William chewed on a fingernail. Then, noticing his nervous tick, he quickly got his hands back into the proper position. "It's kind of dark. What she's into."
My eyes strayed to the skeleton. I thought about how William had tossed that powder into Dominguez's face. It was very The Serpent and the Rainbow. I shook my head. "Please tell me it's not voodoo."
"Uh, well."
Before I could even react, a crow flew so low that it almost smacked into the window. William slammed on the brakes. I had to brace myself with my arms. The effort cost me in a pulsing pain. Tears came to my eyes and I let out a frustrated growl. "What the hell is it with those crows?"
"I shouldn't have said anything about Mo's magic," William whispered, looking genuinely freaked out. "Please forget I said anything."
Voodoo, like any magical/religious system, had practitioners who used their powers for good and those with darker bents. I had no reason to assume that William's new girlfriend was the same voodoo priestess who was raising legions of the undead, except for his reticence to talk about her magic and the sudden appearance of this suicidal crow.
"Are you saying these crows are Maureen's spies or something?"
He shook his head. I couldn't tell if he was denying my allegation or telling me to hush.
William turned onto my street. The big van was still there, so I told him to drop me off a couple of blocks away. His spirits seemed to perk up a bit at being asked to play spy. "Maybe I could distract them again?" he asked. "Do a naked Uhura dance or something?"
I smiled at the image. "Go for it."
Honestly, I could use any help he was willing to offer. Though I still felt somewhat incognito in Izzy's clothes and bare-minimum makeup, I didn't have any illusions about my abilities to sneak past trained FBI agents.
"Seriously?" Now there was that goofy grin I loved so much.
"Yeah, why not? Anything you could do to distract them would help. I mean, maybe even just stopping to ask them for directions or something."
"Oh, that's clever." A twinkle brightened his hazel eyes. "I like that. What should I be looking for?"
"The student union?"
"Yeah, although they're probably not from around here. Maybe I better pretend I know the cross streets and see if they have a map."
And so it was decided. I got out of William's car a couple of blocks away and he made a Y turn. I headed down the block, and as I started toward my place I caught sight of William slowing down to peer meaningfully at the street signs. I smiled; he was playing the part to the hilt.
Like a lot of Madison streets, mine didn't have an alley. Behind my apartment was a bike path, which had been converted from train tracks. As soon as I got close, I ducked onto the path. I knew there were probably agents watching all approaches to my place, but the thick undergrowth would make spotting someone more difficult.
I hoped, anyway.
Broad, bright maroon leaves of sumac shielded me from the road. At least, until it came to the next block, then I'd somehow have to pass unnoticed across the railroad bridge. I peeked through the branches of an oak sapling, its browned leaves clinging stubbornly to what seemed little more than a twig. I could see William's black Beetle sidled up to the FBI van. William leaned far out his window and pointed in the direction of the lake. I couldn't tell what was going on inside the van, but I decided to take a chance. I strolled across the bridge as slowly and purposefully as I could. Of course, my feet itched to run, but I knew hurrying would very likely catch their attention. I also tried to only spare them the most casual of glances. That was the hardest part. I desperately wanted to see how William was doing, but I didn't think staring was such a good idea. Somehow, I got across to the other side.
Once safely behind the cover of trees, I let myself jog a few steps. Then my shoulder reminded me that walking was a better option, since screaming in pain with every bounce would most certainly draw the attention of the Feds.
As I got closer to the back of my house, I didn't see anyone in a black trench coat with a walkie-talkie, so I decided to risk it. The slope was covered in long grass and milkweed stalks, and my feet slipped as I made my descent. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from yelping as my shoulder twisted this way and that in order to keep my balance. When I was at the back fence of my place, I remembered to breathe.
I lifted the latch on the gate of the cedar fence that completely surrounded the backyard. The neighbors had left a couple of fast-food wrappers on the narrow sidewalk that led to the garage. I compulsively picked them up and tossed them in the big, brown plastic bins.
