"I guess the gods had a reason for making us this way."
"You know what they say? 'The gods must be crazy.' " She quoted the old aphorism meant to convey that the gods did things for reasons their creations could not comprehend.
"I don't think they are crazy at all," he said ruefully. "Jacob used to tell me that the gods used Minotaurs to protect their realms."
"I imagine that's true. 'It's the gods' world, we just live in it.' " She quoted another old phrase.
"Anyway, Jacob helped me adjust. He taught me how to get comfortable in my own skin."
"Will you be a mentor yourself one day?" She stood up, stretched her legs, and sat down next to him. Her dainty living room couch made him overlarge and out of place. Mac resisted the urge to go tense. She would feel his body stiffen.
"I've thought about it," he said. Thought about it and decided not to do it. But he couldn't tell her that.
His flight response rode him hard, and all thoughts of courting this woman began to feel like folly. He needed to leave. He held her gaze, trying to put down the unease threatening to uncoil and spread under his skin. Shame was his familiar companion when he thought about his transition. It bloomed in his chest and sent tendrils throughout his body like kudzu. If he wanted her, he would eventually have to tell her everything.
"My sister has a son who has the gene," he said, looking away. "He hasn't transitioned yet. He's twelve."
Although he no longer looked at her directly, he could still see her in the corner of his eye. She leaned back on the sofa a bit. She looked thoughtful. If she sensed he was uncomfortable with this revelation, her training as a social worker meant she wouldn't show it. Her expression was the same whether he looked directly or out of the corner of his eye. He liked that about her.
Her hand reached out for his, the slim brown fingers sliding over his. Her hand was warm, rougher than he expected. The electric jolt he had experienced the first time they touched surged back as she curled her fingers around his hand.
"I think you would be good at it," she said. Her black eyes shone with tenderness.
And just like that, she took him out of his loneliness, the alienation hovering around him like a storm cloud. His kind was bred to intimidate and protect, to be useful to a race of beings who manipulated and engineered others to suit their purposes. This knowledge had soured his stomach on more than one occasion. Still, Mac could not walk away from his programming. He remained lonely and misunderstood by a society he had spent most of his life protecting.
Diana was like him. Keeping herself apart from others--he guessed she did it to maintain her objectivity on the job, to hide the latent gifts the gods had given her. She could sniff out shifters, but she never told anyone she could. Could it be she wasn't seeking some sort of advantage, as he had first assumed?
Diana stroked the webbing of his hand with her thumb. He could hear her breathing change tempo, her chest heaving with emotion. The scents of her arousal and her strong emotions mixed together and became intense and overpowering.
He had to force himself to sit still, to keep his breath even and calm, like a hunter crouched and waiting in a blind. She stood and held out her hands to him, motioning for him to stand. When he did, she put her arms around his waist, placed her head on the same spot on his chest she had placed it earlier that day in the kitchen.
He stood there, not sure what was going on.
"What are you doing?" His voice sounded gruff and husky to his own ears.
"I'm hugging you," she said. "You can hug me back if you want."
An unfamiliar need came over him. His arms went around her, holding her close but loose enough that he didn't crowd her. He held her, stroked her back, and waited for her to run away.
But she didn't. He couldn't put words to the sensation that came with holding her--and being held. He was safe, somehow. He wondered if he made her feel safe too. He wanted to stay there, holding her and inhaling her scent. He wanted to make love to her again. He wanted to soothe the carnal ache he felt whenever she was around. But he also wanted her to be ready...to choose him without reservation because once she chose him, he would never let her go.
"I should go," he said, mentally cringing at his own words. He did not want to go. He ended the embrace and held her away from him. Her eyes burned with desire, but she nodded her head in agreement. She wasn't ready.
"OK," she said, rubbing her arms as if she'd caught a sudden chill. Her face seemed to hold an expression of disappointment she did not want him to see.
He leaned over, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her lightly on the lips. And then he was gone.
Chapter 23
Wednesday, September 20, 2079. Early Morning.
Mac drove his truck up the curved driveway of his childhood home, a sprawling contemporary on one city acre of immaculately groomed turf and well-tended gardens. Other than the addition of pink oleander shrubs, which replaced the crape myrtles along the driveway, not much had changed since the last time he'd been there. How long had it been? He had still been with the Dallas Police Department...so it must have been eighteen months ago. Or longer. He sat in his truck, flipping through his Omni messages and wondering what brought him here.
A light shone from the living room, and the door opened. He watched Anita Bodie open the box on the front porch meant for drone deliveries. She removed two quarts of milk and a carton of eggs. Cereal for the kids and eggs for Daddy.
Some things never change.
Of course, Mac hadn't had dairy and eggs since he went through his transformation, and his body could no longer process animal-based foods efficiently, leading to explosive indigestion. A lactose intolerance type of reaction times ten.
