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I managed to find a parking space a block away, but the air was so cold it sucked the breath out of my lungs as I jogged down the street. Camille's Lexus was parked smack in front of the store, as usual. I knew her secret though, and it wasn't dumb luck. She had some nasty dirt on the parking gods, and they never failed to give her a good place. I'd been after her to make me a charm for the past month, but she kept putting it off. I was beginning to think she was holding out on purpose.
As I strode into the store, my breath still visible, I was greeted by the sight of Erin Mathews, president of the Faerie Watchers Club, and her friend Cleo Blanco. I broke into a wide grin. Cleo and Erin were two of the coolest humans we knew, and I loved hanging out with them. Especially Cleo.
Erin owned The Scarlet Harlot, a lingerie store a couple blocks away. Cleo was a female impersonator-slash-drag queen. In his alter ego, he was Tim Winthrop, genius computer student and the father of a young daughter with whom he spent every weekend, no matter what else he had on his plate.
Erin and Cleo were complete opposites. Despite owning a lingerie shop, Erin dressed in jeans, flannel shirts, and hiking boots, which matched her down-to-earth personality. On the other hand, Cleo's tastes—and his nature—ran to the flamboyant when he was out in drag.
Nearly my height, he teetered in five-inch platform PVC boots, fire-engine red and almost hugging his crotch. They clashed in full Yuletide splendor with his hunter green butt-cupping leggings and striped sweater tunic. Beneath the sweater he was either wearing a massively padded bra or he'd recently gotten implants. Cleo's wig was bleached blond, and he sported Tammy Faye eyelashes.
Camille was discussing something with Erin, so I parked my butt on the counter next to Cleo and high-fived him.
"What's shakin', babe? Besides that rack of yours?" I pointed to his chest and grinned. "Where on earth did those come from? Boobs R Us? Are they real, or is there a whole lot of stuffing going on?"
"Well, if it isn't Delilah the Dick." He arched his back and shimmied his shoulders. "You can thank Erin for my makeover. She whipped up this little number for me. I'm trying it out before the show tonight."
Erin turned at the sound of her name, and Cleo winked at her. "Just giving you credit for my lovely cleavage." He turned back to me. "By the way, did I ever tell you how much I love your teeth? They are so hot. I bet the boys flock for miles to get a love bite from you."
My fangs were permanently visible, unlike Menolly's, which retracted in standard vampire fashion. "All part of my nature, dude. Although they can be a hassle if I get too excited. I've punctured my tongue a couple of times."
I didn't mention that I'd also punctured Chase's tongue once or twice. And after one disastrous attempt, I'd decided that giving him a good blow job was out of the question, and he hadn't been in a hurry to suggest another try. That little escapade had cost us two weeks of unhappy—and for him, painful—celibacy. Unlike Camille, I'd been a virgin, except for when I was in cat form. But after a rocky start to my sex life, I'd finally discovered what all the hoopla was about. Now it was getting harder for me to hold my hormones in check.
Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I focused on Cleo's chest again. "Erin did you proud. I'd grade the girls at least an F."
"Meow. Do I detect a hint of envy, Cat Woman?" Cleo grinned to show he was joking. He still wasn't used to us, but I had to hand it to him. He had more guts than most of the humans we met.
I snorted. "Trust me, if I was jealous of anybody's boobs, it would be Camille's. They're the real thing, and they're doubleD."
"Hey, I heard that." Camille sauntered up and slid her arm around Cleo's waist.
He gave her a lecherous grin and bent over to flick his tongue along her neck. "Well hello, little Miss Witch. You know, I might think about making an exception to my no-chicks rule just for you, girlfriend."
"Don't turn in your queer card yet, babe," Camille said, stretching to plant a kiss on his chin. "My bed overfloweth."
Cleo laughed, a rich and throaty sound that made me smile. "Jason would kick my butt anyway. He's delightfully possessive."
"He's also gorgeous, my dear," I said.
Jason was Cleo's boyfriend, and they made quite a striking couple. As dark as Cleo was fair, Jason owned his own car repair shop and had more business than he could handle. The pair seemed to have a bright future in front of them.
"Any chance we'll be hearing wedding bells soon?" I pointed to the hunk of ice Cleo was sporting on his left finger.
He winked. "You never know."
Camille glanced at the clock. "Okay, time to open shop. Delilah, are you going upstairs to work, or do you want to hang here for a bit?" She had that look in her eye that told me she'd put me to work if I opted for the latter.
"I'm going, I'm going." I slid off the counter, reluctant to leave the warmth of the shop for the upper regions of my office. "It's so damned cold up there. The heat never makes it upstairs." I'd been reduced to using space heaters to take the edge off the chilly suite. Luckily, the OIA footed the bill. Considering how pissed we were at them, I took a perverse delight in sticking it to them any way I could.
"You could stay down here and help me shelve books." Camille thrust a stack in my direction, but I shook my head.
"I'd better get to work. I've got an appointment with a new client in ten minutes. If he comes through the store, send him up."
"Later, babe." Camille waved as I took the stairs two at a time.
At the top of the steps, a short hall led to three doors: a bathroom, a janitor's closet where we kept our cleaning supplies, and my suite. The OIA wasn't about to spring for a custodian, and we couldn't take a chance hiring an outside service to clean, so we'd lucked out when Iris volunteered to play maid. We paid her by the hour, and she came in once a week to mop floors and dust and take out the garbage. I dreaded the day she met somebody, got married, and settled down to raise a house full of little sprites.
I opened the main door leading into my office and glanced around before entering. Caution didn't run in the family, but I'd lucked out and picked up the habit somewhere. Someday, that fraction of a second might come in handy and save my life.
My waiting room was sparsely furnished with an old sofa, two chairs, and a table on which rested a handful of magazines, a lamp, and a bell. I flipped the sign that I posted on the main door from Closed to Open—Please Ring the Bell for Service. As I glanced around the grimy room, I thought once again about how lonely I felt at times, being stuck Earthside. Sure, I solved the occasional case, ferreted out secrets for heartbroken wives and cuckolded husbands, but was that really helping anybody?
