She’d never told Hildegard about the conversation on Logan’s balcony. Some things she wouldn’t even share with her familiar. Waving a dismissive hand, Polina said, “Go enjoy yourself with your male suitor. Poe is waiting for you.” She pointed to Grateful’s raven familiar waiting patiently on a lamppost across the street. “I’ll be fine. Whatever Grateful has to tell me won’t take long, I’m sure. I’ll be home before you’ve caught your first mouse.”
“That’s the spirit.” The owl spread her wings, and in the eerily silent fashion only barn owls are capable of, soared from her shoulder to join Poe for the evening. Polina straightened her spine, gathered her courage, and opened the door.
Humans had the strangest perceptions of All Hallows Eve. The guttural utterance of an automated zombie greeted her, its rubber arms flailing and its glowing eyes as red as Christmas lights. A small table with a bowl of miniature chocolates rested in front of its crotch.
“Scream your brains out. Eat sweets,” Polina said dryly, turning her gaze to the spiderwebs stretched across the ceiling. Apparently, arachnid infestation was a Samhain tradition as well among Homo sapiens.
“Nice coconuts.”
Polina lowered her gaze and came face to face with the one person she’d hoped she wouldn’t see—Logan. His green eyes twinkled over a wry grin. He was dressed in an old-fashioned chef’s outfit, his sandy brown hair peeking from under the tall white toque.
“Oh, uh, I’m the Little Mermaid.” Her eyes darted to her coconut bra.
“Like the Disney movie?” He shook a finger and nodded. “Totally works with the red hair. You’re missing the purple seashell necklace though.”
Despite herself, she gave him a small smile. “Actually, I’m supposed to be the Hans Christian Andersen version.”
“Isn’t that version a tragedy?”
“Depends how you look at it. The mermaid returns to the sea, and the prince marries someone else. It’s only a tragedy if you believe they were meant for each other.”
He made a deep, disapproving sound. “She turns into sea foam. I think I prefer the Disney version.”
“I find it amusing that a man without children knows the Little Mermaid at all. Do you watch cartoons in your spare time?”
He shrugged. “Guilty as charged.”
“What about you? Why didn’t you dress up for your own costume party?” she asked.
“I did. I’m Chef Boyardee.” He pointed to a patch in the shape of a can on his breast pocket.
She snorted. “The canned ravioli man?”
“I wanted to dress as Julia Child, but I couldn’t find the right skirt.” He met her eyes and winked.
As much as she’d wanted to avoid him, she felt it happening again, that magnetic draw of attraction. She laughed at his joke, authentically, a worrying warmth spreading in her chest. She had to find Grateful and get out of here. Her eyes drifted across the crowd, and she forced the smile from her face.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight. I thought you’d be above human Halloween parties,” Logan said, his formerly personable grin fading to a sharper expression.
“Grateful asked me to meet her here. She said she had news.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “She does. Big news. And here I thought you’d come for my chocolate cake.”
Not this again. She frowned. “Have you seen her?”
“She’s here.” Logan gestured across the restaurant. “Check the billiards room. She and Rick were having a game a few minutes ago.”
Polina nodded her thanks and drifted across the restaurant, relieved to break from Logan’s charm. Within the hunter green walls and stained glass lighting of the billiards room, she found Rick leaning across the pool table dressed in a traje de luces, complete with gold embroidery and montera for his head. With his straight back and formal air, he made a convincing matador.
“Polina! You came!” Grateful’s blond head bobbed into her vision, and Polina was squeezed around the neck before she could even say hello. The Monk’s Hill witch was dressed as a bull, horns protruding from the sides of her head and hoof-shaped gloves attached to the sleeves of brown onesie pajamas. Only, the couple’s costume had a twist. Grateful was wearing Nightshade, her enchanted blade, at her hip, and the matador’s red cape was tied around her neck.
Polina grinned. “Who is slaying whom? Clever.”
