As it was, transferring the notes took up most of the day. A large part of that was due to the slow computer he’d been given to work with. Norris had been apologetic about the state of the machine, but it was the only one that was secure except Vera’s own personal devices. As important as the notes and the investigation it represented were, the fact remained that he was writing down details about murder victims and about supernatural happenings. Neither of those things were something they wanted to risk getting out publicly.

 

In some ways, the older slower computer was appropriate, since this was probably new at about the last time Riordan had done much with a computer. He’d used one occasionally over the years, but it was hardly the most portable device, especially when he couldn’t always protect his gear from the weather. With how fast the technology developed, he was way behind the curve on how to use one well. Daniel probably could have left him in the dust, if only the ghost could touch the damn thing.

 

As it was, Riordan did call his friend out after only a few hours of trying to manage it himself. Asking Daniel for help served the dual purpose of getting instructions on how to make the damn program do what Riordan wanted and of pulling Daniel out of his moping. Some time to mourn was good. Too much time to wallow was less so. 

 

Amusingly, the old computer provided a different type of aggravation to Daniel than Riordan. While it was too advanced for Riordan’s knowledge, it was a dinosaur from Daniel’s perspective. They merrily cursed the thing to hell and back as they sorted through the notes and argued about how best to organize the documents. 

 

In the end, they settled on several different files. The first was just a complete transcription of all reports and interviews, organized by the person reporting. The second was a spreadsheet of victim data, breaking out names, ages, addresses, relationships, ethnicities, jobs, where and when they were captured, number and description of attackers, and any other details about their attack that they remembered. Writing out the details of loss hurt, but Riordan tried to distance himself in favor of the facts.

 

The third was information about any known or suspected member of Phenalope’s organization. Riordan sorted those by suspected level of involvement in the criminal aspects of the group, being mindful of Norris’ words about survivors. He appended a section for known physical locations associated with the group, which was only the tree and Kimberlee’s, though he made note of a likely cabin not far from the tree where the hunter Tom had been and some sort of community hall as mentioned by Kimberlee for where she would do her ceremony.

 

The longer they worked, the more Daniel got into his element. The young man really would have made an excellent journalist if he’d gotten the chance. He was far better at phrasing things succinctly and clearly, all while making sure none of the important facts were left out. It was on his suggestion that they started a fourth document, one that was a rough profiling of Phenalope and focused on her demonstrated and suspected magical skills, as well as motivations, strengths, and weaknesses. Daniel was the one to point out that whoever she was, to be as fanatic about her cause even in the clutches of death corruption, meant that Phenalope had likely been an active feminist even before she got access to magic. Likely, she was even already involved in fighting domestic violence, in some way, shape or form.

 

Norris interrupted them around lunch time, dragging Riordan out of the office long enough to ply him with a large plate of food in the little courtyard garden. He could hear the din of voices from the main dining room and feel curious eyes on him through the windows, but he ate quickly and kept his eyes on the frogs swimming around the pond. He hated how much he felt like a spectacle here. They looked at him as a victim, as a criminal, as an outsider. Riordan could feel himself cutting himself off from them more and more, just because the rejection hurt on a visceral and instinctual level as a shifter, and he didn’t want to let them hurt him even more.

 

Wherever Riordan belonged, he didn’t think this was it. Hell, he wasn’t entirely sure he did belong anywhere. Still, he couldn’t leave yet, not with the way things currently stood, so he settled for pretending it didn’t bother him.

 

When Norris took his dishes from him, Riordan could see the way the old man frowned at the pack members still watching Riordan. They were mostly the young and curious or the old and bored. The middle of the pack, the majority of the members, seemed content to avoid Riordan. Or maybe they were just busy and Riordan didn’t register as important to them at all. Not knowing certainly gave his mind plenty of time to catastrophize.

 

Being back in the little office with the crappy computer with just Daniel for company was a relief after that awkward lunch. 

 

“Are packs always like this?” Daniel asked after they had worked for a bit longer.

 

Riordan glanced over at his friend. “Like what? You’ll have to be more specific.”

 

He waved his hands, frowning. “Like, I don’t know. Insular? Judgey? Close-minded?”

 

With a snort, Riordan shrugged, strangely amused to hear his culture described like that. Shifters tended to be a bit superior about their packs, but that really only applied to the people on the inside, he realized. “Yeah, pretty much. It makes sense when you think about it.”

