by Lauren Esker
"Not first thing in the morning," Fletcher said. His smile was brief and not altogether happy. "I'm meeting with Chloe's lawyer and we're going to talk custody arrangements."
"Oh, Fletcher. I didn't know. You should have said something."
"I didn't want to think about it." He heaved a sigh. "I don't suppose you know any decent shifter lawyers?"
She frowned, puzzled. "Don't you have a lawyer? You were talking to him in your office when I first met you."
Fletcher hesitated. "He's not a shifter. I can't have him at the divorce mediation, because Olivia being a shifter is the main reason why Chloe is trying to get sole custody. And I can't let it go to open court, because court records are public, so ... there you have it."
"Oh," she breathed. She hadn't previously realized the precarious and awful situation Fletcher was trapped in. He had all the disadvantages of a shifter: the need for secrecy, the corresponding inability to use regular legal channels to pursue his case. But he had none of the advantages. He wasn't part of the close-knit shifter social network that helped shifters find doctors, lawyers, social workers, and other necessary professionals who were either shifters themselves or close kin to them.
She'd never wondered about the humans around the edges of shifter culture. She supposed she must have always known they were there; it was impossible for shifters to remain completely secret, and she also knew that mixed shifter-human marriages existed. But now she found herself wondering how many people were out there like Fletcher, caught between two worlds, not quite part of either.
"That's fine, don't worry about it—" he began, mistaking her silence for disagreement.
"No, no, I'll see if I can turn up anyone for you. I don't really know many people on my own. All the contacts I used to have were my brother's friends." She stopped before she blurted out too many details about why she no longer had access to Roger's contacts, desperately turning the conversation around onto Fletcher. "How did you find out about Chloe, anyway? You don't seem to know enough about shifters to have grown up around us."
"No." Fletcher shook his head with a brief, self-deprecating smile. "Chloe's the first I ever met. The first I knew about, anyway. I found out two months after Olivia was born. Chloe got weird and distant while she was pregnant, even more so after Olivia's birth—You don't mind me talking about her this much, do you?"
"I'm the one who asked," Debi pointed out. "She's part of your life, Fletcher. She'll always be part of your life, because of your daughter. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know."
Fletcher closed his hand over hers, and held it as he went on. "Looking back on it, I think that's when our marriage really started to crash and burn, though I didn't recognize it at the time. We weren't fighting, no more than usual, I mean. She was just distant. It was like she didn't want me around Olivia. And then I found out why. At least I wasn't holding Olivia at the time. I might've dropped her, or squeezed her and caused her to bite me in self-defense. But she was in her crib, and I was leaning over, and ... I don't know if you can understand this, not having kids—you don't have kids, right? I assume you would've mentioned it."
"No, I don't have kids." Seeing the soft light of love that came into his face at the mere mention of his daughter's name, she found herself regretting that, for perhaps the first time ever.
"When you have kids, there's a part of your soul that just ... fills up with them. You can stare at them forever. You find yourself doing things like sitting there and watching them exist. Which is what I was doing, just watching Olivia sleep, and then my daughter wasn't there anymore and there was a little brown snake in her crib." He traced a squiggly line in the air with the hand not holding Debi's.
She had to laugh in spite of herself, picturing the scene. "That must've been a shock."
"No kidding! I yelled, scaring Olivia so she wriggled into a blanket—that's another thing I had to get used to, that she couldn't even roll over as a human baby, but she was plenty active as a snake. Chloe came running from the other room, and then we had the world's most awkward conversation about a part of the world I never even knew existed."
"Two months is really young for a shifter to start shifting. Lucky you. It must be a little different for snakes than for those of us who shift into mammals. Chloe's a snake too, right?"
"Yeah, they're vipers, the whole family. All venomous—which, by the way, is another thing I learned, that it's not correct to say a snake is poisonous; you say they're venomous. The way Chloe explained it, if they're poisonous, you'd die if you bite them, and if they're venomous, you die if they bite you."