“It was Grateful’s idea,” Rick said, sounding slightly embarrassed, although when the caretaker looked at his witch, there was nothing but reverence in his expression.
“Poe delivered your message,” Polina said. “What’s this big news?”
Rick sidled up to Grateful, handing her the pool cue and pulling his wife into his side. A grin to rival the Cheshire Cat’s spread across his face. Grateful exchanged glances with him, giving Polina the distinct impression they were communicating, although neither said a word. Finally, Grateful gave a high-pitched, bouncing squeal before blurting, “We’re pregnant!”
With a snort, Polina laughed the statement away. “Don’t tease me, Grateful. What’s the real news?”
The smile faded from Grateful’s face, and she stopped bouncing. She placed a steady hoof-covered hand on Polina’s arm. “I am pregnant,” she said quite seriously, holding eye contact.
Polina shook her head. “How is that possible? Immortals cannot reproduce.”
“I am not technically immortal anymore, because when I made Rick my caretaker, I gave him my immortality. And while he is immortal, before I lost access to the wood witch’s power, I used Tabetha’s grimoire to make a few humanity candles. We used one to temporarily make Rick human.” She lowered her voice. “It worked, Polina. I’m pregnant.”
Mouth agape, Polina tried to process this revelation. What Grateful was describing had never been accomplished as far as she knew. It was a miracle. “How far along?” she asked.
“Three months. Honeymoon baby,” Grateful said, the ridiculous grin back on her face.
Polina’s eyebrows crept toward her hairline and she pressed a hand against the space between her coconut bra and her fish-scale green skirt. “This is… wonderful news. I’m so happy for you. It’s practically a miracle. First you unite the elements, then you hold a beautiful wedding, and now this.” Polina was babbling. She always babbled when she was nervous. She forced her lips to stop. “Congratulations,” she said firmly, then gave her friend a quick hug, and Rick a congratulatory pat on the shoulder.
“Are you okay?” Grateful asked. “You look a little pale.”
Polina swallowed hard. “I traveled here by gold dust. It can be disorienting.”
Grateful winced. “I remember.”
“I think I need a drink and to collect myself.”
“I don’t know how you survive traveling like that all the time. Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.”
Polina shook her head. “Don’t trouble yourself. Finish your game.”
Grateful must’ve read the insistence in her voice because she backed toward Rick, nodding. “Okay.”
“Again, congratulations. I’m so happy for you. Please excuse me.” Polina left the billiards room, the tears in her eyes blurring her vision. In a state of near blindness, she turned a corner and made her way down a hall to what she thought was the bathroom. But when she turned the brass knob and shouldered open the door, she found herself in an office. Logan’s office. She’d been here once before with Grateful. Luckily, Logan wasn’t in it, and a box of Kleenex rested conveniently on the edge of the big mahogany desk. She helped herself to one as the tears fell in earnest.
Exhausted, she sank into one of the two padded chairs facing the desk.
“Am I responsible for this?” Logan said from behind her. “That chocolate cake crack… I was just teasing.”
She hadn’t heard the door open over her sobbing. She shook her head in answer to his question, wishing he would leave, but then, she was the one who shouldn’t be here. She was in his office.
The door closed and she heard
the lock engage. He lowered himself into the seat across from her and offered her the drink in his hand. “Vodka and tonic. It’s fresh. Dustin just made it for me. I haven’t even had a sip.”
She should leave. Against her better judgment, she lifted the drink from his hand and tossed a large swig to the back of her throat. “Thank you.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Logan’s face held genuine concern.
She wiped under her eyes. “You are probably loving this, aren’t you? The witch who claimed superiority to humans brought to her knees in front of one.”
“No. I suppose I should enjoy it more, but believe it or not, it’s hard for me to see you cry.”
His eyes were green, like the first leaf of spring, and she found herself leaning toward him, drawn by the calm she saw in their depths.
