"Shoulda let me drive," Nyx said, pouting as they wove through downtown traffic to the Priyana Casino and Hotel on the other side of the city.

"You just focus on cloaking," Magnus replied as he dipped into the oncoming lane to get around a minivan.

"I don't have to focus." She rolled her eyes. "What do I look like, some kind of fairy? Pixies have this shit on lockdown."

He pursed his lips. He was curious about the differences between pixies and fairies, but also didn't have any interest in making conversation with her.

"On the way back, can we stop so I can grab a phone?" Nyx drummed her fingers on her thigh. "I could transmute one, but alas, I cannot transmute a data plan."

"They'll give you one at the station."

"I want something fancier than that. Plus I don't need to get in shit having any personal stuff on a work phone."

"What personal stuff?" The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

She smirked. "Oh, you know, saucy photos. I bet Krew would be down for—"

"I already regret asking," Magnus snapped.

"You know we're gonna be spending a lot of time together, you're gonna have to get used to shooting the shit with me," she said in a teasing singsong.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, and then sighed. "I get the feeling that despite me not wanting to talk to you, that you'll continue chattering incessantly."

"You are correct, sir." She grinned. "So, how long have you been a cop?"

Magnus clenched his jaw. "What did you mean when you said you don't have to focus on cloaking?" he asked.

"I'm old as dirt." She tapped her temple. "Very good control of my abilities. I don't even have to consciously cloak, it's like an automatic switch that goes on and off when the situation calls for it."

He frowned. "That's disconcerting."

"Hey, knob-gobbler," she huffed, "I'll have you know that my magic is reliable as fuck."

"Will you be aware if it's not?"

"Yes I'll be aware, thank you very much." She rolled her eyes. "As long as I'm conscious you're covered however you want to be." A smirk curled her lips and he raised his hand.

"No," he snapped.

"Suit yourself." She shrugged.

Before she could launch into more questions, he asked, "You said you could transmute a phone. Is that what you did with your ID? It's not just a glamour?"

"Hell no," she scoffed. "None of that glamour shit. Witches and fairies create illusions, pixies change matter itself. Like this fabulous body of mine. I created it out of my own body. You wouldn't be able to see through it because it's real."

He furrowed his brow. "Aren't there limitations on transmutation?"

"It's not actually transmutation, it's just the easiest thing to call it to non-Fae."

"Fairies have this magic too?"

"Probably." She shook her head, twisting a few strands of long chocolate hair around a finger. "They're just lazy."

He swerved around a hatchback and screeched into the casino parking lot. "Is that why you were kicked out of their realm?"

"What makes you think I was kicked out?" She blinked at him innocently.

"I could list a lot of reasons that are similar to the reasons I want to kick you out of my car," he retorted.

"I'll grow on you," she said with a wink. "Anyway, I'm getting out of your car now. Because we're here."

"Professional." He pointed at her as he cut the engine. "We're FBI. Just follow my lead."

"I know how to interact with humans, guy." She flashed him a thousand-watt smile and got out of the car.

There were a few cop cars parked outside of the front entrance of the casino, but it seemed the general public were still allowed to come and go as they pleased. Most of the ritzy places like this in Lazarus City were run by powerful people with far too much money, so murder or not, they were able to pay their way to staying functional.

Plus, the crime rate in the city of sin was so high that a dead body wasn't really a deterrent for consumers with coin to spend.

"Hey, whoa there," one of the cops blurted when he noticed the two agents. "What are you guys doing here?" He hooked a thumb into his belt, tucked securely beneath his rotund belly. "Captain didn't say anything about the bureau showing up."

"Your Captain isn't obligated to brief you on federal matters," Magnus replied gruffly. "Where's the scene?"

The cop narrowed his eyes and jutted out his chin.

Nyx snapped her fingers. "Chop chop, piggy, we ain't got all day."

Magnus fought the urge to sigh. He couldn't stop her from speaking after the fact, and it was a hell of a lot easier to present a united front than a bickering one in front of these low-level cops that had a disregard for other jurisdictions encroaching on their turf.

"Seventh floor, room seven-oh-five," one of the other cops said around a cigarette sticking out of her mouth, and grabbed the door handle, pulling it open for them. "Be my guest, I'd rather be at home."

"Thank you, ma'am," Magnus said, and gave her a nod as he strode inside, Nyx hot on his heels. He didn't miss the snort and muttering from the original cop that had given them sass, but he ignored it and headed for the elevators.

