by Sharon Shinn
“Babe’s getting kind of old and gimpy. I don’t think she’ll be with me much longer. But the other two are just as healthy as can be. Barking their heads off last night at a squirrel got caught in the garage. Almost had the neighbors calling the cops on me.”
Ryan and I both offer polite laughs. “She’ll be glad to hear that,” I tell him.
He nods at each of us, a silent good-bye, and this time he really does walk away. I glance quickly over at Joe, who gives me a small smile and a slight shrug. I read it as Whaddya gonna do? I smile and shrug in return. Nice to meet you. Strange how the evening ended up. Whaddya gonna do?
“All right, then, I think we can go,” Ryan says in an undervoice. I nod and adjust my grip on the two purses, mine and Celeste’s. Ryan puts his arm around my waist and guides me to the door. I try not to lean on him for support or shelter, but it’s been that kind of night. I need a little of both.
The air seems sharply cooler outside, as if autumn has swirled through while we were inside lying to the police. Or as if the weather is turning ominous just as a reflection of our lives. Synchronicity.
“So now what?” I murmur to Ryan. “Do we look for Celeste? Where do we look for her?”
“I’ve been thinking. What would I do if I were her? I’d go hang out at my car and wait for my friends to drive it home for me.”
That sounds reasonable, so I pull myself free of Ryan’s grip and lead him several streets over to where Celeste and I found a parking spot. We’re a few avenues from the main drag, so there isn’t much activity and the street isn’t particularly well-lit. Unfortunately, her car is under one of the few lampposts, so anyone watching from nearby storefronts or apartment buildings would definitely notice if a bobcat was lurking nearby. However, there are plenty of promising bushes and city trash cans and bus-stop benches along the street, throwing a modicum of shade. I dig through her purse to find her keys, and the electronic locks make a little chirp as they release.
“You drive really slowly,” Ryan orders. “I’ll watch for her along the sidewalk. When you get to a dark stretch, come to a stop for a few minutes and I’ll get out.”
We put this admirable plan in action, and I roll down the street at exactly two miles per hour. At the first intersection, there’s a nice little wooden stockade to hold a collection of Dumpsters and recycling bins, and Ryan hops out to look around. I bend down to peer out through the passenger’s side window.
And there’s Celeste stepping out past the stockade’s wide door, sleek and naked and human in the patchy light. Her skin is only a shade lighter than the wood of the fencing and her hair is as dark as night. She could have hidden here till morning and never caught anyone’s attention.
“Celeste!” I exclaim as she slides into the backseat and hunkers down. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. God, that Bobby is such a prick. What took you so long? Get in the backseat with me. And turn up the heat,” she says rapidly, all the commands and questions running together.
Ryan’s already circled the car and opened my door, so I quickly yield my place and jump in back with Celeste. She’s not embarrassed about being nude, because nothing embarrasses Celeste, but even in the inadequate light, I can tell she looks chilly and pissed off. I scoot close enough to wrap my arms around her and rub her back for warmth. Ryan puts the car in drive and begins cruising out of the neighborhood.
“I don’t suppose you keep spare clothes in the trunk,” I say.
“No, but I think I’d better start! I’m not that cold—I just changed shapes when I saw you guys pull up—but what a fucking stupid way to spend my evening.”
“Well, and it’s going to get even stupider because the police are sending a squad car to your place, and if you show up without any clothes on, they’re going to ask a lot of questions.”
“You guys called the cops?”
“We didn’t,” Ryan says from the front seat. “But there was a certain amount of commotion after you disappeared, and the police were most definitely summoned. And they were very interested in Bobby Foucault’s story about the woman who changed into a mountain lion when he tried to kiss her. Either he doesn’t recognize a bobcat when he sees one, or he didn’t think a bobcat would sound all that scary,” he adds.
I can hear the grin in Celeste’s voice, and it makes me want to slap her. “Yeah. I figured changing shapes right then might not be such a good idea.”