“Immortals can’t have children,” she said. The admittance surprised her, the words leaping from her mouth before she could stop herself or alter them. Why was she telling him this?
He straightened in his chair. “This is about Grateful?”
She nodded.
“And I thought it was me. Let me guess… You’re happy for her, but there’s an ache in your chest you just can’t shake.”
Polina stilled. “How could you know that?” She stared at her hands, her cheeks warming with embarrassment.
“Don’t be ashamed. I understand more than you know.”
She lifted her gaze to his.
“I mean, the pregnancy is just the icing on the cake,” he began. “I think it’s the intimacy that makes me want to take up smoking. I’ve never had that intimacy. You look at those two and you just know they stay up late every night sharing their deepest, darkest secrets. And now their perfect relationship has become the perfect family.”
With one nod, she agreed.
“It’s not jealousy, per se, the ache.” He placed a hand on his chest and rubbed gently. “You don’t want what she has. You want your own version of it. You want to create that…” He pressed his fingers together. “Connection with someone. The ache is the knowledge that maybe this type of thing won’t ever be in the cards for you. Maybe people like you and me are simply not meant to fall in love.”
“We’re not worthy of love?”
“Worthy, yes. Lucky enough to find it? Not so much.” He curled his nose. “Are you going to drink the rest of that?” He pointed a knuckle toward the vodka and tonic.
“No.”
He drained the rest, the ice hitting his lips before falling back to the bottom of the glass.
The truth was an arrow that pierced Polina’s heart and left the organ leaking emotions she hadn’t felt in decades. He was right. And her truth went deeper than he could ever know. “I lost…” she began, placing a hand on her stomach.
The edges of Logan’s mouth sank.
“I lost my chance at children when I became a witch,” she said. “Despite what I said about your race, I was human once. When I was called into this role, I sacrificed my ability to reproduce.”
“Oh,” Logan said. “Do you regret that now?”
Her eyes drifted to the knotted fingers in her lap. “Do you think we ever move beyond the things we’ve lost?”
Logan’s green eyes blazed and he leaned forward, placing one hand on hers. “Sometimes. Sometimes shit stays with you, but you just keep moving.”
The strangest heat ignited where Logan’s hand touched hers. The spot tingled like static electricity, spreading warmth through her body. She had a strong urge to place her hand over his, to stroke the soft curls of golden hair that covered his forearm. The muscle of that arm was lean and long, defined but not bulky, which seemed to describe how he was built in general. An unwanted image of what his chest must look like under his costume thrust to the forefront of her mind. For the first time in almost a century, a rush of attraction made her scalp tingle.
Her eyes lifted from his hand to find his face very close to hers. She cleared her throat. “I must be going.” Hastily, she stood, adjusting her coconuts to make sure they hadn’t been displaced.
“Are you sure? Would you like a slice of cake for the road? I’m not teasing. You can have one, on the house. Anytime you want. I was kidding before.”
He was on his feet, moving toward her.
She shook her head, backed toward the door. “I’m not ready for cake,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to be ready for it. There’s no prerequisite for cake.”
With a smile, she said, “Thank you, Logan. I won’t forget this. You are an asset to your race.”
“I try,” he said.
She curtsied, then reached into the slit of her skirt to retrieve a pinch of gold dust she kept in the leather satchel strapped to her thigh. Holding it above her head, she paused a moment to appreciate Logan’s parted lips and hungry expression. She wasn’t the only one with a pang of attraction.
It was inappropriate, of course, for both of them. It was a flame that had nowhere to burn. But, as she released the gold dust and came apart cell by cell, blending into the nearest metal to find her way home, she couldn’t help but think how good it felt to be wanted.
Even by a human.
Chapter Five
Logan
The fresh peas and mushrooms hit the hot olive oil with a pop and sizzle as Logan circled the frying pan over the flame. “Jonah, where are we on the mornay?” Logan yelled across the busy kitchen. He added the orecchiette and tossed to combine, hitting the mix with another shot of olive oil.
