I tapped the mic three times, taps Rick would be able to hear even with the comms hanging around his neck. The taps stood for:LaFleur, report back to origination and insert point, ASAP. It was a reminder that they needed to become human again, that there was work to do. I three-tapped again. There was no reply because Rick had turned off his mic. And because his cat didn’t have opposable thumbs to turn it back on. And because his cat didn’t speak English. There were a lot of reasons why he didn’t respond, most of them amusing.
Moments later, on the hillside, I caught a hint of movement, red in the infrared range. Two slinky cat shapes were working their way down toward the road, strides lazy, in no hurry. I made my way to my truck and started the engine, waiting for them to shift back. I wanted to leave them as they had left me, but weres in the midst of shifting were vulnerable, and I knew better.
But that didn’t mean I had to wait till they got dressed. The moment I saw a human shape in the low-light goggles, still naked and steaming in a greenish haze, I drove off, stopping once for fresh bakery bread and a bear claw that tempted me like a sweet devil. The claw was greasy, nowhere near as good as Mama’s, and I was able to eat only part of it, but the to-go coffee was surprisingly tasty, much better than the burned sludge I expected.
I picked up a second coffee—my regular in the coffee shop—along with an egg and bacon on flatbread, which was wonderful. Upstairs, I checked in with HQ, where Tandy was turning everything over to JoJo, who had gotten up from a nap in the back room. T. Laine was typing up a report so fast the keys clacking sounded like castanets. Soul was in the break room making coffee, looking gorgeous and curvy and sophisticated, her teal and aqua gauzy skirts moving with the air from the heater vents. Or from her magic. Shape-shifting magic was different for each shifter species andarcencielmagic was the least understood of all.
I was eating and inputting my report when Rick and Occam came in. Rick went to his office. Occam stopped at my cubicle, and I could see him reflected in the window where my plants grew, his body dark and indistinct against the rising sun.
“Nell, sugar?” he asked, sounding very Texan, the way he often did after a shift to his cat.
I hit enter and saved my report. Picked up my coffee and spun in my chair to face him. His blondish hair hung long. His beard was a postshift two-day growth and scruffy. His eyes were more-than-human golden. He was wearing jeans low on his hips and his T-shirt was faded and too tight, showing abs and biceps and deltoids. His arms were up, hands on the cubicle walls, balanced. “You still mad? We shouldn’ta left you.”
“Not mad. Actually it kinda makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.” His eyebrows lifted, wrinkling his forehead in confusion. “Makes me feel like I’m really and truly part of Unit Eighteen,” I explained.
“I’m not following you, Nell, sugar.”
“If I’d been T. Laine or Tandy or JoJo, you’d still have forgotten me. You were being cats, already focused on the hunt. It’s the human’s and witch’s and empath’s job to look after the werecats when you get focused on werecat issues. So forgetting me made me one of the team. You didn’t think you needed to babysit the probie. Or the woman. I apologize for hanging up on you. I hadn’t thought it through at the time.”
“Day-um, woman.” Occam looked half-impressed, half-fearful. “Just when I think I got you figured out you go and do something unexpected. So you ain’t gonna be getting us back for forgetting you?”
“Oh, there’ll be payback.” I sipped and spun back to my laptop. “That’s Unit Eighteen’s way.”
Occam snorted a laugh, all cat. A little intrigued. And I realized that I had, maybe, just flirted with the cat-man. A plant-woman flirting with a wereleopard. I felt a blush race up my throat into my face.
JoJo yelled down the hallway, “Gather ’round. Report!”
I picked up my laptop and stood, taking one step toward the hallway. Stopped in a sudden jerk. Occam hadn’t moved. I was too close. I wanted to step back, but that would have been weak. I wanted to bull my way through him, but that would have been... dangerous. I wanted to cover my chest with the laptop.Weak. Wanted to hit him with the laptop.Dangerous. I couldn’t think of anything to do that would be neither weak nor dangerous.
I raised my head and met his eyes, golden and glowing cat eyes.Yeah. Dangerous.
“Cat-boy,” JoJo yelled again. “Get your butt in here and stop scaring the probie.”
“Probie ain’t scared,” Occam growled. “Probie ain’t never scared.”
