“No?”
“No.” He seemed truly insulted. “She’s an infant. What kind of man would I be if I required payment in order to help her?”
“You aren’t a man yet.”
“And I wouldn’t deserve to be one if I were a man like that.”
I liked Quinn more and more every time I saw him.
“Thanks for the offer,” I said, “but I can’t leave her behind.”
I rattled off the same reasons I’d given Megan, and Quinn nodded. “The child could be of any mother. Even Sawyer’s own.”
Hadn’t thought of that. But wouldn’t Sawyer have—
What? Drowned Faith in a burlap sack? I didn’t think so.
Still, his mother had been the evilest of evil, the vilest of the vile. Witness that she could easily have given birth to her own son’s child.
At the least, Sawyer would have told me. Unless his mind shied away from the idea as completely as mine had, and really, why wouldn’t it?
“He wanted her protected,” I murmured. I didn’t think he’d have bothered if Faith were the daughter of psycho hell bitch.
But maybe I was wrong.
CHAPTER 6
“Dude. Who are you?”
Luther stood at the top of the steps. His eyes shone amber. His hair began to rustle in a nonexistent wind.
“Who are you?” Quinn returned, his gaze flaring more yellow than green. “Dude.”
“Down, boys,” I ordered. “We’re all friends here.” Luther tilted his head, listening to a voice only he could hear. Understanding washed over his face. “Gargoyle,” he said.
“Shh,” both Quinn and I hissed at the same time.
“Why?”
“Megan doesn’t know,” I whispered. “She’d kick my ass if she found out I’d planted a guard in her bar.”
The boy’s eyes faded to hazel. “Okay.”
“New sidekick?” Quinn asked.
“No,” Luther answered.
“Yes,” I said at the same time.
Then we both glared at each other.
“I’m your seer,” Luther insisted. “You’re my sidekick.”
“I’m the leader of the whole federation, kid. I’m no one’s sidekick.”
“You keep on believing that,” Luther murmured.
Quinn laughed; I fumed. I didn’t take orders well, but lately I didn’t have much choice. If Luther said come, I went. If Luther said kill, I killed. If Luther said jump off a cliff, I learned how to free-fall.
“What’s going on?” Megan trotted up the steps, her flip-flops smacking against the carpet with muted thuds. When she got to the landing, she frowned at the three of us. “Something wrong?”
“Just making introductions. Quinn and Luther hadn’t met.”
Megan had heard enough lies in her lifetime—she was a mom and a tavern owner—to spot one from the space shuttle. Though I’d learned to construct falsehoods so much more convincingly since becoming the leader of the light, I still couldn’t fool Megan Murphy.
“And then what happened?” she asked.
I widened my eyes. “They shook hands.” Megan lifted a brow. “Bumped chests, talked sports, Quinn brought out a Playboy, and they admired the centerfold. They were just going to get a beer then practice spitting. They’ve really bonded.”
Megan’s eyebrows lowered. Shit. Why couldn’t I shut up? Elaboration did not help a lie. Less was more when it came to bullshit.
“We should get downstairs.” Quinn stepped forward. “I promised I’d take care of the drinks. People are going to be thirsty in this heat.”
Megan opened her mouth to argue, and I tensed. If she kept at me very long, I’d spill everything. I wouldn’t be able to help myself. But just as Quinn reached the top of the steps, the toe of his shoe caught in the carpet, and he lurched forward.
Both Luther and I leaped, but Megan was closer and she managed to snatch him back from the edge before he took a swan dive.
“Wow.” He leaned on her a little. He appeared to be shaking. “Thanks.”
Interesting how different Quinn behaved in Megan’s presence. His language became more modern, his diction less formal, and his accent, as well as his grace, nonexistent.
“Sheesh, Fitzpatrick.” Megan smacked him between the shoulder blades. “Spit out that gum so you can walk.”
“Yeah.” He laughed faintly. “Good idea.”
Together they started down the steps. Megan seemed to have forgotten all about her suspicions, whatever they might have been.