“Then why did you do it?” I demand. I’m still rubbing her skin to help warm her, but my voice isn’t very friendly. “I mean—you shifted in front of a stranger? Are you crazy?”
“I know, I know. But I was so mad I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“Why? What’d he do?” Ryan asks.
“He assaulted me! He had one hand up my shirt and his other hand unzipping my jeans and he was, like, slamming me into the wall. I mean, seriously, I thought he was going to rape me there in the alley.”
I pull back to look at her as hard as I can in the dimness, because Celeste is prone to exaggeration. But she looks completely serious. And maybe a little bit frightened. “Why didn’t you scream?” I ask slowly. “You knew there was a bouncer at the door. You knew there were a lot of people around.”
“I panicked, okay? I mean, he had his cock out, you know, and he was hard. He was ready. I panicked, and I defended myself, and, well, I shifted. And I clawed him up pretty good,” she adds on a note of satisfaction.
I glance toward the rearview mirror, where I can see Ryan’s eyes, trained on Celeste. His face looks grim. “You need to tell that to the cops,” he says.
“I’m not talking to the cops. Anyway, nothing happened. I got away from him and everything’s fine.”
“Well, you are talking to the cops, because they’re coming to your place and they want to be sure you’re all right,” I say. “And you should tell them what kind of monster Bobby is, so that in a few weeks when he assaults another girl, and maybe does even worse, they’ll believe her story.”
She glances down at her nude body. “Well, I can’t exactly talk to them dressed like this,” she says. “And if they’re already waiting for me when we drive up—”
I’m stumped. The local Walmart closes at ten and I don’t know where else we might buy clothes at this hour. I can hurry into her apartment to grab jeans and a T-shirt, but if a cop has already staked the place out—and if he recognizes me from the bar—
She makes a gimme motion with her right hand. “Take off your clothes and let me put them on.”
“What? No! How is it any better if I’m the one who’s naked?”
“Because you don’t have to get out of the car and walk up the sidewalk! As soon as the cop follows me inside you can jump in your car and drive away.”
“Naked. All the way down Highway 159.”
“I’ll give you my shirt,” Ryan says from the front seat.
“Give it to Celeste!”
“It doesn’t look like something I’d wear to a bar,” Celeste says impatiently. “But it will be decent for just driving home. You’ll still have on your panties. You’ll be just fine.”
I argue feebly for a few more moments, but it was obvious from the minute she proposed her plan that Celeste would get her way. She always does. Ryan pulls over in some deserted parking lot, and we all start stripping down and swapping clothes. Ryan’s short-sleeved polo shirt is still warm from his body and fragrant with masculine scents—soap, aftershave, sweat. I try not to inhale too deeply. Celeste has a pile of cloth grocery bags stuffed under the seat, so I spread a couple of them over my thighs to hide my bare legs.
“I hate this,” I grumble, but of course no one listens to me. A few minutes later, we’re on our way, and soon enough we’re pulling into Celeste’s apartment complex.
Where, indeed, there’s a cop parked in front of her building, waiting with the determined patience of a m
an who could watch icebergs form. “Showtime,” Celeste murmurs as Ryan brings her car alongside the police car. She rolls the window down.
“Officer—were you looking for me? I’m Celeste Saint-Simon.”
He’s out of the car in about three seconds flat, and it’s clear he wants to take a statement and maybe look her over. I can’t figure out the logistics of the next few minutes, but Ryan’s way ahead of me. He practically pushes Celeste out of her car so she can confer with the police, then drives over to my Jeep at an angle that ensures Celeste’s car hides my body when I step out.
“Wait for me,” he says, then parks, returns the keys to Celeste, and jogs back to the Jeep and climbs in.
To my delight, I remember I have a pair of jeans in the backseat, and I don’t waste any time grabbing them and slipping them on. When I’m dressed I feel a hundred percent better about the evening. This whole time, I’m watching Celeste in my rearview mirror. She’s talking with her usual animation, smiling with her usual charm. She doesn’t look worried or upset or frightened about any of the things that might have been set in motion this night.