I thought that was the nicest compliment I had ever been given. A complete untruth, but nice that he would think I was brave when I was more often a worried, panicked rabbit, like the one eaten by the owl only hours past. I smiled, ducked my head, and pushed Occam out of the way, using my laptop to keep from touching him with my whole hand, though I felt his were-warmth on the backs of my knuckles. He resisted for just a moment and I pushed harder. He gave way and I walked past him, head high, laptop holding him away from me as I made the turn to the conference room. He followed. Cat-close.
His pursuit felt like the start to something new. I didn’t know what, but I was feeling quite captivated by life and whatever it was sending my way. I also knew that if Occam had been a human male shadowing me this close, I’d have been scared. Worried. But it was a cat. It was Occam. And that was infinitely preferable.
In the conference room I took my seat and opened my laptop. Pea and Bean (the two grindys were too similar for me to tell the difference) raced up and around the tabletop, around the Christmas tree that hadn’t been there yesterday. The grindylows were looking for treats, chasing each other. It was rare to see both at the same time, and I had no idea how they got around or how they knew when they wereneeded. According to official intel, no one knew that and speculation was rife. I just considered it their particular magic and let it go at that. Tandy gave them sunflower seeds, which both grindys adored. They settled at his place, rolling around like kittens playing. I figured they were still around because the weres had gone catty and were still acting catty, even in human form.
Rick stood at the far side of the table, leaning against the wall behind him, arms crossed over his chest, very alpha, in-charge, predator-ishy, without saying anything. The rest of the unit scattered into our regular places, not assigned seating, but the spots we had each gravitated to and semiclaimed.
Rick’s eyes were still glowing greenish. I realized that he was too catty to lead a meeting and was still having trouble controlling his wereleopard. I had done the best I could to heal the magical attacks on his soul and his body, but I feared I had tied him to Soulwood. Or to me. And despite what Occam thought about my derring-do, I was too chicken to read Rick and see what was happening inside him.
Soul came to the room, standing in the doorway where she could watch us all. Or catch us if we tried to leave. Her eyes went back and forth between the werecats, evaluating. Neither cat glanced her way, ignoring her. She looked ignorable in human form but she had big teeth in dragon form. I hope the kitties remembered that.
JoJo gave the time and date, and every head turned to the second in command. JoJo was wearing black from head to toe today, topped by a black turban with a couple dozen braids hanging beneath it, her natural dark hair interwoven with blond and brown and red weaves. She was wearing three big earrings in each ear and none of them matched. One was a scarlet feather. She looked striking, stylish, self-assured, and amazing. Her eyes were on the cats as she spoke, evaluating but unconcerned. She also looked as if she could take on the cats and come out unscathed and still looking trendy.
Jo stated the name of every person present, but she didn’t type anything. We were still using, or testing, Clementine,the voice-to-character software. A silence fell on the room. And grew. Waiting. Rick should have said something, but he stood against the wall, his French-black eyes greenish and unfocused. Jo looked to Soul, who ignored her, her own black eyes on the cats. Jo’s mouth tightened and the skin at the corners of her eyes wrinkled. She looked annoyed, or maybecantankerouswas the correct term.
The others shot furtive looks at Rick. The grindys stopped playing and crouched. One was staring at Rick, the other at Occam. A feeling of discomfort grew in the room, and JoJo seemed to let it happen, the annoyed expression going vexed and stubborn.
I looked at Rick. At Occam. Occam was staring at me, golden eyes glowing. I gave him the back of my head, much as he had done on the hood of the C10. Cat insult back at him. He hacked in amusement and settled, the interaction seeming to calm him, to center him in his human side.
Slowly, Jo said, “Tandy and I found something.” JoJo pursed her lips and shook her head slightly as if arguing with herself. She took a slow breath and said, “But first, Rick. Report on the DNAKeys’ recon.”
Rick’s eyes tracked to her. He said nothing. The words came back to me.The urge to shift and to hunt waxes strong three days out, abides the three days of, and wanes three days after. Nine nights of pleasure and nine days of hell.And Rick had a nasty history with werewolves, who had tortured him. Had the visit to DNAKeys triggered something in him? I didn’t know what was about to happen but—
