Chaos Bites (6 page)

With the grace of the black panther he could become, Quinn moved forward.

“I told you to call me Liz,” I reminded him.

I was the leader of the light but I didn’t much care to be called
mistress
or any other form of similar address. Many of my people were ancient, however, and such titles came naturally to them.

Quinn’s gaze had strayed to the stairs Megan had so recently trotted down. I heard the low murmur of her voice as she welcomed her guests.

“She would like a baby in the house again,” he murmured, with a slight cant of the Irish. He’d been on this side of the Atlantic long enough—centuries perhaps—to lose most of his accent.

“Oh, no you don’t,” I said.

“Don’t what?” He continued to stare toward the sound of Megan’s voice.

“You’re here to protect her, not impregnate her,” I whispered furiously.

A soft growl rumbled from his chest. “I would never hurt her.”

“If it hurts,” I said, “you aren’t doing it right.”

“Mistress—” At my glare he began again. “Liz. I know my place. I know my job.”

I’d had him sent to watch over Megan after a seer was murdered on my doorstep. Who knew when another Nephilim might show up looking for me. Who knew what they might decide to do if they couldn’t find me, but found Megan instead. I wasn’t going to take that chance—hence the arrival of Quinn.

That he appeared to have fallen in love with Megan was a bonus. He would die to keep her safe. If I couldn’t be here, the next best thing was Quinn Fitzpatrick.

“She still thinks you’re nothing more than the slightly lame day-shift bartender?” I asked. In an attempt to seem more human, Quinn dropped things a lot.

His shoulders slumped. “Yes.”

Megan hadn’t a clue who or what Quinn was, or that he loved her. With three kids and a thriving business, Megan was lucky she could figure out her own name most days.

“Have you caught any more Nephilim slithering around?” I asked.

Quinn’s head came up. “Half a dozen since the last time you were here, Mis—Liz.” He puffed out his chest. “They are ashes.”

The more Nephilim Quinn dusted, the more human he became. As it was, he had to spend a certain number of hours in every twenty-four as a panther—statue or flesh and blood, didn’t matter. But those hours dwindled every time he protected the innocent. Soon he’d be completely human. Or so he said.

“You could leave the child with Megan. Nothing would hurt her while I’m here.”

“I’m sure nothing would. And you’d get double points, right?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Protect a baby, big-time innocent, wouldn’t you get more tickets in the soon-to-be-human sweepstakes.”

Quinn stiffened. “I wouldn’t protect her for my own gain.”

“No?”

“No.” He seemed truly insulted. “She’s an infant. What kind of man would I be if I required payment in order to help her?”

“You aren’t a man yet.”

“And I wouldn’t deserve to be one if I were a man like that.”

I liked Quinn more and more every time I saw him.

“Thanks for the offer,” I said, “but I can’t leave her behind.”

I rattled off the same reasons I’d given Megan, and Quinn nodded. “The child could be of any mother. Even Sawyer’s own.”

Hadn’t thought of that. But wouldn’t Sawyer have—

What? Drowned Faith in a burlap sack? I didn’t think so.

Still, his mother had been the evilest of evil, the vilest of the vile. Witness that she could easily have given birth to her own son’s child.

At the least, Sawyer would have told me. Unless his mind shied away from the idea as completely as mine had, and really, why wouldn’t it?

“He wanted her protected,” I murmured. I didn’t think he’d have bothered if Faith were the daughter of psycho hell bitch.

But maybe I was wrong.

CHAPTER 6

“Dude. Who are you?”

Luther stood at the top of the steps. His eyes shone amber. His hair began to rustle in a nonexistent wind.

“Who are
you
?” Quinn returned, his gaze flaring more yellow than green. “Dude.”

“Down, boys,” I ordered. “We’re all friends here.” Luther tilted his head, listening to a voice only he could hear. Understanding washed over his face. “Gargoyle,” he said.

“Shh,” both Quinn and I hissed at the same time.

“Why?”

“Megan doesn’t know,” I whispered. “She’d kick my ass if she found out I’d planted a guard in her bar.”

The boy’s eyes faded to hazel. “Okay.”

“New sidekick?” Quinn asked.

“No,” Luther answered.

“Yes,” I said at the same time.

Then we both glared at each other.

“I’m your seer,” Luther insisted. “You’re
my
sidekick.”

“I’m the leader of the whole federation, kid. I’m no one’s sidekick.”

“You keep on believing that,” Luther murmured.

Quinn laughed; I fumed. I didn’t take orders well, but lately I didn’t have much choice. If Luther said come, I went. If Luther said kill, I killed. If Luther said jump off a cliff, I learned how to free-fall.

“What’s going on?” Megan trotted up the steps, her flip-flops smacking against the carpet with muted thuds. When she got to the landing, she frowned at the three of us. “Something wrong?”

“Just making introductions. Quinn and Luther hadn’t met.”

Megan had heard enough lies in her lifetime—she was a mom and a tavern owner—to spot one from the space shuttle. Though I’d learned to construct falsehoods so much more convincingly since becoming the leader of the light, I still couldn’t fool Megan Murphy.

“And then what happened?” she asked.

