Men of the Otherworld (38 page)

“I was terribly conflicted, as you could see.” I opened her dressing room door.

“Hmm.” She passed me into the room and started plucking the pins from her hair. “I know it's childish of me to feel threatened…” She shook out her hair, pins clinking to the floor. “I shouldn't feel the need to prove myself.” She slid the straps of her dress off her shoulders. “The need to reclaim my…”

“Territory?”

She unzipped the back of her dress. “That's not the way I'd put it. I've never been very good at fighting for what's mine. Not with men anyway. I'm better focusing on
keeping
what's mine.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

She let the dress slide to the floor. “I have my ways.”

Jaime had nothing to worry about, but I knew she still would. When it came to her job, she was a fighter. With men, though, she fell prey to that self-doubt planted by her mother and nurtured by careless lovers. Fighting to keep a man was as alien to her as fighting to win one, as I knew from experience.

The first time I truly noticed Jaime was at a council meeting—one she
didn't
actually attend, having called to say something had come up. I'd ducked out early, leaving Elena to debate some petrifyingly dull matter of interracial politics. Earlier, I'd seen an interesting play on light a block away—the sun shining through the trees at an angle that cast an eerie glow
over a playground and I wanted to get a better look, see if I could mentally capture it for a painting.

When I arrived, though, the sun had moved enough to spoil the effect. But I did find something else of interest—Jaime, sitting on a bench, staring into nothing. She was terribly embarrassed at being caught skipping the meeting, and confessed she'd had a difficult week, arrived here and realized she couldn't face the council. I suspected there was more to it than that. I didn't push, though, just invited her to join me for a cold drink so we could play hooky together.

Over that drink, she mentioned that her mother had called as she'd been heading to the meeting. She made nothing of it at the time, but as I later came to know her better, I could reflect back and see this as the real reason she hadn't been able to walk into that meeting room.

Jaime had spent her life on stage—first in beauty pageants and later as a spiritualist, with her mother exploiting her necromancy talents. Before long, she'd been the sole income provider, yet her mother never let Jaime forget what a saint she was to put up with the “burden” of her daughter's powers. Even now, Jaime paid all the bills at her mother's lavish retirement home and still had to field regular calls of complaint.

Nothing Jaime could do for her mother was ever enough, and no matter what she did with her life, it was never good enough. I knew what that felt like. I'd spent thirty years living with a father who despised me because I was different. And I'd still been a teenager when I'd had to start working to pay his keep, bound by my grandfather's will, which gave me our estate and its assets … and all the financial obligations that came with them.

So, as different as Jaime and I appeared, in this we eventually found common ground and friendship. As she became more to me than “that attractive necromancer,” I began to realize that she
was neither clumsy nor inarticulate … except around me. Per haps I'm thick about such things, but it took me a long time to understand why Jaime was attracted to me. Or as she later put it, she had a horribly embarrassing third-grade crush. At first, I presumed that once she got to know me, the attraction would wane. Yet it hadn't been long before I'd begun to hope that it didn't.

I needed to know what kind of supernatural I was dealing with. So back at the hotel, I called Robert Vasic. While his stepson, Adam, was officially the council's new research consultant, it was sometimes better to call Robert—particularly on a Saturday night. He was still up, watching a late movie with his wife, Talia.

I told him about the encounter.

“A young woman cornered you in an alley, undressed and tried to seduce you? Don't you hate it when that happens?” He chuckled. “Now, you do realize that I'm no longer a priest. I can't hear confession.”

“I'm not Catholic.”

“Well, in that case, tell me everything.”

I did.

“So this very attractive young woman offered to fulfill your every desire, and you want to know if I've ever heard of such a supernatural? If I had, it would be one of the rare times I would close my books to do field research. Such an intriguing phenomenon would require careful investigation.”

The line hissed. His wife, Talia, came on as Robert laughed in the background.

“I think I'd better handle this one, before you give him a heart attack,” she said. “Go take a cold shower, old man.” They bantered for a minute, then Talia said, “Okay, let's see what you've got.”

We discussed it, clarifying the details.

