by Molly Harper
Zed scratched his beard, considering. “She doesn’t seem like the troublemaking type to me. Pauve ti bete looked like she was about to faint off her feet yesterday, and she couldn’t have been sweeter.”
Bael chuckled. “Said the man who still talks to the ex-girlfriend who threw an air-conditioning unit through his bathroom window. While you were in the shower.”
Zed jerked his massive shoulders. “Eh, Pam’s OK. She just hated it when I talked during Grey’s Anatomy.”
“I’m just saying, look at your history. Your tolerance for crazy is pretty high. You’re not the best judge.”
“You may have a point,” Zed conceded. The chair across from Bael’s desk protested with a mighty squeak as Zed’s heavy frame flopped into it. “But considerin’ you have no history, I don’t think you’re the best judge.”
Bael rolled his eyes. It wasn’t that Zed lacked a point. Bael had no romantic connections in or out of town. He’d barely dated beyond the expected schoolyard flirtations. When his parents died, leaving him their fortune at a relatively young age, he’d realized what a disaster it could mean for him and his kin if he chose the wrong woman as his mate. Bael wanted a woman who was a treasure, a rare jewel that he couldn’t just find under any log in the bayou. And while many of the local women were perfectly lovely—other than crazy Pam Beaulieu—he hadn’t found the woman to capture his interest. So Bael was, as he liked to put it, selective. Zed called him “frigid,” but Zed could be a real asshole sometimes.
“So how much does she know?” Bael asked.
“Almost nothing. She’s a completely blank slate, which could work out better than Dr. Montes anyway,” Zed said, waggling his heavy, dark brows.
There were rare moments when Zed’s cheerful sunny bullshit gave way to his more predatory nature. Bael was grateful this was one of those occasions. “Montes had pretty definite ideas how things were gonna run. Ramsay’s unsure of herself, which we can use to our advantage. She seems pretty open to lettin’ you ‘guide’ her through the introductions. Just introduce her to the more presentable families in town, then get her out of here.”
“Why are you so worried about her bein’ here, Boone? We’re gettin’ a more than fair payoff in exchange for participatin’. The kind of help we can only get from the League.”
Bael gave him a hard look. “You know why I’m so worried. There are things happening here that we don’t want the magique community or the human community to know about.”
“And we’ve talked to the families affected. They know what to say and what not to say. No worries.”
“You know people around here love nothin’ more than good gossip. Do you really think they’ll be able to resist?”
“I’ll do damage control,” Zed swore. “I’ll distract her with town archives and local folklore and shit. You know I can be charming when I wanna be.”
A molten spark of jealousy burned through his gut. He didn’t want Zed charming Jillian. He wanted Jillian very far away from Zed and his…charms. The instinct to acquire, to hide the good doctor away from Zed and all other competing males, was as surprising as it was overwhelming. Bael felt the familiar warmth of his other form sliding over his skin. He had to close his eyes and think his calming thoughts to keep from shifting. His office wasn’t big enough to contain his other form.
But to Zed, apparently, it looked like he was on the verge of losing his temper. “Just be nice to her, Bael. There’s no use in bein’ rude. It’s not her fault she’s here. She planned on bein’ in South America right about now, talking to perverted dolphins or some such thing. I’d like to think we’re an upgrade from that, but what do I know?”
“What?”
Zed shrugged. “Never mind. I’m gonna go retrieve Dr. Ramsay from Miss Lottie’s, take her to breakfast, get her started meetin’ people.”
“Fine, fine,” Bael muttered. “Go. I’ll talk to the ladies about settin’ up the boil for this weekend. There’s bound to be some sort of fight over how many peppers to use, and what kind. There’s always a fight over peppers.”
Zed stood, jingling his keys. The flash of metal caught Bael’s eye. “Wait, did you ride your bike into town today?”
“Yeah, why? Girls always dig the bike.”
Bael pictured Jillian on the back of Zed’s ridiculous over-compensation of a motorcycle, with her arms wrapped around his back and her legs wrapped around his… He shook his head. “Nope.”
