Shadowdance(7)

With an unfortunately easy move, he shrugged free. She let him; bodily contact was not a situation she wanted to prolong, as it was far too unsettling. He loomed over her. “Toss out what insults you will, Mistress Merrily.” He poked her shoulder with a hard finger. “But do not for a moment try to undermine me. You think I’m a bastard now, try handling me in a temper.”

He turned to storm off when she grabbed his lapel and hauled him back. Taking pleasure in the shock that parted his lips, she smiled. “I’ve seen your temper, Master Talent. You haven’t been privy to mine.” With lazy perusal, her gaze took in his heightened color and narrowed eyes. “While you’ll be shouting about like a tot who’s lost his lolly, I’ll be the lash you never saw coming.”

It was quite satisfactory to leave him open-mouthed and silent—for once.





Chapter Three





Piss and shit and bloody buggering hell. Ignoring the patrons of the coffeehouse, Jack hunched over his meal of rashers, bangers, eggs, and toast, and shoveled in a bite, even though it tasted like dust at the moment. His mind was a mess. If he thought too long on the fact that Mary Chase, of all people, was now his partner, he’d kick a hole through the floor.

Instead he ran a hand through his shorn hair, knowing the thick, short hanks would now stick up at odd angles. Before, he’d taken care to pomade and comb his hair into an elegant style. Now he just wanted it off his face. He hated anything touching his skin. Fucking demons had taken away his sense of safety. And now Mary bloody Chase was taking away the one refuge found in his work.

Two years earlier Jack had been guarding Inspector Winston Lane due to a threat upon the man’s life, when he’d been taken in by a raptor demon disguised as Mary Chase. The humiliating truth was that he’d been so shocked by the notion of Mary Chase, dressed in next to nothing and lounging in his bedroom, that he’d never considered the danger until it was too late. He’d woken up in a cell of a room, naked and crucified to a wall by iron spikes. The hellish days, hours, and minutes that he’d been captive, used and abused to many a demon’s delight, was the stuff of his nightmares.

And she’d found him. When he’d been out of his mind with pain and degradation, when he’d wanted to die so he did not have to experience another moment of that hell, Mary Chase had somehow appeared before him, placing her smooth, cool hands upon his fevered skin. She had tracked him down, saved him. And the knowledge burned. Because she knew what had happened to him; there was no explaining away some bruises.

It was bad enough he’d have to hide certain facts from her while trying to figure out just what the bloody hell was going on. But for these many years, he’d had a plan when it came to Mary Chase. Carefully constructed and thoroughly executed. Evade, avoid, and retreat. And, in the event of the rare prolonged interaction, be the biggest rotter possible, so that she never attempted to purposely seek him out.

A lump of food caught in his throat. His plan was now shot to shit. He could not evade, avoid, or retreat. True, he could still act the bugger, but he didn’t want to. It hurt to hurt Chase. But over the years, he’d come to realize that it would hurt both Chase and others far more were she to find out why he did it.

“Sod all,” he muttered, tossing his fork down and pressing the heel of his hand against his eye.

“You cannot avoid me forever, you know,” said a musical voice.

Jack nearly jumped out of his skin. Standing beside his table with an imperious tilt to her chin was Mary Chase, his golden and glorious nemesis. He did not want to know how she’d found him.

“Christ,” he snapped, “I hate the way you GIM slink about.” But he loved the way she moved, all flowing grace, silently beckoning a man to follow. Even when she was walking away from him. She wasn’t doing so now.

Her gloved fists curled tighter. “And I think you are a rude bastard. So we shall both have to grow accustomed to tolerating annoyances.” Her gaze slid over him and cooled. “Not hide away in the hopes that the situation will change.”

“I am not ‘hiding away,’ ” he lied. “I’m hungry.”

Chase’s pink lips parted. “It is only half past ten. Why not wait for luncheon?”

“I’m a shifter. Food is energy. And it’s bloody good too.” He gestured to the chair opposite him. “Sit down, Chase. A proper meal ought to improve your humor.”

“Or purge it altogether,” she muttered under her breath as she glanced at his half-eaten meal. “I think just tea for me.”

The coffeehouse was warm and relatively clean. It was filled with patrons, mainly workers, cabbies, a few students intent on idealistic slumming, and a host of others who wanted a small respite from the cold. In their drab regulators’ garb, Jack and Chase blended in. As with most coffeehouses, there were few women, but no one seemed to mind Chase, apart from noticing her lovely features with interest. Jack gave them all a warning glare as Chase settled in her seat. Chase, who’d no doubt seen the whole thing, gave him one of her small smiles.