Ouch. I could only imagine myself ranting without filters, and it definitely sounded like none of mine had been working last night. “I’m really sorry.”
Logan reached for my hand, and I gave it to him with a flutter of relief. Still wanting to hold hands was a good sign I hadn’t blown it between us. “Honesty’s nothing to apologize for.”
“Being ugly is.”
He chuckled. “You weren’t ugly, just adamant.”
“Well, that’s a relief. How else did I embarrass myself?”
His grin flickered back to life. “Well, the subject of sex did come up.”
I covered my eyes with my free hand and groaned again. “Oh God. I didn’t.”
“Does that mean you don’t want particulars?”
Did I? Not really, but then again, I kind of needed to know what the hell I’d said to him. “What did I say?”
“You informed me that you’re on birth control, and haven’t had sex without using condoms, too.”
That wasn’t so bad, and happened to be completely true. Bonus: Now I didn’t have to have that conversation while sober and tripping all over myself in embarrassment. I dropped my hand from my eyes. “Okay, true.”
Logan’s expression was serious. Maybe I’d uncovered my eyes too soon. “You also pointed out that since I’m sterile and a shifter, condoms weren’t necessary now.”
Oh, holy crap on toast. “That was a terrible thing to say. I’m...”
“I told you that I was sterile. It’s a fact. Don’t apologize for repeating a fact.” He lightly squeezed my hand. “And now I also know that you’re not keen on the idea of having children.”
Boy, drugged Cordi was a giant blabbermouth. I needed to stick to my mom’s headache tea from now on. “Oh.”
“It’s fine. Not an issue.”
“But you...”
“Yeah, we talked about that too. Finding out the cause of my sterility doesn’t mean it can be reversed. I don’t expect to father children, Cordi.”
“But if you could, you’d want them.”
He shook his head. “It’s not my choice. I don’t have to go through growing a new person, labor, and delivery.”
Good night, he was making my little heart go pitter-pattering all over the place. “It wouldn’t be fair though.”
“Relationships are about compromising, and sometimes, sacrificing. I don’t think anything’s going to change on that front, so it’s not either of those. If it did happen to change, well, I’ve never expected kids anyway.”
Logan sounded really certain, but I had to be sure, and so far, was amazed at how well I was handling such a serious conversation. I was maintaining eye contact and everything. “You may feel differently, if it did change.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But I’m not going to throw away whatever we have going at that point. You may feel differently then, too. If you don’t, that’s fine. I know where you stand on the subject, and it’s not a deal-breaker for me.”
The wall I’d felt between us was gone, just like that. I realized that I’d probably put it there. “Is it okay if I feel really relieved right now?”
Logan smiled. “Absolutely.”
“Good, because I think I love you, and I was scared the kid thing would mean no more us.” I paused, lips parted, and replayed what I’d just said. “Oh, that was...”
“Honest.” He lifted my hand and kissed it. “I think I love you too.”
My lips curved into a huge smile. Maybe, just maybe, being an adult wasn’t so hard all the time.
ELEVEN
“Sorry we’re late,” I said to Damian, who hugged me.
“You forgot to text me last night. You look fine though.”
My blistering was completely gone. “I am, and sorry for forgetting. Alleryn gave me something for my headache, and I kind of went loopy before passing out.”
“I apologize too. I should’ve let you know she was okay,” Logan said.
“All good now.” Damian grinned. “Actually, you look really good, Cordi. Rested and unstressed. That’s a first in a long time.”
Truthfully, I felt rather amazing. Ready to take on the world, or at least, every bad guy in town. “I’m in a great head space today.”
“Fantastic.” Damian squeezed my shoulders before dropping his hands.
Noticing Dodson leaning against a file cabinet, watching us, I walked over. “Thank you for helping me last night. I’d like to pay for the dry cleaning for your clothes.”