They reached the foot, and Megan disappeared around the corner toward the kitchen. Quinn glanced back at me and winked.
By any nine-year-old girl’s standards, the party was a success. Lots of pink loot. Madness-inducing music that pumped from two speakers shoved into the back windows. Pizza until someone puked. Lemonade to take the pizza taste away, followed by enough pink-frosted cake to give everyone a bellyache.
Faith remained asleep despite the noise. I shoveled in as much food as I could and not burst. Who knew when I’d get the chance to eat again.
Around one, murmurs drifted from the monitor, which I’d kept pressed to one ear most of the time. I caught Luther’s eye. He had so much frosting on his upper lip, he looked like part of the “Got Milk” campaign.
Times like these brought home how young Luther really was—not that I knew for sure, but he wasn’t a man no matter how much he might want to be. Certainly he was more mature than most boys his age—living in foster care or on your own tended to do that—but he was still an infant in the ways of my world.
It bothered me to send a child out to fight. It bothered me that I’d no doubt have to send a lot more of them out to do the same thing. That kids were usually the ones who bore the brunt of every war did not make me feel any better. More wrongs never made one thing right.
I waggled the monitor then tilted my head toward the house. Luther nodded. I’d told him we would leave as soon as Faith woke.
We slipped away. No one seemed to notice. The children were playing games, led by Quinn who was amazingly good with them, while Megan cleaned up in between serving second and third helpings of cake.
As we hurried upstairs, Faith’s murmurs headed toward a wail. The instant she saw us she stopped. Her solemn gray gaze rested on my face. For a moment I could have sworn Sawyer was staring out of them, and I shivered.
“She’s soaked,” Luther said.
I shook off the remnants of the spooky feeling. “How?” I reached over and touched her arm, her belly. Faith giggled and kicked. Was she trying to be cute? Just the sound of her joy made me happy, too.
“The diaper, Liz.” Luther handed me a fresh one from the pack on the bed.
I pushed it back in his direction. “Go nuts.”
“Not happening.” He tossed the thing into the air, and I had the choice of catching it or fishing it off the floor. I caught it.
“I’m not sure how—”
“It isn’t rocket science.”
It wasn’t. Off with old, on with the new. Bigger half to the rear, sticky tabs locked in place. Wham, bam, clean dry baby.
“I didn’t think you had it in you.” Megan spoke from the doorway.
“It isn’t rocket science,” I said, and Luther snorted.
“Ha-ha-ha!” Faith’s face began to turn red. I picked her up in a great big hurry. She plucked at the gauzy yellow camisole I’d donned for the special occasion.
“Here.” Megan held out a bottle of formula. “She’s not going to find anything where she’s looking.”
I glanced down. Sure enough, the kid was doing her best to yank my breast out of my shirt. Like father like daughter in more ways than one. “How does she know that?”
“You’d be surprised what they know.”
“But wouldn’t she have had to have nursed at one time?”
“With a human child I’d say yes, with her . . .” Megan lifted one shoulder then lowered it. Faith caught sight of the bottle and dived for it. I
nearly fumbled her again.
Luther took Faith and the bottle. Curling the baby into his arm and popping the nipple into her mouth, he sat on the Green Bay Packers bedspread that covered the nearest twin bed. Faith seemed so tiny in his big hands.
“Were you going to sneak out without saying goodbye?” Megan asked.
The idea had crossed my mind. Good-byes gave me hives. However—
“You had the formula.”
“I’m not stupid.” Megan smiled. She knew me better than anyone. “Here.” Megan held out a huge denim purse.
“Ug-ly.” I waved her off. “Besides, I’m not much for purses.” They tended to get in the way when I was kicking demon ass.
The corner of Megan’s mouth lifted. “This is a diaper bag, Liz.”
“Oh.” I took it. “Thanks.”
“I put everything I had in there. Formula, bottles, bottle brush, diaper wipes, cloth diapers, bibs, towels, a few washcloths.”
I held up my hand. “Does she really need all that?”
