Demons are a Ghoul's Best Friend: Afterglow, Book 2 (4 page)

With two glasses of Roz’s perfect iced tea in front of them, Cheney faced Pandora across his kitchen table. They were alone and he could see the curiosity bubbling up behind her gaze.

“Fill me in.” Her tone was peremptory, allowing no room for debate. “Everything. What you do, how you do it and why.”

He lifted one eyebrow lazily. “I don’t think so.”

“Well give me the condensed version then.” Her fingertips drummed on the table. “Give me something. Some clue about this—this stuff.”

“This stuff, as you so succinctly call it, is my AG talent. What more is there to know?” He knew he was being evasive, but now that they were back in the real world, he was reticent to let her probe his mind. Of course, if she wanted to probe other things… He still had the image of her in that transparent dress locked in his head. Ruefully, he admitted to himself he might have made a mistake putting her in it. She looked too damn good.

“Those—those children. How do you help them?”

He thought about the question. “I give them a safe environment. I allow them to develop at their own speed. I let things happen the way they’re supposed to.”

“And their parents don’t?”

“Look, Pandora. I don’t have to tell you this isn’t a perfect world. It’s better, but it’s still not perfect. Children are born with AG talents. Parents don’t always know how to handle them. Some don’t want them. Some births result in an AG baby who comes into the world fully developed.”

“God.” She swallowed. “You mean some women have puppies?”

He shrugged. “It happens. Usually the mom understands and within a few days she has her baby. There are counseling services, doctors and therapists. We know a lot about AG mutations now. A loving parent pretty much takes care of any little childhood glitches.” He paused and frowned. “Sadly, there isn’t always a loving parent around.”

“And that’s where you come in?”

“Sometimes, yes. These two, for example. Lucy and Rusty.” He glanced through the window into the garden. “Rusty changed very soon after his birth. His mother couldn’t handle it. She was in her late teens, I believe. She left. Rusty was too young to figure out how to relax into his AG talent and stayed a puppy.”

“And Lucy?”

“Her mother died giving birth. There was no father present. He was in the wind long before that.”

“Oh God.” Pandora’s eyes swam with tears for a few seconds before she blinked them away. “And so they ended up with you.”

“I have a few friends here and there. I foster these kids, if you want to call it that. I just make sure they’re safe, happy and free to develop at their own pace. I help them physically. Once they’re on their own, or with new families, they’ll get counseling.”

“They get adopted?”

Cheney chuckled. “One good thing about werewolf AGs. They love big families. Thriving packs. There’s always one out there looking for kids to adopt.”

“But the others…”

“I can’t go there.” He straightened his shoulders. “I simply can’t think about it. I do what I can with these kids and pray to God somebody else is helping other kinds of AGs. Focusing on my family is the best way to deal with that lurking knowledge, believe me.”

“Yeah.” She nodded soberly.

“I see a lot of shit, Pandora. I’m a detective. It’s my job.” He grimaced. “A lot of it’s unpleasant. Coming home, doing this…” He waved a hand at the window. “Well, it makes life better. Not just for them, but for me too.”

“I can understand that.”

“So.” He gazed at her. “About your problem.”

She lifted her face and met his eyes, her own clear and blue as a tropical ocean. “I know now I need you more than ever. This creature isn’t like Rusty or Lucy. Only you can tell me what it is, what it needs and how to help it. Or him. Or whatever.”

“You think it’s a werewolf?”

“At this point, I’m not sure of anything except that my gut churns when I’m around it. And there’s something in its eyes…”

“Good enough for me.” He stood and drained his glass. “Got time now to go check him out?”

Pandora glanced at her watch. “I’ll make time.” She reached into her pocket and withdrew her tiny phone. Turning away, she spoke into it and within a few moments was reorganizing her schedule for the day.

Cheney took their glasses to the sink and rinsed them, noting that the pups were now lazily stretched out in the sunshine. Would he be adding a third? It was possible. She couldn’t help it, but at least she’d been smart enough to come to him for advice.

And he’d actually let her in to the private side of his life. A woman he’d not met before that morning. That was something indeed. Buck would give him a hard time, Cheney knew. But he’d always been one who followed his instincts.

