***
Emma knew she was a coward. After running into Abernathy at the courthouse, she’d come to the office, fully prepared to break the news to Henry. But he’d looked so charming and at ease that she couldn’t bring herself to destroy it yet. She needed to be close to him before it became real. Because seriously—what were they going to do?
Henry scrubbed a hand over his face. “I knew the arrangement wasn’t self-sustaining and couldn’t last forever, especially since supernat crimes are increasing. Part of me foolishly thought it could, though. Why the lesson of impermanence is still difficult to accept, even at my age, I don’t know.”
She gave him a sympathetic smile. “I get it. She’s the best resource we have. I didn’t want it to end, either.”
“What happened?”
She stopped pacing around the room to focus on him. “I was on my way out of the courthouse when I saw her. I asked if she would drop Wendell’s latest charges, but then she cornered me. She said that those would be the last charges she would drop and that this arrangement has run its course.”
“She didn’t give any reason?”
“No, but I managed to convince her to meet us tonight at Cushing Street Bar.”
His eyes lightened. “You’re amazing.” He gave her a determined nod. “Maybe we can still turn it around.”
“Maybe,” she conceded, though she wasn’t optimistic. “But I can’t strategize if I don’t know what the deal is with you two.”
He sighed in resignation. “What do you want to know?”
She went to stand in front of him. “If we’re in this together, I need to know everything. Why has she been helping you?”
“I met her a few years ago.” He grasped her hand to encourage her to sit next to him.
When he didn’t elaborate, Emma lightly bumped her shoulder against his. “And then?”
“Abernathy is bipolar.”
She stared, taking care to make sure her jaw didn’t actually drop. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything.” He laughed hollowly. “I was running up in the Foothills one night, and a car swerved and crashed into a signpost. I went to see who it was, and I recognized her as the county attorney. She was drunk.”
“Oh shit.”
“Yeah. Abernathy was on a new antipsychotic that didn’t work for her, and she had an episode of breakthrough mania. She ended up drinking as a means of coping but didn’t think she’d had that much. Medication interactions and dark roads, of course, made everything worse.”
Henry tugged at the lapels of his robe and continued, “Someone must have heard or seen the crash from their house because soon we heard police sirens. She started panicking, and I couldn’t get my mind control to work on her. So I told her I could help and showed her what I was.”
Emma massaged one of her temples. Recalling her own reaction to realizing supernats were real, she asked, “What did she do?”
An involuntary smile crossed his lips. “Once she realized I wasn’t lying, she called me a bloodsucking lawyer.”
They looked askance at each other before dissolving into laughter.
Emma shook her head. “Of course she would.”
“Exactly. Anyway, a cop showed up, but I used mind control to send him away. Once I helped Abernathy get home, I made sure her husband was there to help. I tried to wipe her memory again at the end of the night, but she asked me not to.”
Emma studied him carefully. “Why?”
“She knows what it’s like to have to hide. There was no way she could’ve become county attorney if more than a few people knew she was bipolar because of the stigma. Even applying to the State bar years ago was a nightmare for her. She said that if I or any supernat I knew was in a jam to tell her and she would do what she could to help. You know the rest.”
She sat in stunned silence. Her mind was crowded with too many thoughts and feelings. Respect for Abernathy for putting her career on the line for the Underworld. Sympathy because of everything the woman had been through. Unease about what they were going to do about the supernats. Admiration for Henry.
Something tugged in her heart as she looked at him. His mouth was set in a grim line. He was leaning his elbows on his thighs with his hands clasped, deep in thought. If he kept being all compassionate, she would be well on her way toward falling in love with him. Emma leaned into him and wrapped her arms around one of his.
He kissed the top of her head. “What are we going to do, Emma?”
She sighed, a bit put out. “Part of me was hoping you would say you were blackmailing her because she was having a string of affairs or something. Then we would just have to turn the pressure up a little, but then you had to go and tell me how damn kind you both are.”
“My bad.”
Chapter Eighteen
Grant Larrabee gasped and tried to pull air into his lungs, but all he got was dirt. Again. His throat and lungs were dry. No longer wounded, but fuck was he thirsty. Was it dark out? One of the downsides to being buried alive—when you tried to leave, there was no good way of knowing what time of day it was. He’d suffocated himself to death three times, hoping the next time he woke up it would be dark out. How long had he been out here?
Well, he had to get out of here sooner or later before he completely starved. He clawed at the moist dirt, which gave way to drier dustier stuff, and then…free. His hand waved around and waited. Burning? No burning? Thank God.
He shoved dirt away until he could sit up in the open mountain air and let oxygen flood his lungs. He shook his head and coughed up dirt. Should’ve known better than to go night hiking close to the full moon. He’d stayed away from the known wolf camps, but this guy was rogue. Grant had recognized that look in the man’s eyes—desperation and instability.
After stumbling to his feet, Grant hobbled through dry leaves on rickety legs. Had to get back to town. Henry and other supernats needed to know about this werewolf.
As Grant fought the urge to collapse again, he tried to be magnanimous. At least the guy had buried him. Grant didn’t know if he would’ve had the strength to get away from the sun otherwise. He shook his head. No time for morbid what-ifs. He had to remember how to get back to his car.
