by Cynthia Eden
“Shouldn’t have started screwing with my head?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t screwing with your head, as you so kindly put it.”
“Lady, you make a living screwing with people’s minds.” He leaned forward another inch.
She didn’t like the way he was towering over her. Asserting his dominance. Showing that he was the big, strong detective and she was the psychologist who needed to mind her own business.
Her own temper began to spark. Emily shoved to her feet. “I was trying to help you, Gyth. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re carrying around a hell of a lot of baggage.” And rage. Lots of rage.
She placed her hands deliberately on the table and leaned into him. Close enough to kiss. Or hit. And she was very tempted to do both.
Colin stared back at her, those crystal blue eyes of his glinting with emotion. “I told you about my past because I was talking to you, Emily Drake. Not the Monster Doctor.”
Understanding filled her. “It’s hard for me to stop being the Monster Doctor.” Her voice was softer. She’d been working with the Other for so long, trying to heal their minds, and she’d nearly forgotten how to turn off the doctor.
“We’re way off topic,” he muttered, and stepped back, rolling his shoulders. “I didn’t come here to drag up my shitty childhood.”
Emily licked her lips and realized that she’d very nearly screwed things up with Colin. She needed to think more like a woman with him and less like a psychologist. “Right. Sorry.” And she was. Sorry that she’d pressured him, sorry that she’d tried to make him into a patient.
“Just don’t try it again, Doc.”
That she couldn’t promise. “Look, Colin, it’s kinda hard to turn off, you know?” He’d been on her couch, in her office, and when he’d started talking she’d slipped into counselor mode.
“Try.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll see what I can do, and, hey, how about you try not to be such a jerk?”
He blinked, obviously caught off guard by the insult she’d just delivered in her soft, I’m-a-Professional voice.
Then he tossed back his head and laughed.
Emily fought the smile that curved her lips. Good. Looked like they were back on even ground.
“Agreed.” Colin strolled around her office, eyeing her bookshelves and the framed Rorschach inkblot pictures on her walls.
After a few moments, he said, “I need to know about them. Need to know what I’m gonna be dealing with.”
Yes, she understood that. Colin was ill prepared to deal with the world of the Other, especially considering his own rough introduction to the Other world. But before she could begin his lessons, there were a few other questions that she needed to ask.
“So you’ve come across other shifters?” All of the Other were born with an instinctive ability to recognize their own kind. Demons saw through the veil of glamour to other demons. Shifters could scent one another, thanks to their heightened sense of smell. Witches and wizards felt the power pull of their brethren.
Like to like. It was the way it had always been.
And for whatever reason, Emily had been born with the ability to sense them all. Even though she wasn’t kindred to any of them.
Colin touched the spine of one of her books. “Yeah, I have. Once or twice.”
“You could…smell them, right? Smell the difference between a shifter and a human?” As far as she knew, shifters didn’t see the beasts they carried. They didn’t know about the golden glow that cloaked their bodies. It was just something she saw.
“Yeah, I can smell ’em.” He shook his head. “We all smell like animals.”
Her nose wrinkled at that. She rather liked the way Colin smelled.
“Well, all the Other have a way of sensing their kind. Demons can look through the glamour and see the black eyes that mark them, witches feel a surge of power in the air when another is close, djinn can hear the thoughts of others like them, charmers can—”
He glanced back at her, a black brow raised. “What’s a charmer?”
“You’ve heard of snake charmers, right?”
Colin nodded. “Big in India. Those guys who carry around cobras in baskets.”
“Right.” Well, partially right. “Charmers are beings who can communicate with certain animals. They can talk to them.” Some charmers talked to snakes, some to birds, some to dogs or cats.
“Just how many types of Other exist?”
Oh, now that was a hard one. “Think of every legend of every magical being you’ve ever heard and then imagine all those stories are true. Then you’ve got the Other.” Hundreds, thousands of types. Some kind and benevolent. Some downright evil and dangerous.
Just like humans.
“This city seems to have more than its share of supernaturals. When I lived in Grisam, Illinois, there weren’t any others like me.”
“Well, yes, but if you’d gone to Chicago, you would have found dozens of SBs.” They liked the big cities. Loved them, in fact. “Think about it, Colin. Where is it easier to hide? In small-town America, where your neighbors know every move you make? Or would you want to go to a big city where—”
“You could disappear into a crowd and no one would give a shit what you were doing,” Colin finished for her.
“Exactly.” She waited a bit and then, because she really couldn’t help herself, asked, “Isn’t that why you came here?”
“Yeah, yeah, I guess it is.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Let’s talk about the demons first.”
“What do you want to know?”
“They’re fast healers, right?” At the slight inclination of her head, he continued, “What’s the deal with the power-level thing you keep mentioning? Level one, level two—what does that mean?”
“Demons can work magic, just like witches can. A low-level demon, a one or a two, can do small things, like light a candle or make a breeze blow through a room. But a level nine or ten”—this was the bad part, the very bad part—“they can stir tornadoes, start five-alarm fires, and even steal the minds of others.”
“What?” He paced toward her, brows furrowed. “You’re telling me those bastards can control humans?”
