She snorted and did the same, straightening her skirt automatically as she slammed her door closed behind her. “In that case, it’s probably a good thing you’re a cop.”
Cheney found himself once again contemplating Pandora’s very fine ass as it swayed up the short driveway to her front door. There was a garage next to it, so he assumed her living quarters were up a flight. They’d probably be rigidly structured, like her, all black and white and chrome or something.
She might be a buttoned-up lawyer type on the surface, and maybe even in her choice of fashion and decorating styles, but he’d bet his last dollar there was a whole lotta woman buried in there someplace. Nobody with an ass that fine could be as rigid as she’d like him to believe. Perhaps she even believed it herself…he didn’t know. But he’d seen her in a flowing gown with her hair loose.
He’d seen her laugh as she played with his kids, and her smile was seared into more than a few of his neural pathways.
Oh yes, Ms. Jackson had depths to her that he’d be quite interested in exploring.
“Come on up. I’ve got it penned in the kitchen.” Pandora’s voice recalled his wandering thoughts.
If only we’d met at a bar and not professionally.
He took the last step into her living room. And stopped dead.
“Uh…” He stared at the warm glowing wood surfaces that surrounded him. From floor to ceiling there was the richness of a forest reflecting and absorbing the light from the tall windows.
Against soft green walls stood carvings, some useful—like tables—others beautiful creations lifted from the natural shape of the wood itself.
Her coffee table was a slab of something rich and weathered, polished to a mirror-like smoothness. Her cabinetry looked custom designed, also buffed to shining perfection. Here and there were growing things, their pots shaped from branches or small tree trunks.
He breathed in, detecting a hint of the elemental fragrance emanating from finely worked wood.
“Wow.” It was all he could say.
Pandora flashed him an irritated glance. “I didn’t bring you here to criticize my taste in furniture.”
He held up his hands defensively. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Counselor. I wouldn’t dream of criticizing. This stuff’s magnificent.”
Her hand went absently to the grooves in a tall piece—a woman’s body sinuously emerging from a large branch, hands raised above her and cupping a fat creamy candle. “I like it.”
“I can see why.” He nodded approvingly. “Some of these pieces look like heirlooms.” He crossed the room to examine the one dominant feature—a massive hewn trunk, halved down the center and standing flush against the wall. It was taller than he was and probably three feet across.
But it wasn’t the size that was so eye-catching—it was the wood itself. Softly undulating, the whorls and irregularities combined to reveal something almost alive about the piece. A face, perhaps. No, several faces. Or an arm?
What was it? Cheney closed his eyes for a moment then opened them again, trying hard to see what the artist had tried to emphasize.
“Hey.” Pandora snapped her fingers at him. “Any chance we could get on with this? Or do you just want to stand there and stare for an hour or two? Because if so, let me know and I’ll get some work done while you take a vacation in your head.”
He opened his mouth to respond, then noticed something. She’s uncomfortable. Embarrassed. She’s not happy that I’m liking this stuff. His cop instincts helped him read her body language as clearly as if she’d been holding up a sign.
Her arms were crossed tightly over her body, her face was devoid of expression and one foot was tapping a little, just enough to betray her nervousness. He filed it all away in the “interesting things I’m learning about Pandora Jackson” file and nodded. “Show me where this pup is.”
With a muttered “About time”, Pandora led him through the living room and into the dining area. The opening into the kitchen was blocked with a jumble of chairs and an ottoman thrown in for good measure. “Here.” She pointed. “There he is.”
A rough growl followed her words and he moved to her side, looking in the direction of her pointing finger.
For a second or two he had a hard time finding the animal, but then it moved and he saw it clearly for the first time. Amidst the usual puppy items—blanket, water bowl, food dish and the obligatory squeaky toy—lay a dark brown creature of indeterminate origin.
And the hairs rose on the back of Cheney’s neck as he got his first good look at it.
No playful or sad puppy here. The face was blunt, the nose short and the ears unremarkable. The hair was tufted in places, especially around its neck, but not the soft feathery fronds that some pups carry as youngsters. This looked rough and brittle.
The growling continued and he watched as one lip peeled away from sharp fangs that were way too large to classify as baby teeth, and with a snarl the creature moved to stand, its body ungainly, its legs short and thick.
It was no breed he could even guess at. He’d never seen anything like it. And when it looked at him—
“Jesus Christ.” Cheney took an involuntary step backward. The fierce black stare seared into his mind, sending unpleasant, almost painful chills down his spine.
“See?” Pandora’s voice was low. “I’ve done my best with him, honestly I have. He eats, he’ll poop when I take him out, but there’s something about him that scares me. He doesn’t like me petting him, but he’ll tolerate me putting his collar on. Still, that’s as far as it goes.” She continued to stare at the animal as she put a hand on Cheney’s arm. “It’s not me, is it? This is one weird dog.”
“It’s not you.” He moved closer once more, his gaze glued to that strange snarl and the fangs protruding from it. “This is abnormal for any dog. Any guesses as to how old he is?”