“Should we wait till he’s gone, then go in and make sure she’s all right?” I ask.
“I don’t think so. When I handed her the keys she said, ‘Talk to you guys tomorrow. Drive safe.’ So I think she’s ready for us to go home.”
I’m trying with limited success to suppress a yawn. “And I am so ready to go home,” I say. “What a night.” I switch on the ignition and back out. “So where are you parked?”
“Over by the Square. About a block from where you guys were. But you don’t have to take me back to my car.”
“Sure I do. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
“I meant—maybe we could go somewhere else. There’s a Denny’s that’s still open. We could get breakfast. Pancakes, yum.”
“No shirt, no service,” I remind him, because I can’t remember the last time I was in a restaurant that admitted half-naked customers, even if they were as finely sculpted as Ryan. “Besides, if I eat pancakes at one in the morning, I will fall asleep at the wheel.”
“Then don’t go home. Stay at my place. Go home in the morning.”
By this time I’ve pulled out onto the street and am traveling back toward the Square. I glance over just as a streetlight flashes its illumination through the windshield, and I can see Ryan smiling at me.
I try to clamp down on the sudden bounding of my heart. “I don’t think that’s such a great idea,” I say.
His smile widens. “Hey, you can have the bed to yourself. I’ll sleep in the living room.”
“Yeah. Still not a great idea. Anyway, I can’t. I have all the animals to take care of.”
I see the annoyance flit across his face. “You’ll be back in the morning.”
“Yeah, but I don’t like to be gone more than twelve hours. Stuff happens. If Daniel was there, he’d shift back to human shape and feed everybody if I didn’t show up on time, but he’s not. There’s no one on the premises right now I trust to take over if I’m gone.”
Ryan lifts a hand and strokes my cheek with his knuckles. “That’s Karadel for you,” he says softly. “Always taking care of everyone else. Not letting anyone else take care of her.”
I jerk my head away. “I don’t need to be taken care of.”
“Doesn’t everybody? Some of the time?”
I force a laugh. “This from the man who’s not famed for his caretaking skills.”
“I don’t want to be responsible for the whole world, that’s true,” he acknowledges. “I don’t want to build a private zoo on my property and take in every distressed animal or shape-shifter in the bistate area and nurse it back to health. But one or two people? Yeah, I think I could watch over them.”
I hold my peace. We’ve had this conversation before, only it was much more heated. You’re so selfish. You don’t give a damn about anybody or anything but yourself had been my contribution. He had volleyed back with You’re just afraid to live! You hide here at this clinic and pretend it matters because you can’t face what waits out in the real world! I doubt Ryan has forgotten the specifics of that exchange any more than I have.
I turn off the main drag and into the honeycomb of streets that make up the Square. Still pretty lively, even at this hour. “So where exactly are you parked?” I say.
“Left here, then right on Maple. About halfway down. So, still ‘no’ on the pancakes? Have some coffee, you’ll stay awake for the drive.”
I’ve spotted his car, a black convertible. He drives it with the top down even in January. Ryan’s never so happy as when he’s got the wind in his face. That means he’s in motion. That means he isn’t trapped somewhere. Even better if he’s not trapped with someone. I bring the Jeep smoothly alongside his car.
“Still no,” I say. “But thanks for the offer.”
He doesn’t open the door right away, just watches me in the yellow light coming from a beer sign in the window of a nearby bar. “Can I come out one day next week and visit?” he asks.
I try not to show how much this flusters me. Like Celeste, like Alonzo, he used to pretty much have the run of my place. I assume he still has a key, as they do, and if he doesn’t, he knows where I keep a spare. But he hasn’t been out to the property for two months now, not since our last disastrous fight. We’ve talked on the phone, e-mailed, seen each other a few times when Celeste was around, but we’ve kept a physical distance along with the emotional one.
“Sure, yeah, anytime,” I say.
He’s smiling again. “I need to get my shirt back,” he says.
