by james
might as well tell me.” “Dammit!” What was going on? First the gang decided to be dumb (dumber than usual, anyway,) then a weird-ass giant wolf tormented her, and now this guy. God hated her is what it was. “Fine, I’ll tell. I’m pretty sure I can fly. I’ve felt I could all my life. It sort of—runs in my family. Except my family’s all dead, so I never really knew for sure for sure, y’know? So, anyway, last night I finally screwed up the courage to try, but I couldn’t because—never mind, you’ll think I’m a nut-job. More so than now, I mean. Anyway, that’s why I’m up here. Not to die. To fly.” “Mmmm.” He put a big hand on her face and peered at her pupils. “Well, you’re not on drugs. That’s something.”
“I quit doing drugs when I was seventeen,” she snapped, and batted his hand away. “I’ve been clean for ages.”
“And you’re not terminally ill,” he finished.
“How d’you know that?”
“I’m a doctor, it’s my job to know.”
“What, did you do a blood test in my sleep?”
He ignored that. “What’s your name?”
“Why do you care?”
He looked at her soberly. “I care.”
Weird. But cool. Okay, fine. “It’s Crescent.”
“That’s it?”
“No, I have a last name, but I’m not telling.”
“Why? Are you a fugitive?”
“I wish. It’s just that everybody laughs. You’ll laugh.”
He raised his hand, palm out. “I promise I won’t laugh.”
“It’s Muhn.”
“Crescent Moon?”
“The h,” she said with as much dignity as she could, “is silent.”
“That’s all right,” he told her. “My last name is Dragon.”
“Doctor Dragon?”
“Doctor Drake Dragon.”
“Oh dear.” She giggled. “We’re both cartoons.”
“You realize, of course, that we must get married.” He said this with a perfectly straight face, which made her laugh harder.
“It’s just too good a story to tell our grandchildren,” she agreed. “But first I have to do this. So, good-bye.”
“Come down and have breakfast with me instead,” he coaxed.
Interestingly, she was tempted. He really was a stone fox. And she hadn’t been on a date in… Let’s see, she had been able to legally drink for three years, and there was that guy who took her to the rave right after…
Wait a minute.
“Wait a minute!” God, she was slow this morning. “You’re the blind guy from the alley!” Except he didn’t seem blind. He’d checked her pupils, for crying
out loud.
“Yes,” he confirmed.
“You don’t seem very blind.”
He hesitated, then said again, “Have breakfast with me.”
“Why?”
“You might as well. I’m not going to let you jump.”
She sighed. “Well. I am hungry.” And I can ditch this guy after I cadge a free
meal off him. “Okay. Lead on, MacDuff.”
CHAPTER FIVE
He offered her his arm when they were at street level, and her smell shifted to amusement—ripe oranges. After a moment, she grasped it.
“Cripes, I can’t even get my fingers around your bicep. D’you work out, like, nine times a day?”
“No. But I like to keep in shape.”
“Y’know, we don’t have to go anywhere fancy,” she said. “We could just get a cup of coffee.”
“You’re underweight for your height. We’ll get a proper meal.”
“Bossy,” she coughed into her fist.
He smiled. “Yes.” It was all he could do not to gape at her like a schoolboy. He had no idea why he could see her, but the effect hadn’t worn off with daylight…she was like a flame in a street of shadows. “I’m afraid it runs in my family.”
“Can I ask you something? How come you don’t use a dog? And where’s your cane? Didn’t you have one last night?”
“I get around pretty well,” he said, avoiding her question. “I’ve been blind all my life. It’s all I know.”
“Oh. Well, like I said, you don’t seem blind.”
He shrugged. Humans always told him that.
* * * * *
Over a breakfast of three pancakes, six pieces of toast, and two cups of coffee (hers), and a bowl of oatmeal (his), they talked.
“Don’t you want some ham or bacon? Please, order whatever you like. I can assure you I’m good for it.”
She shuddered. “No, thanks. I’m a vegetarian.”
