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“Good.” I set Mila’s blanket on the railing beside the folder. "I have a feeling this kid might crawl into my bed tonight when the world’s gone quiet and she processes what happened. When I lost my family, even though I heard their screams and was carried past their bodies, those first couple days felt like some demented vacation they forgot to take me on. I kept waiting up for Mom and Dad to kiss me goodnight and would roll to my right as if Rhetta were there to plan our next day’s adventures. Took a while to understand the meaning of ‘never.’ It was always at night, in my bed, cot, or sleeping bag, depending on where we were staying, when I felt most lonely.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Was a real slip of the tongue when we met: I am indeed a mess.” We walked into the kitchen together. “Has your corporal reached out to Keith?”
“Wasn’t home. We’ll try again.”
“Hope he’s alright,” I continued. “He wasn’t for me, but he’s a nice guy. Well-educated, good job, knows what he wants in life, ready for a serious relationship. I could drown you in his accolades.”
“Spend my life toiling far below the harps and halos, Miss Davins.” The sheriff lifted a hand. “Please spare me the praise for a man from on high.”
“Will do.” I busied myself opening a fresh roll of paper towels. “Thing is, I never could get past a couple dates with anyone. I’d rather live alone than lie through my teeth forever about who I am. But everyone’s dead now. If I broadcast my story, minus the werewolf, would that generate enough publicity to keep me alive?”
“Your grandmother was right to stress the importance of remaining undercover. You draw attention to the Otherworld’s crime scenes, you’ll be silenced.” He indicated a picture above the table of a twelve year old Marcy frosting a birthday cake for Gram. “Sometimes I wish I had family photos. Weaned and off with my new masters I trotted. When I was twenty-two, I met my older brother for the first time. From then on, I’m glad we don’t have any.”
I whistled. “Long time.”
“He’s the sheriff of Louisiana. You’ll soon have the misfortune of shaking his hairy hand.” Caelan sneezed and gave the underside of the table a suspicious frown.
“Unlike some people, Mila loves cats. I might try Samson in with her tonight.”
“Knew I was right popping an allergy pill.” He waved his file at the colorful fabric and stuffing mounded on my counter. “Who’s childhood did you murder?”
“I’m crafting Mila her own Waldorpus.”
He tilted his head, but I shook mine and shouted for my temporary ward to come eat.
“Make yourself comfortable, Caelan. While you’re here, I’d like to press you for a favor. My grandmother’s sewing machine is in the basement. Not heavy, but it’s bolted to a table so it’s awkward for one person. Could you help carry it up after dinner?” I lifted the pot of macaroni. “Don’t get much more homecooked than powdered cheese, but if you’d rather takeout, I can put in a call.”
“If you do; otherwise, I’m fine.” Caelan pulled out a chair and sat facing the window over the sink. “When you plan on telling the kid you mercy-killed her brother?”
“Not so loud!” I hissed, checking for signs of the girl. “And, not yet. What if she gets angry, rips out her earring and turns? I can barely handle Igor when she’s pissed.”
“Was fixin’ to suggest the same. Glad you haven’t.”
Broken macaroni shapes clung to the sides of the pot. In a flash of memory, I saw again the broken bones jutted from the corpse’s neck as it lunged after me. I portioned my share with a gag.
Caelan noticed. “Alright there?”
“Fine," I muttered. “What’s the status on Stephen’s pelt?”
Mila saved Caelan from replying by virtue of strolling into the kitchen with Samson in her arms. His legs dragged along the ground, front paws stuck straight out.
Thank God he was a lazy old man. If she'd captured Igor, both cat and werecub would be howling. Demonstrating proper support, I scooped my cat into my arms. “Ask the sheriff to please fix you a plate. There’s corn in the microwave, Caelan. Yeah, I know. Delicious. Mila picked our menu.”
We set her up at the coffee table. I’d promised her dinner and a movie.
Caelan checked his pocket watch. “Isn't it late?”
“She’s not gonna sleep.” I shrugged. “And it isn’t a school night.” Not to mention I was way in over my head.
Samson kneaded a throw pillow beside Mila. Igor was too busy to join the couch crew, puffed to the gills and glaring at the adult werewolf from the safety of the fireplace grates.
“Thank you, Deputy Davins.” Mila reached around to offer Samson a bite. The regal cat sniffed, accepted a piece off her fork, and promptly dropped the gooey treat on my couch.
I plucked the errant noodle. “Wanna know a secret?” I asked her. “After you're done eating, if you pet Samson right here behind his ears, he'll stay on your lap through the entire movie.”
“The whole time?”