The hotel lobby was connected to the casino, and despite the check-in desk and fancy decor, the waiting area was full of slot machines. He shook his head. He'd never understood why humans liked to gamble. Nor the power-hungry greedy overlords that rigged places like this to draw in addicts and keep their pockets just full enough to keep them coming back for that big score.

"This is a swanky place," Nyx said as she joined him in the elevator.

"I said to be professional," he growled as soon as the doors slid closed. "You can't go calling them piggies."

She put a delicate hand to her mouth and giggled. "I couldn't help it. He looked like a piggy."

"Just keep your mouth shut," he said.

The doors slid open at the seventh floor, and Magnus stepped into the hallway. He looked both ways, and moved towards a pair of blue-suited men standing together. A strip of yellow CAUTION tape sliced bright across the open hotel room door.

"Is the Captain inside?" Magnus asked.

Both cops glanced at the FBI badge, and immediately stepped aside.

The room was a disaster. It looked like an epic fight had taken place. Claw marks slashed the walls, couch cushions shredded with tufts of stuffing everywhere. The glass coffee table looked like it had exploded, shards everywhere soaked in sticky crimson.

Blood spattered quite a few areas in the living space, but the main event was in the bedroom. It was an open-concept suite, with the kind of sliding walls that allowed for the bedroom to be a part of the lounge area. They were wide open, giving a full view of the grisly scene.

A forensic scientist carefully moved around the bed, where a mangled body lay. Larry Blyton, age 34, a stock broker from New York, hacked to pieces by a supernatural creature in a hotel room.

"Nobody told me the bureau was coming," a woman said from the balcony. She held a cigarette between her fingers, blonde hair pulled back in a severe bun.

"Good afternoon, Captain," Magnus said, approaching the door and extending his hand. "Special Agent Magnus Carver. Apologies for the lack of a heads-up."

"Captain Alanna Price." She shook his hand, and then leaned against the railing. "I guess this means I'm not crazy, then. This is a very strange case."

"It is," he agreed. "I'd like to take a closer look at the body, and speak with forensics."

"Have at it," Alanna replied with a wave of her hand. "I can't make heads or tails of it. I hope you guys have better luck."

"This is my partner," Magnus forced down the golf ball in his throat at the word, and then quickly searched his mind for the ridiculous name Nyx had chosen.

"Vivian LeDuc," she jumped in, holding out her hand.

"If you don't mind briefing her on what you know," he said, forcing his tone to stay steady despite the words vive le dick blasting through his head.

"Sure, of course," Alanna replied. She pulled a pack of smokes out of her suit jacket pocket and held it out to Nyx as she stepped out onto the balcony. "Cig?"

"Don't mind if I do," the pixie replied, flashing her a smile.

Magnus resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and headed into the bedroom.

"FBI, huh?" the scientist asked. "Figures. What did this, aliens?"

The werewolf chuckled, shaking his head at the young-looking man with the camera. "I don't think so."

"Probably couldn't tell me, even if it was," the scientist replied, sighing and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "So what can I help you with? I'm Cole, by the way."

"Special Agent—"

"Magnus Carver, yeah, heard that," Cole cut in. "Sick handle."

Magnus gave him a nod. "Thanks," he said simply. "So, what are your observations?"

"Well..." Cole dragged out the word, and then sighed. "It's really weird. It looks like there was a struggle all through the main area, starting near the bathroom and getting progressively worse throughout the suite. Big ol' pile driver into the coffee table. And then finished him off in here. But the claw marks... I don't know, man, it looks like a big cat went nuts in here."

"A cat?" Magnus asked. "What kind of cat."

"It sounds crazy... but I guess that's why you're here, right?" Cole laughed nervously. "If I had to figure an educated guess, based on the depth and spacing of the claw marks, it looks like it was a tiger's paw. But, like, where's the tiger? I know people are up to some weird things in this city... but a disappearing tiger?"

Magnus nodded thoughtfully. "Is it possible that the attacker had a weapon that mimics a tiger's claws?"

"I mean, maybe?" Cole tilted his head back and forth, and then pushed his glasses back up his nose. "If it was, then it would have to be a perfect replica of a tiger's paw. Who the hell would do that?"

"Is that any more unbelievable than a disappearing tiger?"

"I suppose not," Cole agreed.

