Then Erica sits up and says, “They’re in the dryer. They were filthy, so I tossed them in the wash. Should be ready to go in fifteen, twenty minutes.”
“Oh. That makes sense.” A lot more sense than the weird ideas in my fatigued mind. “Thanks. Although I feel the need to ask: am I supposed to stand around naked until then?”
Erica hops off the bed and stretches. “I was actually hoping you’d take a shower. You don’t smell so great, to be honest.” She points a finger out the open bedroom door. “First room on the right. I already pulled a spare toothbrush out for you. It’s sitting on the sink rim.”
I blink at her a couple of times, bleary, then throw up the most suspicious glare I can manage. “I knew it. You do pick up boy toys on a regular basis, don’t you? That’s why you’re so prepared.”
Erica saunters up to me, chuckling, and pats my cheeks. “Aw, did the hot Crow think he was some extra-special lay to the mean, old witch? Did she hurt his delicate feelings?”
“Uh, my poor heart. I’m devastated.” I turn on my toes and hobble off toward the designated bathroom. “Say, does the mean, old witch happen to have any food? Unless that’s overstaying my welcome. Then I’ll settle for directions to the nearest restaurant. That diner food last night wasn’t bad, but I need more coffee. A lot more coffee. Like a gallon of coffee. And maybe about eight donuts. Maybe a couple bagels, too.”
“That’s some metabolism you got there, Cal.” Erica strides alongside me until we reach the bathroom. “Could rival some witches and wizards I know—those who favor high-powered spells. They use up so much energy when casting that they have to eat bucket-loads more than the average person. Word of advice, don’t ever challenge those guys to an eating contest.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I back into the bathroom, still a bit steamy from where Erica must have showered earlier. “But you didn’t answer my question: Breakfast in or out? I guess we need to take my truck to the office together, so you can pick up your vehicle, which I’m assuming you parked in a shady street spot somewhere close to the DSI building.”
“You think right. And we can do breakfast out. Not that I can’t cook some mean eggs, but I, too, have a job. I need to open the shop to get a few orders processed through lunchtime. Then I have a meeting scheduled with Marcus and the others from the raid; we’re going to have some sort of strategy talk about battling Eververse monsters like Charun, see if we can’t come up with a standard trap and banish plan. Marcus was pretty pissed we let that demon escape last night.”
“Yeah, him and half of DSI.” I pick up the promised toothbrush and slowly start to shut the door in Erica’s face. “Say, you going to iron my uniform, too? Because that would be—”
She grabs the knob and slams the door shut, cutting me off. Through the thin wooden panel, she calls out, “Not your maid, Crow.”
With a tired laugh, I go through my morning routine, navigating Erica’s bathroom the best I can. The hot shower loosens my battle-worn muscles and washes away the crusted blood that wept from my scrapes through the long, arduous night. Mesmerized, I watch the red-stained water swirl its way down the drain and shudder at the thought of how lucky I was to receive such minor injuries, yet again. If Charun had targeted me instead of Jack Brendon when he threw the hammer the first time, I’d be the one with the crushed head right now, body cooling in a morgue. I’ve got to play this more carefully, somehow. Or the third time might be the charm, for Charun.
When I emerge from the bathroom twenty minutes later, as ready to face the new day as I can be, I find my clothes, warm and dry, folded on the end of Erica’s bed. True to her word, she didn’t iron them, and anyone who stands within five feet of me will notice the obvious wrinkles. But I don’t have the time to iron them myself—I’m already late for work and getting later every minute I dawdle—so I tug on all my gear, push my sore, blistered feet into my combat boots, and head toward the front door. Through a picture window in the living room, I spy Erica sitting in a rocking chair on the porch, reading a well-used copy of some novel.
I exit her house and shut the door gently behind me, and she marks her place in the book, stuffing it into a purse I don’t remember her carrying yesterday. Without speaking, we head to my pickup truck, parked in her gravel driveway, and I let her take the wheel again. Since she has two functional hands. She backs out into the main road of her quiet neighborhood, and off we go, toward the city still largely unaware there’s an Etruscan death demon roaming in its shadows.
