Demon Hunts (16 page)

“I don't know what to do with you two,” he finally said. “I'm used to Walker being an idiot, but this is new territory for you, Holliday.”

A modicum of wisdom suggested this was not the time to defend myself. Besides, it was a legitimate statement. I'd spent quite a bit of time making an idiot of myself in front of Morrison.

For some reason that made me think of Coyote, and I smiled, which wasn't really the smartest thing to do. Morrison snapped, “You think this is
funny,
Walker?”

“No, sir.” I honestly didn't, except possibly in a “the tension
is getting to me, I must either laugh or scream” way. I had the presence of mind—barely—not to say that. And to bite my cheek when another dippy smile started to come out of nowhere. I was hopeless.

That, at least, was a sentiment Morrison would agree with. “The only reason you're not both suspended is Mandy Tiller is alive and well. I should suspend you anyway.” But there was a killer out there that only his paranormal detective duo was equipped to find, so he couldn't afford to draw attention to us or the department by suspending us from a case we pretty much had to work on anyway.

He didn't say any of that out loud. He didn't need to. Instead, he snapped, “You'd better goddamned well consider yourselves on probation. You will do
nothing
without clearing it with me first, and I mean nothing. I don't want you taking a coffee break without my permission.”

Billy, sensibly, said, “Yes, sir.” I, less sensibly, said, “Aw, hell, Captain, look, in that case I need permission to go haring off into the woods for a few days, because I'm going to anyway.”

Morrison's eyebrows shot toward his silvering hairline, and I had the distinct impression Billy was trying to run away without actually moving a muscle. “You
what?
”

“This thing, the wendigo, Coyote and I are going to have to hunt it, but it's not a city creature. I can't stay here and report in and still do my job.” There was a certain irony to that, but Morrison didn't look like he was buying.

“You're not going anywhere, Walker, and if you were, it wouldn't be with a stranger who's not on my force. I don't care how well you think you know this guy. All I know is he's showed up in the middle of a serial murder case claiming to know things about the killer that, frankly, I'm not sure he could know if he wasn't involved.”

I laughed. It was bad form, but I laughed. “Are you serious?”

Morrison's ears turned red. “Walker, you told me your mentor was
dead.
And now this guy with all the answers just happens to show up, wrapped in a package only you can recognize? You tell me if that isn't suspicious.”

Phrased that way, it was. Phrased that way, it also sounded just a little like jealousy, a trait which Morrison hadn't exhibited over Edward Johnson while I'd been dating him. I wrote it off as amusing but unlikely. “It's Coyote, boss. I know him. He taught me for months. He saved my life, for Pete's sake. I trust him. And we can stand here all morning going around on this, but in the end I'm going to do this, so you might as well give me permission so you can feel like you're retaining some kind of control.”

Morrison's voice went very low: “I could fire you.”

A pit of regrets opened up in my belly. “Are you going to?”

I heard Billy take a surreptitious breath and hold it, like he might not draw attention if he was utterly still. Morrison stared at me, the raging color gone from his face, and I stood there on the edge of a coin, waiting to see which way it, and my fate, fell.

The door opened behind us without so much as a knock of warning, and I caught Coyote's scent as it closed again. Morrison clenched his jaw, but Coyote beat him to the punch: “I'm sorry for the intrusion, Captain, but Joanne and I can't wait any longer. We really have to go.”

I'd kind of gotten used to Morrison and Gary posturing at each other. It was a testosterone thing that made no sense, given that one was my boss and the other was forty-six years my elder. They'd also laid off the worst of it recently.

So I was really in no way prepared for the explosiveness of two young men with equal interest and stakes in me facing off. The air actually got heavy, like it did just before a storm, and I shot a compulsive glance out the window, wondering when Seattle had started featuring dead-of-winter thunderheads.

“Detective Joanne Walker is an officer under my command—”

“Cosmically,” Coyote said, “I've got you trumped.”

The way he said it reminded me, dismayingly, of me. I could never be that calm or casual, or manage to put that much weight behind a handful of on-the-surface silly words,
but in terms of picking just the right thing to inflame Morrison, it could've come straight off my short list.

Equally dismaying, Morrison responded just like he would've to me. His whole head turned crimson and he stepped forward to invade Coyote's personal space, clearly expecting me and Billy to give way. Billy did. I almost did.

My knees locked up, though, and my core went solid with determination I didn't know I had. Gary and Morrison fluffing their feathers at each other was one thing. It was something else entirely with Coyote and Morrison, and I very much didn't want to see either of them take it in the teeth. I didn't want much of anybody fighting over me, but especially not these two, because God forbid somebody should lose, and someone would have to. I forgot I was a police detective and a shaman. For a minute I just ran with being a girl, and got between the men in my life. “Guys. Come on. Knock it off.”

Standing between them was like getting into one of those static electricity balls. Morrison radiated challenge, sparks physically stinging me. The Sight reacted to all that aggressive emotion, awakening to show me vivid darts of red exploding through Morrison's usually purple-blue aura. Every time one of those jagged bolts zipped outward, I felt it against my skin, sharp and uncomfortable.