“Not ringing any bells,” she mused. “I'm going to guess it's a demidemon because they often take female form. Nix are known for tempting humans, but they appeal to preexisting hidden desires.” She paused. “Is everything okay with you and Jaime?”

“Everything's fine. If it's a Nix, her hidden desire radar has short-circuited. I was thinking succubus myself.”

“Actually…”

“There's no such thing, is there?”

“It's just a blanket term for any demon or demidemon who seduces humans. Which really doesn't narrow it down at all. Let me talk to Robert. We'll do some digging.”

I woke to the ringing of the bedside phone. I glanced over at Jaime, who was usually quick to answer, but her side of the bed was empty. The bathroom door was closed with the light on inside.

I answered. It was Robert.

“I think I have an answer for you,” he said. “A fox maiden.”

“Fox… ?”

“It's a form of demidemon. A shape-shifter who can manifest in both human and fox form. It's indigenous to Japan. It's primary power is vision-casting. They can reshape reality for humans … or at least reshape the appearance of it.”

“Like turning an alley into a forest path. That certainly seems to fit, as does the fox form and the Asian origins.”

“But here's where it gets interesting. According to legend, the fox maiden is a demon of hearth and home. In myth, it mates with human men to raise a family.”

“And you think that's what it was trying to do?”

“That's the
human
legend, which usually contains only grains of truth. What interests me are the fox maiden's supposed powers, in relation to its family. It's said to be fiercely protective of
them, telepathically linked to them and able to sense danger they face. It's also supposed to be able to communicate with them in dreams.” He paused. “Sound familiar?”

All powers I possessed. And yet…

“I know,” Robert said before I could. “You have all the
alleged
powers, but the only
known
power—projecting visions—you lack.”

“Along with shape-shifting into a fox.” I glanced at the bathroom door. Still shut and no sound within. I half listened to Robert as I sat up to look around. On Jaime's pillow was a note, saying her morning interview had been bumped up and she'd call me when she was finished.

“… only inherit some of the demon's powers, which would explain it,” Robert was saying.

“So you're theorizing that my mother was one of these fox maidens. I thought demidemons didn't sire or bear children.”

“Which is one major problem with the theory. The other being the runes you draw. They're clearly protective in nature, which fits with fox maiden legend, but I can find no mention of anything like them.”

“She didn't like me drawing them.”

“Hmmm?”

I told him about the young woman trying to stop me from tracing a rune.

“Well, that's interesting. There must be a connection. Talia and I will keep looking. Will you be around today or busy with Jaime?”

We talked for another couple of minutes. The phone rang again as soon as I hung up. It was Tara, saying she was sending a car by in a half-hour to pick Jaime up for the interview.

“Which interview?”

“The only one she has this morning. At eleven.”

I glanced at the note and quickly signed off.

*   *   *

If this “fox maiden” could shape-shift into Zoe Takano, then it wasn't a stretch to believe she could have taken on Tara's voice and lured Jaime out of the hotel. As for why, I'm sure it wasn't to apologize for trying to seduce me.

I pulled on clothing and was still buttoning my shirt in the elevator, to the raised eyebrows of a couple heading down. Going out in public, unshaven, unshowered, still dressing, ignoring all disapproving glances … how many times had I reproached Clay for doing the same thing?

For the next twenty minutes, though, that's who I seemed to be channeling: Clay. I shouldered my way through the tourists at the door. I ignored all stares when I dropped to one knee on the sidewalk, hoping to catch Jaime's scent, not even bothering with the pretense of tying my shoe. I even beat an older couple to the first cab, then impatiently snapped directions to the driver.

For that brief period, I understood how Clay saw the world. Inconsequential—save for my corner of it and those who resided there. I would never shove a stranger out of my way, but under the circumstances, I had no problem pushing past them and earning a glare. When my family was in danger, the wolf took over. Or maybe, given what Robert had said, it wasn't so much the wolf as the fox.

I'd long suspected that my mother had been another supernatural race. Jaime had urged me to investigate. She knew that, deep down, I wanted to solve this mystery. But old fears and insecurities held me back—too many years of my father's scorn and disgust at having a son who was “different,” who would never be the fighter he was. Too many years of knowing I wasn't a true werewolf and desperately wanting to be.

