Page 15

“ T alk to me, Walker. You look like a ghost.” Morrison ducked his head so he could catch my gaze and bring it up, which was surprising enough that it worked.

For a second, anyway. The pedantic part of me then couldn’t help looking over myself, wondering if I really did look like a ghost. Not really: they tended to be more transparent and monochromatic than I was, though I had to give Morrison the nod for my color being off.

“Sorry. That woman had breast cancer. Healing it wiped me out.”

“You can…” Morrison sounded like he was about to swallow his tongue. “You can do that?”

“Apparently. I’m also thinking it’s not the best idea I’ve ever had, not unless I want to kill myself.

There’s probably a better way, maybe if I set up a healing circle, a drum…

” I trailed off, letting the building hold me up as I looked toward the theater inside.

“Like what they were doing. Creating a controlled center of power. I’ll work it out later. Long-term project.”

One side of Morrison’s mouth curled up. “You’ve changed.”

I blinked back toward him. “Really?” It was a stupid question. I knew he was right. Still, having him come out and say it warranted a slightly incredulous response.

My stupidity didn’t seem to bother him, as he simply nodded instead of calling me out on it. “You’re a lot more confident.”

“I was always confident.” About cars.

For some reason I didn’t have to say the last two words aloud.

Morrison managed to hear them anyway, or at least I hoped that was what he was responding to as the rest of his mouth joined the smile.

“No, Walker. You were arrogant. You probably still are, but confidence sits better. I think even three months ago you wouldn’t have been standing here telling me flat-out this thing wasn’t a wendigo or that you could heal terminal illnesses but thought you needed a focal point.

The whole thing would have embarrassed you. ”

Now the corner of my mouth turned up. “And it would’ve pissed you off. Sir.”

“My mother likes to say ‘a body can get used to anything, even being hanged, as the Irishman said.’”

I laughed, then became more solemn. “Oh, great. I don’t know, Morrison. I’ve screwed up so much. So many people’ve gotten hurt. I had to get over myself. And…”

His eyebrow twitched upward and I found myself at a loss.

I’d been going to say “Coyote coming back really helped,” which was true, but which was also suddenly something I really didn’t want to say to Morrison.

Not when we were getting along so well. So what came out of my mouth was unexpected, if heartfelt: “And you helped. No matter how much you didn’t like it, you took this talent of mine in stride way before I did.

It’s been a year now, you know? Since the banshee?

A year almost to the day. And you were the one who pulled me onto that case, because you accepted I had a potentially useful skill set whether you understood it or not. So I owe you a lot, boss. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” There was a momentary pause while we were both uncomfortable with all of that before Morrison got another very slight smile, this one sly. “Or were you just saying all that to soften me up for something I’m not going to like?”

I groaned. “No, not on purpose, but now that you mention it, I’m pretty sure I got the killer’s attention when I healed that woman.”

Morrison’s good humor drained away, leaving him to study me as though I was some kind of new and especially nasty stain on his shoe. “Take a walk with me, Detective.”

That couldn’t be good. I fell into step with him, arms wrapped around myself.

Sleeveless velvet sheath dresses were very sexy, but not at all warm, and I’d left my coat in Petite for dramatic effect.

Women weren’t too bright sometimes. We got a little distance from the theater before Morrison said, “You remember you’re suspended from duty, right? ”

“The theater’s not in our jurisdiction anyway. It all works out,” I said flippantly. “It’s not like either thing is going to stop me from investigating.”

He glowered at me, but it was a resigned sort of glower.

“I know. Walker, what do you mean, you got his attention? From what you’ve said, from what I’ve seen, you’ve been throwing power around Seattle for the last year like Jackson Pollock threw paint, and this guy only just now notices you? Explain that to me.”

We hadn’t gotten more than fifty feet away from the theater, but I stopped to goggle at my boss.

Never mind women not being too bright. I clearly wasn’t too bright.

There was no need to damn my entire gender just because I was a moron.

I tented my hands over my nose and mouth, stared at Morrison over my fingertips and finally said, “I can’t.