 

“How so?” Daniel asked, assuming a listening posture.

 

“Shifters age slowly. Even regular humans get tired of changing and adapting with the times, much less people who live twice as long. When you add in the way we have to either keep a distance from most of society or get really good at living lies and changing everything about our lives periodically, well, it drives most packs close together and further from anyone outside of that,” Riordan explained, “Plus, shifters are prone to thinking of themselves as superior to non-mages, though not as badly as the non-shifter mages. Those fucks can get super elitist, especially in some of the older mage lineages.”

 

“Why would anyone want to hang out with people like that?” Daniel grumbled, casting his gaze in the direction of the kitchen, even if that meant he was just looking at a wall.

 

“Because being inside a pack is a huge relief,” Riordan sighed, longing swelling through him, though he consoled himself with the touch of his strange pack bond. “Shifters, even those with solitary animals like me, tend to seek each other out. In fact, being completely cut off from other shifters often causes a shifter to waste away or go feral.”

 

Daniel startled. “Wait, but-- They exiled you. You mean--”

 

“Exile is considered one step below execution, since it comes with the nicety that it’s theoretically possible for an exile to redeem themselves and be welcomed back into the culture. In practice, it’s not used often and the majority of exiles are never seen again and are assumed to have died. The few examples of exiles redeeming themselves are held up as anecdotes about how it’s all about justice.” Riordan stopped, looking momentarily horrified. “Hell. Assuming I don't do something absolutely atrocious soon, they are going to start talking about me like that.”

 

That started Daniel cackling like a hyena. Riordan glared at his friend. “Fine, laugh it up. I’ll make sure you get to deal with the joys of being a famous moral example too. Somehow.”

 

“It’s just the idea of you being a role model of morality and redemption,” Daniel choked out between fits of giggles. “Especially since you have this expression on your face like you want to bite the first person who tries.”

 

“Who knows,” Riordan grinned, “Maybe I will.”

 

“I’m sure that will go over well.” Daniel waved his hand before him, like setting up an imaginary banner. “I can see the headlines now: Redeemed Exile Bites Pack Leader, Infects Him With Morality.”

 

“Oh hell no,” Riordan groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Don’t go putting that shit out into the universe.”

 

On one hand, hearing Daniel’s heartfelt amusement was touching. On the other hand, Riordan wished it wasn’t at his expense. He resolutely ignored his friend and sorted through the notes, looking to see if they had missed anything else. Riordan wasn’t sure how much of this was going to be useful in stopping Phenalope directly, but it probably would help with the clean-up. He could only imagine how hard it would have been to identify the rotting cursed corpses of his fellow victims, left exposed to the open air and only held together by the magic of the ritual. Some of them had been there for months and summer was getting into full swing. At least this way, almost all of them were identified.

 

Riordan had a fleeting thought of waking the remaining ghosts to question them, but he discarded it. In all likelihood, they were too traumatized to be helpful. And that was even if they were inclined to be cooperative in the first place. 

 

He hadn’t realized Daniel had fallen silent again until the ghost spoke. “Were you ever in a pack? I mean, you must have been, before your exile.”

 

Riordan flinched and tensed at the same time, creating a strange spasm that echoed the wave of loss and regret that washed through him. He didn’t look at Daniel as he carefully replied, “I was part of three different packs. I was born into one. I left it when I struck out on my own. I joined another for a while, but I never got close to that one. I did it mostly because I was operating in their area and it was polite.  And then I joined the pack that I was with when I got exiled. They’re all dead now.”

 

“Oh,” Daniel said, “Right. I’d forgotten that-- I didn’t mean to make this awkward. I just wanted to know if you were happy in a pack.”

 

Despite himself, a smile crossed Riordan’s lips at the thought of belonging to a pack. His voice was very quiet when he answered, “It feels like having a home for your soul. A safe place that will always welcome you.”

 

Daniel considered that in a silence that was more serene than awkward before hesitantly asking, “Are you going to join this pack then?”

 

His question echoed some of Riordan’s own thoughts and he shook his head. “I can’t see myself being happy with them here. I only ever fully felt like part of a pack once I had a clear role inside it. This place doesn’t need or want me. Joining it would soothe the shifter side of me, but not all the way. Not for good, either. Besides, I’m already part of a pack.”

 

Daniel’s hand flew to his chest in an unconscious gesture, assigning a physical location for the sensation of the pack bond. “You mean us.”