“It’ll be a long, uphill battle.” He grinned, a little wolfish. “But winning is exactly what I intend to do.” He squeezed my hand. “I know you don’t care about politics, but—”
“No, that’s changed. After what happened to Maria . . .” I pictured that poor, sweet child huddled all alone in a cell. “Believe me; I’ll be rooting for you. The norms are going to have to figure out how to live with the monsters.”
“Don’t say—” He stopped himself, smiling, and nodded. “There’s one other thing I need to say. While I’m gone . . . I’ll be working hundred-hour weeks. Work, sleep, work, sleep.”
“The usual routine.”
He smiled again. “But what I’m trying to say is . . . For me, this case will be everything. Everything. And I don’t expect you to sit around waiting for me. You should see other guys. If you want.”
“We were never exactly going steady to begin with.”
“True. I knew I was crossing a line, asking you to come with me on the werewolf retreat. I’m sorry I pushed.” He let go of my hands. “I kind of thought you and that human detective—”
I put my finger on his lips to shush him. And now the kiss came: long, warm, deep, and sexy.
When it was over, I snuggled against his chest. He sighed, stroking my hair. “But if there is anyone else, he’ll have to fight me for you when I get back.”
LESS THAN AN HOUR LATER, KANE WAS GONE. I COULDN’T believe it, but he was. And I wouldn’t see him for six whole months. I sat at the bar in Creature Comforts, feeling glum and half listening to Juliet chat up a Harvard graduate student who was studying Renaissance drama. He wanted to interview her for his dissertation; she wanted to drink his blood. Same old story.
Creature Comforts was busy—not as crowded as the night of Tina’s victory party, but doing good business. More norms had been coming in, as well as zombies, who were now allowed to roam the New Combat Zone without a permit, expanding their range beyond Deadtown by several blocks. Zombies couldn’t get drunk, but they sure as hell got hungry. Axel had had to quadruple the number of bar snacks he carried. “How’s business?” I asked him as he lumbered past, pushing that seven-foot body as fast as it would go. He grinned, showing his big square teeth, and gave me a thumbs-up.
“Hi,” said a voice to my left.
I turned on my stool to see Daniel standing there, smiling. Daniel. Alive and in one piece. His hair was a little shorter, and his blue eyes sparkled.
We took the same booth we’d sat in before. “You’re okay,” I said. I couldn’t help smiling back at him.
“Good as new.”
“I tried to call you. No answer at home, and at the precinct they said you were on leave. I had to hope that meant you were all right.”
“I had a concussion. No big deal. But they kept me out of sight for a few days while they figured out how they were going to spin this thing. You wouldn’t believe who got into the act: Massachusetts cops, New Hampshire cops, the Goon Squad, politicians, FBI, even Homeland Security.”
“I haven’t seen a word about it on the news.”
“They’re going to make an announcement tomorrow. Sheila Gravett was attacked and killed by one of her werewolf experiments when a keeper inadvertently left a door unlocked.” Well, that much was true. Sort of. “There’ll be nothing in the news about me. Nothing about you or Maria.”
That was good. I didn’t want Maria being dragged through the publicity machine. I felt a pang, hoping she was okay. I hadn’t heard anything from Gwen.
Daniel was silent for a while, picking at the label on his beer bottle. When he looked up, the sparkle was gone from his eyes. “I wasn’t much help to you up there.”
“You’re kidding, right? I never even would have made it across the state border without you.”
“Yeah, and then I got knocked out with my own gun.” He paused, looking down. “I saw what happened, Vicky. Security tapes, and Gravett had a video camera going. I watched everything. You saved my life.”
So he’d watched the shift, seen me in Harpy form. The knowledge of that squeezed at my heart. It hurt. I didn’t know what to say.
“What did you . . . ? What was that thing?” he asked, his voice low.
“I shifted into a Harpy. I didn’t even know it was possible for me to change into a demon.” I suspected it had to do with the Hellion mark, but that was a question I’d have to ask Aunt Mab. And I was still in avoidance mode—part of me didn’t want to know.
“I didn’t save you, Daniel. That Harpy wasn’t me. Well, it was, but not the real me. I wasn’t in control.” How could I explain this to him? “I don’t know why I chased that wolf-creature away from you. Maybe I wanted to eat you myself.” I reached across the table and touched his hand. Just lightly, just for a moment. “I’m not human. You’ve got to understand that.”