And his instincts told him he was doing the right thing about Pandora.

However, when she turned and smiled at him, it wasn’t exactly his gut instincts that responded. It was about a foot or so lower. “Ready?” He ignored the curl of lust warming his crotch.

“Let’s go.” Her heels clicked on the floor as she strode from the house.

A thought drifted through his mind. In his opinion, most lawyers were asses. This was one who had an ass. A really fabulous tight and shapely ass. With a sigh, he shoved away the urge to grab it and followed it as it swayed rhythmically out the door.

Chapter Four

“Why so reticent about your talent?” Pandora spoke from the passenger seat as they drove back toward the city. “You seem to go to great lengths to keep it quiet.”

Cheney pondered the question for a few moments. “Probably because it’s not common. Or of much use.” He shrugged. “Growing up was hard sometimes. Not being able to fit in to the usual cliques—vampire, werewolf, elf—you know how it works. I had the mark but I couldn’t do the deed. And yet I wasn’t a bland either…”

She nodded. Everyone wanted to fit in, it seemed. “Yes, I can see you’d have some issues.” She frowned a little. “But now you’re an adult…”

“And a cop.” He turned the wheel as they exited the highway. “I finally found a place where a talent like mine can come in handy now and again.”

“Really?” She blinked. “You use it on the job?”

“Sure. Makes undercover work a helluva lot easier sometimes. I can’t hold it for hours on end, but there’ve been a few cases where minutes count. If I can persuade a perp he’s someplace else seeing something else? Hey, whatever gets the job done.”

“Is that legal?”

He lifted an eyebrow briefly. “There speaks the lawyer.”

“Of course.”

“Never had a case thrown out because of it.” He braked for a stoplight. “We know our job, Pandora. The DA doesn’t accept magical manifestations when it comes to prosecution. Hard evidence and facts. That’s what he wants.”

“Um.” She digested his comment, wondering if any of the cases she’d dealt with had involved some sort of AG event prior to arriving on her desk. The thought made her shudder at the potential implications and she turned her attention to the road. “Turn right at the next intersection.”

He did so, then glanced at her. “To turn that question to you—what’s a Fae doing becoming a lawyer?”

She tensed. “I don’t see the two as mutually exclusive.”

He grinned. “Touchy, are we?”

“Certainly not.” The pause that followed could best be described as pregnant. “Well, not very much.”

“Aha.”

“There’s no aha about it. I like the law.” Pandora lifted her chin defiantly. “It’s essential, clear cut and interesting. It’s a part of our society that’s pretty much always been there and always will.”

“True. And I could probably count on one hand the number of its members who are Fae. Most are blands or vamps who don’t mind burning the midnight oil in some musty library, poring over data that’s a gazillion years old.”

“But don’t you see? That’s the point.” She twisted in her seat and spread her hands for emphasis. “The law is a gazillion years old. It’s one of the few things that transcends the passage of time and the changes in our culture. It’s been a constant from the earliest recorded history. Before there were AGs, there was the law. Before there was hideous weaponry, there was the law. Before there was—well, before there were a whole lot of humans, there was probably a law or two.”

Cheney huffed out a soft laugh. “It’s illegal to kill more than one woolly mammoth a week?”

“Probably. You may make a joke out of it, but I regard the law as part of the glue that’s held humanity together for eons. I find that thought…comforting, in an odd way. And fascinating too. How the intricacies of it still make sense. How the necessity of it is still very much an integral part of our foundation as civilized beings.”

The car slid to a stop at the end of a cul-de-sac, in front of a small group of contemporary townhouses. She pointed. “That one’s mine.”

Cheney killed the motor and withdrew the keys, unfastening his seat belt as he surveyed the area. “You know, Pandora, if I was a shrink, I’d say you were looking for some major stability in your choice of a career. And that would be an interesting premise for therapy.” He opened his door and got out of the car.

She snorted and did the same, straightening her skirt automatically as she slammed her door closed behind her. “In that case, it’s probably a good thing you’re a cop.”