Traffic is surprisingly light for a workday, and, after a short pit stop for a few breakfast platters, we make it to the DSI building in twelve minutes. On the way, we pass through the tree-shadowed streets on the edge of the Waverly College campus; the entrance to the Hague dorm is still blocked off with yellow tape, but the news crews are long gone, already bored of Jason Franks’ murder story. They’re like ants, reporters. They scatter as soon as the last piece of flesh is torn off the fresh carcass of a violent death. Today, they’ll be covering the Holden Park scene, for sure, shoving their microphones in the faces of the first responders. (Not DSI but the cops and firemen who showed up after the raid.) Have to say, I’m glad I’m not there. I wouldn’t want to have to come up with a “logical” explanation for what happened to that boathouse.
As we’re driving through the last light before the turnoff for the DSI garage, Erica says, “You know, I forgot to ask you this last night, and I’ve always been curious…”
Cheek pressed against the cold window, I mutter, “About what?”
“Your parents,” she finishes. “What do your parents think about you being a Crow? I mean, my folks know I’m a witch. They’re minor practitioners themselves. But your parents must be normal people, yeah? So how did they react to you joining up with DSI? Can’t imagine they were all too happy about it, given the department’s reputation.”
“You know, I’ve asked others that question. The responses have actually been pretty varied.” I peel my cheek off the window and rub the blood back into my chilled skin. “For me, though, there’s no answer I can give you. No parents to pass judgment.”
Erica slows the truck and turns into the garage, eying me curiously. She holds out her hand, and I pass her my ID card, which she taps against the sensor pad attached to a pole a few feet in front of the striped blocking bar. She hands it back to me as the bar rises in front of the truck, then taps the accelerator to edge us forward, into the dim garage. Nothing but silence passes between us until she parks the truck in the only open spot on the first level, next to a support column.
With a twist of her fingers, she cuts the engine. “So,” she says, “is your lack of parents a sad story I should avoid bringing up in conversation, or…?”
I shake my head and unclip my seatbelt, popping the door open a moment later. “Nah. It is a sad story, but it’s not something I shy away from discussing.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” I slide myself out of the truck, touching down on the hard garage floor. “Lost my mom when I was eight. Electrical fire. She owned a bakery over on Fourteenth and Noonan. Something malfunctioned, an oven, maybe, and one little spark sent the whole place up in flames in minutes. There were six people trapped inside, all employees.”
Erica hops out of the other side of the truck, shuts the door behind her, and rounds the back end of the vehicle. “That sounds awful, Cal.”
“Ah, but the story doesn’t end there.” I slam my own door shut. The sound echoes through the garage. “My mom and I lived above the bakery, in a small apartment. She whisked me to safety using the fire escape. Then she went back inside to rescue everyone else. She got five of them out, mostly unscathed.”
My gloved fingers tap out a short rhythm on the metal door handle before I back away from the truck. “It was the sixth guy that bested her. He was trapped in the basement pantry. The smoke was so thick, she could barely see on the way down. But she went anyway. And she almost made it back, too. But, uh, when she was leading t
he guy up the stairs, a portion of the ceiling collapsed. It cut off the stairway from the hall that led to the front door. Which was the only way out by that point. So…yeah, she died.”
Erica bites her lip and brushes her fingers against my arm. “I’m so sorry, Cal.”
“I’m not.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry the fire happened, of course. But my mom, she died a hero.” I maneuver around Erica, toward the office entrance. “A lesser person would have stood there, helpless, waited for the fire trucks to show up. But if my mom had done that, those five employees she rescued would have died, no doubt about it, because it took emergency services over ten minutes to arrive. So, as far as I’m concerned, my mom sacrificed her life selflessly to save the lives of others. I can only hope I live up to her example one day, even as a Crow.”
