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A werepuma? I stared at the trunk, then at our house, which you could just barely see from this vantage point. Why had he marked the tree? He didn't own this land, we did. Was he in league with Shadow Wing and the demons? Or was he a free agent? And if he wasn't aligned with our hellion friends, just what did he want?
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CHAPTER 2
My sisters and I lived in a funky three-story Victorian in the suburb of Belles-Faire, one of Seattle's seediest districts. Sure, it was a crummy neighborhood, but we had the necessary acreage to provide us with the privacy needed for our work. Menolly's apartment was in the basement, Camille had the second story, I had the third, and we shared the main floor as a common living area. We'd given Iris a spare room near the kitchen. It was small, but so was she, and we let her live there rent free in exchange for her help around the house.
A couple days after the full moon, I was putting the finishing touches on a three-cheese omelet when Camille sashayed into the room.
"Food ready?" she asked, her eyes lighting up. I nodded. We took turns with Iris making breakfast. "Omelet. Toast is on the table." I divided the eggs and dished them out onto the waiting plates.
"That smells good," Camille said. She was dressed to the hilt in a crimson halter dress with a low V-neck. A silver belt slung low across her hips, and she was wearing fuck-me pumps to die for. I gave her the once-over. "New guy?" I asked, grinning.
She laughed. "As if I didn't have trouble enough with the two I've already got. No. If you want to know, the Faerie Watchers Club is meeting at the store today. I play it up for them when they come in. They like the show, and it gives me a chance to dress up."
I could never pull off the outfits that Camille wore, even if I wanted to. My closet of choice included plenty of low-rise jeans, camis, turtlenecks, and sweaters. Ostensibly, my cover for the OIA was that of a private eye, and since I took on real cases, I had to be able to move. Sneaking through bushes and climbing fire escapes in a tight silk dress just wouldn't cut it. Not to mention that, at six one—a good six inches taller than Camille—I didn't need stilettos, though I owned a few pairs. My taste in footwear ran to motorcycle boots.
Iris joined us at the table, and I pointed to her plate. "Food's on."
She scrambled up on the barstool that allowed her to easily reach the table. At barely four feet, she didn't look intimidating, but she packed a wallop that could take down a grown man. Or beast. A pissed-off house sprite was nobody to mess around with.
"What do you need me to do today?" she asked.
Camille flipped open her DayTimer. "I'll need you at the store this afternoon while the FWC members are there. They're coming in around three, so if you could show up around two forty-five, I'd appreciate it."
"No problem." Iris had a photographic memory, not only for visuals but for conversations. "What else?"
"Would you take Maggie outside to play for a while this morning? I think she needs some fresh air," I said. "But be careful. Whoever that strange Were is, he's still hanging around the borders of the property, so stay close to the house."
"Done," she said. "By the way, Delilah, I don't mean to complain, but you haven't cleaned your litter box yet."
"I noticed that, too," Camille said. "Remember, no maids, so we clean up after ourselves." She ruffled my hair.
I grabbed her hand and gently bit her thumb, leaving a mild impression from my fangs. She yelped, and I grinned.
"I didn't even leave a mark, so don't try to play me for sympathy. You mess up my hair every time you do that. Anyway, I'm sorry about the box. I can't believe I forgot. I'll get to it first thing when I get home."
When we'd been unceremoniously dumped Earthside by the OIA, we'd made a pact. Without servants to look after us, we agreed to clean up after our own messy lifestyles. Thinking about the number of hunts Menolly had been on, I was secretly grateful that I only had to contend with kitty litter. I glanced at the bookcase that was hiding the entrance to Menolly's lair. The last thing I wanted was to clean up her blood room where she hosed herself off after feeding. Washing the love stains off Camille's ridiculously expensive sheets was child's play next to the mess Menolly left. I resolved to do better in keeping up my end of the bargain.
Camille snorted. "I can tell what you're thinking. I'm glad I don't have to clean her lair either, though I have a better stomach for it than you do."
"Hey, you said it. I didn't." I was still working on accepting Menolly's transformation, while Camille had managed to overcome any revulsion she might have had. I didn't like being squeamish, but I couldn't help it.
I jerked my head toward the door. "Let's head out. Iris, have a good day. You know where to call us if anything happens." I scooped up Maggie from where she was playing in the corner and gave her a big smooch on her fuzzy forehead. Camille crowded in, and after a moment, Iris had to wrestle the gargoyle away from us.
"Get moving, you two. I'll take care of the little one here," she said, tucking Maggie back in her playpen.
Camille shrugged into a flowing black opera coat and marched out the door into the frostbitten morning. I slipped on my leather jacket and checked to make sure my long silver knife was safely snapped inside my boot sheath. I'd carried a gun for a while, but the iron had proven too much for me, even what little there had been in the specially formatted Glock that Chase had bought for me. I'd never had to shoot it, and it wouldn't work on demons anyway.
Chase, on the other hand, had special bullets made for his gun. Some were embedded with iron in the center for taking down rogue Fae who might be breaking the law. Others included silver and would kill lycanthropes, the only type of Were affected by the metal.
The December morning was overcast as I clattered down the porch steps, the clouds glimmering with a luminous sheen that warned of impending snow. While Seattle wasn't exactly the winter wonderland of the world, on occasion we received a coating of the white stuff.
Camille blew me a kiss, then jumped in her Lexus and headed down the driveway. I crunched my way across the frost-covered grass to climb into my Jeep Wrangler. As I warmed up the engine, my thoughts went back to the Were who'd been stalking our land. Since we'd discovered his tracks, the three of us had walked the borders of our acreage each night. We could still smell cat magic, but neither Menolly nor Camille could sense demon energy. Just because we couldn't smell it didn't mean it wasn't there, though.
With Shadow Wing on the rampage and most likely pissed out of his mind, my optimism had been tempered by brutal reality. Maybe this was what growing up meant. I couldn't play Bubbles on The Powerpuff Girls anymore. The trouble with life was that it always interrupted our best-laid fantasies.
The Indigo Crescent sat smack in the middle of the Belles-Faire business district. My office suite was in the same building on the second floor, and from there I played private eye in between assignments from the OIA. An outside stairwell provided an alternative entrance, so clients could come and go after bookstore hours.
