by Devon Monk
He followed my gaze, and his eyes widened. “No, oh, no. I don’t mean the table and all this.” He waved his hand in the general direction of the yarn bombing. “I think that’s…well…my wife crochets, so I know what kind of work goes into something like that. It’s more the inner stuff that I’m worried about.”
“Inner stuff?”
“Inside the restroom? I told the officer, Hatter, I never call in stuff like this, harmless things. But the restroom is used by a lot of day visitors. I thought it a bit inappropriate.”
I raised both eyebrows, far more curious than when I’d arrived. “Than, why don’t you go take a look in the restroom.”
He turned on his heel and strolled over to it, straight-arming open the door and disappearing inside.
I waited. Hoped whatever was in there was suitably shocking. Got out my phone so I could take a picture of his expression just in case.
“Care to describe it?” I asked the guy next to me.
“I suppose it isn’t the worst thing someone could knit around a toilet.”
“It’s on the toilet you say?” I rolled my hand in a keep-going gesture, my phone still held at the ready.
“Red lips with a tongue sticking out.”
I snorted. “And where is it located, exactly?”
“On the toilet seat.”
“Right. Anything else?”
“The tongue has something stitched on it.”
“Go on.”
“C.O.C.K. I don’t know if it’s a request, or a reference to the crochet club.”
Than still hadn’t come out of the restroom, darn it, so I headed his way. “I’ll find out.”
I strode over and knocked on the door. “You okay in there? Did you find what we’re looking for?”
The door opened slowly, and there was Than, dangling a large, lurid pair of lips off of one fingertip, the tongue flapping gently in the coastal breeze. “Are we looking for toilet art?”
I snapped a photo. This was going on the bulletin board at the station. Maybe on my Christmas cards.
“Yep.”
“Then I believe we have found it.”
“Ain’t police work grand?”
He raised one eyebrow. “Quite.”
“Turn it so I can see the tongue.”
He did so. Yep, right there. C.O.C. K.
“Looks like we need to visit our local crochet club. Put that in an evidence bag. They’re in the trunk.”
Than stepped out of the restroom, and I walked in, and took some pictures. The only other yarn bomb in the place was a frame around the mirror. It was golden with little dragonflies and a couple crabs in the corners and actually did a lot to brighten up the place.
I walked back to the table and stairs, taking more photos.
The neighbor guy watched me, his hands in his pockets. “You wouldn’t happen to know if the crochet club is meeting today?” I asked.
“Oh, I wouldn’t know. My wife crochets, but isn’t in that group.”
“Why not?”
“She didn’t want to get caught in another war. Just can’t understand how knitters and crocheters are sworn enemies. Thinks both groups should just chill. Stitch and let stitch.”
“She sounds like a lovely person.”
“I think so.” He gave me a grin. I’d seen that look before. I’d seen it on Ryder’s face, I’d seen it on Delaney’s. I’d seen it on Jean’s and Hogan’s faces too. It was fondness. It was love.
Like a mirage out of my dreams, Bathin came striding up the street, wearing dark jeans and a motorcycle jacket, his hands in black fingerless gloves, his black hair blowing in the wind.
He had on motorcycle boots too, and even from halfway down the block, I could see his eyes were locked on me and only me.
Before I could stop it, the dream from the other morning flooded through me. And I was there, could feel the cool silk of the dream sheets, could feel the heavy warmth of his dream hands touching me, his dream lips skimming my neck, his teeth biting gently before his tongue soothed the sting away.
My breath caught and my heartbeat drummed.
It had been a dream. It would only ever be a dream.
But what a dream.
Bathin kept striding toward me, a knowing smirk on his mouth.
“What do you want?” I asked when he was a house-distance away.
“We have a date.”
“I’m busy. Working.”
“I see that.” He closed the distance, spared a glance at the guy next to me, who took a step back involuntarily. Yeah, Bathin had that way about him. That asshole way.
“Even officers of the law are allowed a lunch break. I know it’s true. I checked it out with the union.”
“We don’t have a union.”
“You should.” He lifted a bag in his hand. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t want to go to a restaurant, so I planned ahead.”
“And what, walked here?”
He lifted one eyebrow, that smirk in full go-mode now. “No, Officer Reed. I drove.” He tipped his head to indicate the vehicle behind him.
“You have a motorcycle now? Wow, could you not fill out every square of the bad boy bingo sheet?”
“You think I’m a bad boy?”
“I think I should be going,” the neighbor guy said.
“No, I’m not done getting your statement.” I glared at Bathin. “You stay right here.”
“I can give my statement to the other officer,” the neighbor offered.
“Yeah, that’s a great idea, buddy,” Bathin said. “Give your statement to the other officer.” He didn’t look away from me. Nor did that smirk disappear. He liked it when I was angry.
Well, I could more than oblige.
I turned and made a grab for the neighbor guy, but he was fast-walking to the safety of Death over by the cruiser. Than had carefully sealed the toilet mouth into a plastic bag, holding it above the open trunk in his long, almost delicate fingers as if it were filled with dog poop.
