Second Nature (14 page)

Jorie chuckled but said nothing, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Griffin's statement. Finally, she straightened. "Can I get you something to eat or to drink while I change and make a few calls? I need to cancel my credit card and call my bank to report my ATM card stolen — you should do the same."

She's careful, not taking any chances,
Griffin thought.
Why would a woman like this risk her personal safety to write a book about shape-shifters? If she knows we exist, she must be aware of how dangerous that could be.
The pieces of the puzzle didn't fit together, but Griffin was determined to figure it out.
I bet whoever gave her the inside information failed to mention that she would have a unit of trained soldiers after her if she tried to have that book published.

"You should go easy on your arm for a while. I can make us something to eat," she said. No Wrasa ever said no to the offer of food. She had eaten before meeting with Jorie, but she didn't know for how much longer she would be here. If she got hungry and impatient to get food, it would be hard to resist the urge to shift and get rid of her headache and the feelings of guilt.

"It's just a little cut, and I'm right-handed anyway." Either Jorie wasn't used to being fussed over, or she didn't want Griffin to snoop around in her kitchen. She motioned for Griffin to remain seated and disappeared into the kitchen. The long-haired cat, still eyeing Griffin distrustfully, trailed after her.

Griffin heard the refrigerator being opened. The scent of turkey made her mouth water.
Let's hope it's for me, not for the cat.
Then a note of mustard drifted along the roof of her mouth.
Ah. She's making sandwiches. I think she's trying to keep herself busy. She doesn't want to stop and think how close she might have come to being killed. Or maybe she's just uncomfortable having me in her house.

"Turkey sandwich okay?" Jorie called from the kitchen. "You're not a vegetarian or anything, are you?"

Griffin snorted. Her stomach growled enthusiastically. "No, turkey is fine."

"Do you want gherkins on it? Or tomatoes?"

"No, thanks," Griffin answered. If she was lucky, Jorie would put twice the amount of turkey on hers instead.

"Something to drink?"

"Just water, please." It was always the safest choice of beverages in a human household. Sugary drinks were wasted on cat-shifters because they couldn't taste its sweetness, and coffee and alcoholic beverages could be dangerous to her physiology.

Sounds from the kitchen indicated that Jorie was now feeding the cat. Griffin stood and wandered over to the framed photograph on the bookshelf. It showed a pigtailed little girl balancing on the armrest of an easy chair. She couldn't be older than five or six, but something about the way the dark eyes looked into the camera left no doubt in Griffin's mind that this was Jorie. The tan arm of a salt-and-pepper-haired man cradled her safely. His other hand held on to a book, and his lips were forming words. He was reading to the little girl, who was pressed against his side.

He's her father.
The man looked nothing like Jorie and wasn't even Asian American, but there could be no doubt about his place in Jorie's life. Maybe Jorie took after her mother. His stance was protective and affectionate. It didn't resemble a Kasari interacting with his cubs, though. His body language was all wrong for a Wrasa.
He's human.

Before she could look for photos of Jorie's mother or other family members, soft steps alerted her to Jorie's return.

Griffin sprinted across the room and sat back down.

Carrying a plate and with a bottle of water tucked under one arm, Jorie entered. Her hands were steadier now. She had used the few minutes in the kitchen to pull herself together.

Against her will, Griffin had to admire her self-control.

Agatha was still trailing behind Jorie, her nose up in the air, scenting the turkey on Griffin's sandwich. She stopped when Jorie set the plate with the sandwich in front of Griffin.

Griffin held back a smirk.
Mine. All mine.

"Do you want something for the pain?" Jorie asked over her shoulder, already halfway to the bedroom. "Or some ice for your head?"

Ice?
Gooseflesh pimpled Griffin's skin at the mere thought of pressing ice-cold, frozen blocks against her warm skin. "No, thanks. But you should take something."

"I will," Jorie answered and vanished into the bedroom.