"Lovely," was all she could manage. No wonder he'd freaked out when he saw her holding Olivia's snake form.
"I've never actually seen Chloe shift, though I know she can. Her choice, not mine. I mean, by now I'm pretty used to it, with Olivia doing it all the time. I wouldn't have minded if she'd wanted to. But Chloe never let me into that part of her life."
Debi thought about shifting in front of Fletcher, letting him see the golden glory of her lioness. She could picture it all too easily—so easily, in fact, that she felt the lion side of herself stir, wanting to be let out.
But there would be no shifting with the anklet on. And no late nights with handsome boys, either. With regret, but with the ease of practice, she pushed the lioness down.
"Anyway." Fletcher shook himself out of his reverie. "Sorry, I guess I'm doing most of the talking tonight."
"I like listening to you talk." She gave his hand a brief, self-indulgent squeeze, as close as she could get right now to what she really wanted to do, which was invite him in. "I'll call some people in the morning and see if anyone knows a lawyer who might help. When is your appointment?"
"It's at eight-thirty. Not much time to look for a sympathetic lawyer, I know." He smiled; it came out more of a pained grimace. "Don't worry about it. I just thought it couldn't hurt to ask. This probably won't be our last mediation appointment anyway, unless a miracle occurs and Chloe is willing to give up some of her more extreme demands."
"I'm glad you did ask me. I'll see what I can do. And I bet you'll be fine." She hesitated, then leaned forward and kissed his nose. "No one who sees you and Olivia together could possibly have doubts."
Fletcher nodded. From the look on his face, he was having all the doubts.
Debi couldn't bear his expression. "Hey. Listen." She slipped off the emerald ring and dropped it into his palm. "Here, if I can't give you a lawyer, have a good-luck charm."
"What's this?" he asked, rolling it around in his hand. "Family heirloom?"
"No, just something I bought somewhere, back when my family had money." His mouth opened; she touched his lips with a fingertip. "A story for later. But Olivia was admiring it today, so it made me think ... Did you ever read stories about knights and chivalry when you were a kid?"
"King Arthur and the Round Table," he agreed.
Memory served up a helping of bittersweet sadness: curled in Mara's lap listening to stories, playing knights and dragons with the youngest cohort of her siblings ... "Before a knight went on a quest, his lady would give him a token of her affection. Like a handkerchief or something."
Amusement chased away the sorrow in his eyes. "So I'm a knight on a quest?"
"Questing to save your daughter? What could possibly be more noble?" She closed his fingers around the ring. "Take my token with my blessing, Sir Fletcher."
She was unable to keep a straight face, and Fletcher snorted. "In that case, Sir Fletcher should get his noble steed back to the stable and prepare for tomorrow. Thank you." He put the ring in his pocket gently. "I'll carry it with me. For luck."
"For luck," she said, and scrambled out of the car before she could talk herself into going home with him.
Chapter Seven
Debi rose with the dawn, clear-headed and eager to go to work. When was the last time she'd felt like this? She spent an hour or so cleaning up the apartment, continuing the process she'd begun last nigh
t of trying to figure out if she had retained any of Roger's records that had slipped through the SCB's scavenging of the family's assets, in the hope of being able to locate some of Roger's contacts in the legal profession. There weren't many things she could do to help Fletcher, but she liked the idea of being able to deliver him a shifter attorney ... like a proud cat bringing a mouse to the object of its affections.
She didn't find anything useful, so she scribbled some notes on what she remembered of names and firms Roger had dealt with—being the family's accountant definitely came in handy here—to contact once their offices opened. Most of them probably wouldn't want to deal with her, the Fallon family having burned their bridges thoroughly with the rest of the local shifter community once their hunting hobby became widely known—but no, that wasn't positive thinking. Positive thoughts only today.
She took an extra-long morning shower, humming all through it. While she toweled herself off, she stared down at the monitor on her bare ankle with intense dislike.