“Almost there.” Sous-chef Jonah was new to Valentine’s but was fast proving to be a valuable asset to the team. The guy could handle anything from a juicy burger to a delicate sole with equal precision.
Logan plated what was in his pan, and sure enough, by the time he had the pasta and vegetables arranged, Jonah was there with a perfect mornay sauce, silky smooth and smelling of parmesan and asiago. He dribbled it artistically in a winding river of white across Logan’s creation and moved the dish to the warming window for the server.
“Order up. Table 5,” Logan called. He turned his attention to the next ticket. “Jonah, you get the burger; I’ll take the salmon.”
“You got it.” Jonah dropped a basket of French fries into the fryer, pushing the sleeves of his black button-down uniform to the elbow.
Logan was about to pull a fillet from the cooler when his assistant manager, Dustin, shouldered open the swinging door to the kitchen.
“Logan, Silas is here to see you,” he said.
Logan continued to yank the heavy cooler door open and grabbed what he needed, tossing the marinated fillet onto the grill. The salmon hissed against the hot grate. “Can you ask him to come back later? I’m swamped back here.”
Dustin shook his head. “Sorry, man. He says he’s here in an official capacity. Got his badge out for me and everything.”
Pausing, Logan grimaced at Dustin with a look that could be described as shooting the messenger. Silas wouldn’t use his detective title lightly, especially not at six o’clock on a Friday night. “Show him to my office. I’ll be there in five.”
Dustin disappeared through the swinging door.
“Silas Flynn? The detective from Carlton City PD?” Jonah asked.
“You know him?”
“Not really. Just of him. What do you think he wants?”
Logan flipped the fillet and wiped his hands on his apron. “No idea.”
As soon as Logan had plated the salmon, he left the kitchen in Jonah’s capable hands and rushed to his office. Silas was sitting with his back to the door, but turned when Logan entered, extending his hand.
Logan accepted the handshake. “I don’t want to be an asshole, but can we do this another time? We’re swamped.”
“Sorry, buddy. Police business.”
Logan took a seat behind his desk.
“What’s going on?”
“Have you noticed anyone unusual passing through here? Maybe someone who seems like they’ve been
on the run. Worn clothing. Not friendly.”
Logan shook his head. “To be honest, with the hospital right across the street, we get strangers in here every day, and believe me, people who’ve been sleeping at the hospital with their loved ones do not exactly look sophisticated.”
Silas sighed. “I thought as much. I need to warn you about something.”
“Warn me about what?”
“Two years ago a member of a local werewolf pack murdered four prominent members of our high werewolf council, a group we call the Lycanthropic Society. He was apprehended and imprisoned before he could hurt anyone else and was incarcerated in the supernatural wing of the Menard Correctional Center in Illinois.”
“There are supernatural wings in human prisons? I thought witches like Grateful sentenced evil supernatural creatures to their hellmouths.”
“They do, if the supernatural threat is toward humans or another group of supers. This was wolf-on-wolf violence, and although we might have asked for her help, the packs prefer to handle these things themselves if at all possible.”
“Okay, so bad dude went to prison.”
“Bad dude has escaped from prison.” Silas gave Logan a serious stare.
“Damn.”
“And we have reason to believe he’ll return to the area. This guy is mentally unstable. We think he’s out for revenge.”
Logan sighed. “What can I do to help?”
Silas reached into his messenger bag and retrieved a folder. He opened it and turned it toward Logan.
“You don’t have a better picture than this?” The photo showed a bald man in a one-piece orange prison jumper, handcuffed and walking between two gorilla-sized guards.
“Unfortunately, no, and it wouldn’t help you anyway. Werewolves can change the color of their eyes.”
“No shit?”
Silas leaned across the desk. Logan jerked back as the detective’s green eyes shifted to amber.
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. So, a little hair dye and he can look like a new man. Try to focus on the bone structure, the nose. He can’t change that.
Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology Page 205