He knocked on the gleaming mahogany front door, and his mother opened it, her face first serious then lighting up like a birthday cake when she saw her firstborn. Blue hazel eyes smiled up at him, and she pulled him in for a hug. His mother was more than a foot shorter than Mac at 5' 6" and she slid a hand around his waist and walked him into the house. She was in her mid-sixties and kept her hair dark and her figure trim. It was just past eight in the morning, and true to her Southern training, she was coiffed in a tidy layered bob and wore a face full of artfully applied cosmetics. Her disposition was as it had always been, generous with her good humor, open, loving. His mother had just poured herself a cup of coffee, and his father was nowhere to be seen.
As if he hadn't seen his family in over a year, he casually asked, "Where's Dad?"
"Daddy is out buying breakfast," she said. She waved an arm toward the breakfast nook. "Have you eaten yet?"
"Actually, no, I haven't. What are you having?"
"Kolaches," she said. "Come in here and help me get everything ready."
His family didn't understand much about him anymore, but his mother sure knew how to handle him. If she spent any time admonishing her son for not coming home more often, he would stop coming at all.
Mac's eyebrows went up, and his eyes gleamed with anticipation.
"Where from?"
"Where else?" his mother said. The Bodie family only bought kolaches from one place, Bingley Donuts. His mother gave him a shrewd side eye. "They make vegan kolaches as well."
"I haven't been there in...a long time." It had been awhile since he'd visited his parents, and even longer since he'd been at any of the places they had been to as a family. He looked down at his feet, and his chest grew tight with emotion. He was assailed by a wave of guilt.
"Oh, don't start," his mother said, waving him off. "I'm just glad you're here. What’s new with you?"
"Nothing much," he said. "Figured it had been a while."
His mother busied herself around the kitchen and didn't look at him directly. She made a show of removing plates and glasses from the cream-colored cabinets, more than enough for three people.
"Help me set the table," she said, nodding her head at the plates.
"You expecting someone? Or a bunch of someones?"
"Your sister and the boys," said his mother. Mac froze in the motion of setting plates on the massive round kitchen table. Mac had two sisters, but only one, Angela, had sons.
He dawdled at setting the table, arranging the plates and placing them just so. He neatened the placement of the forks, spoons, and knives when he noticed that his mother was no longer bustling around the kitchen and had stopped to watch her son attempt to assert control over his environment. "How is she?"
Angela was a carrier of the Minotaur gene, which she had inherited from their mother. Angela's older son did not inherit the gene, but her youngest had. It was only a matter of time before the boy began his transformation.
Standing there in the kitchen with his mother, he became aware of the yawning emotional void separating them. The boy he had been didn't exist any longer, aside from photo albums and memories from decades before. The man who replaced him was brooding, unpredictable, unworthy.
His nephew was a ticking time bomb, and Mac didn't want to be around for the explosion. He felt his chest constrict, a crushing sensation that felt like a belt being tightened past the point of discomfort, to steal his breath and bring tears to his eyes. His mind whirled with memories of his own transformation, the hallucinations, the emotional outbursts and irrational anger. The memories all came at once, contributing to the confusion and he felt overwhelmed. Scolding himself for his weakness, succumbing to feelings of shame and guilt was his usual method of processing the memories.
The shit is not real. Don't be weak.
But that was easier said than done. The shit may not be real right now, but it was definitely real in the way he felt at the moment. Looking in the mirror and noting something not quite right in his features, his nose wide and flat, the nostrils flared, looking like himself but seeing a stranger. That was the worst. The physical pain and mental anguish were awful enough. Looking at himself and not recognizing his own reflection made him feel insane.
He wanted to be here with his mother, talk to her, enjoy the way it felt to spend time with someone who really knew him. He suppressed the urge to head for the door, get in his truck, and drive away.
If his mother noticed a change in her son's demeanor, she said nothing. Pulling up his Omni, Mac made a show of checking for messages. He was surprised to see Diana online, and he found himself staring at the screen, now reluctant to leave but also reluctant to stay. Most of all, he imagined that if he were to pursue Diana--and he intended to--he would have to introduce her to his family. He would have to bear the inevitable questions about why he had stayed away so long. She would make judgments about his fitness as a potential mate.
This is why he did not do relationships. Courting Diana would force him to do things he did not want to do. He would have to open his soul to her, open his life to his family again. His family would love Diana and offer her the love he himself found so difficult to accept from them.
Mac needed to leave. Enough unwanted emotions for one day. Next time, he would bring Diana to meet his mother, but just his mother. Maybe.
But now, it was time to pick Diana up for their meeting at Pantheon.
"Mama, I have to go."
His mother looked up at him with some sadness. He took her in his arms, and for a moment, all felt right in his world as she hugged him back. He released her, turned away without making eye contact, not wanting to see the hurt in her eyes when he left.
Chapter 24
The doorbell rang just as Diana stepped out of her shower. Donning her kimono, she went to answer the door. It could only be Mac, here to pick her up for their latest inspection.
"I'll be ready in a few--"
But the person at the door was most definitely not Mac. Instead, a petite girl with large doe eyes, curly platinum hair, and a caramel complexion stood there. She wore jeans and a Rolling Stones t-shirt and had a bag slung over her shoulder. Diana caught a whiff of burning grass, revealing the girl's shifter heritage. Other than the girl's skin tone, she was the spit and image of Julie Wheeler. She even smelled like her mother.