Since I was the responsible tenant, the landlord let me garden. All the flowerbeds, which neatly paralleled the lines of the fence, were covered for the coming winter. Sebastian had spent last weekend with me cleaning up the dead plants and leaves. We purposely left a cluster of spent purple cone-flower heads for the birds to perch on, as well as some dried husks of milkweed for no good reason other than the fact that I like the look of the seedpods. Sebastian had agreed that they would make an excellent winter garden "feature."
The cold snuck under the weave of my heavy sweater. The smell of wood smoke was strong in the air. I needed to work things out with Sebastian. This missing him thing, frankly, sucked.
I had a brief flare of panic when my keys weren't in their usual pocket, but a frantic pat down revealed that I'd merely stuck them in the wrong place. I let out another relieved breath because my spare set was hidden inside the front door behind a loose bit of baseboard. It would have been a slight bit trickier to evade notice if I had to creep through the hedges to try to sneak past where the FBI was parked.
The warmth inside felt good, though it set my shoulder aching. I trudged down to the basement to wait for Parrish to awaken.
Grabbing a metal folding chair from where they were stashed next to the dryer, I opened the door to Parrish's storage room and sat myself in front of his coffin. What I really wanted was to go upstairs to take a long, hot bath. But, as the only way into my apartment up the front staircase, I decided not to risk the exposure. This was the best place. Besides, I couldn't afford to miss him.
I stared at his coffin. The soft pine had been scuffed and dented in places. At the "foot," the faded remains of some certificate of passage or other lingered. I couldn't tell, but there might even have been a customs inspector's stamp.
While those details made it seem a bit more like a well-traveled packing crate, I couldn't help but visualize Parrish's corpse inside. The dank smell of the basement started giving me the feeling of being inside someone's crypt, albeit one with steamer trunks and a dresser.
To distract myself, I thumbed through the manga. It took me three minutes to figure out I was reading the Japanese comic backward, but even then starting over didn't help much. Still, the pretty pictures helped me pass the time. I started wishing I could sneak upstairs long enough to grab some of my laundry or to fetch that new astrology book on Neptune I'd begun reading or… anything.
Just when I was ready to risk it, I heard a rustle inside the coffin.
Despite knowing it was Parrish, my stomach still dropped the way it does during horror films when things that aren't supposed to happen do. I jumped up out of my seat and stood in the doorway. The lid tipped up, and I let out a little squeak. All the time Parrish had been sleeping in my basement, I never once watched him come out of his coffin.
No more than a plain pine box, Parrish's coffin lacked fancy hinges. The top fit neatly into groves. To get out, he lifted the cover straight up and then tossed it to one side. The top slid to the floor with a bang. The interior revealed Parrish in all his glory; he was completely naked.
8
Scorpio
KEYWORDS:
Sex and Death
I don't know why I expected Parrish to sleep in clothes. I suppose putting on pj's before crawling into your coffin would feel silly, but, then you'd think it would feel equally strange to undress. Yet, there he was.
It had been
a while since I'd seen Parrish nude. Even lying in a cramped, stiff position inside the coffin, he was a sight to behold. He'd died before the era of bodybuilding and personal trainers, so his body was denned by the work he did. Robbing stagecoaches apparently took powerful arms and athletic legs. His stomach was taut from hunger and ambition.
Parrish rubbed his eyes and scratched himself—going through guy-waking-up rituals. He hadn't noticed me yet. I cleared my throat.
Other guys might have acted modest, not Parrish. He looked me in the eye and stretched languidly, like a cat, daring me not to notice the ripple of muscle along his lean form. When I found my eyes sliding from his to do just that, I blushed a little. He laughed.
"Good evening," he said, in his best Dracula impersonation. With a grunt he levered himself up out of his coffin and padded on bare feet over to the dresser near where I sat.
"Hey, um," I said, trying not to stare at the part of him that was now at eye level. "I wanted to warn you, the FBI thinks you killed the agents. And they have the house staked out."
He stopped rummaging through his clothes. "Blood."