“I do.” Now he looked at me, something fierce in his eyes. “I also understand that it was you, whatever you say. The spark that’s Victory Vaughn didn’t go out just because you changed form. So you wanted to kill Gravett. I’d have killed her myself, given the chance. But you weren’t just some demon bent on revenge. You protected me. You saved Maria. Hell, from what Roxana told me, you saved the whole city of Boston. All of that was you, Vicky. All of that was brave and loyal and . . .” His hand captured mine and held it. “And beautiful.”
I blinked, because I’m not the kind of person who gets teary-eyed. “Thank you for saying that.”
“I should be thanking you.” His smile lit up the dim bar. “And I was hoping to do it with dinner this weekend.”
I drew back my hand. “I can’t.”
The light faded from his smile. Why did it hurt to see that?
“Is it because I’m human?” he asked.
“No, Daniel. It’s because you’re married. I’m not going to get between you and your wife.”
A little wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows. “But I’m not married.”
“Please, don’t. I appreciate that you came here to say thank you. And what you said just now, it means a lot to me. Don’t spoil everything with a lie.”
“I’m not lying. I’m notmarried.”
This was too much. “Who answered your phone that morning?”
He frowned. “What morning?”
“The day after I missed our appointment. The day I met you at the precinct.”
A light dawned. “That was my wife, but—”
“See? Give up on lying, Daniel. You’re lousy at it.” I pushed myself out of the booth.
He got up, too, and blocked my way. “My ex-wife. Her name’s Elise. We only got divorced two months ago. I haven’t gotten used to calling her my ex yet.”
“Your ex.” Yeah, right. “So what was she doing answering your phone at seven o’clock in the morning?”
“Staying in the guest room. She sold her condo because she’s moving to Chicago. The timing worked out that she needed a place to crash for a few days.” He ran a hand through his curls. “Sit down again. Please. I’ll explain.”
He looked so eager and sincere that I slid back into the booth. For a minute, anyway. “Okay,” I said. “Explain.”
He opened his mouth, then stopped, like he didn’t know where to begin. He bit his lips. Finally he spoke. “Elise and I got married right out of high school—way too young. It was a mistake, but not a terrible one. We grew apart. No big fights or anything, we just kind of drifted down different paths. I’m a cop; she’s an architect. We didn’t have any kids. After a while, there was nothing to connect us anymore.” He paused, glanced at me. “She moved out two years ago. We stayed friends, but we were both happier living apart. When Elise started thinking about taking a job in Chicago, we decided we might as well go ahead and get the piece of paper that says ‘divorce.’ But our marriage ended a long time ago.”
I tried to digest what he was saying. “Is this true?”
“It is, I swear. Call Elise. She’ll tell you. In fact, I think you two would like each other.”
“Whoa, let’s take this one step at a time.” I wasn’t exactly ready to become pals with the ex-wife yet.
We set up a dinner date for Saturday night in the North End. And then we talked for hours. He was warm and funny and full of stories, his blue eyes flashing as he told them. And my stories didn’t freak him out. Since he’d seen me shift into a Harpy, he’d already seen me at my worst.
Or maybe it wasn’t my worst. Maybe there was a little bit of me in there, like he’d said. A spark, he’d called it. Maybe that spark was the real me.
BEFORE I FELL ASLEEP THAT NIGHT, I THOUGHT ABOUT MY father. I remembered when he was teaching me to drive: showing me how to work the Jag’s clutch, staying patient even when I kept stalling out in traffic with half a dozen cars honking behind us. I saw him dancing Mom around the kitchen as he belted out Welsh songs, Mom laughing and trying to pull away before the potatoes boiled over. I remembered sitting close to him on the sofa, Gwen on one side and me on the other, as he read to us from a book of Welsh fairy tales. And I saw him teasing Aunt Mab, his eyes twinkling, as my stern aunt blushed like a schoolgirl. He was the only person I knew who could get Mab flustered.
He was gone, and I’d never get him back.
But I had set things as right as I knew how. I’d restored the balance of power, sending my father’s murderer back to Hell, where it belonged. At what cost, though? I wondered, my guard down as sleep approached. To conquer Difethwr, I’d had to bind it to me. And a bound Hellion is a treacherous thing.
You know what to do, Aunt Mab had said. But binding Difethwr had never been my plan. I didn’t know where that binding spell had come from; the words had simply arisen and poured forth, erupting from me like a geyser. Had those words come from me, from my spark, from some deep-buried ancestral knowing? Or had they come from the Destroyer in me, a demon’s trick to escape Baldwin’s bondage and strengthen its mark in me?