She shook her head. “Not exactly. He’s been here for nearly a week. The case closed a week before that. Best educated guess I could make would put him at between eight and fourteen weeks maybe?”
The dog bared more fangs, and Cheney found himself halfway to reaching for his service weapon. The sense of a threat was overwhelming, an onrush of fear that he could feel stimulating a flood of adrenaline through his muscles.
“I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.”
“Me neither. Which is why I got in touch with you in the first place.” There was a touch of asperity in her tone. “So could you do your thing, find out what the hell it is and then let me get on with the rest of my life while I still have a few years left?”
He broke eye contact with it and gave her a look. “Not big on patience, are you?”
She snorted. “Not while this thing is in my kitchen, no.” She lifted one shoulder. “I’ll admit I’m not sleeping well knowing it’s in the house. I thought I’d feel safer with a dog. Now—I’m not sure if it’s going to protect me or eat me.”
Under normal circumstances, he would probably have made an inappropriate comment. But these were far from normal circumstances. Something was definitely off about this creature, and some sort of instinct was driving him down a road lined with extreme caution.
“Okay.” He took a breath. “I’m going to do my thing, as you so aptly put it.”
“I’m ready.” Pandora squared her shoulders.
“Not this time. Let me do this alone to start with. I’m not sure what I’m going to find. I won’t risk you.”
“Good God, Detective. You create illusions. They’re not real.” Her eyes widened.
“Doesn’t matter. I don’t need the distraction.”
“Urgh.” She waved a hand. “Go ahead then. Just do it, damn it.”
Cheney did.
Closing his eyes, he opened the part of his mind that created something…he never could figure out how it happened, it just was. This time, he’d keep it as close to reality as possible, hazarding a guess that the animal wouldn’t respond well to a complete change of environment.
He opened his eyes and looked at it.
And froze.
Something was looking back at him from Pandora’s kitchen floor. But it wasn’t a dog, or a human or any mixture of either. It was something he’d never seen before, nor could have dreamed of in his worst nightmare.
The fangs were prominent, bared and sharp, dripping with saliva. The face? It defied description. Hollowed depressions on either side of the almost nonexistent nose, it was skeletal but for the eyes.
Those were almost completely round, sunk deeply into their sockets, bloodshot and glaring at him. Around its neck was a tiny frill, not unlike a lizard’s scales, each segment tipped with a sharp talon. It quivered, as if eager to rip into something.
Aghast, Cheney watched as the creature staggered to its feet with a low throaty growl that was more primeval than canine. The forelegs were short and scaly, claws scrabbling on the smooth wooden floor.
The body was elongated and smooth, the rear legs seemingly an afterthought as the long tail unfurled. It was a jigsaw puzzle of unpleasantness, a mixed-up combination of creatures that would have been better off left alone to become extinct.
And it was pissed off.
All he was doing was looking at it, and anger and hunger radiated from it. A primitive fury that rocked him back on his heels even as the thing rose up, balancing on tail and hind legs, staggering and clawing at the air in front of it as it continued to howl out ugly sounds which set Cheney’s teeth on edge and made him wince.
They increased in volume, building to a crescendo that had him covering his ears and slowly stepping backward.
Then it stopped suddenly, its jaws opening wider than should’ve been possible. It gasped, choked—and exploded.
Cheney leaped backward, his illusion snapping off harshly, his balance gone. He stumbled, falling into something soft and toppling to the floor. His world went black, then he regained some sort of consciousness to find himself lying almost on top of Pandora.
“Jesus H. Move.” She was pushing at him. “Are you all right? What happened?” She pushed again. “Get the fuck off me, you’re crushing me.”
He was indeed crushing her, but he allowed himself the heady pleasure of enjoying it. Her blouse buttons had given way, revealing white skin and a cleavage he’d like to investigate further, without its covering of lace. He was dizzy, disoriented and cushioned by a really fine set of breasts. If a man couldn’t take a minute to appreciate the sensation—well, hell.
Then the portion of his mind that resided between his ears shifted back into place and he rolled away from her, standing up and catching the edge of her countertop to steady himself. Apprehensively he looked over the surface and into the kitchen.
All that remained of the creature was a pile of dirty grey-brown dust.
His brain slammed into gear. “I need a plastic bag. Two of ’em. Where?” His gaze landed on Pandora. “Quickly.”
“Second drawer down, left-hand side of the fridge.” She straightened her clothing as she stood. “What for?”
Cautiously picking his way around the mess, he found the bags. He put one over his right hand and bent to the floor, making sure to avoid any contact between the stuff he wanted to sample and his own skin.
With the ease of practice he gathered a good-sized handful and carefully shoveled it into the empty bag, removing the one he’d used as an impromptu glove and sealing that inside for good measure.
When it was shut tight, he stood. “That should do it. Got something I can clean this up with?”
She looked at him blankly. “What the hell just happened?” She shivered. “My pup’s gone, hasn’t he?”
“Yes.” Cheney wondered if there was an easy way to explain any of it and decided there wasn’t. “I didn’t do it, if you’re thinking that. It wasn’t…stable. The AG mutation just sort of collapsed instead of freeing itself.”
