Convincing Vera to let Riordan assist the agents was surprisingly easy, except her approval was conditional on Frankie’s permission. And Frankie was much more stubborn.

Riordan spent the morning arguing with the shaman, which was made more difficult by the fact that he agreed with many of her objections. Yes, it would mean interacting with the agents. Yes, they were going to examine him, looking for any flaws in the pack supervision or his behavior. Yes, he could just try to describe where he’d hidden Daniel’s body. It wouldn’t be easy, but one of the shifters' better trackers would find it eventually.

In the end, however, Riordan owed Daniel resolution, even if that meant dealing with federal paperpushing bastards. Hell, Riordan needed resolution too. He’d failed Daniel that night, unable to see the attack coming, unable to save him, unable to even bring his body all the way to safety. Riordan needed this.

The ritual had trapped the ghosts of all its victims, including Daniel and including Riordan, despite the fact that he’d still been alive. Riordan never wanted to be a shaman, but he had been a shaman for those ghosts. He had promised to protect them, to see them freed. He’d nearly failed, nearly damned them instead, but in seizing control of the ritual at the cost of his own self, he managed to keep his promise.

All the ghosts had been given a chance to move on. Daniel had stayed, not because he had to but because Riordan still needed him. Riordan owed it to Daniel and to himself to settle Daniel’s affairs as neatly as possible because they both needed closure over the end of that old life.

Frankie wasn’t the only one who could be stubborn. And as a shaman, Riordan knew she agreed in the end because she understood. Some things had to be done with one’s own hands.

The afternoon saw Riordan waiting near the turn-off leading into the woods where the cabin and the ritual site beyond were located. Mark accompanied him as his official magical surveillance and Maudy, one of the security team, was their muscle.

It was a formality. All of them knew that Riordan wasn’t going suddenly homicidally crazy. He was just his usual cranky violent self, which still necessitated a babysitter around these delicate political and legal situations. The last thing the pack needed was Riordan snapping and punching a cop for being an asshole and he was on edge enough that it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility.

The agents arrived not long after Riordan, followed by a sheriff’s vehicle. Riordan leaned against the pack SUV as the law enforcement rolled to a stop near him. The unknown agent in the passenger seat, a white man with a pinched face and glasses, gave a disapproving sniff as he looked at Riordan and his friends.

Compared to all these people in uniform, the shifters looked exceedingly casual. They hadn’t bothered to dress up compared to their usual clothing and looked like they were on the way to the store, not about to assist at a crime scene. Riordan wore a plain black t-shirt, jeans, and boots, all starting to pick up bits of dirt and leaves despite being new. His new tattoos poked out from under his short sleeves on both arms.

On his left arm was a lattice of thick deep black lines, stark even against his earthy skin tone. Those lines were the remnant marks of having been tied into the death mage’s ritual as a sacrifice, reminiscent of the knotted rope they had once been.

On his right shoulder, peeking out past his sleeve and collar, was a delicate silvery tattoo with flowers, berries, and leaves tracing over his skin. That one was a gift from Phenalope in the last moments of her existence, etched into his soul with the materials of her own ghost. It seemed to allow Riordan to exist on the other side of the Veil like a ghost, rather like an intruding living spirit.

Neither tattoo was one Riordan would have chosen for himself, neither in its intent or its style, but he’d earned them the hard way and wore them without shame.

A woman, tall with short-cut brown hair and striking blue eyes, stepped out of the driver’s seat of the agent’s vehicle, leaving it idling. She nodded in greeting to him rather than offering her hand. “Mr. Kincaid? I am Special Agent Hendrika Heeren. You may refer to me as Agent Heeren. I understand you found a body in the woods near here that might be related to an ongoing investigation?”

There was something about the way she was looking at Riordan that he did not like. Her gaze felt piercing. Like, literally piercing. Riordan couldn’t suppress the quiet growl that rumbled out of his chest, even with the mundane sheriff sitting in his own vehicle, watching them. The agent blinked and the sensation ceased.

Fuck. He really hoped that was his imagination. Riordan wasn’t exactly equipped to fight a mental mage. Not that they were going to fight. They were allies, even if they had it out for him personally. There were rules and limitations to follow.

He shook himself, standing up straighter, and forced himself to be polite. “I don’t know if it’s related to your thing or not,” he grumbled, “but I found a body and I was directed to you to make sure it was handled properly.”

That was the agreed upon cover story for why a civilian was mixing in on this investigation. Riordan accompanied his words with a sharp look of his own, trying to make his unspoken subtext of “so don’t fuck it up” completely clear to her without being too weird.