The SCB was now cockblocking her.
It had been months since she'd seriously thought about finding a way to get the anklet off, but now she recalled her early investigations along those lines. It was a specially SCB-designed one, sturdier than the tracking monitors used on humans, but there were still ways to circumvent them. There were always going to be ways. She'd found several through surreptitious googling.
What she hadn't found was a way to do it without being detected. She could destroy the monitor and skip town, but the SCB would know. She'd be a fugitive. Any chance of getting her old life back would have gone up in smoke.
And needless to say, turning herself into a fugitive wouldn't help get her into Fletcher's bed.
Mmmm ... Fletcher. She'd thought about him while showering, imagined those strong, capable hands touching every inch of her body ...
She had to get the stupid anklet off before it ruined the first shot at a relationship she'd had in a year.
Hmmm. It had been a year. She'd been very well-behaved for that entire time. Surely they weren't planning on keeping her on it forever, were they?
Plus, come to think of it, Nia might be able to help her find a lawyer. The SCB must know some.
She reached for her phone and tapped out a text, asking Nia to meet at their usual coffee shop.
***
For a change, Debi was there first, staking out what she was slightly depressed to realize had become their regular table. She almost ordered for Nia too (after meeting twice a week for months, she knew Nia's coffee order backwards and forwards) but decided not to be too nice. Nia would think she was up to something.
Of course, she was up to something, but there was no point in putting Nia's guard up.
Nia waved at her from the doorway, placed her order at the counter, and came over to hang her purse on the chair across from Debi's. "I'm shocked! This is the first time you've called me in for a meeting that wasn't on our usual days. It's almost as if you enjoy my company—wow, what on Earth are you drinking?"
Debi looked down at her drink. Twice a week for the past year, when she had bothered ordering coffee at their morning meetings, she'd gone for an Americano or a cup of the roast of the day. Nothing fancy. Nothing sugary. No additives.
Today she had a triple mocha with whipped cream and drizzled caramel.
"I felt like a change," she said defensively, curling her hand around it. "Say, I think they just called your order."
They hadn't, but it distracted Nia from further pestering about Debi's sudden change in coffee habits. By the time Nia came back with her latte, Debi had managed to sort her thoughts into some semblance of order.
"So I take it you have something to talk about, or you wouldn't have called me," Nia said as she sat down. "Unless you just wanted to enjoy a morning coffee and a chat—"
"As if."
"Yeah, that's what I thought." Nia smiled faintly and stirred half a packet of sugar into her latte. "What's up?"
"I wanted to know if it's possible to have the monitor taken off now."
Nia stopped in mid-stir. "Sorry?"
"The stupid everloving ankle monitor." Debi stretched out her leg, enough to show Nia a glimpse of the anklet. "It's not forever, right? I've been wearing it for close to a year now. I've been on my best behavior. I'd like to be able to wear a skirt again, or go in a hot tub." The monitor was waterproof and she had no trouble taking showers, but prolonged exposure to water, she'd been told, could short it out and set off an alarm.
"Debi ..." Nia looked flustered. "I don't have the authority to decide that."
"So call someone who does!"
"Look, it's not that simple. I know it's been a year—wow, actually, I don't think I realized it's been a year, but, uh, in terms of prison sentences, that's really not a very long time. The SCB doesn't—"
"Yeah, I get it, they don't trust me," Debi interrupted. "They think if I'm not wearing a tracking monitor, I'm going to go feral and start hunting people. So the question is, when is that ever going to change? What do I have to do to make them believe it? Am I going to be on house arrest for the rest of my life?"
Nia fiddled with her coffee stir stick, looking miserable. "I don't make those decisions. That's all over my head. I'm just—"
"My parole officer, yes, I know. So how do I contact someone who actually can decide? Who do I appeal to? Put me in touch with them."