“Don’t worry about it. Not the first time I’ve gotten blood on me, won’t be the last.” He straightened and surprised me by holding out his hand. “We got off on the wrong foot, and that’s my fault. I’m sorry, Miss Jones.”
Talk about unexpected. I smiled and shook his hand. “Apology accepted.”
His return smile looked a bit stiff, but it was probably the first time he’d apologized to a supe. Turning back to Damian, I took a second to think about how easily that word, supe, had come to mind. My day was rapidly approaching “Best Day Ever” status, and it somehow wasn’t hard to accept being a supe anymore. I’d been one since the Melding dropped me into a coma.
Part of doing better was accepting who and what I was, and owning it. Still smiling, I said, “Let’s get to work.”
“Only two items today. After last night, I fully understand if you prefer not to touch either.” Damian gestured at the table, where a piece of rope and a bit of scorched gray material waited in evidence bags.
“We have wet wipes and a couple of towels though, just in case,” Dodson said.
I didn’t look at the two-way mirror, though I could sense the viewing room filling with curious people. Word of last night had spread. “I’m game.”
An extra chair was brought in, allowing Dane and Logan to flank me on my side of the table. Since Damian and Dodson didn’t sit right next to each other, I was left in full view of the mirror.
The new protocols were becoming habit already, but I made a change when my turn came. “Discord Jones. I’m a natural mage, which is the correct title for people with psychic abilities. I’ll be attempting psychometry today.”
Damian turned off the recording device, his eyebrows crawling upward. “I thought you didn’t like that term?”
Though not cozy with the “children of the gods” association, I shrugged. “I’m okay with it now.”
“Alright.” He began recording again, letting the guys state their names. “They’re both present as support for Miss Jones. Cordi, if you please?”
Hm, rope or cloth first? I chose the rope. Surely, it had had a view of the killer at some point. “The rope.”
Dodson slid the evidence bag to me. There were smudges of Mr. Pettigrew stuck to the fibers. I opened the bag, did my abbreviated countdown, and stuck my hand inside.
Bright light and the impression of many people immediately filled my head. “I think it’s showing me the store it was in.”
Darkness. A rumbling sound. “And now it’s in the trunk of a car.”
Voices, pressure, and a screeching sound. The rope was being helpful. Mr. Pettigrew’s storeroom flashed across my mind, clear for the briefest of instances. “Okay, it was just carried onto the scene, and I heard voices.”
“Voices?”
“Yes, definitely more than one. Ooh.” My stomach dropped in reaction to a flying sensation. “I’m not seeing anything now, just feeling it. I think the rope was thrown over that beam.”
The next sensation was slithering, before weight dragged at the rope. “The victim was just hung.”
“Maybe you’d better stop now,” Damian said, and I pulled my hand free.
“I didn’t see any faces. I didn’t see much at all.” The feel of something trickling from the top of my head was my first warning. “Not touching doesn’t mean that I’m done.”
Dane grabbed one of the waiting towels. He put it around my shoulders and pulled my hair out from under it. Liquid slid down my forehead, and scarlet dripped from my left ey
ebrow, some of it sticking to my eyelashes. I pulled the towel closed in front, noticing that my hands looked fine. “Okay, I...”
Searing pain struck, and I screamed. More blood spilled down, covering my face, and before either shifter could grab hold, I went flying backward and up. My chair thunked to the floor before my back slammed against the wall.
Red and gold and black. Who’ll take care of Rufus?
That errant thought, whispered in a quavering voice, filled my eyes with tears and momentarily cleared my vision. Logan and Dane were below me, reaching for my dangling hands.
They made contact, the vision ended, and I slid down the wall. My knees buckled when my boots hit the floor, but a quick grab by Logan kept me from going all the way down. “Ow. Am I burned again?”
“Yes, but the bright side is, there’s less blood this time,” he said.
Raising my head, I grinned, not caring how gory it might look. “It worked.”
In the viewing room, someone lost their lunch.