Erica leans against the side of my truck for a moment, arms crossed, brows furrowed. Deep thought. Then she brings out a vibrant smile. “I’m glad you can think about it that way, Cal. And your mom…she sounds like a hero to me, too.” She pushes away from the truck and passes me by, ambling toward an exit door that leads to a nearby side street called North Indigo, where she must have parked her own car last night. When she hops up onto the walkway in front of the exit, she waves goodbye without looking my way, but before she disappears outside, she tacks on, “What about your dad though? What happened to him?”
“Hah. No clue. Never met the guy.” I shuffle up to the entryway, ID card at the ready. “I was too young to get the full story, you understand, but I got the impression he was a brief fling. Some guy she met at a bar or club, dated a few times, who turned out to be a real douche canoe in the end. And if that’s the case, then what’s the point of tracking the guy down? Don’t need an asshole hanging over my shoulder, you know?”
Erica laughs her way out the door. “Oh yeah, honey. I know.”
The door clangs shut behind her, and, shaking my head, I turn around and enter the DSI office. So late for my shift that I’m guaranteed to get a mark on my record for tardiness, if not a full-on verbal smack-down from my grumpy captain. Who’s doomed to be in a piss-poor mood after his hours of bickering with the commissioner in the wake of our failed raid. I try to steel myself as I pass through the turnstile, press the up button next to the elevators, thicken my bruised skin enough to survive a lashing that may include contact with a wooden cane.
The elevator dings, and I make to step into the box when the doors roll open. But a female form almost decks me as she barrels out of the elevator, and I have to swing around on my bad ankle to avoid her. I stumble into the nearest wall and hiss at the acidic sting that radiates up my leg. The woman, moving so fast she’s nearly a blur in my vision, scrambles to a hard stop in front of the turnstiles and glances at me over her shoulder. And, what do you know, it’s Ella.
“What the…?” she murmurs. “Cal?”
“Present.” I rotate my ankle, grimacing as the pain worsens. “There a mega-sale I don’t know about at Walmart today, or are you in a hurry for another reason?”
She swivels around in a smooth arc, her mouth hanging open, and sputters out, “You…You…” Without finishing her sentence, she charges forward, grabs me by the good arm, and hauls me into the elevator before the doors close. I have to hop on one foot to avoid falling down, but she doesn’t appear to care about the discomfort she’s causing. Her surprised face melts into something akin to fury, and after slamming the fifth floor button with her palm, she reaches down and rips my cell phone off my belt. “Is this broken?” she growls out.
I scamper away from her and cower in the corner of the box. “Um, no. It’s just turned off.”
“Why?”
“I was, uh, too afraid to turn it on when I woke up this morning. I figured I’d have three dozen missed calls from Riker, screaming at me for being late.” My attempt at a nervous smile collapses into a cringe. “Or are you the one who admonishes tardiness? Because that’s almost scarier, seeing as you can whoop my ass with your bare hands.”
Ella’s cheeks flush pink. “You…You dolt!” She smacks the side of my head, not hard enough to leave a mark but with more than enough force to jar my brain into a few seconds of dizziness. “Nick’s been freaking out since 9:30, when you failed to show up for our team meeting. He thought Charun had gotten to you. Especially when you didn’t answer your goddamn phone. You were supposed to be on call. What the hell is wrong with you, Cal?”
Oh. I groan, resisting the urge to beat myself with my one good fist. Of course. After having two back-to-back confrontations with Charun, I would seem like a natural target for the demon. And my absence this morning must have been particularly noticeable, given that I was the prime source of Charun-related info after the failed raid last night; everyone knows I fought him again. There must have been a line out of Riker’s door this morning, agents seeking me out for various tidbits of knowledge about the Etruscan beast. Analysts and the like, fleshing out their case records. When I didn’t show…
“Shit. I’m so sorry, Ella. I didn’t even think you guys might get worried.” I work out my ankle again, the pain finally fading. “I’m a dumbass, aren’t I?”