But if he was the lightning in the storm equation, Coyote was the thunder. I'd never Seen another shaman before. Even if I hadn't already, I'd have known instantly that this was someone of power. His aura was dune-colored, with slashes of desert-sky blue, and it rolled toward Morrison's like he'd flatten him and be done with it. I could all but hear his presence in the small bones of my ears.

Morrison was about the last person on earth, though, who
could be flattened easily. I said, “Guys,” again, and lifted my hands, palms facing each of them. “That's enough.”

My boss, who didn't often say stupid things, said, “Walker, this isn't about you. Back off.”

Astonished, vaguely insulted, I said, “Really. Who exactly is it about, then?”

Coyote, very calmly, said, “Don't worry. We'll get it settled,” which ranked pretty high up there in stupid things, too, as far as I was concerned. Neither of them was moving, and despite the fact that I was tall enough to be in their lines of vision, my presence between them didn't seem to be stopping them from a world-class stare-down. I was afraid that, given another few seconds, they were going to start peeing on things. I was not about to get peed on.

Billy, cautiously, said, “Joanie, maybe you should just get out of the way,” which for some reason pissed me off beyond belief. What was I, the fragile female who needed protecting?

It was a good enough question that I repeated it out loud: “What the hell is wrong with you two? Do you think I need a big strong guy to take care of me, or something?”

“I said this isn't
about
you, Wal—”

I said, “Oh for Christ's sake,” and made like Moses and the Red Sea.

A shimmering silvery-blue wash of magic flared on either side of me, right in Morrison's and Coyote's faces. I expected Coyote to see it. I was more surprised when Morrison's eyes widened, but I straight-armed both of them before he had a chance to speak. Sheets of magic pushed Coyote up against the door and Morrison all the way back to his desk, which hit him in the ass and stopped his backward slide. “Have I got your attention now, gentlemen?”

I pretty clearly had everybody's attention. Gratifyingly, both objects of my pique nodded obediently. So did Billy, for that matter. I felt a nudge of resistance against my magic from Coyote's quarters, and glared at him. The probe faded away and he looked genuinely contrite.

“Good. Let me make something clear. I don't require rescuing. I don't require protecting. I frequently require help, which this pissing-match behavior in no way qualifies as. Now understand something else. I found out the hard way that this power of mine doesn't cotton to being used as a weapon.”
Cotton to.
Get my dander up and I fell just a smidge toward the Southern in my choice of dialect and dialogue. It wasn't my fault. Four years in North Carolina will do that to a girl.

Morrison was looking slightly relieved around the eyes, which wasn't what I was after. I stopped dissecting my own verbal tics and finished my explanation: “I'm pretty sure bashing the two of you up against the walls a few times wouldn't actually trigger a super-psychic alarm saying
oh my God, Joanne's using her powers for evil,
but I'd kind of like to see if I'm right. Anybody else interested?”

For some reason they all three shook their heads rapidly. I thought they weren't any fun at all. Still pissed off, I let the magic go. Morrison, whose posture had been extremely erect while I'd held him in place, sagged a little, then scowled at Coyote. “Couldn't you stop her?”

“Couldn't
you?
”

I'd become the common enemy. It wasn't exactly what I'd been going for, but it was better than the two of them at each other's throats. Billy just gaped at me like I'd sprouted another arm, or a second head. Apparently ostentatious displays of
power were not what he'd come to expect from his partner in crime. Anti-crime. Whatever.

I turned to Morrison and said, “Sorry,” with about as much emotional integrity as he could expect after behaving like a hormone-ridden teenager. “Boss, this hunting party is the best shot we've got at stopping this thing.
I'm
your best shot at it. We know I'm going anyway, so may I please have permission?”

Morrison suddenly looked older than his thirty-eight years. I probably would, too, if I had me to deal with on a regular basis. “How often are we going to do this, Walker? How many times are you going to walk into my office and tell me how it is, even if it's against every rule and regulation we stand by?”

“I don't know.” I wasn't angry anymore. I wasn't bubbling over with goofy happies, either. I was almost sad, really, like I was losing something I barely recognized. “Until neither of us can take it anymore, I guess.”

The captain looked between me and Coyote, and when he looked back at me again I wasn't sure we were still talking about the same thing, even though nothing more had been said to change the slant of what I'd just offered.

More, and worse, something subtle happened in Coyote's face, as if he'd heard and understood the change in subtext, too. My heart spasmed and I glanced away from both of them.

That might have been okay, except there was somebody else in the room, and he'd followed the unspoken conversation just as clearly as the rest of us had. Billy met my gaze with the deepest, most tempered expression of compassion I'd ever seen, and the small sadness inside me burgeoned into something so big I had a hard time swallowing around it.

Billy was the one who broke the silence, which hadn't dragged
out for long, but a lot had been said inside it, and none of it had been easy to hear. “You want me along on this, Joanne?”

His timing was perfect. Half a second earlier I wouldn't have trusted my voice. Half a second later I'd have fallen over into a sniffle that would've belied my tough-girl antics. “I think it'll be just me and Cyrano on this one. Thanks, though.” I looked in Morrison's general direction without actually going so far as to meet his eyes. “We'll rent a car, or something. Keep it off the department books entirely.”

