8. Cheribelle
Cheribelle
In a Den of Wolves (Is that Species-ist???)
“Hudson, does this say ‘international woman of mystery’ to you?” I asked, looking in my mirror at the dark, PVC pants and black tunic top and vest I was wearing.
“ Mmmmmmmrp? ”
She was playing with her favorite banana toy on my bed. “I’m serious, Hudson. I’m about to head into a den of thieves, murderers, and miscreants! I gotta fit in.”
It had been two days since my encounter with the VanMarches, and I could still hardly believe it.
Never in a million years had I thought my ability to see people’s emotions and the echoes of said feelings after they were gone would result in me being actively involved in an intense murder investigation.
And yet that was exactly what had happened.
I’d fully intended to throw myself into research when I was home, but using my abilities so intensely for hours on end had taken a toll on me. I’d slept for nearly fourteen hours after I’d horked down the nice dinner Paul’s driver had picked up for me on the way home.
Had a hella crick in my neck after that.
“ Mrrmrrmrrr mrrr, ” Hudson replied, although it was hard to tell if she was answering me or declaring war on her toy banana and all its descendants.
I’m choosing to pretend that was for me. I looked back at my reflection. “Trying too hard? You think so? I guess it would be better to be nondescript. This is real life, not a superhero movie where the bad guys all wear dark colors.”
God, wouldn’t that make things much more convenient?
As I went to change, I couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that Paul and Chris had managed to find a seedy hot spot that the criminal underbelly of the magical world liked to use.
Although I was part of the enchanted population, it wasn’t like I had strong ties to the community.
Such seemed to be the plight of many oracles.
We were an integral part of human history—those of who were real and the charlatans leading others astray—but strangely, other magical folks tended not to utilize our services.
Probably because of those aforementioned charlatans, but I didn’t see how that was our fault.
But fault or not, it meant that other than the panther shifters down the road and the witch who had been my kindergarten teacher, I didn’t have a whole lot of connections to that part of me.
“Okay, how’s this?” I asked, stepping over a pile of clothes to present myself to Hudson.
Do I need to wash those? No. That’s the clean-and-needs-to-be-put-away pile. Or is it the worn-once-and-can-wear-again pile?
Not right now. Focus!
“ Brrrrkk! Prrrk! Mrrrppppppp ,” Hudson supplied.
“Wow, so now you’re all opinionated!”
“Mrrp.”
“Fine! White blouse and yoga pants it is. Jeez!”
Now, if only I could find my yoga pants…
Rolled into tube, under credenza in foyer downstairs, next to paperclip and blue scrunchie, a back part of my mind supplied, the image floating through my head.
“Right, that’s where it was.”
That was how I ended up in my foyer in just a long, white blouse and panties. Not exactly all that out of the ordinary for me, but what was unusual was for someone to be knocking on the door while I was only just stepping into the first Lycra pant leg.
“Uh, hello?” I called, mentally going through my calendar to see if I had forgotten an appointment. I didn’t think so. I’d blocked off two weeks on my online booking site and had let the few calls I’d received go straight to voice mail.
“Cherry? It’s Paul. I’m a touch early.”
I heaved a sigh of relief as I shimmied my second leg into my yoga pants and pulled them up. “Ah, you were supposed to text me when you were on your way.”
“I did.”
Did he? I went to pat my pocket only to realize that 1) I was wearing yoga pants, ergo no pockets. 2) None of my outfit choices had pockets at all, so I’d been without my phone for at least the past hour.
Shit.
“Sorry! I must have misplaced it somewhere. Lemme go find it!” I called, already heading up the stairs.
“That’s fine, but would you mind letting me in first?”
Ah. Yeah, that was probably the right order of business, wasn’t it?
“Sorry! Coming, coming!”
I raced to the door and opened it, stepping to the side to let Paul in. I was grateful I had the knob to hold onto because, wow, I was not prepared to see the wolf shifter in casual wear.
As if there was anything casual about seeing him in a deep-blue turtleneck and tactical pants that left nothing about those scrumptiously thick thighs to the imagination.
Holy shit on a stick, who knew a cable knit could be so alluring? (don’t stare at his chest)
Hubba-hubba sleeper build! Wouldn’t mind biting those!
Be respectful!
The man’s lost two members of his family recently, and someone’s trying to take out more! (don’t stare at his biceps) I’m TRYING to be respectful, but I’m only a woman.
