Frost Moon Read Free

leaned forward, looked through the clear plastic bag, at the wreath, the inking. The board exposed through the rip was smoothly polished and finely worked, despite the bloodstains. Suddenly I knew.
    “Yes, I know the artist,” I said. “Not, I mean, personally. It’s Richard Sumner.”
    “Do you know where he is?”
    “Buried in Cincinnati,” I said. “Sumner was famous, but he died in… 2005, I think?”
    “Hell,” Balducci said. “That rules out a suspect—”
    “Do you know who this was inked on?” Rand asked.
    “No,” I said, closing my eyes at last. That piece of skin had come from a living human person. I’d really been trying not to think of that. My mind cast around for anything else. “Sumner did thousands of people. You could email the Lancing Dragon in Cincinnati, though. Sumner took extensive pictures. They’re stored there.”
    Rand smiled. “We’ll do that.” His smile faded. “Do you know of anyone who had a grudge against Sumner, or against any of his subjects?”
    “No,” I said. “I mean, I don’t know anyone who has a grudge against anyone—”
    “Really?” Rand said. “What about against other tattoo artists? Especially magical ones?”
    “According to our newsletter,” I said sarcastically, “ ‘there are over two hundred licensed magical tattoo artists in the United States,’ so it’s a pretty big list—”
    “Could we get a copy of that newsletter?” Rand asked.
    I thought about it for a moment. “Yes.”
    “Is there anything you would like to add?” Rand said.
    “Yes,” I said, nodding at the skin-covered board. “I would like to add a what the fuck is that thing? “
    “Tell her about the box,” Balducci said.
    “What about the box?” I said, eyes drawn back to the thing on the table.
    “We had a witness,” cadaver man said. “He didn’t live long enough to tell us much, but he mentioned… a box. A box covered in scraps of tattooed skin—”
    “Don’t tell me more about the box,” I said, getting up. “Oh, God, it’s a fucking lid— “
    “Dakota,” Rand said, motioning to cadaver man. “You don’t need to stay any longer, Dakota, though our friend the Fed there may have more questions for you later—”
    “Why did you bring me here?” I said, watching cadaver man slip… it… back into its opaque envelope. “Is this some kind of cruel joke, some kind of arrangement with my dad to get me to come home—”
    “Dakota,” Rand said. “I didn’t lie. We did need to see you, and not just for your expertise—”
    “Rand,” Balducci warned. “She’s just a civilian. And just a kid—”
    “She’s got to know,” Rand said, staring up at me with the same sad eyes I remembered looking up to as a child. “Dakota, this just fell in our lap, but our ‘friends’ tell us they have had a dozen killings over the past five years where magical tattoos were taken, almost always on or near the full moon, moving from state to state each time. This last one was in Birmingham, and our ‘friends’ tell us all the signs point to an attack here in Georgia… soon.”
    “And the full moon is next weekend,” I said. “Just after Halloween.”
    “So you see, Dakota, I needed to talk to you,” Rand said. “We don’t think you’re a specific target but… Kotie, stay safe. Your Dad and I are very worried about you.”
    My childhood nickname rang in my ears as I watched cadaver man carry ‘it’ back through the door of white light.
    “That makes three of us,” I said.
    I said my goodbyes to Rand and then got the hell out, escorted by the black-and white twin officers who’d picked me up. Tweedle-White and Tweedle-Black turned out to be Horscht and Gibbs, old buddies of Rand’s, who were doing him a favor by scooping me.
    Gibbs was a sexy beast, like a younger version of Rand himself, but after staying for the show with the lid, Horscht turned from stony Aryan Nazi to protective den mother. After some arguing, they agreed to take me