“Oh.” Hmm. That could be interesting. “You know, that’s really not the best diet for an omnivore.”
“Dude, I’m not chomping on dead flesh, and that’s the end of it.”
“Drake,” he corrected.
She mopped up syrup with the last pancake. “Yeah, whatever. Can I get more coffee?”
“Of course.” He signaled the waitress, then asked, “Why are you so thin?”
“Why do you ask so many questions?”
“I’m interested in you,” he said simply.
“Uh-huh. Dude, you’re, like, twice my age.”
Yes, that was annoying. But it couldn’t be helped. “Stop calling me dude. And it’s probably not twice. I’ll be forty this year.”
“Oh.” She seemed surprised. “You look younger. I’m twenty-four.”
“You look younger, too. If I may ask, where are you staying?”
“There’s a shelter on Beacon Street,” she said without a trace of
embarrassment. “I lost my job—the economy, you know—and couldn’t make rent, so I’ve been bouncing around a bit.”
“Is that how you fell in with the little gang who attacked me?”
“I didn’t know they were going to do that,” she said earnestly. “I thought it was just talk.”
“I believe you. What about your family?”
“Don’t have one.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. I never really knew them. Like you—I guess—being by myself, it’s all I know.”
“Why don’t you stay with me for a while? I have a big house in Cambridge, and there’s plenty of room for a guest.”
She snorted into her coffee cup. “Right. Go home with the strange guy who showed up out of nowhere, who says he’s blind but doesn’t trip over anything. Not too creepy.”
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
“You could kill me in my sleep.”
He tried not to show offense. “That’s ridiculous. In your sleep? I would never.”
She laughed at him. “Oh, okay, so, we’ve established you won’t kill me in
my sleep. That’s promising.”
“The homeless shelter is preferable to my home?”
“Well…no offense, dude…Drake, I mean…but put yourself in my shoes.”
“I understand. But consider this, you could have pancakes every morning,”
he coaxed, “and all the coffee you could drink. Until you get back on your feet.”
She shook her head, but looked tempted. “Jeez, I can’t believe I’m even considering this. If this was a horror movie, I’d be yelling at the screen. ‘Don’t do it, you dumb bitch!’”
“That’s nice. I would really enjoy your company. I live a…solitary life. It would be nice to have a…a friend over.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “Well. I have to admit it’s the nicest offer I’ve gotten all year. But here’s the thing. I’m getting these ‘take-the-poor-waif-home-and- take-care-of-her’ vibes from you, but I’m not sure you get it. My family died when I was a toddler, and I left the foster home when I was ten. I’ve been on my own a long time. I can take care of myself.”
“Of course.”
“And the thing is, there’s nothing I’ll…uh…do for you. You know. In order to stay at your house.”
“No, I wouldn’t expect you to.” And, fortunately, she
was a good two weeks from ovulation. He’d be nowhere near his change then. It could be problematic when a roommate’s cycle coincided with a male werewolf’s, but he didn’t have to worry about that, at least. “There aren’t any strings, Crescent.”
“Well.” She finished her coffee. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. But we’ll try it. For a while.”
“All right, then.” He smiled at her, and she smiled back. He’d never seen a smile before. Hers made him dizzy.
CHAPTER SIX
They walked in and she was instantly dazzled. Like the big colonial house hadn’t been impressive enough on the outside. “Wow! How many windows do you have?”
“I have no idea.”
“Right. Sorry. It’s so bright in here!” She was staring; she couldn’t help it. Her first, jumbled impression was lots of light, a soaring living room ceiling, a loft, and lots of hardwood flooring. “You don’t even need to turn any lights on during the day. Not that you would.”
He was hanging his greatcoat in the closet. “I like to feel the sun on my face,”
he said simply.
“Did anyone ever tell you, you live in a pink house?”
“A few have mentioned it.” He shrugged. “What do I care?”
She laughed. “I s’pose. It’s just sort of funny. I mean, you’re this big, supermasculine guy, and your house is the color of a faded pink sweatshirt. It’s a little weird.”