“Sometimes.” That was how the idea of demon possession had first come into being. “If a demon is strong enough, he can push his way into someone’s mind, can control the person or, at the least, incapacitate him.”
Colin walked around her desk, came to stand less than a foot away from her. “Is that what happened to you?”
“Wh-what do you mean?” There was a faint line of stubble on his jaw. And far too much knowledge in his eyes.
“You told me you were nearly put into a coma once by an Other. The guy who did it, he was a demon, wasn’t he? One of those level nines or tens.”
No sense denying it. “Yes.”
She watched a muscle flex along his jaw. “Where is he now?” There was a banked rage in his voice, and for an instant, she saw the glow of the beast in his eyes.
“It doesn’t matter. That was years ago.” And Myles couldn’t hurt anyone with his magic, not anymore. “I told you before, he burned out.” She’d burned out the bastard.
“Would his powers have worked on me?” Before she could answer, he continued, “Niol tried something on me back at the bar. I could feel the hard shift in the air, but nothing happened.”
“No.” Shifters were the most powerful of the supernatural beings because they didn’t have just one body and one soul. Shifters had two. And the strength that came from that double bond was too strong for demons to touch. “A powerful shifter is the only Other that can match a demon’s strength.”
“Well, that’s something then.” His jaw clenched, and for a moment his eyes seemed to glitter. “How the fuck did you meet a guy like that anyway?”
Emily swallowed. She’d wondered when he’d ask. And since she’d pushed her way into his private life earlier, well, she figured he deserved to know about her past too.
“Was he your lover?”
She shook her head. “No, he was—” Damn. What had he been? “All my life, I’ve never fit in with the humans. They don’t understand me, and I doubt they ever will.”
He watched her silently, and she knew that he understood.
“When I was eighteen, I stumbled into Niol’s bar, pulled by the magic I could feel in the air. He knew I was human, of course, but he let me in. I think I amused him.” And he’d watched her, always watched her with those fathomless black eyes of his.
“Niol was the one who introduced me to Myles.” She’d felt the black waves of Niol’s power right from the start, and she’d generally steered clear of him. After he’d arranged for her to meet Myles, well, then she’d known what a true bastard Niol was.
Colin stiffened. “Myles?”
“The charming demon who attacked me at Paradise.”
His hands fisted.
“You know, sometimes I wonder about that. Sometimes I think…”
“What?”
“That Niol was testing me.” Emily shook her head. “But that doesn’t really make sense, does it?” Yet it was a suspicion she couldn’t shake. Niol had casually introduced Myles to her one night as she’d stood, swaying to the music of the band. Every night she’d gone back to Paradise, Myles had been there, waiting for her. Always kind. Always the gentleman.
Until the night he’d attacked her.
And Niol had been watching from the shadows.
“I don’t think a hell of a lot about that bastard Niol makes sense.”
Yes, he was probably right.
The alarm on her wrist began to vibrate. Emily exhaled heavily. Time for her twelve o’clock with Margie.
Colin frowned and the faint lines around his eyes deepened. “What in the hell is that?”
Good old shifter hearing. Emily held up her arm. “My alarm. It’s time for my next patient.” And she was glad. It was a reprieve, of sorts, for her.
“In other words, you mean it’s time for me to leave.” Some of the tension faded from his expression, and his lips hitched into a half smile. “That’s fine, Doc. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Sure.” His hand lifted, cupped her cheek. “When I come over.”
Her stomach tightened. In anticipation, not fear. “I don’t remember inviting you over.”
Colin’s head lowered toward hers. “We’ve got to finish our lesson.”
Other 101. “Umm, right.”
One black brow rose. “Is that disappointment I hear?”
She flushed. Way to be transparent. “I—”
His lips brushed against hers. Warm. Wet. Open.
God, but she liked the way he kissed. Liked the slow thrust of his tongue into her mouth. And the man tasted good. Like rich chocolate, and she’d always been a serious sucker for chocolate.
He pulled away slowly. “You know, Doc, I’m glad as hell to know that you weren’t Niol’s lover.”
So was she.
“And now that I’ve been in your office, I’m going to have fantasies.”
She was already having a few of her own.
Colin spared a glance for her couch. “Mainly, I’ll picture that couch. With you on it, naked, of course.”
Of course. Damn. It was hot. She shouldn’t have worn the black turtleneck.
Ah, hell, she couldn’t even kid herself. She was just damn turned on. Because she could picture him on her couch too. And in her fantasies, he was most definitely naked.
Down, girl. You’ve got a patient waiting. It’s not the right time for wild sex.
“I’ll see you tonight.” His hand fell away.
“O-Okay.”
Colin strolled toward the door. Emily followed slowly behind him, trying to calm her racing heart.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Drake!” Margie’s cheery voice greeted her the moment she stepped into the lobby.
Emily forced a friendly smile. She liked Margie, truly enjoyed their sessions, but at that moment she could have easily cursed the elderly woman’s penchant for perfect punctuality.
A few minutes to get her body back under control…that’s all she wanted.
“Hello, Margie.”