“You can’t just come here, barge into an investigation, and tell me what to do,” I snapped.
“Which is why I came here, reminded you we had a date—a lunch date even though it is almost dinner time—and brought food so you don’t have to stop the investigation.”
“I have leads to follow.”
He pulled something out of the bag and thrust it at me. “Do it while eating a sandwich, for Christ’s sake.”
I blinked, waited.
“What?” he asked.
“I was just wondering if lightning was going to strike you for using Christ’s name in vain.”
“Pffft,” he said. “Those rules don’t apply to me. If Christ wanted me dead by lightning, he’d do it in a face-to-face kind of way. Eat your food.”
I glanced down to the brown wrapper in his hand.
My stomach rumbled. Other than tea, I hadn’t eaten since this morning, and from the low angle of the sun, it was headed toward four o’clock already.
“What is it?”
“It’s a club with everything, extra peppers.”
“Grilled?”
“Of course, grilled. What do you take me for, a heathen?”
“If the pentagram fits.”
He grinned. It was all sharp teeth and wicked promises and my heart did that flip again, while all the blood in my body decided to heat up below my hips.
I knew I had to stop him or evict him or hurt him or kill him, but would it be such a bad thing if I slept with him at least once before all that? Angry sex? Goodbye sex?
Something that wouldn’t mean anything in the morning sex?
“Oh, I like when you look at me like that,” he crooned. “You should see your eyes, Myra.” He leaned forward, just that extra inch. I felt cocooned in his space, in his warmth, in his need that echoed mine and made it more.
“Whatever makes your eyes look like that, let’s do more of it.”
I closed my eyes for a moment too long. Just long enough for my imagination to take off.
&n
bsp; Bathin hummed, low in his chest, and I thought he might be bending toward me, his eyes searching my face, his breathing hitched as he angled his mouth toward mine.
Nope. All the nopes and then all the rest of the nopes. This was heart stuff. And I knew better than to fall for it.
I snapped my eyes open and quickly stepped backward. Away from him. Away from the things he did to me. The things he made me want.
He hadn’t moved, hadn’t shifted that smug little smile. He watched me with a calm expression. Then he lifted his hand with the bag.
“This spot is perfect,” he said. “Let’s sit at the table. Such a beautiful view.”
He strolled toward the table, though it was more of a strut, then got busy setting up the sandwiches, the little bags of potato chips, and the cups that smelled like they were filled with hot coffee. Not what I would have chosen for lunch, but the aroma was rich and smelled wonderful mixed in with the cool sea breeze.
Suddenly a grilled club with extra peppers, chips, and a nice hot coffee sounded perfect.
“Sit,” Bathin invited. “I’ll even split my sandwich with tall pale and sickly over there.”
I glanced at Than, who looked adorably ridiculous taking meticulous notes from the neighbor guy in a tiny notebook that seemed even tinier in his hands.
“It’s a sandwich, Myra,” Bathin said gently. “Everyone has to eat.”
I finally gave in and took the bench opposite him. He’d sat so the beach was behind him, giving him the view of the street. That left me the view of the ocean, and he was right. It was beautiful today.
I unwrapped the sandwich paper, revealing two separately wrapped halves that were still warm enough to give off a little steam. It smelled heavenly, melted cheese and rich, salty meat, with the vinegar heat of the peppers.
I picked up half, moved the paper out of the way and took a big bite.
It was divine.
“Good?” Bathin asked, pointing his half sandwich toward mine.
“Good.”
He was quiet after that and so was I. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. I polished off the first half and headed right into the second without a pause.
Than ambled over and folded down next to me at the table.
Bathin pushed his half sandwich over toward Than. “Half a Reuben.”
Than glanced at the wrapped food, studied Bathin who was just now finishing up his portion, glanced at me, and then fastidiously unwrapped the sandwich and took a tentative bite.
Bathin watched him with an amused expression. “I take it you’ve never had a Reuben before?”
“I have not.”
“Don’t like it?”
“I don’t have an opinion. It is hot flesh and spoiled cabbage?”
Bathin leaned on one elbow. “Pretty much. Also, there’s a sauce made of pickles and sugar and tomatoes, so it has that going for it.”
Than took another bite, placed just the fingertips of both hands on the edge of the table as he chewed. He stared out at the horizon, frowned, then took another bite and repeated the process.
“This is nice,” Bathin said, staring at Than but talking to me. “Just you, me, and Death, sitting at a table someone decided to quilt? I’m assuming this is quilting. How cozy.”
“Crochet,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t look away from Than who was now halfway through the sandwich and still frowning between every bite as if he had no idea what he was eating or why.
“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it,” I said.
Than nodded, frowned, took another bite.
Bathin hid a grin under his fingers as he rested his head in his hand.
“It is knitting,” Than said.
“No, my friend,” Bathin said. “It’s a sandwich.”
And oh, the look Than leveled at him. I was amazed Bathin didn’t dissolve into dust.
Than turned toward me, ignoring Bathin as if he’d just been pushed off the cliff behind him. “It is knitting.” He pressed his fingers into the colorful square on the table in front of him. It was crocheted, I mean, knitted, in the shape of a cross-eyed chicken.