Now Griffin was alone with the cat, who was still lusting after her sandwich. Griffin hesitated. Even more than the Kasari or Syak, who lived in social groups, the solitary Puwar hated sharing food.
Come on. It's for a good cause.
She wasn't above bribery when it came to securing the cat's affection and therefore Jorie's trust. Almost in slow motion, still fighting her possessive instincts, she pinched off a piece of turkey and held it out to the Somali cat.

Agatha hesitated, looking back and forth between the delicious treat and the big predator in the room.

"Oh, come on now. I'm sacrificing part of my food, so don't play the diva." With a flick of her finger, she threw the piece of turkey halfway between the easy chair and the spot where Agatha was sitting.

The bedroom door opened, and Jorie stepped out. One glance and she had made out Griffin's attempt to bribe the cat.

"Sorry," Griffin said. She knew most pet owners didn't like other people feeding their cat or dog.
And rightly so. I've seen a lot of humans giving really stupid and unhealthy things to animals.

"Don't encourage her, or you'll end up eating a dry piece of bread while she gets all the turkey," Jorie said but otherwise didn't rebuke Griffin for giving food to her cat. Maybe she trusted Griffin as a zoologist to know what food would be safe for a cat. Jorie set a bottle of painkillers onto the coffee table. "If you're in pain, take one. You don't need to play the hero."

Griffin wasn't. She would gladly do something to get rid of her slight headache, but she knew human painkillers would do her more harm than good. "I'm fine, really," she said.

"All right." Jorie grabbed a piece of paper from her desk and disappeared into the bedroom again.

When the door closed behind her, Griffin stood and examined the notes on the coffee table. She took her time, knowing calling in all her credit cards and bank accounts would take a while.

The first few pages were an outline of some sorts, giving detailed information about technical elements such as point of view, scene goals, and character arcs that Griffin didn't really understand. Next came an editing checklist, and at the bottom of the stack was a printout of a Web site about tigers.
Nothing of interest. Let's hope there's more helpful information in the notebook we stole.

In the bedroom, Jorie was just saying good-bye to the woman from her credit card company. Her footfalls neared the door.

With two big leaps, Griffin bounded around the coffee table and landed in the easy chair. Only at the very last moment did she remember the fragility of human furniture and slowed her descent to avoid having the easy chair collapse under her weight.

Scared by the sudden fast movements, the cat ran to hide in the kitchen.

"You didn't touch your food," Jorie said when she entered the room.

"Sorry." Griffin squinted and feigned sleepiness. "I was busy calling my credit card company and my bank." She pointed at the cell phone that was hooked to her belt. "And then I think I fell asleep for a second."

Jorie's dark eyes probed into Griffin's. "Are you all right? You look flushed."

Yeah, that's what racing around the room, trying to avoid being caught spying will do to you.
"I'm fine, just a little..." Griffin made a vague gesture toward her head, letting Jorie fill in the blanks. She picked up the sandwich and forced herself to eat slowly. Not only didn't she want to come across like a pig, she also was in no hurry to leave. Her plan involved staying the night, but so far, Jorie hadn't voiced an invitation.

Finally, the sandwich and the bottle of water were gone, but Jorie still hadn't started a conversation.
For someone who makes her living with words, she sure doesn't talk a lot.
Normally, she would enjoy the silence. Humans talked too much anyway. But if Jorie remained silent, Griffin would never learn anything about her and her story. "I'm sorry about your backpack," she said as sincerely as she could.

Jorie waved away her apology. "There was nothing you could do about it."

"Still, the notebook with your research was in it, right?"

A frown of regret creased Jorie's brow. "Some of it, yes."

Some of it,
Griffin mentally repeated.
Only some? So there are more notebooks, more research notes somewhere else?

White teeth worried Jorie's bottom lip. She seemed more affected by the loss of her notebook than by being attacked with a knife. Griffin couldn't tell whether it was the thought of her writing in a stranger's hands or the loss of information that worried her.

Griffin bit her own lip. Stealing another's property was a big deal to the territorial Wrasa, but it was more than that to Jorie. She had violated Jorie's privacy and stolen the most precious thing in her life — her writing or at least a part of it. "If you want, I can write down the information I gave you earlier so that you get at least that part of your research back," Griffin said.

