“You had the formula.”
“I’m not stupid.” Megan smiled. She knew me better than anyone. “Here.” Megan held out a huge denim purse.
“Ug-ly.” I waved her off. “Besides, I’m not much for purses.” They tended to get in the way when I was kicking demon ass.
The corner of Megan’s mouth lifted. “This is a diaper bag, Liz.”
“Oh.” I took it. “Thanks.”
“I put everything I had in there. Formula, bottles, bottle brush, diaper wipes, cloth diapers, bibs, towels, a few washcloths.”
I held up my hand. “Does she really need all that?”
“And more.” Megan pulled forward a rolling suitcase.
When had she packed all this stuff? For the past two hours she’d been entertaining close to thirty people. The woman never ceased to amaze me.
“What’s in there?” I asked. “Tiny tiaras, teenieweenie high heels, itty-bitty mini skirts?” This kid was shaping up to be a diva of epic proportions.
“Clothes, Liz. She can’t run around in a diaper.”
“She can’t run around at all.”
“You know what I mean.”
Actually, I didn’t.
“Faith’s a baby,” I said. “She couldn’t care less if she’s naked. She’d probably prefer it.”
“People don’t drag infants around wearing only diapers. Especially little girls.”
“Why not?”
“Because little girls are clothes magnets. Everyone buys them every beautiful thing they see. Their closets look like Clothes ’R’ Us exploded.”
“Just because a kid owns eight thousand shirts doesn’t mean she has to wear them.”
“No, but she needs to wear something. If she doesn’t, you’ll stand out. Running around with a kid who obviously has nothing to her name but what can be bought at the nearest grocery store makes it seem like you snatched her.”
I hadn’t thought of that.
“Fine. Grab whatever and put it on her.”
Megan reached into the suitcase then tossed something pink—was everything Anna had ever owned pink?—in my direction. “You need to get used to taking care of her.”
I examined what appeared to be a fancy T-shirt. Snaps at the bottom, short sleeves, lace around the neck. Not a single animal insignia that I could see.
I tossed the garment at Luther, but he was still feeding the baby. The piece of clothing hit him in the face.
“What the hell?” he asked.
“Language,” I said absently. “Put that on her when she’s done eating.”
“Nope.” He set the bottle on nightstand and laid Faith on the bed. “I’m a guy. She’s not.”
“She’s a baby.”
A shadow passed over his face. “That doesn’t matter to a lot of people,” he said, then he walked out.
Luther had been the victim of an even more unpleasant experience in foster care than I had. He’d torn one of his foster fathers into pieces and strewn him around the backyard. From what I’d seen of Luther’s past when I’d touched him, the guy had gotten off easy.
“The world is sick,” Megan murmured.
“You have no idea.”
“Let’s keep it that way,” Megan said. “You’d better burp her before she starts to cry again.” At my expression Megan appeared both amused and exasperated. “Pick her up, put her on your shoulder, pat her back until she burps.”
Suddenly Megan’s eyes widened, and she took two fast steps toward the bed. I spun, but Faith was still in the center; she’d just flipped from her back to her belly then pushed up on her hands so she could watch us.
“She’s okay,” I said, as much for my own comfort as Megan’s.
“Yeah,” Megan said slowly. “Except . . .”
“Except what?” I sat on the bed, checking for pins, staples, something that might explain Megan’s concern.
“She shouldn’t be able to do that.”
“Do what?” As far as I could tell the kid was great at crying and drooling, but not much else.
“Turn over, push up, lift her head like that. She’s what? Two? Three months old?”
“I have no clue how old she is.” But now that Megan mentioned it, this morning Faith’s head had been kind of floppy. I’d had to support it when I held her. She appeared to be gaining abilities at the speed of light.
“Maybe she’s just small for her age,” Megan said, though she didn’t sound convinced.
Neither was I. Faith was a skinwalker. For all I knew she might be a teenager by next week, and wouldn’t that be swell?
Or maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Teenagers I could manage, bad attitudes and all. I had a nasty bad attitude of my own.
“Burp her,” Megan ordered again. “Make sure you do it every time she eats or you’ll be sorry.”
Since I was already sorry, I did as I was told and was rewarded with a belch that would make an NFLlineman proud.
Megan packed the bottle and the diapers into the bag. “You’re going to call me more often, right?”
“Sure.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “No, you aren’t.”