Feral Nights (25 page)

“This is an ugly, freaky car,” he says. “It gets lousy gas mileage. You should bury it and let the domino bones rest in peace.”

“You hate it that much?” I ask. When Travis doesn’t reply, I add, “You okay? Is the archangel pissed at you?” When he showed himself on the island, my Dillo pal broke his promise to haunt only me, even if it was to save my life.

Travis’s vaguely blue form flickers. “I did get chewed out. But the angel gave me an extension. This is my last day to make things right.”

I don’t get it. His murder is solved, and Paxton was delivered to his grandfather. What’s left to fix?

Before I can ask, he says, “You need to break up with Noelle.”

Wow, he’s gotten awfully bossy in his afterlife. “Forget it. She’s the best —”

“You’re gaga over Aimee. You have been since before I died, but you’re too good of a friend to do anything about it, before or after. I appreciate that, by the way.”

“What? I’m not gaga —”

“Admit it. You’re latching on to Noelle because, unlike Aimee, you consider her available. Fair game. But it’s time, Clyde. I’m not just giving you permission. I’m telling you to get your butt in gear before Yoshi or somebody else swoops in and it’s too late.”

The neon sign for Bette’s Barbecue is blinking just ahead. “Noelle —”

“Is sexy, sultry, and a Lion to boot, but you barely know her. It’s a fling built on shared danger, a common enemy, pheromones, and your own guilty conscience. Do you honestly think Noelle has any idea who Qui-Gon Jinn is? Or digs late-night games of D&D?”

I hit the brakes and signal to turn. “There’s more to life than D&D.”

“Always the smartass,” Travis replies as cars whiz by. “But I’m here to tell you, the big picture looks different from the other side. You don’t know how much time you have left. Nobody does. I pussyfooted around and lost my chance with Aimee. So answer me this: If you thought you had a real shot at being with her, you know, boyfriend-girlfriend, knowing I’d be okay with it, which girl would you choose?”

I pound the steering wheel. “What if Aimee doesn’t choose me back?”

As Travis begins to dematerialize, his last word to me is “Courage.”

FATHER RAMOS INSISTS
this isn’t a formal hearing, just a conversation over dinner in Nora’s family room. The chef herself is at Sanguini’s, but she left us a heaping bowl of her famous West Texas rattlesnake ravioli marinara and fresh bread. Neither of the Kitaharas has touched a bite, which says a lot about how tense they are.

Zaleski and Wertheimer apparently suspected Paxton of killing Travis all along, even more so after they confirmed two sets of Cat DNA at the murder scene, though they didn’t have a sample of Paxton’s to compare. Plus it turns out that they had their own contacts at the interfaith coalition and had confirmed Ruby’s status as an operative.

She got in too deep and killed a cop to protect her cover. That’s tragic and a huge deal, especially to the detectives. But it was also Ruby who passed on the information to Quincie that Bradley Sanguini (the chef I referred Cameron to in hell) had infected hundreds of diners (including me) with demonic blood by mixing it into one of the restaurant desserts: the chilled baby squirrels, simmered in orange brandy, bathed in honey cream sauce. Tasted better than it sounds.

I conclude, “That knowledge opened the door to our finding a way to defuse the supernatural contaminant, so that none of those guests ever manifested as vampires. Without her, we’d never have known to try to stop it.”

I don’t mention that
I
was one of the infected, but I’ll thank Ruby privately later.

She exhales. “All this time, I thought I had failed completely.”

From the head of the table, Father Ramos sips from a glass of merlot. “Ruby, you’re not the first undercover agent who found herself faced with an impossible choice. But you might benefit from more structure than the coalition provides our operatives.”

Her cautiously hopeful expression falters. The work means so much to Ruby. I’ve seen evil — demonic evil — up close. I respect the people who step up to fight it.

Zaleski’s already put away half a heaping plate of pasta. “Ms. Kitahara, we have a lot in common. Neither of us likes playing by the rules when they get in the way of the right result, but it’s all about knowing
which
rules to break and why.”

“What’re you saying?” Yoshi asks. “She feels awful about —”

“I’m asking Ruby . . .” Zaleski replies, shooting a warning glance at her brother. “I’m asking Ruby if she’s ever considered a career in law enforcement.”

RUBY IS STILL TALKING
to the grown-ups in the dining room. It’s going better than I hoped. In the foyer, Aimee and I bid farewell to Wertheimer, who says he’s off to the station to finesse some paperwork. Feeling either brave or stupid, I decide to ask him a question that’s been gnawing on me since we first met.

As the detective pulls his jacket from the coat hanger, I begin: “We’re almost positive that you’re a Wild Card like Clyde, but if you don’t mind my asking, what’s your heritage combo?”

“I do mind,” Wertheimer retorts, zipping up. “But you’re both good eggs, and after what you’ve been through . . .” He hesitates at the door. “I’m a wereporcupine on my mama’s side, and a
Nuralagus rex sapiens
on my daddy’s.” With that, he’s gone.

It’s not funny, except for Wertheimer’s tough-guy embarrassment and the overwhelming cute factor. As I start chuckling, Aimee asks, “What’s
Nura
. . . uh,
Nur
—?”