"If you have no other plans and you really don't mind, we could do it right now. I could write it down on my laptop; that's faster." Jorie's dark eyes had a vulnerable look that Griffin had never seen on Jorie before.

Her writing is for Jorie what shifting, running in my animal form is for me,
Griffin realized.
She wants to get lost in her fictional world and not think about how close she came to dying today.
"Well, since I think it would be better to cancel my plans to go bungee jumping, I have all the time in the world," Griffin said with a smile.

An answering smile darted across Jorie's face as she powered up her laptop.

During the next hour, Griffin repeated most of the information about big cats that she had given Jorie during their two meetings at the diner. Jorie's slender fingers flew over the keyboard. Griffin had seen her half sister, software engineer by day and Wrasa hacker by night, at work, but Jorie could give Leigh a run for her money when it came to touch-typing. Compared to Griffin's own "hunt and peck" system, she was amazingly fast and efficient. Even the cut on her forearm and the bandage that covered it didn't hinder her.

Finally, Jorie saved the document and closed the laptop. "Thank you," she said. "And I also owe you a thank-you for throwing yourself between the mugger and me. That was really brave."

"I thought it was stupid?" Griffin repeated what Jorie had said right after the staged mugging.

"It was brave
and
stupid," Jorie said. She studied Griffin, then glanced out the window. Darkness had fallen, and it was getting late. "Do you want me to call anyone for you? Your family?"

"No," Griffin said. "I don't want to worry them."

A few seconds ticked by.
Come on. Invite me to stay.

"Then you should stay the night," Jorie said. "You shouldn't be on your own after the blow to the head you took."

Yes!
Griffin barely managed to suppress a Cheshire-cat grin.
Finally.
"If you think that's best," she said with all the subservience she could muster.

"Will you be okay on the couch?" Jorie asked.

"Of course." Griffin didn't plan on sleeping anyway.

*  *  *

Jorie's couch was amazingly comfortable. Griffin lay snuggled under a soft blanket. When she closed her eyes, Jorie's scent surrounded her, making her feel as if she were prowling through the forest. The images increased the yearning to throw off the old, oversized T-shirt Jorie had given her to sleep in. She wanted to shift and run, leaving this complicated mission and her guilt over Jorie's injury behind for a while.

Her eyes shot open.
No.
Duty came first. Before she went out, she had to search Jorie's desk.

A slight sound stopped her from throwing off the blanket.

Soft footsteps padded closer, barely audible on the carpet.

Griffin slowly turned her head.

Her excellent night vision pierced through the darkness. What she saw made her relax her tense muscles. It was just one of the cats, stalking closer to take a look at the visitor.
Not Agatha.
The Somali strutted with smooth, elegant movements like a queen at a red-carpet reception. This cat — a tabby with gray fur that probably appeared red to the human eye — lollopped closer, moving more like a bunny than a feline. Griffin hadn't met Jorie's other two cats yet, but she knew red cats were most often male. Chances were she was about to make Will's acquaintance.
One of his front legs is missing,
Griffin realized as the cat came closer.

She lay still, not wanting to scare him away.

The cat paused, then jumped onto the low coffee table, scrambling until he was safely on top. Griffin couldn't help admiring how he was able to take that leap with just three legs. Will sat on the coffee table, looking down at her with his glowing eyes. His white-bibbed muzzle opened to breathe in Griffin's scent, which was mixed with Jorie's because she was wearing her shirt and was covered by her blanket.

Despite that scent camouflage, Griffin was sure he could smell she wasn't human anyway. There was no way to fool a cat and no sense in acting human. She had to let him know that she was a fellow cat and a friendly one at that. Squinting slowly, she looked at Will through half-closed eyes, then made a soft chirruping sound.

Will's ears swiveled toward her.

Griffin gave a short purr even though it was difficult to manage in her human form.

The cat stood. The tip of his tail twitched while he was making his decision. Griffin saw his muscles tense, and she closed her eyes in disappointment, knowing he was preparing to back away.