Autumn Bones

I scowled at him. “No.”

“You sure?” he asked mildly. “I’m headed back to the station.”

“Oh, fine.”

We rode in silence, but it was a comfortable silence. Funny how that works when you’ve spent a lot of time together.

Cody parked in one of the station’s reserved spaces. He gave me a sidelong glance, a reflective film of green shimmering behind his amber eyes. “Just so you know, I’m not sure about that guy. There’s something sketchy about him. And I will kick his ass seven ways till Sunday if he hurts you.”

I nodded. “Duly noted. But Sinclair’s a good guy, Cody. Sometimes people hurt each other anyway. If it happens, it won’t be on purpose.”

His lip curled, baring his eyeteeth. Yep, definitely getting close to the full moon. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah,” I said to Cody, who had hurt me without meaning to. “It does.” I got out of the squad car. “Thanks for the ride.”

Twelve

Jojo the joe-pye weed fairy was lying in wait for me outside my apartment, bursting out of the rhododendrons in a cloud of sparkling pollen, slingshot at the ready.

“Jesus!” Startled, I jumped and threw up my hands in a defensive pose. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“I saw what passed atop the bridge. What new slattern ventures onto the stage?” Her tiny face was set in a fierce expression. “Speak, you ruttish, whey-faced scullion!” A handful of tourists passing through the park exclaimed with delight. I’m pretty sure they’d missed Jojo’s actual commentary.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” I glared back at her. “She’s his sister, you, you . . . dew-swilling nitwit.”

Jojo paused, hovering. “I knew not he had a sister.”

“Yeah, neither did I.” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Mogwai stalking toward her under the rhodos. Damned if I was going to warn her. “And I don’t know what she’s up to. If you want to find out, I suggest you go spy on her.”

Something in my face must have given the game away a split second before Mogwai pounced, because Jojo glanced sideways, then shot two feet higher in a blur of translucent wings and fairy dust. Showing a mouthful of needle-sharp teeth, she hissed at him. Not the slightest bit fazed, Mogwai hissed right back at her.

Now the tourists looked uneasy. “Mouth closed, Jojo,” I reminded her.

The fairy shut her mouth with a tiny but audible snap before winking out of sight. Good riddance.

Upstairs, I showered Mogwai with praise and opened a can of tuna as a special treat, then went to stare disconsolately into my closet. You’d think a seamstress’s daughter would have a stellar wardrobe, but the truth is that I went through a bit of a rebellious stage in my teens—I know, surprise, right?—followed by a conscientious phase where I wouldn’t let my mom waste time and effort on me that could be spent on paying clients. As a result, other than a few simple classics like the dress I’d worn last night, my wardrobe could really use an update.

In light of the arrival of Sinclair’s stylish sister, maybe it was time to take Mom up on her offer. At least I could afford to pay for materials now. Probably.

I was still contemplating the idea when my phone rang.

“Hey, cupcake!” Lurine greeted me, sounding languid and pleased with herself. “Sorry it took me so long to get back to you.”

“No problem.” I shifted the phone under my ear. “You warned me. Is everything okay?”

“Oh, sure. What’s up?”

After the scene at Rainbow’s End, I needed a little more concrete assurance. “So he . . . I mean, the satyr . . . isn’t in rut anymore?”

“Nico? No, he’s fine for now. It’s run its course.”

So the satyr had a name. Who knew? “Good, that’s great. I was hoping you might have some advice on making sure it never happens again.”

“Well, of course it’s going to happen again,” Lurine said mildly. “He’s a satyr. You can’t fight nature, honey.”

“Um . . . yeah. I mean the part where it sets off an orgy,” I said. “A human, public-health-hazard-type orgy.”

“Oh, right.” There was the sound of a champagne cork popping in the background. “Are you okay, Daisy? You sound a little distracted.”

“I’m fine. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Mmm.” Lurine wasn’t buying my dismissal. “You’re not working today, are you?”

“No,” I admitted. “Not unless I get called in on a case.”

“Well, then, here’s a suggestion for you. Why don’t you put on your bikini and get your cute little behind over here? It’s a perfect day to lay out by the pool and discuss orgy prevention. Oh, and stop on your way and pick up some peach nectar, will you?” Lurine added. “Tell Edgerton I feel like Bellinis.”

She hung up before I could answer, which annoyed me for a second or two before I realized that I really couldn’t imagine a better way to spend this particular day.

Lurine lived in a mansion on the lakeshore. The property came with lakefront access, but it was situated inland, nestled in the woods for maximum privacy. It was big and ostentatious and new, and a very far cry from the mobile home in Sedgewick Estate where Lurine Hollister nee Clemmons had been my neighbor and babysitter when I was growing up.

Honestly, I can’t say the fabulously wealthy B-movie starlet and infamous widow Lurine Hollister was any happier or more content than simple, small-town bombshell Lurine Clemmons had been, or vice versa. They were just masks to her, and I don’t know that she preferred one to the other.

She probably had more fun being the notorious Lurine Hollister, but it was as Lurine Clemmons that she’d forged a genuine friendship with my mom and me, and over the course of this summer I’d come to realize that it meant a great deal to her, because it didn’t happen often to an immortal monster like her.

All credit goes to my mom on that score. Apparently raising a hell-spawn baby gives you a special knack for caring about monsters. Oh, and to put it up front, Lurine has made generous offers of financial support to both of us. Mom’s always been adamant about refusing, and I don’t want to undermine her decision on this.

At any rate, Lurine’s butler buzzed me through the gated drive and greeted me at the door. “Ms. Hollister is expecting you.”

“Great.” I handed him the jar of peach nectar I’d purchased on my way. “She said she wants Bellinis.”

He inclined his head. “Of course.”

Lurine was lolling in a lounge chair beside the pool in a gold lame bikini and sunglasses, looking every inch the Hollywood movie starlet. “Hey, sweetie!” Reaching over, she patted the lounge chair nearest her. “Grab a towel and come soak up some sunshine.”

Realizing that she wasn’t alone, I hesitated. Nico the satyr was diligently wielding a long-handled pool skimmer, clad in a pair of loose-fitting board shorts with a sizeable hole cut out to accommodate his flowing horse’s tail.

“What?” Lurine followed my gaze. “Oh, it’s fine. Don’t worry, he’ll behave himself now. Won’t you, Nicodemus?”

The satyr gave her a surprisingly sweet smile. “Yes, kyria.”

I have to admit I still felt a bit self-conscious stripping down to my bathing suit with the memory of Nico’s ginormous schlong bobbing in the air—not to mention my own response, along with everyone else’s, to his funky satyr pheromones—but true to his word, he ignored me, concentrating on his task. I took a neatly folded towel from the cupboard beneath a pergola that looked like something from the set of a Pottery Barn photo shoot and went to join Lurine, who lifted a mostly empty champagne bottle from an ice bucket beside her and regarded it with a critical eye.