I dropped off almost immediately, but I didn’t sleep well, plagued by dreams that were not quite nightmares. Images of Morgan and Beulah ran through my head as I ran through clichéd dream corridors, being chased by something I could never quite see. Sometime in the middle of the night I was awakened by the feel of a warm body and a head pressed against my chest. I made an inquiring sound, and Morgan whispered, “I’m scared.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said and pulled her closer to comfort her. We lay without moving for a while until a subtle shift in her breathing told me that comfort was changing into something else. My own breathing changed, and I slowly stroked her back. Her hand eased up to the back of my neck as she gently pulled me down until we faced each other in the dark.
Not a word was spoken. Morgan was reaching out to me for comfort, and maybe a way of forgetting, or a desire born from fear, a reassurance that she was still safe, still alive. And that was strange-it’s not uncommon for men to react that way in times of stress or danger, but not women, not so much. Men can use sex as a means of connecting, of achieving an intimacy that’s otherwise difficult for them to acknowledge. Sex for women tends to be just the opposite, to grow out of intimacy, not as a search to achieve it.
Maybe that’s just stereotyping, though. Not all women are like that, nor all men. But it’s certainly not common for a woman to jump into bed as a reaction to trauma, at least not from what I’ve seen.
But whatever the reason, there was no frantic need involved. It was slow, and sweet, and sad and nostalgic all at once, like making love to someone you care about but you know you will never see again. Even when she finally came, it wasn’t frenzied or desperate, with groans and screams and thrashing. Which was a considerable relief, considering how my last romantic encounter had gone.
Instead, she was still for a moment, and then moved with a quiet intensity. At the last moment, she made a sound in the back of her throat I’d never heard before, a trilling sound almost like a hummingbird, surprisingly loud and oddly erotic, enough so that it swept me along with her.
We lay together and she fell back asleep in my arms. I’d started to drift off, too, when Lou appeared by the side of the bed and gently nipped my hand to get my attention. I came fully awake and sat up carefully, disengaging and trying not to wake Morgan. She made a few mumbled sounds and turned over on her side, leaving me free.
Lou was staring fixedly at the window. I wondered if the shape-shifter had somehow found me, and I wondered if the wards would hold if it had. But Lou was alert, not nervous or excited. I got up cautiously, and as I did so, he relaxed. So odds were whatever had been out there had already taken off.
I grabbed a flashlight from the bedside table drawer and slipped outside, just to check. Nothing was there, but near the window I could see definite impressions in the dirt. Someone or something had been right outside the window.
Maybe a burglar looking for an empty flat. Maybe a pervert looking for a thrill. Maybe a flesh-eating monster. Maybe they were old marks I’d never noticed. There was no way to tell.
I managed to slip back into bed without waking Morgan and drifted off soon after.
The next thing I knew it was morning and I woke up to the sound of Morgan’s voice in the back room. As I sat up yawning, she walked back into the bedroom holding a cell phone.
“Morning,” she said. “I got a flight out today. I hate to rush off, but I’ve got to get moving if I want to make the flight.”
“You need a ride to the airport?” I asked. She shook her head no.
“Thanks, but no. I’ll take BART.”
I got up and made some coffee, but she wouldn’t even stay for a cup. She didn’t seem ill at ease, not at all, but she didn’t mention a thing about last night. Being a gentleman, I didn’t bring it up. Maybe she wanted to pretend it had never happened. Maybe she thought it had been a dream. Maybe it was just one thing too many to deal with right now. In ten minutes she was gone, and I was left drinking a cup of coffee with only Lou for company.
TWELVE
I MIGHT WELL HAVE SPENT THE REST OF THE day just hanging out in the house, pretending to think, avoiding actually doing anything, but Sherwood was having none of that. She didn’t call; she knew I’d just let the machine pick up. So she arrived at my flat at noon.
“Lunch,” she said.
“I don’t feel much like eating.”
“Maybe not, but I do, and you’re taking me out.”
“Really, I don’t-”
“Where do you want to go?” she interrupted.
I gave up. Once Sherwood’s set on something, there’s no denying her. But my favorite Mexican place, El Farolito, where I’d met Morgan, was ruined for me. It would just remind me of what still needed to be done. My favorite Japanese place, Takai’s, was another that brought back bad memories. If enough bad stuff continued to happen to me and my friends, eventually I’d run out of places to eat.
“You choose,” I said. “You’re the one who wants lunch.”
“Herbivore,” she said. “It’s nice out, and it’s walking distance.”
“Since when are you a vegetarian?”
“Since my ‘return.’ I can’t bear to even look at meat.” There’s nothing wrong with being vegetarian. I converted for a few months once when I was going out with Amy, a practitioner who was serious about the concept. The things we do for love. Or for something. Lou was not pleased with the new regime. He started disappearing at dinnertime, returning a couple of hours later looking well satisfied. He was not unhappy when Amy and I inevitably split up.
So I’d been to Herbivore a number of times. It was not only vegetarian; it was vegan. It was Amy’s favorite restaurant. But I never cared for it. A bit bland for my tastes-it takes more than a few months to shed the carnivore habit.
We walked down Valencia, Lou trotting dutifully behind. Until we reached the restaurant, at which point he looked at us with an unmistakable expression of “You have got to be kidding.” I wasn’t the only one who remembered the place. He did a U-turn and trotted back the way we’d come.
“I’ll save a doggie bag for you,” I called after him. “Sei tan. Your favorite.” He didn’t bother to even glance back.
The decor inside Herbivore’s is pretty cool-minimal, almost Japanese in feel, the bare off-white walls sparsely adorned with understated prints. The small front portion of the room looks out on the street, and a narrow line of tables runs alongside the wall next to the kitchen area.
I ordered a grilled portobello sandwich and Sherwood got a salad with odd things in it. After a few bites, she put down her fork and stared at me.
“What?” I said.
“So, what are we going to do about all this?”
“If I knew that, we’d be doing it instead of having lunch. The first thing, obviously, is to find this thing. But I can’t think of how. Lou’s no use-it’s immune to his tracking sense, just like the fake Ifrit was. Morgan might be able to help, but she’s left. Involving her any further would be criminal, anyway.”
“What about the Wendigo? I’ll bet he could find it. Maybe even call it.”
“Hmm. Possible, I guess. But he wouldn’t help us, not without something in it for him. And anyway, I have no idea how to find him again, either.”
“I think I might be able to.”
“Really? How?”
“I’m not sure how. But when he pulled me back, it established a connection between us. I don’t know what it consists of, but I’m sure it’s there. I can feel it.”
She resumed eating her salad, and I took another bite of sandwich. If she still had a connection to the Wendigo, in theory that might be enough to locate him. But the gap between theory and practice often looms large. That’s why Eli and Victor work so well together; Eli has a deep understanding of the principles of magical operations, while Victor is a master engineer-he’s the one who actually implements the spells, and sometimes designs the specifics as well.