We’ve found nothing at the diner above Gaire’s apartment to give us a clue as to where he had disappeared. Vuur sits in one of Gaire’s blood-red chairs at the dining room table adjacent to a clinical pristine kitchen, and interrogates me about my relationship with the wendigo. How can I tell Vuur that Gaire is my first chance at something really special?
A real relationship, because I know Gaire’s a wendigo, a savage murderer with a lust for blood. How easy would it be for him to hook up in our world where he’s hunted, or the world he hides in where he knows sex would end in the death of every human he tries to be with? His chances are about as easy as mine. Who’s going to hook up with the real me—a mass of smoky soot—Down Under? And in the human world every host I wear would have to be replaced in a matter of weeks—heck, days? How do I explain that?
While the dragon shifter stares at me, my eyes run the apartment’s wide open space and stop on the bedroom. The red comforter is strewn haphazardly on the bed atop the wrought iron platform, just the way we’d left it. I cringe at the reminder of my first sexual encounter with Gaire.
I love the t-shaped living area; everything is black with red accoutrements. I feel like I’m in a cave spattered with blood. My body trembles delightfully.
Vuur becomes impatient. “So, several days ago, you walked into the diner below and merely put on an apron and began to assist the beast with his breakfast crowd?”
“Yeah,” I answer, feeling Jane’s sarcastic side.
“And he simply let you?”
“You had to be there.”
“Well, I was not. So kindly answer the question,” Vuur says.
“He was as enthralled with me as I with him,” I say, and sound myself. “Gaire is definitely eye candy,” I add and think of how much that sounds like CeCe. “I think he liked what he saw, too. The customers were angry because his waitress didn’t show. I started dishing out food orders, and he waited until the place cleared and he’d locked the doors to question me more effectively, instead of so, um … playfully.”
“I have no desire to hear about your carnal intermezzo. What effective questions did he ask?” Vuur’s nostrils flare and tiny tendrils of smoke waft to the ceiling. “And be precise with your answers.”
My eyes move to the rumpled, red quilt on the bed. Too bad the dragon is an idiot. The “carnal intermezzo” would be a better line of interrogation, but screw him.
Time to stop playing around, anyway. Jane’s about to turn this into a really close call again.
“He wanted to know what I was. I told him I was of age for consensual sex, and hinted that our time together was going to be cut short.”
“Again, be specific.” The pupils of the dragon’s eyes spark with excitement. “How did you make him understand the time between you was short?”
“There you go, acting all boss of us again,” Jane pops, and I quickly say, “I flat told him I had to go back to school shortly, instead of telling him I’d be shedding my host.”
Vuur stiffens in his chair. “Shedding? Like a ghost, angel, demon, fae, or a doppelganger?”
Crap. While I take a second to come up with a witty remark, Jane seizes the opportunity.
“’Ey, scumbag, ova ’ere. Read my lips. What part of ’I’m not discussin’ that’ do you not understand? Because I can get right in your friggin’ face and make it real clear if you don’t give the fuck up on that shit.”
The dragon doesn’t even blink an acknowledgment. He relaxes and smiles. “Did you mention the university your … host would be attending?”
I suppose it’s safer for him to not recognize that I have shortened his list of possibilities, or if he suspects doppelganger, that he can’t fire up his anger and put my lights out, since I’m naturally a somewhat formless dark cloud of mottled smoke and gray shadow, anyway.
Man, I don’t want to give up Jane just yet, and no matter the creature, he can definitely put Jane’s lights out. There is no way I want him to know that bothers me. And killing Jane wouldn’t be smart on his part, since, like him, I can’t play in the human world during the day without a human disguise. Still...
I err on the side of caution. “I told him Michigan State.”
“And is that the college your host is actually attending? Or was it a fabrication? Did you destroy her during your sloughing off stage?”
“Sloughing? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie. “I dumped her after Gaire and I … CeCe Graham is alive and well and on campus somewhere right now. I don’t know where. I do know she planned on attending college in Michigan—didn’t ask which one.”
“Well, shall we try Michigan State? Or a more immediate resolution would be to contact her family.”
Damn it, he just wouldn’t give up.