At least, I hoped it would.
Otherwise, the VanMarche dynasty wouldn’t be long for this world.
Chapter 8
Cheribelle
In a Den of Wolves (Is that Species-ist???)
“Hudson,does this say ‘international woman of mystery’ to you?” I asked, looking in my mirror at the dark, PVC pants and black tunic top and vest I was wearing.
“Mmmmmmmrp?”
She was playing with her favorite banana toy on my bed. “I’m serious, Hudson. I’m about to head into a den of thieves, murderers, and miscreants! I gotta fit in.”
It had been two days since my encounter with the VanMarches, and I could still hardly believe it. Never in a million years had I thought my ability to see people’s emotions and the echoes of said feelings after they were gone would result in me being actively involved in an intense murder investigation.
And yet that was exactly what had happened.
I’d fully intended to throw myself into research when I was home, but using my abilities so intensely for hours on end had taken a toll on me. I’d slept for nearly fourteen hours after I’d horked down the nice dinner Paul’s driver had picked up for me on the way home.
Had a hella crick in my neck after that.
“Mrrmrrmrrr mrrr,” Hudson replied, although it was hard to tell if she was answering me or declaring war on her toy banana and all its descendants.
I’m choosing to pretend that was for me.I looked back at my reflection. “Trying too hard? You think so? I guess it would be better to be nondescript. This is real life, not a superhero movie where the bad guys all wear dark colors.”
God, wouldn’t that make things much more convenient?
As I went to change, I couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that Paul and Chris had managed to find a seedy hot spot that the criminal underbelly of the magical world liked to use. Although I was part of the enchanted population, it wasn’t like I had strong ties to the community. Such seemed to be the plight of many oracles. We were an integral part of human history—those of who were realandthe charlatans leading others astray—but strangely, other magical folks tended not to utilize our services. Probably because of those aforementioned charlatans, but I didn’t see how that was our fault.
But fault or not, it meant that other than the panther shifters down the road and the witch who had been my kindergarten teacher, I didn’t have a whole lot of connections to that part of me.
“Okay, how’s this?” I asked, stepping over a pile of clothes to present myself to Hudson.
Do I need to wash those?No.That’s the clean-and-needs-to-be-put-away pile.Or is it the worn-once-and-can-wear-again pile?
Not right now.Focus!
“Brrrrkk! Prrrk! Mrrrppppppp,” Hudson supplied.
“Wow, sonowyou’re all opinionated!”
“Mrrp.”
“Fine! White blouse and yoga pants it is. Jeez!”
Now, if only I couldfindmy yoga pants…
Rolled into tube, under credenza in foyer downstairs, next to paperclip and blue scrunchie,a back part of my mind supplied, the image floating through my head.
“Right, that’s where it was.”
That was how I ended up in my foyer in just a long, white blouse and panties. Not exactly all that out of the ordinary for me, but what was unusual was for someone to be knocking on the door while I was only just stepping into the first Lycra pant leg.
“Uh, hello?” I called, mentally going through my calendar to see if I had forgotten an appointment. I didn’t think so. I’d blocked off two weeks on my online booking site and had let the few calls I’d received go straight to voice mail.
“Cherry? It’s Paul. I’m a touch early.”