Zed scoffed. “What do you mean ‘nope?’”
Bael stood, slapping his cap on his head and picked up his keys. “I bet that lady’s never been on a bike in her life. And it’s not safe to have some newbie on the back of your bike with the way you drive.”
“What’s wrong with the way I drive?”
Bael threw his head back and laughed, and then suddenly stopped, pointing at his face. “As the guy who writes the tickets in this town, I’m just gonna make my unimpressed face at you.”
“Smartass,” Zed scoffed.
“I’ll go pick her up and drop her off here. You go get your truck. And you just, try to act like a normal person…for a few days.”
Bael shook his head and walked out of his office.
“I’m not a normal person,” Zed called at Bael’s retreating back. “I’m awesome!”
Bael arrived at la maison de fous to find Jillian standing on the dock, taking pictures of the bayou with a camera that probably cost more than his squad car. Her hair caught the morning sunlight, gold shining with facets of copper and bronze. Precious colors, all. He moved closer, drawn by those glimmering strands, dancing in the light breeze. The wind delivered her scent to nostrils already flaring with interest—soft and clean, with floral undertones and a hint of …old paper? How much time did this woman spend in libraries that the smell of books had seeped into her skin? And why was he enjoying it?
She turned toward the noise of his footsteps, a bright smile on her face until she saw who was there. The death of that smile, the way the joy just leached out of her face, pricked at his heart. He hated to be the beast taking that smile from her. But it was probably better this way. The fewer attachments she had, the quicker she would want to leave. The less she liked him, the less tempted he would be.
“I found my bathtub,” she said, nodding to a beaten copper tub on the back porch, right next to a “sun shower,” a tall wooden shower stall with a washtub mounted over it. Rainwater, which was always plentiful here, collected in the tub and was warmed by the sun. When the bather was ready, they slid a panel aside and the water drained over them through little holes in the washtub. “You could have mentioned that it was outside.”
Bael took his sunglasses off and tucked them in his uniform collar. “Well, the house was built before indoor plumbing. You were lucky to get the water closet tacked on. And Miss Lottie was what you might call, ‘a free spirit.’”
Jillian giggled. “A septuagenarian who slept in a swinging bed and showered outdoors? You don’t say.”
“Well, there are benefits to not having any neighbors for miles. If it makes you feel any better, there’s a screen on top of the washtub that keeps leaves and critters out of it,” he said, pointing to the top of the shower.
“Oh, yes, I do feel better now that I know I won’t be sharing my shower with a raccoon,” she said, scoffing. “I just have to be worried about perverted alligators. Wait, Zed said you were my nearest neighbor. How close are you?”
“Not close enough for you to worry about your showerin’ habits,” he deadpanned.
“Well, I’m sure I wouldn’t have to worry about that anyway,” she shot back. “I thought the mayor would be picking me up.”
Bael cleared his throat. “He had something come up, so he sent me ahead for you. He’ll meet you at City Hall. Did you eat yet?”
She nodded. “I need to write Zed’s mom some sort of a thank-you note for leaving all those groceries in the fridge. Also, for not leaving deer in the fridge.”
“Aw, Clarissa wouldn
’t want any sort of special thank you,” he insisted. “Just the next time you bake something, take any extra by her place. She’s got a big sweet tooth.”
“Bake something.” She winced. “Right…”
“Not much of a homemaker?” Bael guessed.
Jillian bit her lip. “I can feed myself. I just wouldn’t want to put anybody else at risk.”
“That’s very kind of you. Now, get your gear and get in the squad car.”
“Do I get to ride in the front or back?” she asked dryly.
He slid his sunglasses back on his long nose. “Depends on how much lip you give me.”
The lady doctor was oddly quiet on the way in to town, taking notes in a little Moleskin notebook she kept in the ugliest canvas shoulder bag he’d ever seen. While she’d smelled quite pleasant yesterday, even after her extensive travel, today was different. He could smell the nerves rolling off of her as they rolled closer to town, a sharp metallic note under her natural flowers-and-old-books scent.