He smiled. It was disconcerting—like he was looking right at her. But of course he wasn’t. He probably knew she was standing by the door because of her voice. “Super masculine?”
“Dude, you’re about the biggest, boldest guy I’ve ever met.”
“Thank you. And stop calling me dude.”
He was the sharpest “handicapped” person she’d ever seen. He paid for breakfast with cash…and she noticed the twenty-dollar bills were folded into triangles, and the ten was a rectangle. Of course…it made perfect sense. He couldn’t see the denominations, and the bills would all feel the same. Did he get them that way from the bank? Or did he have a helper to fold his money? Maybe she could fold his dough, earn her keep…
But it was just so weird, because he always seemed to know where she was—he caught her before she started to trip on the curb, for God’s sake.
“Why don’t I show you to your room?”
“Yeah,” she said, kicking off her sneakers and following him. “Why don’t you?”
She expected a simple guest room with a utilitarian twin bed and an empty bureau. Instead, he escorted her to paradise. The bed, a mahogany four-poster, was against the window, and sunlight was splashed all over the Shaker quilt.
Through the open door on the opposite side of the room she could see a gleaming bathroom with tiles the color of the sea, and the bureau beside her was almost as tall as she was.
“Uh…you sure you don’t have a cot in the basement or something?” she asked nervously. The room was so clean, so beautiful, she was afraid to move, lest she destroy it all. “Or maybe a blanket I could spread out on the kitchen floor?”
“Nonsense. This is your room now, for as long as you like. I’ll leave you to get settled.” And, abruptly, he was gone.
“Get settled?” she asked the empty room. “How?” She hadn’t wanted him to see the shelter, so she had no extra clothes. Well, she’d sneak out tonight and go get them. And she’d find Moran and his little gang of retards, and give them a piece of her mind. Imagine, trying to rob a blind guy.
She wandered back out to the living room and eyed the loft.
Hmmm…
She noiselessly climbed the stairs, and had time to notice the loft was actually an office—desk, computer with big-ass speakers, bookshelves—before she clambered up onto the railing. This would be even easier—this was only one story. Less, actually. Just a few feet. Piece of cake. If she couldn’t fly here, she couldn’t fly anywhere.
“Something for lunch?” Drake called from the kitchen. Good, he was a couple of rooms away.
“I’m still stuffed from breakfast,” she called back, and dived off the railing.
She flopped over in mid-air, and had time to notice the living room doing a one-eighty around her, and then she fell into Drake’s arms.
“Wow!” she gasped. “How’d you do that? You were, like, fifty feet away!”
“Will you stop that?” he snapped. “Stop climbing things and leaping off of them, before you give me a heart attack.”
“But how’d you know I—?”
“Promise, Crescent. As long as you’re in this house, no more crazy jumps.”
“But I won’t be hurt,” she explained earnestly, resisting the urge to snuggle into his arms. He was holding her like she weighed as much as a bag of feathers, like it was nothing. And the way he was scowling down at her—it should have been scary, but instead, she wanted to smooth out the frown lines with her fingertips. “Really! I’m sure I can do it.”
“Not in my house,” he said firmly. “Now promise.”
“Or what?” She wasn’t being sarcastic. She was curious.
“Or I won’t put you down.”
Now she did smooth out the frown line over his eyebrow. Weirdly—but nicely—he leaned down and nuzzled her nose. She felt her nipples tighten and fought the urge to squirm in his arms.
“You’re just going to carry me around all day?” she teased.
He smiled down at her. “It wouldn’t be much of a hardship.”
“Okay, okay. I promise. No more jumping off stuff in your house.” But I can’t
promise I won’t jump anywhere else…
“All right, then.” He set her on her feet, gave her a warning smack on the ass which stung like hell— “Hey!” —and walked back to the kitchen.
CHAPTER SEVEN
He heard her as she tiptoed past his room. Actually, he heard her when she opened her eyes and sat up in bed. He knew from her smell she hadn’t slept, and made sure he didn’t either.