The station had its own small gym in the basement, which meant there were a few showers available. Damian loaned me an STPD T-shirt, because the shoulders of my navy blue sweater were purple from blood that had soaked through the towel.
You’d think another bout of being burned by psychic vision would’ve dampened my mood, but nope. The only dark spot was that single, clear thought I’d heard: Who’ll take care of Rufus?
In spite of the agony of his final moments, Mr. Pettigrew’s last thought had been worrying about his dog. It saddened me that he’d never know Rufus was safe and okay. The Rottweiler would be, at least to the best of my ability, but I wished there was a way to tell his former owner that.
I rinsed my hair and turned off the water. Maybe there was. It wasn’t as though the world lacked magic now. “I’ll ask Moira.”
“Ask Moira what?” Logan was waiting in the locker room beyond the showers.
“Heh, you caught me talking to myself again.” I stuck a hand out to grab the towel waiting on a hook. “Mr. Pettigrew died worrying about Rufus. I’m wondering if there’s a way to let him know the dog’s being taken care of.”
“Have I told you how much I love that you have a good heart?”
“Yes, and then reminded me that hearts are considered a delicacy.”
His laugh echoed. “I was a little off that night.”
“Yapped your head off. I guess we’re even now, huh?” I finished drying and wrapped the towel around my hair. Opening the shower curtain a few inches, I peeked out. “All clear?”
“Yes.” Logan had his back to the showers, and his eyes on the door. “She’ll be happy to help, if she can.”
I slipped out and began to dress. “You know, I thought it might be weird, hanging out with her. I mean, since you two were involved. But it’s not.”
“She’s a hard person to feel uncomfortable around. Good skill for a shaman.”
I sat down to put my socks on. “Can I ask you something, since I’m being all mature and adult right now?”
“That’s an interesting lead up. Sure.”
“Were you in love with her?”
“It’s a tricky question to answer, too.”
“You don’t have to, because it’s really not my business. Also, the past is the past.”
“I loved her. Still do.”
I had an instant need to be fully dressed, but fought it. I picked up my jeans. “Oh.”
“Moira was my first, and most serious, past relationship, and she’s still a good friend and of course, clan. Part of the reason we didn’t work out may have been not being enough in love with her. Not deeply enough for it to last.”
I paused before removing the towel from my hair. “I think I get it.”
“Good, and I’m glad it doesn’t cause a problem between you two. She’s a good person to have as a friend.” His tone turned teasing. “But if you ever do feel a little jealous, feel free to make it clear that it’s you and me now.”
I considered throwing the wet towel at his head. “Oh, really?”
“Sure. You know, tiger queens can be pretty possessive when it comes to their men.”
“Uh-huh, and just how do they show it?” I pulled on the tee and sat back down to don my boots. They were mid-calf with side zippers.
“Let’s just say, they don’t have a problem marking their territory.”
Did he mean biting? I knew he was teasing me. On the other hand, taking a bite out of him for it sounded like a great idea. Then again, I hadn’t noticed any of the clan’s men sporting teeth marks—not anywhere visible.
Of course, shifters healed fast. But maybe he meant something else. Puzzling it over, I rose and walked to him. Logan turned around, displaying a devilish grin. “That set your brain on fire.”
“You’re in trouble. I’m not sure how much yet.” My face didn’t want to cooperate with my stern tone, and I cracked a smile. “But I think it’s a lot.”
“I accept any punishment my queen deems fit.”
“You never wear pink. Maybe I’ll buy you a pink shirt.”
He cocked his head. “You can do better than that. Also, not scared of pink. That’s a human male issue.”
Maybe I should bite his ass. Ooh, I didn’t mean his ass, ass but maybe on the neck? Was my face turning red? If it was, could he tell through the layer of blistering? “I’ll think of something appropriately dire.”
“Quaking in my boots.” His grin widened. “Really, I am.”
“Oh, shut up.” I gave up, and went for serious. “Maybe you haven’t you noticed, but I can get a little insecure at times.”