"I'd like everything you've collected so far," Magnus said. "Keep doing what you're doing, follow your standard protocol, and I'll talk to the Captain about next steps."

"Sure thing," Cole replied. "There's a folder on the dresser over there, along with the hotel records they gave us detailing everyone that was in and out of here during Larry's stay."

"Great," Magnus replied, and leaned over the pages. He ran his finger down lists of names, and then one caught his eye. He couldn't place where he knew it from, but Shyla Hancock looked familiar. "Is there video footage in the hotel?"

"Yeah, we combed through it but Larry came in alone and there was no footage of anyone coming to his suite," Cole replied as he resumed his photography.

"Do you have all of the footage or just relevant to Larry?" Magnus asked.

"Like how much?"

"Maybe seventy-two hours before he checked in," the werewolf replied, "and the whole building, not just this floor."

"Yeah, I don't think we do," Cole said, shaking his head. "You can have a look down in security, and whatever our guys don't have you can just check the logs. The IT guy here keeps everything, and I mean everything."

"Handy for us," Magnus said. "Thanks, man."

"No problem, let me know if you need anything else," Cole said, and reached out with a gloved hand to inspect another slash in the pillow.

Magnus headed back towards the balcony, and his brow furrowed when he didn't see Nyx or the Captain standing by the door. He glanced around the room, but the only other people were the two cops guarding the door.

He heard giggles, and then poked his head out of the sliding door, peering down the balcony. It wrapped around the curved outside of the building, and he sighed at the sight of Alanna sitting up on the railing, her long legs wrapped around Nyx's waist. The pixie in question stood, one arm supporting the Captain's back, the other buried beneath her blouse.

"Excuse me," Magnus grunted.

"Oh," Alanna gasped, cheeks pinking as she broke their heated kiss.

"Hey, buzzkill," Nyx greeted, shooting him a wry smile. "You mind?"

He sighed again. "There are many reasons we should all mind," he said dryly.

"What, the Captain needs to destress," Nyx said, leaning in to nibble at Alanna's throat.

"Whatever," Magnus said. "I'm heading down to security to do some actual work. When I have what I need, I'm leaving. Do what you're going to do."

The pixie winked at him. "Oh, I will," she purred, and nipped at the Captain's ear. Alanna squealed and giggled again, and Magnus shook his head, leaving them to it and heading out of the suite.

He got directions to the security room from one of the cops in the hallway, and then took the elevator down. When he reached the security room, he introduced himself to the staff inside, one of which was a young cop with a laptop plugged into the main server.

"Yeah, Cole called down and said you were coming," the IT guy said as he emerged from the back office. "Pull up a chair, and I'll show you what you need to see."

Magnus shook his head. "I'm good, this is going to take me a while. You go do what you gotta do."

"Ten-four," the IT guy said. "Gents, move, the FBI man needs the helm."

The two security guards sitting at the plethora of monitors vacated their space, and Magnus took a seat. "You don't happen to have coffee, by any chance?"

"Oh yeah, shit runs like water down here," the IT guy replied, and headed back into the break room, emerging a moment later with a steaming mug.

Magnus thanked him as he started scrolling through footage. He pulled up videos of the casino floor and the hotel lobby from the time Larry arrived for check-in, and worked his way forward until the time of the murder. Thankfully, the IT guy and the guards retreated to the break room, and with the cop very focused on his own work, Magnus was free to use his wolf senses to scan quickly.

It was easy for him to multitask, his quick vision and processing of information able to look. He had a very vague idea of features for Shyla Hancock, and scanned for her. The name and wispy face in his memory was so familiar, and it was still on the tip of his brain but wouldn't jog.

There was nothing in that time frame, so be began to work backwards, to before Larry even got to the hotel, and it was at about thirty-six hours pre-murder that he found her.

As soon as he spotted the tattooed woman on the screen, he knew it was her. And he knew where he knew her from, too.

He paused the video and hollered for the IT guy. "Can I print from this?" he asked.

"Sure thing," the guy replied, and leaned over the console to click a few keys.

"What did you find?" the cop asked, turning away from his laptop.

"Classified," Magnus said absently, his gaze fixed on Shyla's face, and the cop huffed and turned back to his work.

The footage was black and white and a bit grainy, but he could make out her stark features easily. That long, slim face, lanky form, bright orange hair and black tattoos swirling all the way down one bare arm.

Tiger-stripe tattoos.