* * *
On Archi, privacy was a public affair.
For that reason, Paddington had hoped to keep their relationship discreet. He wasn’t ashamed of Lisa – far from it – but his job required public cooperation and most people already talked to him via Quentin. Dating a Mainlander was becoming the final nail in his already lead-laden coffin.
More worrying, it had been two weeks and Lisa still hadn’t raised their past. Paddington wasn’t sure what to expect when she did; probably a torrent of abuse, a slamming door, and never hearing from her again.
But that was the future. In the present, he was happy.
While Lisa prepared dinner, Paddington surfed the virtual waves on Lisa’s laptop and had washed up in some strange realm, the bastard child of myth and wish.
“Lisa,” he called out, “have you ever heard of the Beast of… Gévaudan?”
Lisa sighed. “Is that your latest theory?”
Paddington studied the artist’s rendition of the Beast of Gévaudan. The shape was right: long muzzle, narrow body. Even the colour. “It fits,” he said, “sort of.”
“‘Sort of’ as in ‘couldn’t possibly get here’ or ‘probably doesn’t even exist’?” she asked. When Paddington hesitated, she pounced. “James, what did I tell you about that site?”
“You don’t know they’re wrong. And the werewolves nearly fit.”
“It was a new moon the night you saw it,” Lisa snapped. “You can’t get further from a full moon than that, so shut up about the fecking werewolves!”
She was yelling. He’d never been good with yelling people. He didn’t know what they wanted him to say, especially when they were right. If anyone were a werewolf, they’d be out prowling tonight, when the full moon had gathered a posse of clouds and was lurking in the sky, bright and bold, intimidating the street lamps.
“Sorry,” he said quietly.
“Why can’t you just drop it?” Lisa stirred the soup so vigorously that it splashed up the sides of the pot and ran down the edge to sizzle in the stove’s flames.
They’d had enough arguments about Betsy’s killer for Paddington to know that he should shut up and let her anger pass. She considered his obsession unhealthy, but what if the beast came back? He couldn’t do nothing.
The website had a page explaining where the reader could leave details if he’d seen the Beast of Gévaudan so the Supernatural Help and Investigation Team could contact him. There was an electronic mail address and one for “snail mail”.
Paddington rubbed his smooth chin. “Lisa, when’s your next shipment?”
“Saturday. You plotting a raid?”
“South docks?” he asked.
“Aye. Why?”
He nearly told her the truth. Then he remembered how little she’d like it. “Just wondering.”
“Is this about that hair?” Her hands were on her hips again. Such fine hips. He’d lose those hips if he didn’t stop this.
“It’s over.” Paddington closed the laptop. “As of right now. I’m back on the Case of the Weird Graffiti.”
Lisa smiled with genuine warmth. “Good.”
“Oh, so you think that’s an investigation more befitting my abilities?”
“Wait, you have abilities?” Lisa asked, surprised.
Paddington advanced on the kitchen. “I’ll have you know, I’ve broken up at least one bar fight.”
“All by yourself? How’d that end?”
“I didn’t get knocked out, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Because you’re so tough,” she said.
“Exactly.” He placed his hands on her hips. “Also because he passed out before he finished throwing the first punch.”
Bovicide, Zombie Diaries, and the Legend of the Brothers Brown Page 7
