I got in the Jeep, and Andrea peeled out like a bat out of hell.
“We’re going to Parthenon. We’re going to have gyros.” Her stomach was out so far, she must’ve moved the seat back, because she had to stretch to reach the wheel.
“The look of grim determination on your face is scary,” I told her.
“I’ve been cooped up in the Keep’s infirmary for the past two weeks,” Andrea said.
“Why?”
She waved her hand. “Because Doolittle is a worrywart.”
Crap. “Andrea, does Doolittle know where you are?”
“Yes.”
“You sure about that?”
“Absolutely. I’ve let him know. Anyway, we are going to lunch!”
“Andr—”
“To lunch!” She flashed her teeth at me.
I shut up and let her drive.
Twenty minutes later she parked in front of Parthenon, and then I watched her try to get out of the Jeep. She scooted back into her seat as far as she could, then slowly edged out one leg, then half of her butt, then half her stomach. Andrea was short and the Jeep sat really high. Her foot was dangling down. I would offer to help, but she was armed at all times and could shoot the dots out of dominoes, and I didn’t want to get murdered.
“Are you going to help me or not?” she growled.
I grabbed her arm and steadied her as she stepped out. “I thought you might shoot me.”
“Ha-ha. Hilarious.” She opened her eyes really wide. A ruby sheen rolled over her irises. “I smell food.”
Uh-oh. “We are going to get food. Right now.”
We burst through the doors of Parthenon like Greeks through the open gates of Troy. Five minutes later we were seated at our usual table in the garden section despite two flights of stairs, which Andrea insisted on climbing, and the heat of late afternoon. The owners had finally gotten rid of the chairs that were bolted to the floor, and I sat so I could watch the door and the two women on the right, who were the only other diners willing to brave the garden section in the heat. We ordered a heaping platter of meat, a pint of tzatziki sauce, and a bucket of fried okra, because Andrea really wanted it, and waited for our food.
She drank her iced tea and sighed.
“How’s it going?”
She looked at me. “Is this a serious question? Are you really asking or just making conversation?”
“When have I ever just made conversation?”
“Okay.” Andrea sipped some tea. “Well, I’m mean, too harsh, and I rule the clan like an iron-fisted bitch.”
“Aha.” I had no idea how anyone could lead the bouda clan. They were all nuts.
“Last Tuesday Lora, Karen, Thomas, and the new kid, Kyle, were coming home from a bar where they tried to get drunk.”
Getting drunk for a shapeshifter was a losing proposition. Their metabolism treated alcohol as poison, which it was, and purged it as fast as it entered the bloodstream. Curran had to guzzle an entire bottle of vodka to get a buzz for fifteen minutes, and since he hated the taste, he stuck to beer instead.
“So the way back took these four geniuses by the College of Mages.”
Oh boy.
“The College of Mages happens to own a polar bear.”
Better and better. “How did they get a polar bear?”
“Apparently it wandered out of the woods near Macon and it was glowing at the time, and some mages happened to be on a field trip, so they apprehended the polar bear and brought him back to the college to figure out what his deal is. They built him a very nice enclosure.”
“Okay.” Typical post-Shift thing.
“The ladies wanted to see the polar bear and the two guys didn’t have the balls to say no, so they broke into the climate-controlled enclosure and then Lora decided to pet the bear, because it ‘liked her.’”
Our gyros arrived. She picked up her first one, bit off a small piece, and chewed with obvious pleasure. “Where was I?”
“Adventurous bear petting.”
“Yeah, well, the bear petted her back.”
I laughed in spite of myself.
“I can’t blame the bear.” Andrea opened her eyes wide. “If some whiskey-soaked hyena-smelling human came toward me while I was trying to nap in my nice house, I’d pet it too. With my claws.”
“Did the bear survive?”
“He survived. He was roughed up, the four of them bled all over the place trying to get the bear off Lora without hurting him, and of course, they got busted. They all got three weeks of Keep labor and that was too harsh and too mean. Never mind that I’ve got the College of Mages breathing down my neck about their bear being emotionally compromised and the Atlanta PAD wanting to file trespassing charges, but oh no, I was too harsh.” She stopped eating for a second. “Do you know what one of them told me? He said that Aunt B would’ve never been that hard on them. Aunt B! Can you believe that shit?”
“She would’ve pulled their legs out.” Aunt B hadn’t played around.
“Who is this kinder, gentler Aunt B that they remember? I was her beta. I know exactly what kind of punishment that woman doled out. Other than that, I’m the size of a house, I can’t even take a decent bite of my food or it will hurt, this kid is kicking me in the kidneys like a champ, and everyone else treats me like I’m made of glass.” She looked at me for a moment. “And every waking moment I’m terrified that my baby will go loup at birth, and when I’m asleep, I have nightmares about it.”
Both of Raphael’s brothers went loup. “You’ve been taking the panacea.”
“I know,” she said.
“You’re also beastkin. Your form is very steady. You aren’t usually in danger of going loup even when you are badly hurt.”
“I know.” She sighed. “I know, I know, I know. I just want it all to be okay. I want to give birth to my healthy baby and be happy.”
So did I.
“Your turn.” Andrea pointed her second gyro at me. “How’s it going? Not making conversation.”
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. There was so much.
Andrea stopped eating. “What is it?”
I struggled with it.
“Kate, is it the wedding? If you don’t want to marry that jackass, you don’t have to marry him. Say the word, and the clan will come and get you and Julie. He might be a lion, but I have the whole hyena clan.”
“It’s complicated.”
She put her gyro down. “I’m listening.”
Her tone told me there would be no getting out of it.
So I told her about my dad and the crosses, the slap, the urge to crush him, snapping at Barabas, the witches, and watching Curran and my son die.
Andrea sat still for a long moment. “Well, that fucking sucks.”
“Yeah.”
“Can you kill Roland?”
“I’m not sure I want to.” And that came right out.
“Of course you don’t want to. He’s your father.”
I stared at her. She rubbed her stomach and grimaced. “The kid won’t settle down.”