“And more.” Megan pulled forward a rolling suitcase.
When had she packed all this stuff? For the past two hours she’d been entertaining close to thirty people. The woman never ceased to amaze me.
“What’s in there?” I asked. “Tiny tiaras, teenieweenie high heels, itty-bitty mini skirts?” This kid was shaping up to be a diva of epic proportions.
“Clothes, Liz. She can’t run around in a diaper.”
“She can’t run around at all.”
“You know what I mean.”
Actually, I didn’t.
“Faith’s a baby,” I said. “She couldn’t care less if she’s naked. She’d probably prefer it.”
“People don’t drag infants around wearing only diapers. Especially little girls.”
“Why not?”
“Because little girls are clothes magnets. Everyone buys them every beautiful thing they see. Their closets look like Clothes ’R’ Us exploded.”
“Just because a kid owns eight thousand shirts doesn’t mean she has to wear them.”
“No, but she needs to wear something. If she doesn’t, you’ll stand out. Running around with a kid who obviously has nothing to her name but what can be bought at the nearest grocery store makes it seem like you snatched her.”
I hadn’t thought of that.
“Fine. Grab whatever and put it on her.”
Megan reached into the suitcase then tossed something pink—was everything Anna had ever owned pink?—in my direction. “You need to get used to taking care of her.”
I examined what appeared to be a fancy T-shirt. Snaps at the bottom, short sleeves, lace around the neck. Not a single animal insignia that I could see.
I tossed the garment at Luther, but he was still feeding the baby. The piece of clothing hit him in the face.
“What the hell?” he asked.
“Language,” I said absently. “Put that on her when she’s done eating.”
“Nope.” He set the bottle on nightstand and laid Faith on the bed. “I’m a guy. She’s not.”
“She’s a baby.”
A shadow passed over his face. “That doesn’t matter to a lot of people,” he said, then he walked out.
Luther had been the victim of an even more unpleasant experience in foster care than I had. He’d torn one of his foster fathers into pieces and strewn him around the backyard. From what I’d seen of Luther’s past when I’d touched him, the guy had gotten off easy.
“The world is sick,” Megan murmured.
“You have no idea.”
“Let’s keep it that way,” Megan said. “You’d better burp her before she starts to cry again.” At my expression Megan appeared both amused and exasperated. “Pick her up, put her on your shoulder, pat her back until she burps.”
Suddenly Megan’s eyes widened, and she took two fast steps toward the bed. I spun, but Faith was still in the center; she’d just flipped from her back to her belly then pushed up on her hands so she could watch us.
“She’s okay,” I said, as much for my own comfort as Megan’s.
“Yeah,” Megan said slowly. “Except . . .”
“Except what?” I sat on the bed, checking for pins, staples, something that might explain Megan’s concern.
“She shouldn’t be able to do that.”
“Do what?” As far as I could tell the kid was great at crying and drooling, but not much else.
“Turn over, push up, lift her head like that. She’s what? Two? Three months old?”
“I have no clue how old she is.” But now that Megan mentioned it, this morning Faith’s head had been kind of floppy. I’d had to support it when I held her. She appeared to be gaining abilities at the speed of light.
“Maybe she’s just small for her age,” Megan said, though she didn’t sound convinced.
Neither was I. Faith was a skinwalker. For all I knew she might be a teenager by next week, and wouldn’t that be swell?
Or maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Teenagers I could manage, bad attitudes and all. I had a nasty bad attitude of my own.
“Burp her,” Megan ordered again. “Make sure you do it every time she eats or you’ll be sorry.”
Since I was already sorry, I did as I was told and was rewarded with a belch that would make an NFLlineman proud.
Megan packed the bottle and the diapers into the bag. “You’re going to call me more often, right?”
“Sure.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “No, you aren’t.”
“I might.” I juggled the baby and the diaper bag. Faith showed her displeasure by spitting white goo onto my neck. “I’m no good at this, Meg. I’m gonna need advice.”
“First tip, wipe the gack off your neck.” She handed me a tissue.