The girl looked up at Diana nervously. She started to speak. "Hi, I'm--"
"Amanda Wheeler." Diana put her hand out to shake Amanda's. Her hand seemed impossibly tiny and fragile, but her handshake was firm to the point of bone-crushing, like her mother's.
The girl looked surprised that Diana knew who she was. Diana motioned her inside, instinctively looking over the girl's shoulder to see whether they were being watched.
Mac is rubbing off on me.
"I... work with your mother. You look just like her," Diana started, not sure how much Amanda knew about her mother's job.
Amanda looked around the room, taking in the sparse furnishings, her eyes landing on the fainting couch.
"Please. Have a seat." Diana gestured, then pulled the kimono more tightly around herself. "Give me a minute, I was just getting ready for work."
Diana dressed in a hurry and returned to the sitting room to find Amanda casually pulling the curtains to one side, peering out at the sidewalk. If Amanda was agitated, she was good at not showing it. Diana felt at a loss, awkward and not knowing what the hospitable thing to do was. She reminded herself with some chagrin that there was a reason she didn't like having people over.
Amanda cleared her throat.
"My mom hasn't been home in almost two weeks."
Diana looked at her visitor, and while her expression was stony, she sensed worry in the girl's voice. Diana decided to play dumb. "Really?"
Amanda rolled her eyes. "I saw you with the big guy when you went by our apartment the other day. When I went back later, it looked like the place had been tossed. My mother told me to contact you if she ever went missing. Where the fuck is my mother?"
This girl had a mouth just like her mother's. Stifling a smirk, Diana said, "Watch your language."
Amanda just glared at her.
"When was the last time you saw your mother?"
"Thursday. We had dinner at home. She's usually home when I leave for school in the morning, but she wasn't this time."
The girl maintained eye contact throughout.
"You said you watched us at your apartment. Where have you been staying?"
"None of your business."
Diana crossed her arms in front of her and returned Amanda's glare. This girl was exactly the sort of teen Diana expected Julie would produce.
"Are you staying someplace safe?" Diana asked.
"Obviously. I’m here aren't I?"
Was this girl a badass, or just a brat?
"I'm just a social worker. I don't handle investigations." No way was Diana going to tell Amanda about the changeling.
The girl's demeanor changed, her expression morphing from confrontational to vulnerable. She sagged into the fainting couch.
"I tried to contact you before, but that big guy is always around."
Mac? Always around?
"What do you mean, 'that big guy is always around’?"
"Just what I said, he's always around. He parks around the corner from here at night. I had to ditch school to get you alone."
Diana kneeled in front of Amanda and reached for her.
"He's a good guy," she said, rubbing the back of the girl's hand reassuringly. "You can trust him." Diana realized that she meant it, even in the face of the revelation that Mac lurked around her house at all hours. Truth be told, she had suspected it for some time.
"I filed a police report, but haven't heard anything..." Amanda mumbled, brows coming together in pain.
"The police don't handle cases like these," Diana said. It had long been the DPD's policy to hand over such matters to one of the shifter security agencies. With their understanding of the culture and tracking skills, shifters were better equipped to handle these types of investigations. Diana sat next to the girl, whose eyes were now downcast. Diana remembered that Amanda was about the only thing that got cynical Julie to soften her tough exterior.
"I do know your mother's ca
se is being looked into." She placed a hand on Amanda's shoulder to comfort her. "Your mother mentioned you almost every time I saw her."
The girl looked away. Her burning scent got stronger--something she'd noticed from other shifters in times of emotional distress. Amanda's bottom lip quivered as her emotions threatened to come to the surface.
"How are you holding up? You must be so worried about her." And wherever she was, Julie must be so worried about Amanda.
Amanda buried her face in Diana's shoulder and wept openly. Diana put her arms around the girl and began to rub her back.
"Why doesn't anyone care where she is?" she asked, sounding angry.
"A lot of people care. I care."
This produced a fresh wave of sobs and Diana's heart broke for the girl. Bubba was leading the tracking on the matter, and she assumed Mac was being kept up to date. She had never been this close to an investigation before, but she knew it wasn't protocoled to insert herself into the proceedings.
"Maybe, but the people who can do anything about this don't give a shit. I even went to Woodland Creatures, but they wouldn't let me in." Diana stiffened in alarm. She sat back and squared the girl's shoulders, so she could look into her eyes.
"Do not try to investigate this on your own." Diana gave the girl a stern look and shook her head to emphasize her point. "I know the guys doing this investigation, and they know what they're doing. You're just--"
"The daughter of a whore?"
Diana pulled back, feeling defensive. "I never said that. You're a kid. You shouldn't be involved in this."
"But you thought it, didn't you? Everyone thinks it."
How could she explain to this girl that she'd spent her entire career looking after sex workers like Julie? What would she say if she knew Diana's own father had died in the line of duty, protecting a prostitute?
None of that was relevant at the moment. It wasn't going to bring back Julie, and it wasn't going to comfort Amanda.
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