What I wanted now, though, was to find Jaime. So for once,
I didn't give into my self-doubts, waffle and analyze the gut feeling that told me how to find her. I trusted it and let it lead the way.

It took me to a warehouse, partially renovated into some sort of studio. Jaime would have entered it without question for an interview. Inside, though, it was empty, as if closed.

I looked around, sniffing and sensing. Then I found her using a more mundane sense.

“Look, this isn't going to work out, girls.” Jaime's faint voice floated from deep within the warehouse. “I know you'd love to scratch my eyes out—or worse—but as long as I'm wearing this, it seems you aren't coming close enough to try. And considering it's a permanent fashion accessory, I'd say you're shit outta luck.”

The tattoo.

When we'd first started dating, Jaime had asked me to sketch a rune for her, like the ones I gave to Clay, Elena and the twins, sometimes openly, more often secreted away on scraps of paper, fulfilling an overwhelming compulsion.

Jaime had been convinced that the rune had led me to her when she'd been kidnapped, and had kept her safe. She'd insisted on having it tattooed on her ankle. I'd protested. Secretly, though, I'd been relieved when it was done.

I followed her voice and found her in the farthest part of the warehouse, a semidark section that hadn't been renovated. Backed into a corner, she sat cross-legged, displaying her ankle tattoo.

In front of her, three foxes paced, stopping now and then to snarl. Jaime only laughed and waggled her foot, sending them skittering back.

Though she appeared relaxed, I could sense her anxiety. When she saw me, she let out an audible sigh of relief.

“The cavalry has arrived,” she said. “Which is exactly what you were hoping for, isn't it, girls?”

As she stood, I caught a whiff of blood. Her calves were streaked with it, and dotted with puncture wounds.

“I'm okay,” she said, following my gaze. “Your rune is keeping them at bay, but they can't resist getting in the occasional nip, which is why I haven't made a run for it.”

I walked between Jaime and the foxes. They let me, and let me wave her to the door, watching only to see if I'd follow. She stayed at the door. I didn't urge her to leave. I knew she wouldn't.

“Change forms so I can talk to you,” I said.

They did, becoming three women so similar that I wasn't sure which, if any, was the one from the night before.

“Fox maidens,” I said.

“Kitsune,” the one on the right corrected, her chin lifting.

Kitsune. Japanese wasn't one of the languages I was fluent in, but I knew enough to recognize this as the word for fox. As she said it, I remembered the word the other one had used last night. Kogitsune. Little fox or fox cub.

The middle one reached for the top button on her dress. When she undid it, I lifted a hand to stop her.

“That didn't work last night and nothing has changed since then.”

“No?”

The ones on each end moved forward, boxing me in. They undid their top buttons.

“Now there are three of us,” the middle one said. She flashed her teeth. “Would you like to start with one … or all?”

I could have sworn I heard a growl from the doorway and looked over to see Jaime glowering.

“One or three, it doesn't change my answer, which is still no.”

“Perhaps four then? Five?” Another flash of her teeth. “I believe you'll find we are very accommodating.”

“I'm sure you are,” Jaime muttered too low for anyone else to catch.

“If you want me to stay, leave your clothing on,” I said.

The right one curled her lip, and I was sure she was about to tell me I was staying whether I wanted to or not, but the middle one—the leader apparently—silenced her with a look.

“What is Kogitsune?” I asked.

“You are Kogitsune.”

“A half-demon.”

The right one's lip curled again. “Nothing so common. You are Kogitsune.”

“It is a race of our blood,” the leader said. “It can be passed through the line, unlike half-demons, whose blood ends with the first generation.”

“And we are not demons,” the left one said. “We are gods.”

“Demigods?” I said.

All three pursed their lips, not caring for the distinction. There were no “gods.” One could argue, as Robert did, that there were no demigods either, that it was simply a separate branch of what we called demidemons. But arguing that theological theory
with
a self-described demigod was never wise.