“Okay?” I had no idea where he was going with this. Bathin was the one who had called it quilting.
“The neighbor, Curt, confirmed that the yarn bomb is knitting, not crochet, no matter what the tongue might suggest.”
“Well, this just got interesting,” Bathin said. “What tongue, and what did it suggest? Tell me it was something dirty, I’ve had an absolutely boring day.”
“I thought you were following Delaney around all day.” It came out as an accusation. Yeah, everything about him annoyed me.
Bathin shifted upward out of his slouch and gave me a wary look. “She left to go to the casino to check on god mail. I don’t leave Ordinary, remember?”
“Afraid your father might find you?”
He blinked, but other than that, was absolutely still. “Who told you about my father?”
“Does that matter?”
“It does. Very much. To me. Anyone who would have told you he’s my father must also know where I am. That’s a problem.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“Was it you?” he asked Than.
“If it were?” Than asked.
“If it were, I’m not going to be worried about it. You happen to like Ordinary.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I asked.
“I like Ordinary too,” Bathin said. “And some of the people and creatures in it. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to any of them.”
“Did you just threaten me? Us? The town? Is that what I just heard?”
“No. You heard the truth and interpreted it in the worst way possible, like you always do.”
“You are a demon.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m evil.”
“Uh, yeah. It does.”
He winked. “Only if you want me to be. I’m not like the other demons.”
“Really? How nice. Give my sister back her soul.”
“No. But yes, really. I blame your father.”
“What does my father have to do with anything? Oh, right. You stole his soul too!”
“Worst mistake in my life. Do you know how long we were together? And do you know what he did? He talked. And he reasoned, and he made sense, dammit. He made me something I’ve never wanted to be.”
“A jackass? No, it can’t be that, because you’ve always been a jackass, because you’re a demon.”
“Of course I’m a demon, and maybe I’m a jackass, but I am not evil.”
“Using my sister’s soul as a bargaining chip to save your life when your father comes here to try and kill you? What part of that isn’t evil?”
He went deadly still. “Who told you that?”
But I was on a roll now, all the anger, frustration, grief, and yes, regret for not being able to act on my attraction to him, rolled through me so fast, I couldn’t seem to stop the words falling out of my mouth.
“Maybe I just figured it out on my own.”
“No, that’s not something anyone would know. Except my mo…therfucker! It was the unicorn, wasn’t it?”
“No.”
“She told you about the king of the Underworld. And she painted him as a monster, didn’t she? Myra, she’s a unicorn. She hates all things demonic. She hates me. She’d like to see me kicked out of Ordinary. She’s playing you so you’ll get rid of me.”
“I’ve been trying to get rid of you for a year.” I was on my feet, braced between the concrete bench and concrete table. It was uncomfortable and bad footing. I snagged up his bag of chips he hadn’t eaten and shoved them in my pocket.
“Those are mine,” he said.
“No chips for liars.”
His lips twisted. Almost a smile. “All right. So you’re going to team up with my father? Do you really think that’s smart? Use that big brain of yours, Myra.”
“I’m not doing anything with your
father. If he’s anything like the unicorn says he is, I don’t want him anywhere near Ordinary. Two demons,” I jiggled my finger at him derogatorily, “isn’t going to make anything better.”
“We agree. I think my father coming to Ordinary is a terrible idea. You and I are on the same page. See how good we are for each other?”
“You’re delusional.”
“Now, now, Myra. You just said I was evil. Try to stay on message here.”
This was serious. It really was. My sister’s soul hung in the balance of his decisions, of my actions. But this back-and-forth, the heat and pull, was frustratingly enjoyable. Why did emotions have to be so confusing?
“I’m going back to work,” I said archly. “Perhaps you should go to Hell.” I lifted my feet over the bench and stomped across the grassy space toward the cruiser.
“See you for dinner then?” he called out.
I lifted one hand over my shoulder, middle finger in the air.
He laughed, a sudden, unexpected sound.
I hated how much I liked it.
Chapter 15
Than eased into the passenger seat and handed me the coffee I’d left behind.
“I don’t want it.”
“You do.”
I did. I took a sip. It was rich with just enough cream and a hint of sugar. Exactly how I liked it. “He’s evil.”
“It would seem so.”
“Let me try that again. He is evil, isn’t he?”
Than was quiet for a moment, then he steepled his fingers. “His demon nature would seem to be the strongest trait that defines him. He bargained for your father’s soul, took it, then bargained with it again, and took Delaney’s soul. That appears to align with the nature of evil.”
“So he’s evil.”
“Is anything quite what it seems to be in Ordinary?”
“Yes. No. Sometimes.”
“There you are.”
“Not helpful.”
“What does your heart tell you, Myra?”
“I’m not listening to my heart.”
“Interesting.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “Why is that interesting?”
“Is that not your gift? To follow your heart?”
I’d never heard it said like that before. “No. Not really, no. My heart isn’t nearly as reliable as my family gift.”