“It takes over,” I said.
“I become the monster. The magic. I become the hunger. And I don’t want to stop.”
“Ain’t life grand?” I threw back the remainder of my shot.
“I’ve made some bad choices,” he said. “I’ve done some horrible things. When I just breathe . . .” He licked his lips. “I’ve extended . . . suffering. Hospitals are bad. Nursing homes, worse.”
“Good,” I said.
That startled him, but I wasn’t done.
“No, as a matter of fact: thank God. Perfect Terric was really getting on my nerves. It’s good to know you can fuck up like the rest of us lowly humans.”
“Is that what we are? Human?”
“Until the day the monster kills us,” I said. “Or we kill it.”
He smiled a little. “Careful. That almost sounded like optimism.”
“It’s the whiskey talking.”
His phone rang again. He didn’t look at it. Fingers dug harder at the tabletop.
A car horn blared. Paused. Blared again.
“That your friend?” I asked.
Terric took a deep breath, pulled his hands away from the table, then worked on putting his shoes and humanity back on. “Yes.”
He stood, pulled out his wallet and threw some twenties on the table. “Thanks. For this. I’d like to see you at the office again tomorrow. Think you can do that?”
“When have I ever let you down?”
He raised an eyebrow. The horn blared again, taking away his reply.
“Night, Shamus.”
He took a step, reassessed his balance, seemed to pull it together, then started toward the door with a steady gait.
I got up and followed.
“I’m not that drunk,” he said. “You don’t have to follow me.”
“I’m not,” I lied. “Gotta piss. Bathroom’s this way.”
He didn’t argue, not even when instead of turning left to the bathroom, I leaned against the wall near the door. Watched him step out. Waited a minute. Opened the door.
Terric ducked into a Jeep.
The man in the driver’s seat, who I assumed was Jeremy, looked familiar. Short hair, narrow face, and when he shifted so I could see him better, I knew where I’d crossed paths with him before. He was the guy leaving the scene at the alley this morning who pointed at me like he was holding a gun.
What a douche.
Looked like he was reading Terric the riot act.
I was suddenly falling in hate with the guy.
Terric paused in pulling the seat belt over his chest, the door still open. Since his body was turned away from me, I had no clue what he said. But I saw Jeremy’s face change. He shut up. His eyes narrowed. And his heart beat harder. Anger.
Then he looked up at me. Saw I was watching them.
His anger screwed down to tight, red fury.
Oh, that man did not like me. Poor bastard.
I crossed my arms over my chest and made a kissing motion.
He bit off one cussword and looked away.
Yes, I was enjoying this.
“Think I should stop that now?” I asked Eleanor, who had spent most of the last couple hours sitting with different people at the pub and eavesdropping.
She nodded.
Terric shut the car door and the Jeep rolled down the street.
“Too late,” I said. “You should really speak up when you have an opinion.”
Eleanor stuck her fingers into the side of my neck. Ice picks chilled all the way down my spine. “Jesus, woman. A little humor would be nice.”
I rubbed at my neck and stepped back into the pub.
As soon as I was in the main room, I was once again reminded that when I am around Terric, the need to devour and consume life is lessened. Yin/yang, Soul Complements, life/death, and all that. We canceled each other out some when we were in the same general proximity.
Now that he was gone, a tight ball of rage knotted like a fist in the middle of my chest. Death magic was hungry.
Maybe it was time to settle the bill and get the hell away from this place. Away from all these lovely living people.
While we’d been talking, day had stumbled into night. The pub was filled to the walls. I made my way between people standing and yelling to be heard over the noise of the place, and paused by the table.
A woman was lounging in Terric’s seat, arm over the back of the chair, ankle resting on her knee. Knockout pretty. Blue eyes like clear mountain skies, and a soft, full mouth. Her hair spilled down to her shoulders in waves, framing the porcelain white of her skin. Slender build in a tight T-shirt and jeans. My heart, which had been missing for years, kicked over and began beating for the first time.
It wasn’t a come-hither gaze she was holding me with—just an even stare with a glimmer of mischief—but it might as well have been.
I didn’t know her, but I recognized her. Last time I’d seen her, she had a sniper’s rifle in her hands.
“Buy you a drink?” she asked.
I could say no, but there was fresh shot of whiskey already next to my three empty shot glasses. She had a drink too, an Old-Fashioned. All the money Terric had left behind was right where he’d tossed it.
Eleanor was shaking her head and doing some kind of football signal for missed goal.
But there was something about this woman that made me want to say yes for a change. I tugged the chair away from the table and sat.
“So. Is this your first time in Portland?” I asked.
She smiled a bit. “Why? Does it show?”
“Not at all. Visiting friends? Enemies?”
“I’m still undecided on that. My name’s Dessa.”
“I’m Shamus.”
“I know.”
I grinned. “Wondered if we were going to dance around that or not. Are you going to tell me why you want me dead?”
She caught her breath. Then leaned forward just a bit. “Did I say I wanted you dead, Mr. Flynn?”
“No. But that rifle on the rooftop? Kind of a giveaway.”
She took a drink to cover her surprise. Huh. So she didn’t think I’d spotted her. I guess I had the slacker/loser/oblivious-of-the-world act down pretty tight.
“You’re still breathing, though, aren’t you?”
“Apparently,” I said. “Why is that, exactly?”
“I don’t want you dead yet.”
“Comforting. What do you want?”
“A little time.”
A young couple were making their way through the crowd toward the door. The woman was carrying a baby. Just before she got to our table, she sidestepped a man taking off his coat, and a little stuffed toy tumbled to the floor.
Dessa glanced over, spotted the lost toy, saw the woman and baby moving on. She glanced at me, then at the woman’s retreating back.
These kinds of situations were always telling. A woman on the prowl would ignore the whole thing. A