“It’s a giant bunny rabbit.”

Aimee and I wander onto the back porch to give Ruby and the adults privacy.

“What are you thinking about so seriously?” I ask.

“The deific. They’re not such bad people . . . from a certain point of view.”

I think of Luis, of all the shifters who died on the island. “Come again?”

Aimee rests her elbows on the rail. Her right hand is badly bruised, but she can bend all of her fingers. “As an intern, I was required to go to their motivational meetings. The snowmen sincerely believe that it’s their destiny to use finance and technology to inherit the earth and all of its creatures, typical humans and werepeople included. Among other things, they think they’ll be better custodians of the planet than we are.”

That makes them sincerely lunatics, in my opinion.

“They viewed me the way most humans I know view apes,” she goes on. “They considered themselves humane, letting all you shifters live in the jungle ‘as nature intended’ between hunts. The snowmen love. They have families and family dramas. Personality conflicts and fashion faux pas. They hope for a more prosperous future. They want to live in peace. Are
Homo sapiens
so different? Are werepeople?”

I say, “For a geek, Goth, New-Age hippie girl, you’re awfully deep.”

We make ourselves comfortable on a couple of chaise lounges. I take it slow, mindful of my injured ribs, then pull her chair closer. “Speaking of which, you look more like yourself again.”

Aimee fingers a pale-green strand in her otherwise still-white hair. “These are extensions. My colorist said that I had to wait a while before using more chemicals on it.”

We stare at the stars, and she reaches to cover herself with a blanket folded on the next chair. “It’s looking good for Ruby,” I say. “I’m grateful to have her back.” I gently bump Aimee’s shoulder with mine. “To have you both home safe.”

Her smile is uncertain. “You’re an amazing guy, Yoshi. Good-looking, charismatic, sweeter than you think —”

“I hear a ‘but’ coming.” I swallow hard. “That’s okay. I know you have feelings for Clyde, even if he is too stupid to appreciate you.” I’m referring to the Wild Card’s date tonight with Noelle. Aimee looks dejected, though. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.

“About that,” I begin again. “About your liking him. It’s not because he’s a Lion, is it?” I spread my fingers around my face like a mane and put on a pouty face. “Because he has better hair than I do?”

When Aimee laughs, I hear the relief in her voice. “What
is
it with y’all werepeople and your whole food-chain, dominance-submission nonsense? I’m interested in you as individuals, as people. Also, just FYI, for humans, being attracted to animal forms is pervy and disturbed and sick.”

Homo sapiens
can be so narrow-minded.

Aimee swings her legs off the side of the lounge and stands. Like whatever she has to say is too important for casual chairs. “I don’t want to give you a complex.”

I shake my head. “You don’t have to explain.”

But Aimee continues: “Here’s the thing. My dad bailed. My fling with Enrique fizzled.” Squinting down at me, she adds, “And I’ve never told anyone this before, but since sixth grade, I had this crush on Jacob Feldheim, and then freshman year, he announced on Valentine’s Day that he had to move to a science station in Antarctica — Antarctica — because his mother got a grant to study emperor penguins.”

Penguins? Why are we talking about penguins?

“After Travis was killed, I was starting to feel cursed,” she admits. “And you’re . . . wow. You’re not the kind of guy that a girl like me ends up with, let alone turns down. But I can’t be with you just to have someone, no matter how terrific you are. I’m looking for that click, and you . . . you probably have no idea who Barbara Gordon is.”

Barbara Gordon is Batgirl or Oracle, depending. A piece of trivia I picked up due to Ruby’s affection for redheads. I could say so and maybe even land a second chance.

I don’t. Part of being a cool Cat is knowing when to shut up.

“Clyde could be that person, if he were interested in me.” Aimee’s brow puckers. “In the meantime, I’m saving up to buy a hairless house cat. But I want us to stay friends, Yoshi — close friends. We may not fit that way, but we do fit. I want you in my life.”

Friends. I can tell she means it.

At least I’m the first guy she ever had to let down easy. That counts for something, doesn’t it? I give Aimee a brotherly hug and assure her that I understand and that I’m good with it. Or at least I will be.

After all, she’s the first person besides my sister who really matters to me.

So what if my heart’s breaking a little? I’ve gotten my family back and found the first true friend I’ve ever had.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?”
I ask Ruby after the meeting downstairs degenerates into chocolate-hazelnut pie, coffee, and talk of football. “About the bogus internship, the interfaith coalition, your being some kind of demon-hunting secret agent?” It’s not the first time I’ve asked. When I brought it up at the hotel and on the plane ride home, she said we’d talk later in private. When I mentioned it last night, she begged off, claiming she was still too tired. As an afterthought, I joke, “What other secrets are you keeping?”

She starts at that. “I was
sworn
to secrecy. Standard procedure, you know. I thought I was protecting you.” There’s something off about Ruby’s tone. It’s not only that she feels guilty about almost getting us both killed, though that’s part of it.

I can’t quite put my finger on what’s wrong. “You see how well that turned out.”

We’re changing the linens on a canopy bed in a second-floor bedroom at Nora’s. The coalition has been keeping up with Ruby’s rent, but her front door still isn’t fixed, and everyone agrees that she should start over somewhere fresh.