His change in subject seemed a little abrupt, but I tried to follow, anyway. "Uh, yeah, about that. You might have to skip going out tonight…"
"You," he interrupted me. "You've been injured."
My hand moved to protectively cover the gunshot wound. "Oh, yeah."
In a blink, using that superhuman speed of his, Parrish suddenly knelt before me. I nearly startled out of the folding chair when I found him there between my slightly parted legs. He lightly grasped the sides of my face and searched my eyes. "What happened? Are you all right?"
I felt very self-conscious with a naked man kneeling between my thighs. I was hyperaware of every place we touched—my knees grazing his hips, my hands trying to find somewhere to be that wasn't, well, right there.
"I guess I found out Lilith can't stop bullets after all," I said with a weak smile.
"Are you in pain?"
"Uh," I said. It was difficult to answer when I could smell the scent of his body, a captivating combination of frankincense and leather. I really wanted to get up and move away from the temptation to touch him because not only was the timing wildly inappropriate but I did still have a boyfriend even if we were "on a break." Sebastian had all but given me permission to explore my feelings for Parrish. Even so, I doubted that running my hands all over Parrish's chest was the kind of exploration he had in mind. "No, uh, I'm okay."
My shoulder had settled into a kind of constant, yet forgettable ache. It was like my pain receptors had had enough, they weren't up to working very hard anymore, and were just phoning it in every so often.
Letting go of my face, Parrish frowned at me. "I could help."
"Help? How?" Sebastian had done an expert job field dressing the wound. I couldn't fathom what Parrish might have to offer, unless—"No illegal substances, thank you. Not with the FBI on our butts."
He snorted a laugh. "Nothing like that. You do realize that my blood is fairly regenerative."
"You want me to drink your blood? Parrish, I'm a vegetarian."
With an amused shake of his head, Parrish stood up.
I swear he lingered there, right in front of my face, showing off his manly attributes, just a few seconds longer than necessary before returning to the task of retrieving his clothes from one of his steamer trunks. "Well, as long as you have your priorities straight," he said.
The trunk was about two feet high and not terribly sturdy-looking. It was constructed mostly of pine, which had been painted black. There were strips of oak and tin ornamental corner protectors burnished to look like brass. Two wide, well-worn leather belts held the box together.
When Parrish lifted the top, I expected to smell cedar, but didn't. Yet it was clearly an antique, just not an especially well built one. Probably it had been cheap when it was young. Not unlike Parrish himself, honestly, I thought with a wry, fond smile.
I watched in complete fascination as he pulled on the sleaziest pair of silky leopard-print underwear I'd ever seen.
"You're not seriously going to wear those, are you?"
He looked down at himself, considering. I had to admit that despite the tacky pattern, the material did flatter him. It clung like a second skin, barely concealing him. Then he noticed me noticing, and he said, "Yes, I think I shall."
"I don't know why you're bothering getting dressed." Then I stopped myself, realizing how much like an invitation that sounded, especially given the lascivious smile that slowly spread across Parrish's face. "That is, you might want to consider hiding out for a while. You know, lay low."
Parrish's mouth twitched into a kind of a sad smile. "That's not really my style is it, darling?"
"But, I was serious when I said that the FBI have the place staked out. They're right outside."
He stomped into a pair of black jeans.
"Didn't you hear me? Dominguez thinks you did it."
Pulling on a black T-shirt, which, incredibly, appeared to be manufactured by Armani, he shook out his auburn hair. "Yes, and sooner or later he'll get his man."
"What do you mean by that?"
"It means, my love, I'm going to lead them away from you. If they have me to chase, they'll leave you alone."
"Why would you do that?" I stood up from my folding chair when Parrish brushed past me on his way around to the other side of his coffin. I tried to catch his sleeve, but he shrugged off the contact. I stood there waiting for an answer as he busied himself with setting the long, narrow cover back into place.
"Hey, you know, it's not that I don't appreciate the gesture, but you don't have to do this for me," I continued, when it was clear he wouldn't give me an answer.