Cheney found himself once again contemplating Pandora’s very fine ass as it swayed up the short driveway to her front door. There was a garage next to it, so he assumed her living quarters were up a flight. They’d probably be rigidly structured, like her, all black and white and chrome or something.

She might be a buttoned-up lawyer type on the surface, and maybe even in her choice of fashion and decorating styles, but he’d bet his last dollar there was a whole lotta woman buried in there someplace. Nobody with an ass that fine could be as rigid as she’d like him to believe. Perhaps she even believed it herself…he didn’t know. But he’d seen her in a flowing gown with her hair loose.

He’d seen her laugh as she played with his kids, and her smile was seared into more than a few of his neural pathways.

Oh yes, Ms. Jackson had depths to her that he’d be quite interested in exploring.

“Come on up. I’ve got it penned in the kitchen.” Pandora’s voice recalled his wandering thoughts.

If only we’d met at a bar and not professionally.

He took the last step into her living room. And stopped dead.

“Uh…” He stared at the warm glowing wood surfaces that surrounded him. From floor to ceiling there was the richness of a forest reflecting and absorbing the light from the tall windows.

Against soft green walls stood carvings, some useful—like tables—others beautiful creations lifted from the natural shape of the wood itself.

Her coffee table was a slab of something rich and weathered, polished to a mirror-like smoothness. Her cabinetry looked custom designed, also buffed to shining perfection. Here and there were growing things, their pots shaped from branches or small tree trunks.

He breathed in, detecting a hint of the elemental fragrance emanating from finely worked wood.

“Wow.” It was all he could say.

Pandora flashed him an irritated glance. “I didn’t bring you here to criticize my taste in furniture.”

He held up his hands defensively. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Counselor. I wouldn’t dream of criticizing. This stuff’s magnificent.”

Her hand went absently to the grooves in a tall piece—a woman’s body sinuously emerging from a large branch, hands raised above her and cupping a fat creamy candle. “I like it.”

“I can see why.” He nodded approvingly. “Some of these pieces look like heirlooms.” He crossed the room to examine the one dominant feature—a massive hewn trunk, halved down the center and standing flush against the wall. It was taller than he was and probably three feet across.

But it wasn’t the size that was so eye-catching—it was the wood itself. Softly undulating, the whorls and irregularities combined to reveal something almost alive about the piece. A face, perhaps. No, several faces. Or an arm?

What was it? Cheney closed his eyes for a moment then opened them again, trying hard to see what the artist had tried to emphasize.

“Hey.” Pandora snapped her fingers at him. “Any chance we could get on with this? Or do you just want to stand there and stare for an hour or two? Because if so, let me know and I’ll get some work done while you take a vacation in your head.”

He opened his mouth to respond, then noticed something.
She’s uncomfortable. Embarrassed. She’s not happy that I’m liking this stuff.
His cop instincts helped him read her body language as clearly as if she’d been holding up a sign.

Her arms were crossed tightly over her body, her face was devoid of expression and one foot was tapping a little, just enough to betray her nervousness. He filed it all away in the “interesting things I’m learning about Pandora Jackson” file and nodded. “Show me where this pup is.”

With a muttered “About time”, Pandora led him through the living room and into the dining area. The opening into the kitchen was blocked with a jumble of chairs and an ottoman thrown in for good measure. “Here.” She pointed. “There he is.”

A rough growl followed her words and he moved to her side, looking in the direction of her pointing finger.

For a second or two he had a hard time finding the animal, but then it moved and he saw it clearly for the first time. Amidst the usual puppy items—blanket, water bowl, food dish and the obligatory squeaky toy—lay a dark brown creature of indeterminate origin.

And the hairs rose on the back of Cheney’s neck as he got his first good look at it.

No playful or sad puppy here. The face was blunt, the nose short and the ears unremarkable. The hair was tufted in places, especially around its neck, but not the soft feathery fronds that some pups carry as youngsters. This looked rough and brittle.

The growling continued and he watched as one lip peeled away from sharp fangs that were way too large to classify as baby teeth, and with a snarl the creature moved to stand, its body ungainly, its legs short and thick.

It was no breed he could even guess at. He’d never seen anything like it. And when it looked at him—