The door flew open with such force, the displaced air blew Megan’s curly red hair back from her cute little face. And if she ever learned I thought of her as cute, she’d slug me. One thing Megan Murphy didn’t appreciate was the depth of her adorableness. She wanted to be tall and voluptuous, dark and exotic—like me.
“Did you get a brain amputation?” Megan’s bright blue eyes narrowed in her Irish-pale face. “We have rules here.” She held up one finger. “No rodents.” Then a second. “No reptiles.” A third. “No animals that say rarhh.”
I glanced down at the kitten in my arms. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Take that right back where you got it.”
“I—um. Well, you see—uh. I can’t.”
“You will. You cannot give my daughter a—”
The sudden bright light was followed by an audible whoosh as the kitten in my arms became human. Megan’s eyes went as wide as pie plates as she finished her sentence with, “baby.”
Said baby waved her arms joyfully and giggled.
“You did that on purpose,” I accused.
Megan recovered from her shock quickly, laughing, although it sounded a little strained. Who could blame her? “That’s a baby, Liz, or at least I think it is. They don’t do much on purpose. Although it does seem, at times, like they’re in league with Satan.”
I winced.
“Oh! Sorry.” Megan had known about the Nephilim even before I’d told her. Meg’s explanation? She was Irish. They believed in all sorts of spooky shit. “Is she—?”
“No.” Or at least I didn’t think she was in league with Satan. Yet.
I nearly bungled the baby when she attempted a swan dive toward Luther, who stood at my side. I muttered a curse that earned me a frown from both Luther and Megan then gathered Faith close and tried to hold her down. She continued to reach in Luther’s direction. I turned just as he held out her kitty blanket.
“Whoa!” I snatched it away an instant before she touched it. “Oh, no you don’t. Bad kitty. I mean, bad girl.” I tossed the thing to Luther. “Put that in the car.”
He did as I ordered. Faith began to cry.
“Give her the binkie, Liz.” Megan put her hands over her ears. “Are you nuts?”
I stepped inside. “Are you? You want her turning from kitty to kid and back again in front of all your friends and relatives? She isn’t a party favor.”
Megan lifted an eyebrow. “What is she?”
Since I’d never told Megan about Sawyer, and didn’t want to now, I decided to stick to the basics. “Shape-shifter.”
“No kidding. Is she—”
“Is she what?” I repeated absently, still doing my best not to drop a squirming, slippery skinwalker.
“Yours?”
I glanced up. “Huh?”
Faith took advantage of my distraction to jerk backward and nearly flipped end-over-end out of my arms.
Megan snatched the baby then turned her so that Faith’s back was against Megan’s side, the child’s butt on Megan’s hip, with Megan’s forearm across Faith’s chest, hand clasping the baby’s opposite leg. The kid had nowhere to go. She stopped squirming and gave me a smirky, toothless grin.
“Well?” Megan demanded.
“You think I could pop out an infant in the few weeks since I saw you last?”
“I think you can do just about anything.”
“Slight exaggeration,” I murmured. Megan lifted a brow, and I hissed in exasperation. “I certainly can’t cook a bun in my oven at the speed of sound.” Or at least I didn’t think I could.
I’d been so focused on Faith since she’d dropped onto my porch that I hadn’t had much time to do the happy dance over not being pregnant myself. I still didn’t have time, so I did a quick one in my head.
“What are you grinning about?” Megan asked. “Whose kid is this if it isn’t yours?”
Luther opened the door and stepped inside.
Megan’s gaze narrowed. “His?”
“Nuh-uh!” Luther held up his big hands in surrender. “No, ma’am.”
“Better not be. You’re not old enough to shave.”
“Am too.”
I pointed my index finger at him. “Stop,” I ordered. I was not having the I’m a man discussion with Luther again. “Meg, this is Luther Vincent. Luther, my best friend Megan Murphy.”
Megan nodded. She had her hands full of baby. Luther nodded back.
“There’s soda in the kitchen,” Megan said. “Snacks on the table.” Before she finished the last word, Luther was gone. “Where’d you get him?”
“Indiana.”
“Parents?”
“Dead.”
“Human?”
“A little.”
Megan made a keep going gesture with the index finger of her free hand. Faith was gumming the heck out of the other one.
“Luther is a Marbas. His mother was a descendant of the demon Barbas—a lion that could become human. His father was a conjurer with the magical ability to keep her that way.”
“What can Luther do?”
“Shift into a lion, fight demons, heal his wounds.” I bit my lip then decided to come clean. “He can also channel Ruthie.”
Megan frowned. “I thought you did that?”
“I did until . . .”
My voice faded. I didn’t want to admit this, either.