“Oh! Yeah, but— Hey, I have an old sweatshirt in the backseat. If you wait a minute I’ll just—”
“It’s fine,” he interrupts. “Keep it. Anyway, that’s not all I need.”
I take a deep breath. Surely he’s not going to launch into an I need you in my life speech. That’s not Ryan’s style. “Yeah? Then—?”
“Last spring. You made me some kind of drug. I think I want more.”
I turn my head to appraise him. I like the change of topic. It toggles me back into a professional mode, puts me at ease. “I thought it made you too sick to your stomach. You stopped taking it.”
“Yeah, I did, over the summer, but I started using it again in the past few weeks. I still feel like I’m gonna puke, but that feeling wears off a little faster each time. And the drug works. I don’t mind throwing up a couple of times if it gives me a little more control.”
Ryan’s particular shape-shifting pattern is one I’ve never found in anyone else. Every five days, he switches to one of three animal shapes—cat, fox, or falcon—and he holds that shape for twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Once he returns to his human form, it’ll be another five days before he’ll shift again. Though his body takes the three animal shapes in a set cycle, and he can’t influence that, he has a little say in the timing, because he can transition out of his human body anytime he chooses. So if, for instance, there is some event occurring on a Saturday for which he absolutely must be human, he can shift on a Tuesday, return to his own form on Thursday, and be certain of being a man over the weekend.
My drugs successfully provided him with more time between transformations. Up to two weeks, if he injected himself every day.
“Well, great. I’d be happy to mix up more formula for you. Might take me a couple of days, though.”
“Okay. So I should come see you—Tuesday? Wednesday? How does that sound?”
“Sounds good.”
He smiles, and again touches my cheek with the back of his hand. His fingers are so warm they scorch my skin. “Sounds good to me, too,” he says. For a moment he just watches me, and I think he might lean over and kiss me. Then he shakes his head, drops his hand, and climbs out of the car.
“See ya,” he says. “Drive carefully.” And he shuts the
door and vaults into the convertible. By the time I’ve made a U-turn, he’s already pulled out of the parking space and shot down to the end of the street.
The entire drive home, down 159, down W, past sleeping houses, empty cornfields, and moon-washed trees, I can feel the touch of Ryan’s hand upon my face.
CHAPTER FIVE
The next few days pass in a blur of activity. Aurelia brings Alonzo out to spend the weekend and stays to chat for about an hour. She’s so different from Bonnie that I sometimes wonder how they ended up together. Whereas Bonnie usually looks like she’s dressed for hiking through the Rocky Mountain National Park—a little rumpled and über granola—Aurelia’s image is cutthroat Wall Street or high-stakes politics. She’s always wearing expensive tailored suits, full hose, designer pumps, and carefully understated jewelry; of the five closets in their house, three are hers, and some of her wardrobe leaks into Bonnie’s as well. Her fine hair—a delicate flame-red that’s entirely natural—is usually pulled into a sleek bun or clipped back with a matte gold barrette. I envy her skin, a translucent milk-white that I have never seen marred with a blemish. Her eyes are a guarded gray.
Everything about her screams heartless bitch, which I’ve told her a million times, but she just smiles. “Some of the people I face in court are soulless bastards, and I have to make them think I can play their game.” She can play it; she was profiled recently as the Illinois lawyer with the best win-loss ratio in the state. She looked great in the photos, too.
Most people who know her only from the courtroom would be astonished at her softer side, which is on full display today. She’s wearing comfortable jeans and an untucked denim shirt, and her red hair is in a long braid that hangs over her left shoulder. I watched from the window when she drove up in her BMW and she and Alonzo climbed out. Before she let him run off to the kennel, she caught his arm, drew his head down, inspected some mark on his forehead, and kissed him on the cheek. When she pulled back, she was smiling up at him as if he had brought her the secret of eternal life. He ducked his head, offered the tiniest of smiles in response, then ambled off with Scottie to feed the dogs.
