The Awakening

The detective just shrugged. 'After three years together, you two claim to barely know each other.' One brow arched up. 'But now I'm getting a different impression.'

'Good night. Detective.' And to Mort, 'Get rid of that carcass, will you? It'll stink up the place.'

Distaste wrinkled Mort's nose; he gagged pathetically and nodded. 'All right, Gaby.'

Making sure Gaby would hear him, Cross said, 'I'll help, Mort. Then you and I can talk some more.'

'Talk? About what?'

'About you and Gaby having a dispute.'

Meddling prick. Gaby stomped up the rest of the stairs, went into her room, and slammed the door.

But she couldn't sleep, and trying to hear the detective over the outside noise of traffic and human chatter was a waste of time. With nothing much else to do, she sprawled out in the bed and let her thoughts drift away.

Evil had stalked her, taunted her, and then escaped her.

Unthinkable.

Definitely unacceptable.

Tomorrow she'd start the hunt. One way or another, she'd figure things out. Evil didn't stand a chance.

It never did.

Shoving aside the stack of reports and his empty coffee mug, Luther sat back in his leather chair. Even two days after tangling with Gaby, a twinge in his ribs had him rubbing the spot—and smiling in memory.

Maybe Gaby was right. Maybe he was warped. Why else would a lingering ache, caused by her dead-on kick, amuse him?

'Something funny?'

He looked up at Ann Kennedy, a veteran detective and longtime friend. 'Not really.'

She propped her perky ass on the corner of his desk. 'You're rubbing your ribs. Get in a scuffle?'

Luther dropped his hand. 'Not really, no.' But he believed Gaby when she said she could have hurt him if she'd wanted to. Which meant… she hadn't wanted to.

'Being evasive?' Her gaze turned speculative. 'C'mon, Luther. Spill it. You know I'm not going away until you do.'

'It's nothing. Really.' Swiveling to face her, he asked, 'You ever heard of a disease that sort of… morphs a person's expression?'

Both brows lifted. 'Morph?'

'Yeah.' He straightened in his chair. 'You know.' He moved his hands around his face. 'Makes you look different.'

'In a weird way?'

'Not so much.' It was all too freaky and strange, but never at any point had Gaby looked weird. Maybe otherworldly. But still a woman. 'Just… not the same.'

Ann laughed. 'Well, that'd be different.' She tipped her head. 'So who'd you see morph?'

Earnest, even eager, to figure Gaby out, he still wanted to protect her—why, he couldn't say. She'd already proven she could protect herself. 'Just a lead I'm following.'

Ann looked ready to launch into more questions when Gary Webb dropped mail on his desk and said, 'Maybe it's like in Servant.'

Both Ann and Luther peered up at him.

'Oh, come on. Are you two so old you can't keep up with pop culture? Rhetorical question. You're both ancient.'

Luther laughed. He supposed to a guy barely out of his teens, thirty-something did seem old. 'I don't mind a young'un like you giving me shit, but Ann here, she can be deadly. You should show more caution.'

'Indeed,' Ann said.

Unconcerned, Gary launched into speech. 'Servant is an underground graphic novel. Really cool, too.'

'A comic book?' Ann asked with disdain. 'You're still reading those?'

'God save us.' Gary dropped the mail pouch and scowled at her. 'It's not a mere comic book. Graphic novels are books with illustrations, and Servant is a great story with awesome drawings. Trust me. It's some super-creepy shit.' He nodded at Luther. 'Including bad guys who morph.'

Luther met Ann's commiserating gaze. 'Yeah, well, somehow I think we're talking about two different things. But thanks anyway.'

Irked at their ignorance, Gary retrieved his mail and stalked away to finish his intern duties.

'Crazy kids these days.' Ann swung one foot. 'You're a detective, Luther. If you want to know what sort of disease someone has, just ask.'

He had—and got a foul-mouthed reply instead of an answer. 'Most people would be irked at that kind of nosiness.'

'Maybe. So ask someone who knows the person.' Ann lifted herself off his desk. 'But whatever it is, it sounds horrid, and unlike anything I've ever heard of.'

Watching Ann leave, Luther admired her curves in a detached yet automatic way. He'd known her a long time, but he wasn't an idiot so he kept work and his social life separate.

Except that he'd slipped up with Gaby.

He still couldn't believe he'd copped a feel. And of what? The woman barely had any curves to speak of, and what she did have she kept protected beneath of a lot of poisonous thorns.

Yet he hadn't been able to help himself. It was a part of his personality he'd never encountered before. He always kept his head, always controlled himself.

Fuck,

After running a hand through his hair, Luther looked at the not-quite-finished reports and made a fast decision. He'd come back to them later.

He pulled out a clean sheet of paper and a pen and made himself a list.

Background check on Mort. He'd start with a face-to-face and see what he could find out just through chatting.

Investigate morphing. God, that word sucked, but he couldn't think of one better, not to describe the way Gaby had altered right in front of his eyes.

Check into her mother's death. One of the few times he felt Gaby had been straight-up honest was when she mentioned her mother.

Luther started to fold the list, and on impulse scrawled, Cancer in background. The mutilated man had a strange sort of cancer. Yet when he'd told Gaby, she kept such a stony expression that he couldn't read her at all. Perhaps cancer had touched her life in some way. Maybe it even had something to do with the odd way she changed appearance.

Tucking the note into his pants pocket, Luther left his desk.

He'd start finding answers now by first visiting with Mort. And maybe when he finished that, he'd visit with Gaby again, too. The woman had secrets that might, or might not, be related to the grisly murder of an old man consumed with cancer.

Until he found out, Luther knew he wouldn't be able to get her out of his mind.

Gaby pushed her lank hair away from her face and realized it now hung an inch or so below her shoulders. Time to cut it off again. She got out her shears, big and sharp enough to be lethal, and in one fist, gathered the hair together at the back of her neck. Doing it this way wouldn't make an even cut, but who gave a flip?

She didn't.

She eased the blades around the hank of hair and was just about to hack it off in one big chunk when a strange sensation crawled over her. She went rigid, jerked back, and the point of the scissors gouged her in the top of the shoulder. A single drop of crimson blood trailed over her pale skin and down to her collarbone.

The evil was back.