he
went on torturing the body.”
“What was the cause of death?” Rune asked.
“Blow to the back of the head with a blunt object.”
“So the doer got carried away and hit the victim a little
too hard?”
Rice nodded. “I think so.” He took a drink of his own
coffee. “There were other differences and a couple of similarities that may or
may not be significant. The male victim was rumored to be a rapist. He only
raped Others though, so the humans didn’t care and the Others never had any
real evidence.”
“Lara Book wasn’t a criminal,” Strad said.
“Exactly.” Rice nodded and set his mug down gently. “Another
difference. And one was male, one female.”
Rune sighed. “And the other similarities?”
“Both were nailed to a building in the Moor.”
“And something else,” Rune said.
Rice’s stare sharpened. “Yes?”
“There was the distinct scent of birds at both scenes. I
also caught the same scent out on Hook Road when Strad and I were checking out
a reported sighting of COS.”
No one said anything for a long moment, then Rice nodded
slowly. “The first victim was a bird, so of course you caught her scent. As for
the other two places…you think the birds are involved in the murders?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re wrong,” Strad said. “I told you I don’t want you
fucking with the birds.”
A quick spark of anger shot through her. She clenched her
fists and glared at him. “I lead this crew, Berserker. You need to get that
into your brain before Shiv Crew is suddenly short another member.”
He leaned across the table, his stare hard. His voice was
harder. “I know the birds. You don’t. They don’t murder their own.”
“Everybody is capable of killing their own,” she replied.
“The birds can do it just like the humans. Just like the other groups.”
“Not the birds,” he said. “Murdering one of their own is
punishable by banishment. To the birds, exile is worse than death.” His voice
was grim. “Much worse. Killing one of their own is the only taboo the birds
have, and they can barely bring themselves to speak of it.”
“The birds fight and kill each other when they challenge a
scepter,” Owen said.
The berserker glared at him. “That’s not murder. That’s a
fair fight to the death for a position of power.”
The scepters were the leaders of the nest. Owen had told her
there were seven of them, various ages. Once they won their spot they ruled
absolutely. The only way for a scepter to lose his or her spot was if they were
challenged by another bird and lost the ensuing fight.
Those challenges were a way for the birds to kill their own
without it being considered murder.
Yeah. Everyone was capable of killing their own.
Owen shrugged. “So the birds do kill each other.”
“They don’t secretly torture and murder their own,” Strad
said. “I’m not saying it’s logical. I’m saying that’s how they operate.”
Rune folded her arms. “The birds are involved. Maybe they
didn’t kill the two Others, but they know something about the deaths.”
“Just because you got a whiff of birds doesn’t mean
anything, Rune. The birds are everywhere.”
“I know you have a history with the feathered fucks, but
you’ve never let history cloud your judgment before.” She very nearly forgot
anyone else was in the room. The berserker was pushing her buttons, and the
anger was overwhelming. “You fucked her, didn’t you?”
She wanted to snatch the words back before they were out of
her mouth. Fuck me. Fuck. She closed her eyes in the silence, realizing
that her feelings for the berserker had turned her into something of an
emotional idiot.
And she didn’t like it.
Strad was watching her when she opened her eyes, and he saw
something there he didn’t like.
“Rune,” he said. “Don’t.”
Those in the room looked everywhere but at her. Except for
Ellie. He left his chair and hurried to her. He stood behind her, his hands on
her shoulders.