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"You can get off me now," she said.
He lifted his foot and walked over to me, hand brushing mine. "I'll scout, make sure we don't have any unexpected guests. You need me, just shout."
"I will."
Clay glanced back at Zoe, then at me. "Have fun, darling."
"Dah-lin'?" Zoe mimicked as Clay walked away. She shuddered. "Please don't tell me that's daddy wolf."
"Don't tell her then," Clay said without turning. "None of her business."
Zoe made a face as she brushed herself off. "Just brimming with southern charm, isn't he? You could do so much better." Her gaze met mine and she stretched again. "No? Why don't we play a little more chase-and-pounce, and see if I can't change your mind?"
"If we play chase-and-pounce again, you're not going to like how it ends. When a werewolf chases, the wolf expects a kill. One frustrated hunt it can handle. Not two."
"Unless the prey can't be killed."
"The predator can sure as hell try."
She threw back her head and laughed. "Touche. As tempting as a chase would be, it clearly won't arouse the kind of frustration I'd care to relieve. I'll surrender my forfeit, then. Tell me more about this letter, and I'll see what I can remember."
So I did, leaving out how we got the letter, how we opened the portal, how we were still in possession of the letter, and focusing instead on the results and what little information we'd gleaned about it.
After I finished, she leaned back and closed her eyes. "The From Hell letter? I know I should remember more but..." She looked at me and shook her head. "Remembering a job I did eighty years ago is no different than asking a hundred-year-old human to remember a work assignment he undertook at twenty. The letter was historically significant, yes, but the circumstances surrounding the theft were obviously mundane enough that I can barely remember anything more than that I did do this job."
"There was a spell cast on the original location. Do you remember that?"
She
nodded. "A spell to keep the letter--all the letters--from being stolen by any living being. Presumably someone on the police force was a sorcerer, and cast the spell to protect them. That's why the buyer hired me."
"This buyer...do you remember who it was?"
"Of course. He is--or was--a regular customer of mine."
When she didn't continue, I said, "Can you provide a name?"
She met my gaze. "I'd rather you did, and I can confirm or deny."
"And I'd rather you--"
"His grandson continues to be a customer of mine, and I don't babble about my clients, past or present, unless there is a very good reason. Granted, a zombie-spewing portal is indeed a good reason, but if you took that letter, as you claim, then you already know the grandson's name."
"Patrick Shanahan."
She nodded. "The original purchaser was his grandfather, Theodore."
"Did Shanahan commission the theft himself?"
"I presume so..."
"But you don't remember."
She shook her head.
"Do you remember whether your client wanted this letter specifically? Or just something from the Ripper files?"
"I believe any...no, maybe it was..." A sharp shake of her head. "Something snagged there, but it's not coming free."