“In more ways than one,” she huffs. As the elevator ascends, however, she calms, the tension in her shoulders unwinding. “I’m glad you’re okay, Cal. I was about to head out to your apartment to check on you. I was honestly afraid of what I would find there. You know, like your body. Headless.”
“Jeez, Ella. I really didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Where were you then? If you weren’t getting murdered.”
A series of not-safe-for-work images flash through my head, and my face heats up. “Ah, well…”
Ella eyes me for a second, and then it clicks. “You were off having sex? You scared us half to death because you were afraid of being chastised for coming in late after an early morning tryst?”
“Yup. That’s the gist of it.” My voice comes out as a squeak more than anything else. Real manly there, Cal.
“You’re a complete moron, Kinsey, you know that?” She mock punches me in the not-injured arm, and a faint, relieved laugh rolls over her tongue. “Next time, send a text, will you? In bed with hot chick I picked up from bar. Will be in late.”
“Hey, I did not pick her up from a bar. She—”
The elevator doors open on the third floor to reveal Delarosa waiting in the hall. He glances up from his phone and does a double take. “Kinsey, there you are! I’ve been looking for you.”
“Yeah, you and everyone else,” Ella mutters, rolling her eyes.
Delarosa raises an eyebrow, confused, then shrugs and steps into the elevator, letting the doors close behind him. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you about that ICM witch, Milburn or whatever. I was sitting in my car in the garage last night, after the meeting, writing up a few emails, and I could have sworn I saw her drive off with you in your truck. What was up with that?”
“Uh, I…”
Ella looks from me to Delarosa to me again and chokes on her own spit. “Cal! You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t.”
“Uh, I…”
“Oh, my God, Cal! You slept with the ICM witch helping us on a case? Are you nuts?” She reaches behind Delarosa and punches my arm for real this time.
“Ow!” I recoil, rubbing my tender bicep. “And no, I’m not nuts. We just had a good time. It was nothing serious.”
“Dude!” Delarosa gapes at me, half in awe, half in horror. “You realize she’s probably super old, right? Those ICM guys magic the hell out of their aging.”
“She’s thirty-nine,” I reply. “Not a hundred and fifty. Christ.”
Ella sighs. “That’s still almost twice your age.”
I throw my hand up over my head, exasperated. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize being a rookie agent meant reverting to adolescent status in my personal life, too.” I drop the hand to my hip. “Can I really not make my own sexual choices? Seriously? You’re going to police me lik
e strict parents, snoop around in my business?”
“It’s not so much about that as it is…” Delarosa rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat. “Well, our relationship with the ICM is tenuous at best, so getting involved with any of their members runs the risk of causing, um, cooperative turmoil. I mean, you know, if things go south, and the witch gets pissed at you and petitions Marcus to end our working agreements…”
“Wait. Hold up!” I poke Delarosa in the chest with my index finger. “Answer me honestly: are you saying that my dick has the potential to cause a supernatural political scandal of catastrophic proportions?” The finger moves up to flick his chin. “Because if so, I have to say, that’s actually kind of awesome.”
The elevator arrives on the fifth floor, and the doors open on the cue of the collective groans of my comrades, who both look like they want to beat the ever-loving tar out of me. Thankfully, I’m able to squeeze around them before they recover from the stupidity of my final statement. I rush out of the elevator and flee down the hall toward Riker’s office. Not that I have a guarantee Riker’s treatment will be any less painful.
When he finds out the reason I got in so late, he may very well drive his cane down my throat.
Oh, the trials we power through in pursuit of sex.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Riker is twenty-seven minutes into his deafening lecture about my irresponsibility when there’s a knock on the door. In a chair before his desk all by my lonesome, I have a flashback of that time in elementary school I got sent to the principal’s office for destruction of school property. (I may have broken a toilet. Don’t ask how.) Ella Dean, looming in a corner, plays the role of the teacher who dragged me down the hall by my sensitive earlobe, whereas Riker is the stern-faced educational dictator, fingers interlaced on the desk in front of him.
City of Crows Books 1-3 Box Set Page 18