He thought maybe he liked her better when she was quiet. But he would never admit it aloud. Because she would probably hit him with that ugly-ass bag.
He parked in front of City Hall, and she seemed to be taking in the town for the first time all over again. She jotted down more notes in that precise, blocky handwriting of hers. He didn’t take that many notes and he investigated actual crimes—not much in the way of major crimes, but that was beside the point.
She was still being quiet as she stood in front of the heavily carved front door of the hall, a scene depicting all of the creatures represented in the local culture, living cooperatively, with a dragon flying high, very high, above them. The same scene was reflected in the fountain behind them, common creatures scuttling about below the majestic dragon.
It probably wouldn’t surprise the doctor to find out that his great-uncle Barnard had commissioned that door years before. Uncle Barnard had never been a subtle man.
The door opened and out stepped yet another Boone cousin, Balfour. An instinctual growl rippled out from Bael’s belly, which only made Balfour smile. Balfour had the Boone look about him. He was lean and tall with thick dark hair and tawny eyes, but there was a tilt to his full mouth that made him look like he was perpetually smirking. And ever since they were kids, Bael had been plagued by the urge to knock that smirk off his face.
And when Balfour saw the human woman stepping aside to let Balfour by, his smile ratcheted up a notch. Bael had the overwhelming impulse to throw a jacket over Jillian’s head before Balfour saw the way her hair glinted in the sun.
“Well, hello there,” Balfour purred, reaching for her hand.
“Hello.” Jillian took a step back, which only increased Bael’s estimation of her intelligence and self-preservation skills.
“Bael, introduce me to your charming companion.” Persistent Balfour with his long Boone limbs kept reaching for Jillian’s hand, even as she moved away. Ignoring this, he plucked it from her side and bending over to kiss it.
In his most deadpan tone, Bael said, “Balfour, this is Jillian Ramsay, PhD, she’s an anthropologist working for the International League for Interspecies Cooperation. Jillian Ramsay, my cousin, Balfour, who has no qualifications or accomplishments to recommend him.”
“Aw, Bael, young Miss Ramsay won’t know you’re just kiddin,” Balfour cajoled in a much thicker Southern accent than Bael used. Bael noted that Balfour called Jillian, “Miss Ramsay” and not “Dr. Ramsay,” which would definitely stick in Jillian’s craw. Now it was Bael’s turn to smirk.
Balfour leaned in ever so slightly, and though Jillian would never recognize the gesture, Bael saw the subtle inhalation. Balfour was taking in her scent. Like horses, once a dragon had a person’s scent in their nostrils, they would always hold that scent. It came in handy when one was trying to track down humans who stole from their hoards. Balfour would keep that little piece of the blond doctor with him forever. And that made Bael want to break his cousin’s face. “Oh, yes, my mama told me you would be conducting interviews all over town. Be sure to put me on your schedule. I would love to give you an intimate look into the life of the Boone clan.”
Jillian smiled politely, but Bael noticed that she ever so subtly swiped her hand against her jeans to wipe off Balfour’s kiss. Also, she was leaning away from Balfour, nearly resting her head on Bael’s chest in her attempt to make space between them. When Bael didn’t step away from the accidental intimacy, he could practically see the wheels turning in Balfour’s head.
Bael’s slightly younger cousin had been a thorn in his side for decades, always jockeying for position in the family, always trying to curry favor with their grandfather, Baldric, while making Bael look bad. It had started with feigned injuries at family gatherings, claiming that Bael had been too aggressive during their hatchling games. And now he was whispering to the uncles and Baldric that Bael’s unnatural fixation on his non-entrepreneurial profession made him unfit to inherit any of the family’s hoard. Balfour liked to cluck his tongue and sigh about “poor Bael,” whose parents died before they could finish raising him.
So it was with no small amount of pride that he watched Jillian brush Balfour off as if his oily charm slid right off of her.
Jillian cleared her throat. “Thank you, I’ll be sure to seek you out when I need information from you. If you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment with the mayor.”
Balfour opened the door for her with a flourish. “It was enchanting to meet you.”