Not unless it’s someone brand-new to the Pacific Northwest, but if it is, I don’t know why he’d choose here to make his attack.

I’d want to work from comfortable territory, myself. ”

“The date?”

“I don’t think International Everybody Is Irish Day carries any kind of mystical kaboom . If it was the equinox, may…”

I looked skyward. It was a gorgeous clear night, with a few determined stars glittering past the city lights and the moon’s glow. I said a few choice swear words under my breath, then, aloud, said, “It’s not the date. It’s the damned moon.”

Morrison looked up, too. “Full moon? What, it’s a werewolf?”

I glared at him, equilibrium further restored by familiar irritation. “I don’t think there’s any such thing. No, it’s all about dates and phases of the moon with me. Twelfth night, spring equinox, summer solstice, Halloween, wint?—”

“Fourth of July?”

I hunched my shoulders guiltily, having skipped that one on purpose.

“I don’t think that one has any mystical relevance.

I’m pretty sure it was completely my fault, just back lash from the solstice.

Backlash from the whole first half of last year.

It just reached critical mass in early July.

The point is I’m betting this is tied up with the full moon, whatever it is.

It’s not as perfect as last year, when the moon lined up with the equinox, but the dancers were still rehearsing then.

Even if my guy’s been watching them that long, they wouldn’t have been ready to…

harvest.” I wished to hell another word had come to mind.

From Morrison’s expression, so did he. It took several long seconds for him to get over it, but eventually he said, “Can you backtrack the guy?” in a tone prepared for disappointment.

Unfortunately, it was the right preparation. “Not from here. I’m a lousy tracker, Morrison. I’m still relying on getting up high and taking a look around the city for anything that looks wrong.”

Morrison turned his wrist over, looking at his watch, then dug into his lapel to retrieve and activate his cell phone as he headed for the parking lot. “Seattle Center’s closed, but I’ll call ahead and have security let us in.”

“Us?” I ran after him, trying not to gape, and caught his arm to haul him away from the Avalon. “No way. I get to drive. First, you always drive, and second, my coat’s in Petite and I’m freezing.”

“Walker, your vehicle is a death trap.”

“Petite saved my life in a race with the Wild Hunt. I’d like to see your puny fiberglass Avalon do that.

” Toyota Avalons weren’t fiberglass. They had full steel bodies, just like my Boss 302 did, but I was willing to bet Morrison didn’t know that.

Either way, I was driving my own damned car to the Seattle Center, with or without Morrison in it.

I wasn’t about to admit aloud that I kinda hoped it was with. Petite was accustomed to my long legs climbing in and out of her, but she’d never had a tuxedo-clad man in her soft black leather interior. I thought they’d look good together, and wanted an eyeful of that particular candy.

Instead I got an eyeful of Morrison grinding his teeth. “Do you expect to be outracing the Wild Hunt this evening, Walker?”

“That’s not the point.” I reached Petite—I’d tucked her into as protected a corner as I could find in the lot, since I trusted no one and nothing with my baby’s handcrafted purple paint job—and turned back to my boss, one eyebrow elevated in either challenge or expectation, depending on how he wanted to interpret it.

He said, “I’ll meet you there,” and left me to climb into Petite all by my lonesome.

A dour security guard at the Seattle Center examined Morrison’s credentials and my lack of them—I’d handed them over to Morrison that morning, and for some reason he wasn’t carrying them around with him—and gave us a look that said yeah, sure you’re on police business, but he keyed the elevator on and sent us up to the Space Needle’s rotating floor without any vocal commentary.

Seattle at night from the darkened restaurant was spectacular.

Bridges and their reflections stretched across the water, and streets busy with cars glittered with motion.

Six hundred feet in the air was much too far away for sound to carry, especially through the heavy glass windows, so the changing lights and roadways had an unusual serenity to them.

And that was just with my normal vision.

I wouldn’t have said so aloud, but I was relieved I could trigger the Sight.

I wasn’t as bone-exhausted as I’d been in the moments after healing the blonde woman, but I didn’t feel all that bright and perky, either.

I hadn’t been sure I’d be able to See anything at all, after that over-exuberant display.