“Something happen to Petite?”

I hadn't fully realized Morrison knew my car's name. I mean, yes, her license plate said PETITE in big block letters, but given he felt my relationship with her was pathological, I wouldn't have expected to hear him call her by name. A pinprick hole released some of the ache inside me, and I crooked a smile. “She's in the garage. The insurance paid up after that Doherty guy came by in October, so I've got enough money to switch out her transmission to a manual. It's my winter project.”

There was no way on earth Morrison cared about any of that. I'd never met an American male with less interest in cars than my boss. But he nodded like it meant something to him, then nodded a second time, this time at the door. Not at Coyote. At the door. And said, “Take care of yourself, Walker.”

“Yes, sir.” I left his office with Coyote on my trail, confusingly aware that last time I'd walked away from Morrison with another man, he'd told the guy to take care of
me.
I had the uncomfortable sensation that last time, he'd been willing to relinquish—ownership, for lack of a better word, though it wasn't a good one—because he hadn't seen Thor as a threat. This time I was responsible for myself, which suggested, awkwardly, that Morrison was still in the game.

My life had been a lot easier when I was emotionally stunted.

Coyote waited until we got all the way out to the parking lot before he said, “So. That's how it is with Morrison, huh?” like that should mean something to me.

Aggravatingly, it did. “It isn't any-how with Morrison. He's my boss.” Butter wouldn't melt in my mouth.

“You called me Cyrano, back there.”

My life had been a
lot
easier when I was emotionally stunted. I knotted my hands into balls and glared at the ground. “Okay, yes, fine. That's how it is with Morrison. Jesus Christ.”

“What about last night, then?”

I did not want to do this. God, how I did not want to do this. I walked a dozen steps away, shoved a hand through my hair, and came back a few feet. Coyote, slim and lean and beautiful, just stood there watching me. His brown eyes had a gold tint to them: he was watching my aura, reading more from it than my body language would tell him. I wondered if it showed my heart as an aching, tender, beat-up point inside me, bleeding red through my usual colors.

“Why does there have to be some kind of big explanation for last night? I've had a crush on you since I was about thirteen. You came back from the dead and, I don't know, Coyote, I kind of like the idea of being stupid in love with you. You had me at hello. Why can't that be enough? Morrison's my boss. Nothing's going to happen there as long as he is, and I'm not planning to quit my job. So why does it have to matter?”

“Maybe because you just chose him over me.” Coyote's voice was remote. I utterly refused to look at him with the Sight and find out how much or little of that was an act. I didn't want to see him hurting, too. I was confused enough already.

Except on one thing: “I didn't choose anybody, Cyrano. But you should have known better.”

Coyote snapped his gaze up to mine, astonishment mixing with injury. “Me?
I
should've known better? Why me? Why not him?”

“Because you're on his territory. For that reason alone you shouldn't have walked into
his
office and tried laying down the law, and you know it. That wasn't about us needing to get going. It was about who gets to tell Joanne what to do, and honestly, Coyote, in the scheme of things, he does. If that's choosing him, then yeah, I choose him, because he's my
boss.
We have our issues, but we get it figured out, and we would've gotten this one figured out. So if nothing else, you should've respected being on somebody else's playing field. Instead you had to push it.”
And spoil everything,
I didn't say out loud.

We stood there a long time. A wind came up, making my cheeks cold but failing to get under my jacket and wool sweater. Finally Coyote mumbled, “I'm sorry,” and looked up with credible puppy-dog eyes.

It was more or less the last thing in the world I expected him to say, and the excessively mournful gaze was enough to break the tide of my anger. In fact, it was nearly enough to make me giggle, which I resented enough that it almost made me angry again. I said, “Stop that,” with enough asperity that he did. “People who actually possess puppy-dog eyes in another shape aren't allowed to use them to get themselves out of trouble. I say so. It's the rules.”

“Okay.” Despite the promise inherent in the word he gave me another puppy-dog look, though this one more said “Am I forgiven?” than “I'm sorry.”

I glowered at somebody's Jeep, trying hard not to fall for manipulative men with big brown eyes, and gave up with a snorted
laugh. “Okay. You're forgiven. But if you do something that stupid again, Coyote, I swear to God…”

“I won't.” He sidled up to put his arm around my waist and his nose on my shoulder. I fought off another giggle, and he repeated, “I won't. You're right. I was being a dick, and I'm sorry. You've changed a lot, Jo.”

I eyed him, which was difficult given his proximity. “You mean, six months ago if you'd shown up and tried going to the mat with Morrison over what my responsibilities were, I'd have been delighted to let you play hero so I didn't have to face up to any of those decisions or responsibilities myself?”

He cleared his throat. “I wouldn't have said it like that, but yeah.”

I turned in to him, catching his coat in my hands and bumping my nose against his. “You're right. I've changed. I'm a superhero now.” I stole a kiss, then smiled against his mouth. “So let's go save the world.”