“I could have figured that out for myself.” I swiped the spittle into the tissue and handed it back.
Megan put her hand on my arm. “I’ll be right here. Anytime you need me. Twenty-four seven.”
“I know.” I headed for the stairs before she hugged me or something. I was no damn good at PDAs. They made me twitchy.
Luther had put the baby’s suitcase in the trunk. He stood on the small strip of grass between the sidewalk and the curb, leaning on the open door of the Impala.
“Where’d you get that car?” Megan asked.
“Confiscated from a traitorous fairy.”
Megan opened her mouth, shut it, then wisely said nothing.
While we’d been inside, an infant seat had miraculously appeared as well. “I never even thought of that.”
“Considering she was a kitten when you came here, understandable, but it would be illegal, dangerous, and uncomfortable for Luther to hold her all the way to . . .” Megan spread her hands waiting for me to answer, but I didn’t.
“Well, thanks,” I said, then slid awkwardly inside, one leg in the car, one leg out as I did my best to strangle the baby with the various straps and buckles necessary to keep her in the seat.
By the time I was done, Faith was glaring at me exactly as her father would have. Except her father would have impatiently flicked his hand and sent me flying five feet without ever having to touch me at all. I certainly hoped Faith didn’t grow that talent anytime soon.
As I inched out of the car and began to straighten, Faith lunged to the side, straining to reach something that had captured her attention. Figuring it was a flicker of sunlight or a dust mote, maybe even the shiny buckle on the other seat belt, I nearly kept going. Then I caught a flash of pink flannel.
“Frick!” I exclaimed, and managed to snatch the kitty binkie right before she did.
Faith wailed. I felt like an ogre. Even more so when I straightened out of the backseat, blanket in hand, to discover a middle-aged couple taking a stroll on the sidewalk. Their gazes went from the pink material to my face and they frowned.
“She—uh—puked on it.” I rolled the thing into a ball and tossed it at Luther. “Put that in the trunk.”
He
narrowed his eyes at the order but did as I asked. The couple moved on but not before they gave first me, then Luther, an oddly disgusted look.
Megan watched them then turned back with a grin. “They thought she was yours.”
“I get that a lot,” I muttered.
She lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “And his.”
My eyes widened. “Yuck! He’s like fourteen.”
“He isn’t.” Megan sobered. “Remember that.”
“And again I say ‘yuck.’ ”
“I didn’t mean remember it because I thought you’d touch him.” I made a gagging sound, and she punched me in the arm. “I meant other people will think so, too, and you might get hassled. Not just because of his age but because . . . well, you know.”
I frowned. “I don’t. Know. What are you talking about?”
“He’s, um—”
“Black.” Luther slammed shut the trunk. Nothing wrong with his super-duper hearing. “I’m black, Liz. You’re not.”
“I’m not white, either.” I was part Egyptian and part who the hell knew.
“Your eyes,” he said. “They’re pretty white.”
My eyes were blue, and they did appear darn strange in my darker-than-Caucasian face. But then so did Luther’s.
“We’re both something other than white. So’s the baby.”
“My point exactly,” Megan said. “In some areas of the country, you’re asking for trouble.”
“Still?” I asked.
“Still,” Luther answered.
CHAPTER 7
The drive from Milwaukee to South Dakota was fairly uneventful. We passed by Madison, then La Crosse, drove over the Mississippi River and into the West, stopping for the night in Sioux Falls.
Faith had been extraordinarily good, but she was done, and so was I. Just me and Luther, I’d have continued driving across the inky black unknown roads toward the Badlands. But fiddling with Faith, even if I wasn’t the one doing the fiddling, had worn me out. The constant tension in my neck that came from waiting for her to wake up, to whimper, to whine, to cry had developed into a full-blown pain that shot from my shoulders and into my brain.
We found a cheap but clean motel on the west side of town that boasted free Wi-Fi. Sure enough, when I asked for one room, the same dirty look I was beginning to expect passed over the clerk’s face as he glanced from me, to Luther, to Faith, and back again.
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