"I can talk to some people. Your record is really good, you're right, and you haven't tried to escape, so I think that counts for something. I'll try to make the best case for you that I can. But, Debi, please don't get your hopes up too much, okay?"
Debi sighed and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. "No worries about that," she muttered. "Hope isn't something I've had a good relationship with lately."
She took her hands away to find Nia leaning over the table, staring at her anxiously.
"For God's sake, what?"
"Are you going to cry? Please don't cry. It'll be okay."
"I'm not going to cry," Debi snapped. "I don't cry often, believe it or not. Yesterday was a fluke."
"Everybody cries sometimes. It's nothing to be ashamed of."
"I'm not crying!"
"Right, right. Sorry." Nia leaned back in her chair and picked up her latte. "Do you mind if I ask—"
"Why do people always say that before asking a question they know the other person is going to mind?"
"What I was going to ask," Nia said, undeterred, "is what made this come up now. Did something change? I know you hate having to report to me on your job and living arrangements, I get that, but if anything happened, if you're having trouble at work or—"
"Nothing changed. Nothing's wrong at work." Actually, she thought, everything's right at work, and she looked down at the whipped cream on her mocha to keep from meeting Nia's eyes and giving too much away.
Unfortunately, it seemed that she wasn't hiding as much as she'd thought. "Debi," Nia said, "are you smiling?"
"No." Debi flattened out her betraying mouth. "Not smiling."
"Yes you are! Were."
"Was not," Debi said and took a large drink of her mocha to give her something to do with her mouth.
"Was so," Nia said promptly, proving that she had siblings—something Debi had never thought to ask about. "You totally were. It was a grin. Is there a boy? There's a boy, isn't there? Or a person of whatever gender, it's all good—"
"Boy," Debi admitted.
"What? Tell!" Nia was all but bouncing in her seat. "Who is he? How did you meet him?"
"We work together. That's all. We aren't seeing each other. Stop looking at me like that."
"But you do like him. You're smiling again. Does he like you?"
"Sort of. Maybe. Knock it off!" But thinking of Fletcher made it impossible to get angry, especially at someone as cheerful and harmless as Nia.
Who was now giggling. "You've got a crush. Oh wow. Have you said anything? Tell me you've said something!"
> "We went to dinner last night," Debi mumbled, and now Nia was literally bouncing in her chair. Debi had never seen an adult do that before.
"Eeeeee! I knew it! You had a date, you totally did."
"It wasn't a date. It was ... two adults ... eating together."
"Did he kiss you?"
"Are you twelve?"
"He did, he kissed you, didn't he?"
"Okay, fine, he kissed me." Debi looked away.
Nia squealed again, drawing variously amused and irritated looks from nearby patrons. "That's a date. That's totally a date. Are you seeing him again? Wait—you work together. Why are you here? You should be at work! Seeing him!"
"He's not there, he's got a thing this morning, and I don't have to be at work until nine anyway." Debi attempted to meet Nia's delighted grin with a glower, but her scowl kept trying to crack into a smile; Nia just looked so happy. "Why are you so excited about this?"
"Because I've been meeting with you twice a week for a year, and you were always so miserable, but today you aren't. Why wouldn't that make me happy?"
"Why would it?" was Debi's unconvincing riposte.
Nia reached across the table and touched her hand, making her jump. "Because you're a good person and you deserve to be happy. This tracking-monitor deal isn't to punish you, Debi, it's to give you a chance to have a better life. And this is the first time since I've been meeting with you that you really looked like you were beginning to find that life."
A better life? All alone in a messy one-bedroom apartment, working as the junior staff member in a minor accounting firm ...
... a job she really did enjoy, at least some of the time. And it had brought her to Fletcher, who she would never have met otherwise.
It galled her to admit there were actually things about this new life that weren't terrible.
But she still had the anklet. Pointedly, she stuck out her foot and poked Nia's leg with it. "So now that you know the why and wherefore, how about getting this taken off, so I can go on a real date?"
"You just went on a date last night."
