"Somewhere safe," Kyrie said.
"The parking lot of the Athens?" Tom said.
"Impossible," Kyrie said, aware of the fact that she might sound more antagonistic than she meant to. "Impossible. After all, it's asphalt. And besides . . ."
"It's public," Rafiel said from Tom's side.
"So, the male lays down a scent to attract the female, does he?" Tom said.
Definitely, Kyrie thought. And it's vanilla. Then stopped her thought forcefully.
"Why lay a scent at the Athens?" Tom asked.
"Easy," Rafiel said. "It's a diner. This means they get not only tourists passing through and the workers and students from around there, but also a large transient population. If it's true that shifters aren't all that usual, then it increases their odds of getting shifters—supposing, of course, shifters are the intended population."
"Well, since all the shifters here seem to have some form of the warm fuzzies toward the Athens, I must ask the nonshifters. Keith? Mr. Ormson?"
"It's a dive," Keith said.
"It . . . I only went there because Tom worked there," Edward said. "I wouldn't . . . I don't see any reason to go again."
"So," Rafiel said. "There is a good chance whatever the substance—if there is one—that the male slathered around the Athens attracts shifters only. Which would mean the eggs would need to be laid in shifters. Where around the Athens can one bury freshly killed bodies in shallow graves and not be immediately discovered? It's all parking lots and warehouses around there."
Kyrie had something—some thought making its way up from the back of her subconscious. At least she hoped it was thought, because otherwise it would mean that stories of corpses and weird shifters who lay eggs in corpses turned her on.
"This means that the male has to be a regular at the Athens," Rafiel said. "Or an employee."
"Don't look at me," Tom said. "I already turn into a dragon. Turning into a weird beetle too, that would require overtime. When would I sleep?"
"No," Rafiel said. "I don't think that we can turn into more than one thing. At least I can't and none of the legends mention it. No. But you know, it might be someone on day shift. In fact," he said, warming up to his theory, "someone on day shift or who only works nights very occasionally, would fit the bill. Because then when he's not serving, he could be tripping the light fantastic with his lady . . . er . . . beetle."
Whatever thought had been forming in Kyrie's mind disappeared, replaced with the image of Anthony turning into a beetle but retaining his frilly shirt, his vest. "Anthony," she said. "Perhaps he dresses that way to attract the beetle in human form."
Tom grinned at what he thought was a joke. "He's a member of a bolero group. They meet every night," he said. "He only works nights when Frank twists his arm, poor Anthony."
Okay, so maybe it was a joke, but still . . . "Are we sure he really does dance with this bolero group?" she asked.
Tom grinned wider. "Quite. He gave me tickets once. You wouldn't believe our Anthony was the star of the show, would you? But he was."
"So . . . what can we do?" Rafiel asked. "I can go in and make a note of all the regulars. Or you can point out to me the ones you thought started coming around about a year ago."
"Hard to say," Kyrie said. "I mean, I can easily eliminate those who haven't been there that long. But I can't really tell you if they've been coming for longer than a year, since I've only been there a year."
"It's a start," Rafiel said. "I'll come in tonight. You can point them out to me, and then I can run quick background checks on the computer. Mind you, we don't get the stuff the CSI shows get. I keep thinking that they're going to claim to know when the person was conceived. But we get where they live and such."
"There's the poet," Kyrie said.
Tom nodded, then explained to the other's blank looks. "Guy who comes and scribbles on a journal most of the night, every night. Maybe he's writing down 'Plump and tasty. Looks soft enough for grubs.' "
"Or 'perfectly salvageable with some marinade,' " Rafiel said, looking over Kyrie's head at Tom.
Without looking, Kyrie was sure that the guys had exchanged grins that were part friendly and part simian warning of another male off his territory.
"So, I go into work as normal," Kyrie said.
"And me too," Tom put in. "Well, yeah, I know Frank should have fired me, but I don't think he will. I know how hard it is for him to find help at night."