He sat down on the lid of the coffin and pulled on socks and motorcycle boots. "What you continually fail to appreciate, Garnet, is that I want to."
Oh.
"You don't have to prove anything to me by being all noble," I said without adding, you already reminded me that you love me better than I love you.
He'd finished putting on his boots. With his elbows resting on his knees, he stared at the floor momentarily before looking up at me. "I'd ask you to run away with me if I had any hope at all that the answer would be yes."
I didn't have a response for that.
Parrish stood up and studied the wall with a deep frown. Then, he reached out and slapped the concrete. "Gross," he said, when he pulled his hand away. "I need to wash. And, given that I'm about to throw myself on my sword for you, any chance I could borrow a final use of your bath?"
"I… uh." I stopped. I wanted to press the issue, but Parrish was right. This was hardly the best place for this kind of intense conversation. "Yeah, come on."
If we were careful, the guys in the van might not spot us. Keeping our heads low, we snuck upstairs. The main hallway always had a light on, so, although crawling killed my shoulder, it was easy going.
When we reached my apartment door, I had to crouch in a funny position to get the key in and turn it. I fumbled a couple of times because of the pain, but eventually I got it open. Parrish went down on all fours and crawled across the living room like a seasoned Marine. Me, I waited at the door for a moment while my eyes adjusted to the darkness.
In deference to my injury, I stooped my way to my bedroom. At least in that room, I always kept my curtains closed since that day I spotted the neighbor kid watching me from his back patio. I could probably light a candle without alerting the guys outside.
Parrish had crept into the bathroom before I could gesture for him to follow me. He shut the door.
I pulled myself up onto my bed and listened to the sound of the shower in the darkness. Barney hopped up and bonked her head against my arm until I relented and petted her. I scratched her ears and stroked her fur until she hummed with pleasure. It was nice to be loved, but I suspected she really wanted to remind me that I hadn't fed her in days.
When she nipped slightly at my hand,
I knew it for a fact. I gave Barney a one-armed shove off my bed and slunk into the kitchen to fetch fresh water and kibbles. Once I'd managed to fill both bowls, the volume of her purr increased tenfold and came interspersed between wet, snarfing munches.
I sat on the kitchen floor listening to my cat inhale her food.
If Parrish left, I might not see him again. I had a lot of faith in Parrish's ability to evade capture, but these guys were the FBI. What if they caught him? He was supernaturally fast and a helluva lot stronger than your average guy, but he wasn't Superman. More important, he couldn't turn into mist or transform into a bat. If he got locked into a jail cell and the sun came up, poof!
That'd be all she wrote.
If they didn't capture him, it wasn't like he could come back here. He'd have to stay gone for a long, long time. Eventually, he'd stop being Dominguez's priority, but it would still be foolish to risk it. One of the reasons Parrish was successful in his life of crime was because he was ruthless about cutting ties. When he walked away, it was for good.
Mostly. After all, he had a weak spot for me.
Barney's purring stopped abruptly, and she sat back on her haunches and began to lick her paw.
The apartment smelled of rosemary, which had bloomed in the sunroom despite my neglect. From where I sat underneath the cabinets, I could see the faint lavender star-shaped flowers in the silvery moonlight. Not everything else had fared so well in my absence. The sandbur had shriveled to a dried husk, littering its spiny seeds all over the floor around the pot.
Seeing the burs reminded me of all the effort I'd put into the love spell. How ironic, then, that it was Parrish who was so ready to sacrifice for love.
Barney padded across the floor to lay down beside me with a heavy thump. She offered her belly for scratches with a purring grunt. I obliged, wishing people were as easy to satisfy as cats.
Well, I thought, there was one thing I could give Parrish. It wasn't precisely what he wanted, but it might pass for close enough. I crawled toward the bathroom, and as soon as I was out of sight of the windows I tried to squiggle out of my pants. They didn't come off in the quick, smooth gesture I'd hoped for, and instead hitched against my knees. I fell flat on my face. Worse, I tried to cushion my fall and strained my shoulder.
Dead Sexy Page 14
