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Beck admitted. At least he was honest. “We didn't find any bloody foot, paw or handprints anywhere.”
     
    I knelt next to what looked like a foot. I didn't need to pick it up to see what I'd already suspected. Teeth marks. Mostly human but not entirely. I straightened, wincing as the raw skin on my knees rubbed against my jeans. I'd been right when I'd said that my knees were going to be sorry for fucking on the floor last night. The rest of me wasn't sorry at all.
     
    “You'll want to have your coroner confirm with DNA swabs of the bite marks, but it looks like a wendigo.” I turned towards Beck as I stripped off my gloves.
     
    “Aren't those mostly found in woods like in Minnesota?”
     
    “You've done your homework,” I was impressed. His questions were because he was trying to learn. I didn't mind answering those. At least he had a general idea of what he was doing. “The thing is, after The Revealing, most Paranormal Beings decided to check out other parts of the country than the places they'd been forced to hide when they weren't known. I met a selkie in New Mexico once. It had a giant pool of saltwater in its living room.” I dropped my gloves into a nearby evidence bag.
     
    “May I ask, how do you know those marks came from a wendigo and not a werewolf?”
     
    Asking a relevant question. This guy might survive long enough to become pretty good at his job. “Weres transform back and forth between their animal form and their human one. Despite what the stories say, they don't stay halfway. Those marks were made by something with a human hand, not an animal paw. In human form, Weres don't have claws.” I held out my hand for my bags and Beck handed them over. “Also, wendigoes rarely leave tracks of any kind. Weres aren't that subtle.” I motioned to the entrance behind the counter. “It looks like the wendigo came through the back, vaulted over the counter, leaving the marks, and then killed the victim. It probably took all of a minute. It ate and left the same way it came in. The mess,” I gestured, “is from it using its claws to cut up the body.”
     
    Beck grew a little more green as he visualized what I was saying. “How do we kill it?”
     
    If most anyone else had asked it, I would've laughed, but Beck was actually trying to understand rather than thinking he knew it all. If he could overcome his squeamishness, he might make a good hunter. “Fire.”
     
    “Fire?” He echoed.
     
    “You have to torch it,” I clarified. “But, to be honest, I don't think you or any of your men could do it. You have to understand how these things think. It's a dangerous combination of animal instinct and human intelligence with a speed and strength that even Weres can't match. Second only to vampires more than a century old, wendigoes are the most dangerous Paranormal Being to hunt.”
     
    Beck seemed to be debating something for a few moments before asking, “you do hunting too, right?”
     
    “I don't do captures on wendigoes,” I warned. “They're too dangerous.”
     
    “Then it's a good thing you're in DC,” Beck tried for a smile and nearly managed it. “Because of national security, any murders committed by a Paranormal Being can be turned over to the Paranormal Consultant hired and all decisions regarding the capture or execution of the Being in question are to be left in the hands of the Consultant.” He handed me a piece of paper. “This is the transfer documentation signed by the President of the United States, giving you the discretion to apprehend or stop the killer by any means necessary.”
     
    I took the paper and opened it, quickly skimming through the legal jargon. Hmm. I think I liked DC. I pocketed the paper. “The FBI should have my rates on record.”
     
    Beck nodded. “I've been authorized to hire you for whatever I deemed necessary. Like I said, it's national security when something like this happens here.”
     
    “All right,” I headed for the door. “You