Logan immediately sobered. “I will never purposefully give you a reason for jealousy. I won’t even tease you about it again.”
“I don’t mind being teased about anything. I’m just saying that I’ll have my dumb moments. Okay?”
“Okay. I’ll have mine too. Just tell me. I don’t want a communication breakdown between us.”
“I don’t either, so I’ll do my best,” I promised, feeling all grown up. Actually, it was getting easier to feel like a real adult, especially with him.
“I promise the same.”
We hugged, and I leaned back. “Want to talk about Terra now?”
He winced. “Not yet.”
“Okay. Here when you’re ready.”
Logan kissed me. “Still think I love you.”
“Awesome.” He must, kissing me while I was covered with gross, little blisters. “We’d better get back upstairs.
TWELVE
“Good lord, Jones. You look like a human-shaped, mushroom pizza.” Schumacher tilted his chair back, crossing his hands on his belly. “You ever consider retiring?”
“And forego all this glamorous stuff? Nah.” I plopped down in the chair by the side of his desk. “You missed all the fun.”
“Heard about it. You made one of the rookies toss his cookies.” He waggled his eyebrows and grinned, pleased with his rhyme.
“Well, he was there for a show.”
Schumacher boomed out a belly laugh. “They all got more than they bargained for.”
“I aim to please. What’s up now?”
“Got the run down from the D Squad.” He paused, waiting for my reaction.
I grinned. “Better not let them hear you call them that, and don’t include me on it.”
He chuckled, dropping the front legs of his chair back to the ground. “Now, we’re going to have a little chat, see if we can make some more sense of what you saw.”
“Sure thing.” God, I practically chirped my response. Why was I in such a fantastic mood? Because my “Do Better” resolution was going well, or was it my unintentional soul unburdening to Logan the night before?
Didn’t know, and honestly, it didn’t really matter. It was awesome to feel so good, mentally and emotionally.
“You saw a store.” Schumacher scooped a clipboard off his desk. “Can you remember any distinct details?”
I closed my eyes to
bring up the memory, and froze the scene. “Okay, there’s a guy in an orange vest who looks like he’s helping a customer.”
“Good job. I know which home improvement chain that is. Now, can you describe what happened after the,” I heard paper rustling. He was checking the clipboard. “The trunk part.”
“Sure.” I fast-forwarded the memory, slowing it down for the part between the trunk and when my scalp had begun bleeding. Then I replayed it, and again a third time. Opening my eyes, I said, “We’re definitely looking for someone with either more than one psychic ability, or more than one person with them. I think at least three.”
Schumacher didn’t object to my not following his script. “You’re determining that from the voices?”
“Yes. Also, I don’t think they touched anything at the crime scenes. Not even Mr. Pettigrew. The vision I got from touching his keys, he didn’t see them. Wait a sec.” I pulled up that memory, and realized I’d missed something. “He did see the rope. He was focused on the door, but I can see the tip of it at the top of his view of the room.”
“You’re doing great. You’re our expert, so put it all together for me, Jones.”
I opened my eyes. “They mainly used telekinesis. It’s a versatile ability. It was used to break in, to open the safe, the boxes, and on Mr. Pettigrew.”
“Why did you end up pinned to the wall?” Dane asked, and I didn’t have an answer.
“Not really sure.”
Schumacher lifted his hand. “Speaking of, what in the hell is going on with you lately? Spontaneous bleeding, flying out of chairs, and let’s not forget you look like a mushroom pizza right now.” He put his forefinger and thumb a quarter of an inch apart. “Teensy, weensy mushrooms.”
“Physical manifestations of trauma?”
He let the clipboard drop to his desktop. “Plain English, kid.”
I fumbled for a better explanation, and hit on one. “I got it: psychic re-enactments, starring yours truly.”
The detective sighed. “Maybe you should consider retiring, because that’s got to be playing hell with your body.”
A Little Street Magic Page 8