(don’t stare at his chest OR biceps)
And those are definitely some pecs.
“Are you all right?” Paul asked in that low, soft voice of his. “You look flushed.”
“Oh, I’m great, just finishing up some last-minute stuff. Shall we head out?”
“Didn’t you mention needing to grab your phone?
” he murmured, his steely gray eyes looking me up and down.
It didn’t feel lecherous as it would with most people who threw me the elevator gaze.
If anything, it just felt like he was checking up on me, making sure I was okay.
“Also, you’re not wearing shoes. Just mismatched toe socks. ”
I looked down. Five rainbow-striped right tootsies and five black-and-white checkered left tootsies stared back at me. How embarrassing.
“Right. I’m gonna get right on that.”
Sometimes I felt like I’d gotten used to having the ol’ A to the D to the High Definition, and sometimes I felt like a fucking child. At least I could take comfort in the fact that the impeccably professional VanMarche didn’t appear to be judging me at all.
Just watching.
But I kinda liked that he was always watching me.
I’d been aware of it since I’d thoroughly searched every bit of his father and brother’s murder scene, and while it was occasionally intimidating, and rarely a bit uncomfortable, mostly it was exciting.
Exciting to be truly seen? Maybe that was it. Or maybe it was because his observation almost felt like a challenge—an extra layer of surveillance for me to dupe.
Wait, no, I didn’t like that. Made me feel like I was lying to him.
You are lying to him. Shut up, brain! Just saying…
“Back in a flash.”
I hurried up the stairs, pulled on my boots, then grabbed my phone from the bathroom and my wallet from my dresser.
Since I didn’t have any pockets, I tucked both into my sports bra.
My cups weren’t exactly overflowing, but they were just big enough to give me the natural pockets that were femme’s consolation prize.
I could always just get a purse.
And lose it in approximately ten seconds.
Besides, purses aren’t very assassin-chic.
But utility belts are! I should get a utility belt!
That would have to wait for my next online shopping spree, because I had more important things to do. When I got back downstairs and joined Paul in the foyer, I was a bit breathless.
“Ready! Wanna drive to this den of sin, secrecy, and subterfuge?” I asked, grinning brightly. I probably should have been less jazzed about going to such a dangerous place, but it was like I was a real detective! If my mom could see me now, I was sure she would be proud.
Yeah, except for that whole me lying about being a psychic thing. She always wanted me to embrace being an empath.
She’d be so sad that you’re ashamed of it now.
Okay, subconscious, not the time.
Give a girl a break!
“Oh, we’re not driving.”
My eyes popped wide open. “We’re not?”
“No, I figured taking my car would make it too easy for me to be tracked if someone was following me. I took a rideshare to the subway, took the subway to the other side of the city, and made a couple of different transfers before hopping in a cab here. I figured we’d call an Uber to another line, ride it as close as we can to the bazaar, then walk from there. ”
“I see.”
That made complete sense, and I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of that at all. So much for my convincing charade of being a psychic.
“Is that all right with you?”
“Y-yeah, fo sho, fo sho, fo sho. Could use a little cardio.”
Once I’d woken up from my fourteen-hour coma, I’d thrown myself into research, chasing the internet rabbit hole about killers for hire, unethical life hackers, and basically all the seedy underground stuff that didn’t require a trip to the dark web.
I knew how to get onto that particular blight on the digital world, but I didn’t have any desire to go there.
I only wanted information; I didn’t actually want to hire an assassin.
I’d packed details and factoids away in my brain, but I’d gotten a little lost in the weeds because I hadn’t even come close to finding any practical application of said information when Paul called me and told me about the clandestine bazaar we were going to.
“Shall we get our stroll on?” I asked, ready to hustle past the awkward.
“Of course.”
When Paul and I had stood so close to each other in Jackson’s bedroom, I’d felt quite a bit closer to him than I had any right to be.
I’d always been a rather fast maker of connections, usually quick to forge and quick to crumble to dust, so it wasn’t exactly shocking.
That brick wall around him had been gone, and I’d felt like we were sharing a genuine connection.
But now he was a little more shut off, like the short time we’d spent apart had formed a gap between us. That was… disappointing.
As we headed out the door, I maybe leaned into my empathic abilities as I glanced at the handsome man beside me out of the corner of my eye. To my relief, I could see some of his emotions gently wafting behind him, though more muted than before.