bet that this is Jack?"
Rhoan snorted. "Not biting on that one. The odds are too short."
It was Jack, and the news wasn't good. "There's been another zombie murder," he said. "Salliane's sending the details through to your onboard."
"It can't be the same zombie, boss. He was eaten by hellhounds. I suspect there's not much resurrection from a fate like that."
"Then whoever is raising these things obviously has enough power to raise more than one. Get over there straight away. And tell Rhoan I need him up here to learn his undercover history."
"Will do." I hung up and glanced at my brother. "You heard?"
Rhoan grimaced. "Yeah. Look after Liander until I get back."
"Just make sure you get back, bro."
He touched a hand to my cheek lightly, then rose and left. I finished my coffee then stood, but had to grab at the back of the booth as the room swum briefly around me. Maybe I needed more coffee.
I ordered a cup to go, then climbed into the car and drove across town to the next murder scene. Whoever was behind these didn't seem to be overly choosy about their location. First Fitzroy, then Coolaroo, now the green-living, artist-friendly hub known as Eltham.
I parked the car behind the other Directorate vehicles, then walked across the grass. This kid had been murdered in the trees near the railway lines and, like before, her neck had been slashed.
I stopped several feet away from her body. The metallic tang of blood mingled with the dying warmth of raw meat, but layered in between was a scent that reminded me of solvents.
"She had a gun?" I said, my gaze on Cole rather than on the bloody, broken body he was squatting beside.
"Yes." He didn't look up as he spoke. "And it may lead to an early capture of this particular zombie. She shot off one of the creature's fingers before it got her."
"Damn shame she didn't aim for the zombie's head. That might have done them more good."
He glanced up at me. "Not everyone is as efficient at killing as you guardians."
"And some of us guardians wish we weren't as efficient, either."
He snorted softly. "Jack would have a fit if he heard you say that. You are his protegee, after all."
"It's not a job I particularly liked or wanted, Cole, but I'm stuck with the damn thing and have to make the best of it."
He raised his eyebrows. "Even guardians can quit."
"Not this guardian. It's either this or military for me."