“Ever tattoo someone under eighteen?” I arched a brow. “That’s illegal, Detective.” “And you’d never break the law?” He slipped his hand into his jacket, then slid a photo across the desk. “This look familiar?” Something in my gut tightened. Keeping my face blank, I looked down. My worst fear rushed up and smacked me in the face. The photo showed the tattoo on the small of a woman’s back—a bear, paws outstretched and teeth flashing. My first early morning gift. “Nice work,” I commented, my throat dry, but my tone noncommittal. He slid a second photo toward me. I didn’t really have to look, but I did—the leopard. I picked it up and tried to look at it dispassionately, as just a tattoo, not a piece of a once-living girl. “Are there more?” I nodded at the pictures still in his hand. There were twelve main tribes, each with a totem. He’d only shown me two. I’d only found two bodies. Were there more? Had the killer left bodies on someone else’s doorstep? PRAISE FOR LORI DEVOTI “Outstandingly exciting!” —Fallen Angel Reviews “Extremely talented and guaranteed to keep you reading.” —Paranormal Romance Reviews Pocket Books A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, NY 10020 This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Copyright © 2009 by Lori Devoti All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020. JUNO BOOKS and colophon are trademarks of Wildside Press LLC used under license by Simon & Schuster, Inc., the publisher of this work. POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc. ISBN-13: 978-1-4391-6488-4 ISBN-10: 1-4391-6488-6 Visit us on the Web: http://www.SimonandSchuster.com To all the warrior women out there fighting for their kids. Whether it’s to feed and clothe them, to keep them healthy, or to keep them safe, no battle was ever worth more. I applaud you. Keep fighting. Contents Acknowledgments Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-one Chapter Twenty-two Chapter Twenty-three Chapter Twenty-four Chapter Twenty-five Chapter Twenty-six Chapter Twenty-seven Acknowledgments Thanks for making this book a reality go to my editor, Paula Guran, who took a chance on something a little different, and to Holly Root, agent extraordinaire and professional Slurpee splitter. Next time, you get your own straw! And thanks to Madison, Wisconsin, for being the perfect place for a family of Amazons to blend. Chapter One Not again. My gaze darted around the old school yard, searching for whoever had left the dead teenager on my front porch. I was hoping the intruder was still nearby, close enough to catch and deal with myself—right now and for good—but the acre of grass and trees that surrounded our home and business was quiet. No more than a minute or two had passed since the rattle of stones thrown at my bedroom window had roused me. I knew—this time—to go to the front door. But there was nothing. No cars. No autumn wind. Nothing. Even at one in the morning, at least an occasional car should have been zipping down the street that lay only a football field’s length away. My home was a little over a mile from the University of Wisconsin campus and it was a Saturday night, Sunday morning, technically; a few drunken students if no one else should have been traveling along Monroe Street, but the night was silent—deadly so. I glanced down at the girl lying on her back on my front steps. I almost stepped on her. There was something particularly disturbing about that. My hands shaking, I shoved the hair back from my face, tucked it behind my ears, and knelt next to her. Maybe this one is different. A thin hope at best, but I clung to it, my fingers wrapping around the tiny wolf fetish that hung from a cord around my neck. The stone figure in my hand offered a small amount of reassurance, calmed me. Maybe my first impression was wrong…maybe she was still alive. Maybe, unlike the first girl I’d found dead on my doorstep only weeks before, this one still lived. I repeated the words in my mind: maybe she is different…. A prayer to Artemis leaving my lips, I reached out, ready to lay my fingers against her throat. As I did, I couldn’t help but take in her youth, her closed eyes. So innocent. So like Harmony. My fingers curled back into my palm and my heart pounded; the words echoed through my head. Harmony. A flash of panic, then forced calm. It wasn’t Harmony. My daughter was asleep, safe inside. I stood anyway, started to turn back to the wide double door of the old school behind me—to check—but I stopped myself. My need to see her was just maternal instinct pushed into overdrive. I had to stay calm, controlled. I couldn’t leave this girl alone, not yet. I glanced back at her. I took a deep breath and kneeled again, but even as I did, I knew I was lying to myself. There was no heart beating inside the body beside me. Still, I pressed my fingers to the girl’s throat. Her neck was stiff, hard to my touch. I ran my fingers down her arm, met with the same cold, unresponsive feel. She wasn’t alive, hadn’t been for hours. A curse formed in the back of my head, but I tamped it down. Whoever, whatever this girl had been, she’d suffered enough indignities. I had no right to add to them. My duty now was to ease her passage, not soil it with my own anger, frustration, and fear. I lowered my chin to my chest, reflected for a minute, and tried to slow my racing mind enough to draw on my past, my training. I didn’t practice the skills taught by my Amazon high priestess grandmother, but they were still a part of me, as impossible to deny as the horrible truth of this girl’s death.