Jillian jerked the corners of her mouth in an awkward little smile and scurried into the office as quickly as she could. Balfour let the door close behind Jillian and nodded at Bael’s uniform. “Cousin, still indulging in your little eccentricity, I see.”
“Yes, public service is such an odd impulse,” Bael retorted.
Balfour sneered. “It is for a Boone. At least Betchel is in there tracking the family’s wealth, making sure it’s going to the right places and getting paid back. You’re just wasting all of your time, running after people, keeping them from hurting themselves. I just don’t see the benefit in it.”
“Which is why ‘service’ is the operative word,” Bael told him.
“Yes, well, to each their own, I suppose,” Balfour drawled. “You coming to the family meeting?”
Bael nodded sharply. “Yes, Friday, at the moon’s rise. I’ll be there.”
“Grandfather seems very close to making his decision. I would hate for you to miss it when he passes all of that gold into my hands.” Balfour smiled nastily.
For his part, Bael tried to look impassive. “If that’s his decision, I’ll respect it. And if that’s not his decision, I can’t think of one person who will be surprised.”
“And will you be bringing your intriguing new companion?” Balfour asked.
“You leave her out of this, Balfour, I mean it.”
Balfour tossed his hair, ever so casually. “I don’t blame you for lowering yourself, to take up with a human. She’s simply incandescent, even wearing those frumpy clothes. When you’re not looking, I might try to steal her for my own hoard.”
“She’d destroy you in a week,” Bael snorted. And he was only half-bluffing. Balfour had never been known for his patience and, eventually, Jillian’s multitude of questions would make his head explode. She would be the only damsel in history to rescue herself through persistent interviewing.
Balfour’s eyes flashed, a sickly amber instead of Bael’s own gold. “Well, it would be amusing to watch her try.”
Smoke rose from Bael’s nostrils, and he could feel the fire climbing up his throat as he growled, “Stay away from her.”
Balfour smirked, raising his hands. “Touchy touchy. You know the code. Lose not one coin. The same applies to your little friend. If you don’t want to lose her, don’t give me the opportunity to take her.”
Balfour slid on his sunglasses and walked toward his shiny red pick-up truck, whistling some obnoxious tuneless song.
“Prick,” Bael grumbled, flame bursting forth from his mouth like a belch and singeing the carved wood sprite dancing across the door. Sighing, he patted out the smoking sprite and yanked open the door.
Boone walked into the office to find Zed had greeted Jillian with all of the overwrought enthusiasm of a labradoodle. He dragged her around the room, introducing her to Aiden Rhys, a fenodyree who ran Public Works, and his own cousin, Betchel, who worked in Revenue. Jillian held him at a distance, shaking his hand politely again, seeming overwhelmed by the attention. Some small part of Bael enjoyed her civil rejection of Zed, who was well-known for his skills with the female variety. Bael wondered what sort of attention Jillian got from men where she was from, and whether she held them off so courteously there.
Zed looked over his shoulder, frowned and waved his hand in front of his face, which was their private signal for smoke rings rising above Bael’s head. Bael startled and waved the smoke rings away. Betchel smirked at him. Bael silently bared his teeth, because apparently, all of his cousins were trying to piss him off today.
Zed ushered her through the door of his office, a temple unto all the things that Zed loved—Zed, his mama, Zed, hunting, Zed, fishing with his bare hands. Mostly Zed.
Picture frames and trophies covered every spare inch of space not occupied by his massive desk, which he had carved himself out of a fallen oak. He tried to call himself Zed Oakendesk, after watching the Hobbit one too many times, but Bael refused because a man shouldn’t come up with his own nickname.
Zed shoved Jillian into one of his very comfortable office chairs and then flopped into his own. “How exactly are you planning to conduct your study?”
Jillian seemed to roll her shoulders and put on her pleasant professional face. “I thought at first, I would approach it a bit like a census taker. I’ll collect questionnaires. I’ll make general observations. I’ll document group social interactions and local traditions. And I’ll gather anecdotal evidence. And I thought I would make appointments to interview families from all points in the paranormal spectrum.”