In her late seventies, with a mane of salt and pepper hair, Margie was the epitome of elegance. She was dressed in immaculate, very high-end clothing, and a cloud of French perfume hung in the air around her.
A large wicker basket sat on the chair beside her. A basket that was currently hissing.
Colin halted, slanted a quick look at Margie and her basket.
Margie smiled innocently back at him.
“Hello, ma’am.”
The basket hissed, a very loud, very disgruntled hiss that cut straight through Colin’s words.
Emily cleared her throat. Time to intervene before Colin gets too friendly with my patient. “Thanks for stopping by, Detective. I’ll look forward to our next meeting.”
He tore his gaze away from the basket. “Me too, Doc. Me too.”
Then he was gone.
“Hmmmph.” The grumble came from Vanessa, who was currently on the exact opposite end of the room from Margie and her basket. In fact, Vanessa looked like she was trying to disappear into the wallpaper.
Vanessa didn’t enjoy Margie’s visits as much as Emily did. But in all honesty, her distaste had nothing to do with Margie personally.
Emily motioned for her client to follow her inside the main office.
She shut the door with a decisive click and watched as her client carefully sat the basket down onto the couch. Then Margie lifted the round lid.
The hisses were much, much louder now.
Emily crossed to her desk. Picked up her pen. “What seems to be the issue today?”
Margie pulled a large albino Burmese python from the basket, her fingers smoothing over its brightly colored body. The snake stretched beneath her touch, the orange and yellow marks across its long length immediately catching Emily’s eye.
Then the snake hissed again.
“Oh, George, stop it.” Margie frowned at the snake. “He’s been like this for the last two days. Hissing, hissing, hissing. But he won’t say a dang word to me.”
Emily picked up her pad. Silent treatment from George, again.
“It started when I had a gentleman caller on Friday.” Margie flushed a bit. “Well, George took one look at him and tried to constrict around his leg…”
“Heard you had a bit of excitement last night.” Brooks leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Got jumped in an alley with your pretty psychologist, huh?” There was a touch of humor in his voice, but genuine concern shone in his eyes.
“Yeah, some punks”—demons—“caught us as we were leaving Paradise Found.” He shook his head. “The uniforms sent out patrols, but”—Colin shrugged—“in that part of town, it’s easy to disappear if you don’t want to get caught.”
Colin pulled out the Myers file. “Hey, tell me, did you interview the girlfriend?”
“Yeah.” Brooks whistled softly as he leaned back in his chair. “One of those pretty, cover-girl types, a little too thin for my taste, but still—”
“Where was Gillian when Preston was killed?” Colin asked, cutting through his words. You had to do that when Brooks started talking about a pretty woman. Otherwise, the guy would just go on and on.
Brooks blinked. “Who the hell is Gillian?” He leaned forward, sitting straighter and motioning to the file. “The guy’s girlfriend was a Hilary Bishop. You know her, she’s the mayor’s niece and—”
“I’ve got it on pretty good authority that the vic was involved with a Gillian Nemont.” He paused a beat, waiting for the name to register. “Does the name ring a bell?”
His partner shook his head. “Never heard of her. And neither has the vic’s family, friends, or neighbors.” He smiled, his innocent-trust-me smile. “And believe me, if they knew about her, I would know by now.”
�
�We need to find her,” Colin said, tapping the file against the edge of his desk. So Gillian had been the vic’s dirty little secret…
But had she been the secret that had led to his murder?
Only one way to find out.
Less than an hour later, Colin and Brooks stood in front of Gillian’s apartment. When they saw that the lock was broken, that the door swayed drunkenly on its hinges, both men reached for their guns.
“I’ll cover you.” Brooks mouthed the words.
Colin nodded. He crouched near the wall, banged his fist against the wooden door. “Gillian Nemont! This is the police! We need to talk to you!”
No response, but then, based on the condition of the lock, he hadn’t really expected one.
One more try. “Ms. Nemont! We’re coming in!” He lifted his gun, took a deep breath, and shoved open her door.
He sprang inside, still crouching, searching the room in one fast glance.
The place had been trashed. Chairs were overturned, and the sofa was slashed to bits. Papers and books littered the floor.
Colin started inching around the right wall, heading toward what he thought was the bedroom. Brooks took the left wall.
Colin turned the corner. Found more chaos. A broken mirror, smashed dresser.
But no Gillian.
“Looks like someone beat us here,” Brooks murmured as he lowered his gun. “Damn, the woman sure must have pissed someone off.” He exhaled slowly.
Colin pushed his way to the small closet. “Her clothes are gone.” Not tossed onto the floor. Not shredded. Just gone.
He crossed to the bathroom. Brooks was already in the small room, looking around at the broken shards that had once been a vanity mirror.
“I don’t see a toothbrush, or toothpaste.” Brooks looked up at him. “Looks like our girl got out before the trasher arrived.”
“We need to get a crime scene unit in here.” Colin reached for his cell phone. He’d only touched the door when he’d entered. Maybe they’d get lucky and find some prints in the apartment.
“What are the odds,” Brooks began slowly as they made their way back to the front door, “that this woman’s apartment—a woman you say was Preston’s lover—just happened to be vandalized?”