His muscles screamed in protest. Blood. He needed blood. His fangs throbbed as the little blood left inside him started to dry out. Taking deep breaths, he leaned against a tree and tried to focus his gaze.
Then there was the barest crunch of leaves a few yards behind him. Grant slowly turned around. A beady, luminous gaze was trained on him. He sighed in relief. Mountain lion. Not as useful as human blood, but it would do.
Grant dropped to his knees and got on all fours. The large cat crept forward, muscles rippling beneath its tan fur. This would probably take the rest of his energy, so he couldn’t screw it up. He locked his eyes with the lion and stared, unblinking. Compelled it to march forward.
The cat hissed, but Grant continued to stare, projecting his will on the animal. The lion slunk closer, and he prayed it was listening to him, not getting ready to tear off his skin. When he could feel the lion’s hot breath against his face, see its sharp teeth, he projected another thought and said it aloud for reinforcement. “Surrender. Relax.”
The mountain lion narrowed its eyes.
“Please. Give in.”
The cat blinked, its head drooping a little.
“That’s it, lie down.”
The mountain lion slumped to the ground and rolled over onto its side, yawning. Grant rubbed his knuckles under the mountain lion’s soft white chin.
“Aw, who’s a kitty?” he asked and smiled despite himself. He dropped down into the dirt and brought the sedated lion’s head into his lap. Leaning down, he said, “Thank you. I promise I won’t take too much.”
Then, weak with exhaustion, Grant sank his fangs into the cat’s neck and drank deeply. Life gradually coursed back into his tight, dehydrated veins.
***
From the corn
er table he shared with Emma, Henry spotted Charlotte Abernathy the minute she walked through the door. The woman looked every bit as distinguished as her curriculum vitae indicated. The warm, homey glow of the bar seemed to enhance her prestige somehow. Abernathy’s dark hair was coiffed into a sleek bob, and her linen suit looked a little worse for wear after a day of running in and out of the heat.
The county attorney found them and stopped short in front of the table. The three remained still and waited for someone else to make a move. Rick was long gone, but his ebullient personality could’ve been helpful to cut through some of the tension.
Henry rose and extended a hand for Abernathy to shake. “Charlotte.”
The county attorney nodded absently at him while she looked down at Emma. “You sure hired a stubborn one.”
Emma smiled tightly and extended her hand as well. “Yes, good to see you again, Ms. Abernathy.”
Abernathy took a seat. Tense, awkward silence descended over the three again, which surprised Henry. He would’ve thought a woman of Abernathy’s stature would have no qualms about getting down to business. Maybe she had enough guilt and conscience in her to keep this going a little while longer.
“Would you like to order anything?” Emma offered and flagged a waitress down just as Abernathy said yes.
She ordered an Arnold Palmer. They all eyed each other warily while they waited. When Abernathy took a sip of her freshly delivered drink, she finally broke the silence.
“Henry, I know we’ve had a certain arrangement in place, but I can’t keep overlooking supernatural cases,” she informed them gravely. “While I do have prosecutorial discretion for choosing which crimes to charge, more and more of these cases are coming in ever since these people got the tip that your practice can make their problems evaporate.”
“I understand, but we’ve hardly been advertising our connection to you.”
“You don’t have to, with your record,” she said with a wry look.
Henry knew what was coming next—the traditional lecture all parents give their children to convince them to get their lives in order. Roy had been giving it to him for ages now while pressuring him to fix this situation. It had been over a century since he’d last heard it from his own parents and felt an odd pang of nostalgia over it.
“I don’t think what we’re doing is helping your clients anymore,” Abernathy continued. “Things are already complicated with the implementation of the medical marijuana law, but it seems like I’m brushing off possession charges left and right where immortals are concerned. Some of them are committing violent crimes. My actions are only making matters worse.”
Emma looked pale but kept her gaze focused on the county attorney.
“Charlotte, you’re all we have,” he said. “What would you have us do instead? We can’t risk exposure.”
“Henry, there are supernats all over the planet. Tucson can’t be the only place that’s had this problem. Surely as an attorney you might be able to provide them with some sort of formal governance. Perhaps a council of supernats?” she suggested.
Henry wanted to laugh. Where had this expectation that he could just whip up a government like it was a box of brownies come from?
“I agree the Tucson supernatural community could benefit from more structured leadership, but I don’t see how I’m supposed to just set something up and expect people to comply,” Henry explained.
Abernathy tugged at the collar on her blazer and gave him a harassed stare. Henry knew he couldn’t blame the woman, but it did all feel a bit like betrayal.
“Henry, I’m sorry I can’t do more,” Abernathy said, “but I don’t like where this is headed. I’m doing this for you, too.”
“Can you give a little more time to put things in order before you pull the plug?” Emma asked. Her features were pinched, as if she were bracing herself for the worst. She had reason to.
“No,” Abernathy said flatly.
Emma shook her head. “There is no way we can get things running that quickly.”
