He loved the outfit. Loved that she was in his threads. Loved that they were too big on her.
Loved that she looked like a girl.
Not that he didn't totally get off on her leathers and her muscle shirts and her I'll-crack-your-balls-if-you-step-out-of-line routine. That was a complete turn-on, too. It was just. . . the way she looked now seemed private, for some reason. Probably because he was damned sure she didn't let herself get seen like this very often.
"Why are we here?" she asked, looking around. Her voice wasn't disappointed or annoyed, thank God. She was just curious.
Qhuinn took form about ten yards away and crossed his arms over his chest like he didn't trust himself not to hit something. The guy was in a vicious mood. Absolutely vile. He hadn't had two civil words to say in the foyer as John had told him the order of places they were going, and the cause hadn't been clear.
Well. . . at least not until Blay had walked by the group looking like a million bucks in a gray pin-striped suit. The guy had paused only to say goodbye to John and Xhex; he hadn't spared even a glance for Qhuinn as he'd gone out the vestibule and into the night.
He'd had fresh cologne on.
Clearly he was going on a date. But with who?
On a hiss and roar, a bus trundled out of the lot, the diesel fumes making John's nose threaten a sneeze.
Come on, he mouthed to Xhex, switching his backpack to his other shoulder and drawing her forward.
The two of them walked across the damp pavement toward the glowing fluorescent light of the terminal. Even though it was chilly, John kept his leather jacket open in case he needed to get to his daggers or his gun, and Xhex was packing as well.
Lessers could be anywhere and humans could be idiots.
He held the door open for her and was relieved to see that aside from the ticket taker who was behind bulletproof Plexiglas, there was only an old man sleeping upright on one of the plastic benches and a woman with a suitcase.
Xhex's voice was low. "This place. . . you're saddened by it. "
Shit, he supposed he was. But not from what he'd experienced here. . . more what his mother must have felt, being alone and in pain while she struggled through labor.
Whistling in a loud burst, he held up his palm as the three humans looked over. Dialing down their consciousness, he put them each in a light trance and then walked over to the metal door that had a sign screwed into it: WOMEN.
Planting his hand on the cold panel, he pushed his way in a little and listened. No sounds. Place was empty.
Xhex walked past him, her eyes going around the cinder-block walls and the stainless-steel sinks and the three stalls. The place smelled like Clorox and damp, sweaty stone and the mirrors weren't made of glass, but of polished sheets of metal. Everything was bolted down, from the drooling soap dispensers to the No Smoking sign to the rubbish bin.
Xhex stopped in front of the handicapped stall, her eyes sharp. As she nudged open the flapping door, she recoiled and seemed confused.
"Here. . . " She pointed down to the floor in the corner. "Here was where you were. . . where you landed. "
When she glanced back at him, he shrugged. He didn't know which stall precisely, but it made sense that if you were having a baby, you'd want to be in the one with the most space.
Xhex stared at him as if she were seeing through him and he briefly shifted around and checked to see if someone had joined them. Nope. Just her and him, together in the women's bathroom.
What, he mouthed as she let the stall door shut.
"Who found you?" When he made like he was mopping the floor, she murmured, "A janitor. "
As he nodded, he felt ashamed of this place, of his history.
"Don't be. " She came over to him. "Believe me, I'm not one to judge. My circumstances aren't any better. Hell, they're arguably worse. "
Being a half-breed symphath, he could only imagine. After all the two breeds didn't mix willingly for the most part.
"Where did you go from here?"
He led her out of the bathroom and glanced around. Qhuinn was standing in the far corner, glaring at the doors of the terminal like he was hoping something that smelled like baby powder would walk in. When the guy looked over, John nodded; then he untranced and scrubbed the minds of the humans, and the three of them dematerialized.
When they took form again, it was in the backyard of Our Lady's orphanage, next to the slide and the sandbox. A bitter March wind swept over the grounds of the church's sanctuary for the unwanted, the links of the swings creaking and the bare branches of the trees offering no protection. Up ahead, the rows of four-paned windows that marked the dormitory were dark. . . and so were all the ones in the cafeteria and the chapel.