Not Flesh Nor Feathers (Eden Moore 3)

“Thank you,” I mumbled, figuring it might be easier to let his concern run its course and then see him off, since fighting with him wasn’t getting me anywhere.

“Ooh, look—spray stuff. ” He popped the green cap and accidentally hit the nozzle, sending alcohol-smelling mist over his shoulder. The cap rolled around on the floor, but he picked it up and put it back in place. “Use this, too. ”

“Hey. ” I reached down and scooted the metal kit towards myself across the counter. “I’ve got it under control. Look—do I look okay? Mostly? Not gushing bodily fluids or anything. ”

“You look pale. I mean, pale for you. Blanched, I think that’s the word. ”

“Like I’ve seen a ghost? Ha-ha. ”

“No, like you’ve donated blood and you could use a cookie and a glass of orange juice. ”

Actually, that didn’t sound too far off. The simmering stings of my injuries had worried their way down to an idle throb, but I needed to refuel. I wasn’t sure what I wanted, but I wanted something. And I was thirsty.

“How about this, Nick. Let’s do this: give me five more minutes in here, then I’ll come out and you can take me out to supper. I’ll fill you in, and if you pick someplace quiet, we can play with the recording a little. ”

“Yes,” he nodded, hard. “Yes, we can do that. I’ll just see myself out. For five minutes—any longer than that, and I’m coming back in. ”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Yes,” he said, retreating backwards to the door. “Five minutes. ”

“While you’re out there, would you do me a favor and tell the manager that no one’s going to sue him? Just tell him to go away. Everything’s fine. ”

“Lie to him, sure. Got it. ”

“Nick,” I said, but he was already gone.

The faucet was still running—it had been running all this time, because I couldn’t stand the thought of the quiet if I turned it off. So I washed my hands again, and my face, too. I pulled off my sweater and slung it over the hand-dryer, and pressed the big round button to start the warm air. A full cycle didn’t dry the thing completely, but it warmed it up enough that I didn’t mind putting it back on.

My five minutes was mostly up, and I didn’t doubt for a moment that Nick would come barging back in.

Later, there would be time to sit and recollect . . . to sort things out and think my way through them.

I shut the faucet off and let the silence fill my ears. Other things joined it, of course. A toilet that wouldn’t stop running. The bickering talk of people outside the door—the manager probably, and Nick. And the maid or someone else. Maybe another woman wanting to use the facilities. There was no telling.

It sounded like Nick was shooing the other two people away, and I was glad for it. Between the light-headed fuzziness and the tingling along my stomach, I wasn’t in the mood to deal with even the best-intentioned people—much less curious folks who feared I might bring legal action against them.

When I finally emerged from the bathroom, Nick swept one arm protectively around my shoulders. I would have shrugged him off, but he was herding me away from the hotel employees so I let him leave it.

Back down the shiny marble stairs we went, and down the brightly-lit halls with the sky-high ceilings. “Talk to me,” Nick said. “What went on in there? What happened?”

“A bunch of things,” I breathed. “Just get me some food. I’ll tell you anything you want to know if you just feed me. ”

Parked on the street not far from my own car, a white SUV emblazoned with TV station stickers awaited. Nick unlocked it and hustled me inside, then climbed into the driver’s seat. “What are you hungry for?”

“Sleep,” I said, then shook my head. “I don’t know. I don’t care. Something fast and easy. Whatever’s close and cheap. ”

He nodded like he understood, but took a turn up Fourth Street towards the Bluff View art district. There’s an Italian restaurant on the bluff, and it’s close but it isn’t cheap. “What do you care?” Nick shrugged when I mentioned this. “I’m buying, remember?”

“Yes, but I had something with paper cups in mind. ” Going to the bluff felt too much like a date, except I looked like hell and Nick only wanted me for my information gathering.

“I guess you’ll have to settle for real food and a tablecloth on someone else’s dime. Sucks to be you. ” He led me inside and I didn’t argue because I didn’t have the energy. All of my supernatural run-ins recently had done this to me—left me feeling drained and stupid.

It used to be only the really intense encounters had such an exhausting effect, but these days every shadow and whisper takes it out of me. This was the number one reason I’d declined Dana Marshall’s repeated offers to join her crew and investigate the weirdness of the world for a cable channel on TV.

We were seated off in a corner, away from the few other patrons. The place wasn’t crowded; it was the wrong time of day for mealtime rush—too late for lunch, and too early yet for supper. I liked it that way. So did Nick, who flapped open his napkin like he was straightening a bedsheet.

“Look, I want you to know—if I’d had any idea this was going to be so demanding and, um, bloody, I never would’ve asked you to look into it. I was just taking a shortcut, asking you to come in. ”