When she stole out of his house like a thief in reverse, he was right behind her.
* * * * *
Bags were always in short supply at the shelter, so she just gathered a few changes of clothes to her chest and stole back outside. Unfortunately, she caught Maria’s eye on the way out. Well, it couldn’t be helped. The woman gobbled speed like it was Tic-Tacs, and she never slept.
Crescent crept down the alley behind the shelter, thinking she still had time to catch the Red Line back to the bus stop near Drake’s house, when she heard running footsteps and turned to see the Asshole Brigade.
“New crib?” Maria asked. She was one of those women who always smiled—who smiled when you knew they were screaming inside. “New man?”
“Yes, and no, and mind your own business.”
“Hold up, Cress.” That was Nick Moran, the leader of the incredibly lame group. “You got something for us?”
“It’s Cress-ent, and no, I sure don’t. What’s wrong with you?” She shifted her weight and clutched her clothes a little tighter. She did not want to let these three put her in the middle of their nasty little circle. Her gut almost always led her right—why else was she staying with a stranger?—and maybe it did this time, too. Maybe when she fell in with these idiots, they didn’t really know how bad it could get. Her gut was good, but it couldn’t foresee the future. “Robbing a blind guy? Trying to, anyway. You couldn’t even pull that off.”
“Shut up,” Nick said roughly. He was a tall, cadaverously thin man with the bare beginnings of a mustache, and a scar that bisected his left cheek. “We had it under control.”
“Sure you did. ‘Bye.”
Jimmy, the other schmuck, clawed at her elbow and managed to grab it. “Whyn’t you take us to his place?” he asked. His tone was reasonable, but she wasn’t fooled. “Cute piece of ass like you, bet you’ve already got a key.”
As a matter of fact, she did. As a further matter of fact, she certainly wasn’t going to let them have it. “Forget it,” she said, tr
ying to pull away. “Fuck off, you three, before I lose my temper. I can’t believe I ever felt sorry for you.”
“Sorry for us?” Nick echoed, expression darkening. “Be sorry for you. Because when we get done, you won’t be so pretty no more.”
“It’s any more. For God’s sake, Nick, you went to private school before your folks kicked you out.”
Nick blushed—he hated being reminded he hadn’t been born to the streets— but Marie’s smile widened, if that was possible. Crescent observed that the woman had a nodding acquaintance at best with toothpaste. “We can do this the easy way—” she began.
“Oh, spare me your thug clichés.” Crescent was more annoyed than frightened, which she supposed was something. She’d been a moron to come back here by herself—and for what? So Drake wouldn’t see the shelter? Who cared what he thought? Big overprotective dope. And she wasn’t going to be winning any College Bowls, either, unless she starting relying a little more heavily on instinct and less on pride.
Jimmy’s other hand—the one not squeezing her elbow—darted forward like a pale spider and grabbed her nipple. Then he started to pinch. Hard. Crescent could drop her clothes all over the filthy alley floor, or she could stand there.
She stood there. Never in a thousand years would she show these three how much he was hurting her. “Cut the shit,” she said through gritted teeth. “You think acting like bullying assholes is going to change my mind about you?” She looked at Nick, waiting for him to call off his dog.
Jimmy was giggling and Maria was grinning, and Crescent’s eyes were watering, and she had just decided to drop her clothes and kick Jim in the ‘nads when Jim was flying away from her, literally flying. He sailed through the air and crumpled to the street a good ten feet away.
She had a glimpse of big hands cupping the curve of Maria’s skull, and Nick’s, and then there was a klonk as their heads banged together. It sounded awfully like the time she dropped a cantaloupe on the floor.
And then Drake was towering over her. Scowling, as usual.
“Have I mentioned,” she said, gaping up at him, “that for a blind guy, you get around pretty good?”
“Once or twice.” He pushed her crossed arms down, and carefully raised her T-shirt, then eased her bra cup down so he could examine her nipple. This was startling, and quite nice. She reminded herself that he was a doctor, and hers was probably one of about six thousand nipples he saw in a year.
