1 The Call

He wakes to the sound of his phone. It's playing some tinny default tune that Liam has never hated so much until now, but he groans and picks it up, automatically answering it as he presses it to his ear. He yawns. "Hello?" he asks sleepily.

"Get to the corner of 8th and Johnson," a gruff, familiar voice says. When Liam doesn't immediately answer, yawning again, it snaps. "Right now!"

"I'm coming," he manages to get out, and then the phone call clips off.

Liam lets himself lay in bed for just one moment more. He buries his face in the pillow, rubbing it against the silky texture, and then he forces himself out of bed.

From the way orange light creeps into the faint cracks around his heavy duty window blinds, it's still light enough out that it's pretty unusual for him to be up like this. Still, duty calls, and Liam can't keep people waiting.

He staggers himself over to his closet, tossing on a sweater and jeans, and then heads to the bathroom to brush his teeth and do a little hair twisting. Hunger rumbles at him, but it's not sharp nor worrisome yet, so he tosses on sunglasses and boots and heads out the door.

The sun is below the horizon, thankfully, though the orange light still lingering in the sky makes him squint as he walks briskly. Fortunately, the intersection isn't too far from his apartment - a little further and he would have to bike, but he doesn't usually like to. There's no telling what's there, what he's going to encounter.

Liam is a detective - a consulting detective, were he to piggyback off of Sherlock Holmes, but no one really uses that phrase nowadays. There's no telling what kind of crime scene he's been called to. If it's something big, something huge, he could end up in a police car headed to a lab for analysis or the like, and then he'd have to figure out what to do with his bike and it's just…

Well, fortunately, he doesn't have to. He can walk, and get his nightly steps in.

It's early enough that there's still plenty of people of all species on the streets, and he nods to a few familiar faces but doesn't stop. It's always So Important, always an emergency, and he needs to be quick as possible.

As he approaches his turning point, seeing hastily put up detour signs ahead, the scent of blood comes to him. He wrinkles his nose - it's not a good scent, the scent of fresh blood that would make his stomach clench, but the scent of dead man's blood. A murder, then, and Liam is already mentally preparing himself for the stench when he nods at the security officer - a dryad who he knows by name but not by face - and turns the corner, ducking under some police tape.

The wind hits him, and nothing could have prepared him for this.

The scent is cloying - it sticks to his tongue and to his throat, chokes him and makes him so deeply grateful that he didn't eat anything this morning. He's not sure if vomiting is possible for a vampire - he's certainly felt like he has been about to before, but hasn't actually done it - but he feels close as hell to it.

Liam braces himself on the wall, covering his mouth with one hand and desperately stops breathing. He's used to breathing. Does he need to? No, of course not. But his body is used to it, still typically rises and falls with the air he doesn't need but wants, and he has to forcibly overpower it, mind over matter. No breathing. No breathing.

It blocks off the worst of it, to slow his breaths, but the taste of it still lingers, feeling as though it's infected him, spread across his mouth and nose, and breathing is still so instinctive he can't help but do it in small spurts and regretting each one.

Though he still feels ill, Liam manages to stagger forward towards the scent, tasting it in every inch of him. There's plenty of police cars ahead, flashing lights, and even more yellow tape, blocking off part of the street. The police chief waits outside of it, staring straight at him with narrow eyes.

"You look like shit," the man says. Nathaniel Lee is tall, taller than Liam - a werewolf by blood, he doesn't look great either. His dark hair is pulled into a ponytail, brown eyes flitting over him, narrowed - his face is paler than its usual, a pinched, queasy look to his eyes... But unlike Liam, he had the foresight to bring a surgical mask which probably blocks at least some of it.

"You don't look so great yourself," Liam says, grimacing. There's no need for formality between the two of them - not when they've worked together so much, and Nathaniel snorts. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out something small and white and holyshitit'samask.

Liam grabs it eagerly, unfolding it and pulling it on. No, it doesn't block everything, but it feels less like it's invading his mouth and coating his throat, lessens the stickiness and stench just... just some. It's better. "I could kiss you," he says.

Nathaniel (never Nate, he's made that clear) snorts, shaking his head. "Please don't."

It's familiar banter, and Liam slowly uncurls, slowly calms. The mask helps. The talking helps. Trying to hold his breath helps.. And simply time helps, getting used to the scent of this poison on the air. He pulls out a pair of disposable gloves, snapping them on and exhaling and then frowning because wait, no, don't breathe. "So," he says, "You didn't really tell me anything. What's the situation?"

The amusement fades from the chief's face, and he glances back at the alley - because of course it's in an alley. "Murder," he says.

Liam rolls his eyes. "I could have guessed from the smell."

Nathaniel shakes his head slowly. "This one's… bad."

He had guessed that - the stench in the air means a lot of blood, and he wonders if bleeding out had happened to the victim. It would make sense. Also would explain why Nathaniel was perturbed - that wasn't a good way to go. Either way, he nods, and steps past the chief to duck under the next set of police tape-

And stops short.

A body had been what he was expecting. A body, a pool of blood underneath, maybe, or splattered all over the street. Gruesome, and smelling horrible, but ultimately something to deal with. He's "technically" dead. He can deal with a lot.

Well, there's something splattered all over, but it's certainly not JUST blood.

The body is in pieces. An arm here, a leg there, torso... gnawed upon and seeming like they had been set upon by a wild animal. Of course, Liam knows better. An animal didn't do this.

Something else did.

This is definitely a new one, and Liam lets his eyes flicker over. There's people hovering, writing things down - but it doesn't look like anything's been bagged up, anything's really been touched. Good. Makes it easier. "You waited?"

Nathaniel nods. "We'll bag everything up after you look," he says, which Liam appreciates greatly. The man pauses, and then asks, "I haven't been able to pick up anything under this blood. Can you?"

Maybe if they didn't know each other this well, it would gall the werewolf to ask, but it doesn't and Liam doesn't make it an issue. instead, he closes his eyes, inhaling and trying to see if there's anything he can pick up underneath the toxic scent that threatens to choke him.

There's nothing.

Well - there's the chance that there is something, but Liam just can't pick up on it, but there's also the chance that there truly isn't anything. Regretfully, he shakes his head. "Nothing," he says, which doesn't seem to surprise Nathaniel.

"Okay," he says. "Check it out, but I'm not sure how much you'll get out of the crime scene."

Maybe he'll get something, maybe he won't. No matter what, they'll have to bag this up and check it out at the lab, let the witches there do their analyses. Still, there's a lot that can be figured out at a crime scene, even if it's simply figuring out what it couldn't be.

But Liam hates working with dead man's blood, and he casts a glance sidelong at Nathaniel. "Do you have any mints?" he asks, because he knows the man.

He doesn't even look surprised (he's always prepared for basically everything) and offers him a tin. Liam takes like five, popping them in his mouth and letting them hide the nasty taste of the blood. Scenting will be utterly useless here, and he doesn't want to get distracted by it. It's time for eyes.

Right, then.

Cracking his fingers and rolling his neck, Liam pushes his sunglasses up his nose and heads in for a look.