“So it was inevitable?”
“I think so, yes.” He picked up the bag. “I need to get this analyzed.”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you on the way back to the precinct. You want to leave the mess for a bit, or what?” He glanced down at the remains of what had once been alive.
“I’ll take care of it. You should go sit for a minute. You look as white as a sheet.” Walking past him, she opened a door and pulled out a cleaner.
“Okay.” The world wavered a little as he nodded. “Probably a good idea.” He moved toward the living room. “By the way?”
“What?” She was squatting carefully in the kitchen.
“You have fabulous breasts.”
A snort greeted his words. “I know. What I don’t know is what the fuck this is all about. And don’t think you’re going to avoid telling me by discussing my breasts.”
Chapter Five
Pandora exercised every bit of control she possessed and then some, holding back her questions until her kitchen was clean and the strain on Cheney’s face had eased. She was experiencing a measure of guilt over the demise of the whatever-it-was, but she just couldn’t find any lingering sadness since there didn’t seem to be anything she could have done differently. She hadn’t bonded with the pup, and it certainly hadn’t bonded with her.
It had made her skin crawl, if she was brutally honest with herself. The overwhelming sense of relief that it was gone lay at the bottom of her guilt, not the fact that she’d caused its death in the first place. Or Cheney had. But same difference, because she’d asked him to evaluate it…
Shit. This wasn’t getting her anywhere. She was simply putting off the questions, and she wouldn’t be able to contain them much longer.
She waited until they were in the car before the dam burst. “Okay, Fisher, spill it. Tell me what that was all about.”
He took one hand off the steering wheel and rubbed it over his face. “I wish the hell I knew.” He frowned. “Tell me what you saw and maybe that’ll help me sort it out.”
She thought for a moment. “You closed your eyes, then opened them again. The…the thing—whatever it was—stood up and growled at you. Then it stayed still, staring.” She swallowed. “Then…poof. It sort of disintegrated into that icky pile of dust.”
His lips curved slightly. “Succinct and lawyerly. Except for icky. Don’t think I’ve heard anyone in the legal profession use that in court.”
“Stop beating around the bush. What the fuck did you see?” She was ready to hit him. Hard.
“It was alive. And it shouldn’t have been.”
She noticed his fingers tightening on the steering wheel until the knuckles were white.
“It was some kind of genetic mistake, Pandora. A combination of things I’ve never seen. Some of it was reptilian, some looked like leftovers from the Jurassic period and the face—” He stopped and took a breath. “That face will haunt my nightmares.”
She gulped. “So this wasn’t any kind of challenged AG you’ve seen before?”
“God no.”
“A defect, perhaps? Birth defects do still happen…”
“Not like this.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t just the really scary look of the thing.” The knuckles got a little whiter. “There was an-an aura, for lack of a better word. A sense of wrongness. I hate to use the word evil, but one look at that thing in its natural state and you just knew it would kill you if it could. And enjoy the process.”
“Shit.” Pandora leaned back, her skin goose-pimply from the quiet horror lurking behind Cheney’s words. “Well, you’ve got a sample of that dust stuff. What do we do with it? What should we do now?”
He flashed her a quick glance as he turned into the precinct parking lot. “We? We do nothing. Your problem is solved as far as the critter is concerned.”
She opened her mouth to protest but he forestalled her, turning off the engine and gazing at her with one eyebrow raised quizzically. “Any further developments will come from my end. This is clearly an unknown mutation. I’ll make sure the information gets to the relevant auth
orities. It stops there.”
“But…” She paused. It was the right course of action, said the legal part of her brain. But she wanted to know, acknowledged the emotional side of her brain. “You’re probably right.”
“No probably about it. I am right.”
That set off a few red lights. “Let me point out that technically I own that sample you’ve tucked away in those plastic bags. You need my permission to do anything with them, up to and including analysis, during which time some might be destroyed. You can’t do anything along those lines without my say so.”
“Then give me your say so.”
“No.”
Cheney sighed deeply and got out of the car, waiting for her to follow suit. “It’s the red hair, isn’t it? I’ve always had trouble with redheads.”
She narrowed her eyes at him across the roof as she slammed her door shut with a tad more force than necessary. “My hair color is irrelevant. I’m simply protecting my interests. If you want to do anything whatsoever with that sample, I will need to know about it. You will keep me apprised of any and all developments and forward copies of resulting reports directly to me. Otherwise, no deal, Detective.” She reached into her purse for her car keys. “I mean it.”
“It might be a while. There’ll be a shitload of folks interested in what the hell this stuff is. Extracting DNA alone could take some time…”
“I don’t care.” She snapped her purse shut emphatically. “I shall expect a call from you on a regular basis.”
“Day or night?”
Too irate to consider the implications, Pandora simply nodded. “Whenever the information comes in. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly.”
He wasn’t exactly smiling, but his face looked…pleased.
“I’ll get the appropriate permissions forms over to you in a couple of hours.” She turned for her car. “I’ll expect to hear from you, Detective. No excuses.”
Demons are a Ghoul's Best Friend: Afterglow, Book 2 Page 4