“Every day that I keep doing this, I get one step closer to losing my job and exposing the entire Underworld. I’ve already got one of my deputies sniffing around asking questions. Isn’t that what you’re trying to avoid, Ms. Parker?”
Emma squared her shoulders. “With all due respect, if you don’t give us time to at least start pushing the pieces into place, you might end up with a turned werewolf in one of your jail cells,” she pointed out.
Henry admired her temerity. He liked watching her think, strategize, and argue. He might be many decades older than her, but he could recognize a good lawyer when he saw one. Perhaps minor miracles could happen when your ass needed saving in court.
He studied Abernathy’s face for a reaction. Her features were set, as was her decision.
“I’m sympathetic, and I understand,” she said meaningfully. “But I can’t. I’ve got too many secrets as it is.” Abernathy rose, apparently done with the conversation. “Sorry I can’t do more, but I’m confident you’ll work something out.”
Henry gave her a tight nod, too frustrated to keep his face diplomatic. “You’ve done plenty. It takes a different sort to tame the likes of Tucson.”
He knew the passive-aggressive comment wasn’t fair; he didn’t even know what these people needed. The county attorney showed herself out, leaving Henry and Emma alone at the table.
He took out his phone to call Grant and get him to join them. Maybe he would have ideas. He frowned when it went straight to voicemail. It was after sunset; he would’ve thought his friend would be up by now. Remembering Grant’s prejudice against voicemails, he hung up and stabbed in a quick text telling him to call as soon as possible. Defeated, he tossed his phone on the table.
Henry looked across the table at Emma, who gave him a doleful glance before slumping down low in her chair. She kicked her heels off under the table, clearly giving up on the day.
She tapped her fingers impatiently against the table then flagged down the waitress. “Wings. Lots of celery.” As soon as the waitress was gone, Emma expelled a deep breath. “Fuck.”
***
Emma didn’t know what to say. They’d left the bar shortly after enjoying some self-pity bar food and returned to the office to lick their wounds, but they both seemed to be at a loss. They sat in the darkened conference room, slouched in comfortable chairs. Henry sighed. Emma studied him as she spun her chair in idle circles.
“So this is a disaster,” she told the ceiling.
He replied with a distracted “mmm” of assent.
Hush fell over the room again. She knew what she wanted to say but had an awful feeling they wouldn’t like the road they would travel down. If they sat there long enough, maybe Abernathy would change her mind on her own.
Henry broke the silence. “Why didn’t you tell me about Abernathy sooner? Like the second you got back to the office. Or you could’ve called me. Why did you keep me in the dark?”
Emma stopped spinning. His tone wasn’t demanding, exactly, but he was frustrated. Meanwhile, she was confused about how this was relevant to the conversation. They should be figuring out solutions, not discussing trivial issues like this. Still, his probing questions made her tense and defensiveness crept in.
“Why does it matter?” she hedged.
“Because Abernathy leaving is a huge issue, and I don’t know why we ended up having sex while you hid it. It makes me concerned about what precedent that sets,” he said in what sounded like his best “I am an adult and can have an adult conversation” voice.
She frowned. “I didn’t keep it from you for days, Henry. I didn’t want to deal with it immediately. I wanted to be with you.” It was all true, but it was still only the best version of the truth.
“Emma,” he prompted, eyes narrowed as they saw through her bullshit.
This wasn’t the conversation she wanted to have. She didn’t want to do this. She wanted to keep being happy. Things had felt so easy between them si
nce they decided to give this relationship a shot. It was too soon for things to go to hell. She already felt compelled to smooth everything over in the name of the thrill of a new relationship with someone she actually connected with.
As she opened her mouth to do just that, though, she realized she would hate herself for it if she did. This was too important.
“Because I knew how you would react when we finally had to have this discussion. I didn’t think Abernathy would bail so soon, so I wanted us to be happy for one more second before it all came falling down,” she snapped.
“Why would you assume you’d know how I would react?” he said slowly.
She envied his ability to try to keep the conversation on an even keel, but she couldn’t hide her aggravation any longer. They had been skirting around this issue for weeks, always with the same result, but it was time to admit they were on opposite ends of a major problem.
“Even if you’ve been willing to work with me on these cases, you’ve dragged your heels about helping supernats every step of the way. Whenever I’ve mentioned doing something more significant to help them, you get cynical and dismissive, saying that nothing is possible.”
His tone grew colder. “I’m being realistic, Emma. You need money and resources to pull that off. Do you have money? I don’t. All my money is hanging on my office wall in frames. I pay rent. I save up for when I inevitably have to create a new identity for myself, which I jeopardize every single time one of these people walks into the building.”
Emma wasn’t completely oblivious. Pulling this off wouldn’t a picnic, but hiding would help no one. If they could get a shadow leadership going, then they could avoid the very discovery he was worried about. Why couldn’t he see that?
“What you’re saying is that as usual, you want to hide in your little adobe bunker so that you can do whatever the hell you want.” She regretted the snide words as soon as she said them.
Henry surged from his seat, sending his chair rolling backward. He flicked the light switch on. His mouth was cut into an impassive line, but his eyes flashed with anger.
Destiny: A Fantasy Collection Page 47