“We’ll determine if it’s related and handle the proper arrangements regardless,” Agent Heeren assured him. “I hope you don’t mind if you and your companions stick with us for the time being. We can’t have people wandering freely through the area with the ongoing investigation.”

Riordan shrugged, carefully not looking towards Quinn still sitting in the back seat of their vehicle. “All I want is to make sure the body isn’t forgotten or ignored. The rest is your jurisdiction.”

Heeren studied him for a moment before quietly saying, “Interesting.” Then she nodded and headed back to her vehicle. “Please follow us.”

The three vehicles bumped and rattled down the dirt lane leading to the hunting cabin at the end. There wasn’t much space set aside for parking, but there was a grassy clearing around the cabin that did alright. Of course, there were still several vehicles parked there, having formerly belonged to members of the cult that had arrived for the ritual who either abandoned them or died.

The cabin itself was mostly intact, but burnt on the inside. Riordan had set that fire in an attempt to throw off the ritual, cause chaos, and hopefully kill one of the death mages. It hadn’t worked like he’d planned. Now he wondered what they thought of the damage since it was clearly arson.

Everyone parked and got out this time. The sheriff gave Riordan and his companions curious looks, but didn’t question their presence aside from telling them not to approach the cabin past a certain point. For the agents, he had little clean booties to go over their shoes and led a few inside. Riordan did hear him saying that their forensic people had gone over the place as best they could after the firefighters had put out the last of the fire.

There were three new agents, as Quinn had said. The woman and two men, one pasty white and owlish behind his thick-framed glasses and the other even darker skinned than Riordan and objectively gorgeous. They were an odd trio, mismatched in appearance and attitude even when all dressed similarly in neat suits.

Even Quinn was wearing a suit today, likely because he was acting in an official law enforcement capacity. Riordan could see why he normally didn’t dress that way. He looked downright sick without his goth apparel to excuse his condition. Hell, he was sick. It just hurt to be visually reminded of it like that.

Riordan didn’t have a lot of time to figure out his magical shit if he wanted to be able to help Quinn with it, which wasn’t heartening. He was supposed to pull off magical feats most thought impossible when he was starting from not being able to even shift, something that came instinctively to him? Fucking hell.

Mark and Maudy joined Riordan standing in the clearing, out of everyone’s way. Mark in particular studied the cabin thoughtfully.

“You did that, didn’t you?” he whispered, voice pitched too low for anyone except nearby shifters and lip readers.

Riordan kept his body language neutral as he replied equally as quietly, “You knew that.”

“Knowing is different than seeing.”

And wasn’t that Mark’s whole problem right now? Riordan was beginning to wish he’d convinced Frankie to send someone else. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“No,” Mark said, just a bit too quickly, “It’s just… impressive.”

“I’m not sure you should come with me into the woods,” Riordan said cautiously. Damn it, why hadn’t it occurred to him that Mark should probably not be the one to see Daniel’s corpse. He’d been way too caught up in just getting permission to do this at all that he hadn’t considered what impact this might have on those who came with him.

Mark reached out and placed his hand on Riordan’s shoulder, forcing Riordan to look at him. “It’s my choice. I want to do this for him too, you know.”

Riordan shook his head. “Getting the image of his corpse stuck in your head won’t help either of you.”

Maudy cut in. “Riordan, there is no way I can let us split up. Even if Frankie and Vera hadn’t given me strict instructions, it’s just poor security. This area could have more traps we haven’t found.” She dropped her voice even quieter, “Besides, I don’t want you alone with the mages. I don’t trust mages.”

“Quinn’s alright,” Riordan countered, strangely stung on the man’s behalf.

“Quinn’s a death mage,” Maudy replied, raising a brow, “If the death mage is the most trustworthy one in the bunch, that says a lot right there about mages.”

Riordan couldn’t even argue. Part of why he trusted Quinn more than the rest of the agents was that Quinn had been raised human first. Mage and shifter relations were just too messy, filled with a long history of jealousy, greed, and backstabbing.

“I’ll be okay,” Mark said, trying to reassure Riordan. “Thank you for caring. Daniel stayed behind though, right?”

Riordan wasn’t really reassured. Mark might think he’d be okay, but no one really was ready to see the dead body of someone they knew. Riordan wasn’t looking forward to it himself, even if he had become increasingly numb to death.

“Yes, Daniel stayed behind,” he sighed. “I’ll have to trust you to know your limits, I guess. Thanks for helping me make this happen.”

It wasn’t like Riordan had a choice at this point. Not with the stupid mages making attempts on Riordan. Fuck politics.