I widened my eyes. “They shook hands.” Megan lifted a brow. “Bumped chests, talked sports, Quinn brought out a
Playboy,
and they admired the centerfold. They were just going to get a beer then practice spitting. They’ve really bonded.”

Megan’s eyebrows lowered. Shit. Why couldn’t I shut up? Elaboration did not help a lie. Less was more when it came to bullshit.

“We should get downstairs.” Quinn stepped forward. “I promised I’d take care of the drinks. People are going to be thirsty in this heat.”

Megan opened her mouth to argue, and I tensed. If she kept at me very long, I’d spill everything. I wouldn’t be able to help myself. But just as Quinn reached the top of the steps, the toe of his shoe caught in the carpet, and he lurched forward.

Both Luther and I leaped, but Megan was closer and she managed to snatch him back from the edge before he took a swan dive.

“Wow.” He leaned on her a little. He appeared to be shaking. “Thanks.”

Interesting how different Quinn behaved in Megan’s presence. His language became more modern, his diction less formal, and his accent, as well as his grace, nonexistent.

“Sheesh, Fitzpatrick.” Megan smacked him between the shoulder blades. “Spit out that gum so you can walk.”

“Yeah.” He laughed faintly. “Good idea.”

Together they started down the steps. Megan seemed to have forgotten all about her suspicions, whatever they might have been.

They reached the foot, and Megan disappeared around the corner toward the kitchen. Quinn glanced back at me and winked.

By any nine-year-old girl’s standards, the party was a success. Lots of pink loot. Madness-inducing music that pumped from two speakers shoved into the back windows. Pizza until someone puked. Lemonade to take the pizza taste away, followed by enough pink-frosted cake to give everyone a bellyache.

Faith remained asleep despite the noise. I shoveled in as much food as I could and not burst. Who knew when I’d get the chance to eat again.

Around one, murmurs drifted from the monitor, which I’d kept pressed to one ear most of the time. I caught Luther’s eye. He had so much frosting on his upper lip, he looked like part of the “Got Milk” campaign.

Times like these brought home how young Luther really was—not that I knew for sure, but he wasn’t a man no matter how much he might want to be. Certainly he was more mature than most boys his age—living in foster care or on your own tended to do that—but he was still an infant in the ways of my world.

It bothered me to send a child out to fight. It bothered me that I’d no doubt have to send a lot more of them out to do the same thing. That kids were usually the ones who bore the brunt of every war did not make me feel any better. More wrongs never made one thing right.

I waggled the monitor then tilted my head toward the house. Luther nodded. I’d told him we would leave as soon as Faith woke.

We slipped away. No one seemed to notice. The children were playing games, led by Quinn who was amazingly good with them, while Megan cleaned up in between serving second and third helpings of cake.

As we hurried upstairs, Faith’s murmurs headed toward a wail. The instant she saw us she stopped. Her solemn gray gaze rested on my face. For a moment I could have sworn Sawyer was staring out of them, and I shivered.

“She’s soaked,” Luther said.

I shook off the remnants of the spooky feeling. “How?” I reached over and touched her arm, her belly. Faith giggled and kicked. Was she
trying
to be cute? Just the sound of her joy made me happy, too.

“The diaper, Liz.” Luther handed me a fresh one from the pack on the bed.

I pushed it back in his direction. “Go nuts.”

“Not happening.” He tossed the thing into the air, and I had the choice of catching it or fishing it off the floor. I caught it.

“I’m not sure how—”

“It isn’t rocket science.”

It wasn’t. Off with old, on with the new. Bigger half to the rear, sticky tabs locked in place. Wham, bam, clean dry baby.

“I didn’t think you had it in you.” Megan spoke from the doorway.

“It isn’t rocket science,” I said, and Luther snorted.

“Ha-ha-ha!” Faith’s face began to turn red. I picked her up in a great big hurry. She plucked at the gauzy yellow camisole I’d donned for the special occasion.

“Here.” Megan held out a bottle of formula. “She’s not going to find anything where she’s looking.”

I glanced down. Sure enough, the kid was doing her best to yank my breast out of my shirt. Like father like daughter in more ways than one. “How does she know that?”

“You’d be surprised what they know.”

“But wouldn’t she have had to have nursed at one time?”

“With a human child I’d say yes, with her . . .” Megan lifted one shoulder then lowered it. Faith caught sight of the bottle and dived for it. I nearly fumbled her again.

Luther took Faith and the bottle. Curling the baby into his arm and popping the nipple into her mouth, he sat on the Green Bay Packers bedspread that covered the nearest twin bed. Faith seemed so tiny in his big hands.

“Were you going to sneak out without saying goodbye?” Megan asked.

The idea had crossed my mind. Good-byes gave me hives. However—

“You had the formula.”

“I’m not stupid.” Megan smiled. She knew me better than anyone. “Here.” Megan held out a huge denim purse.

“Ug-ly.” I waved her off. “Besides, I’m not much for purses.” They tended to get in the way when I was kicking demon ass.

The corner of Megan’s mouth lifted. “This is a diaper bag, Liz.”

“Oh.” I took it. “Thanks.”

“I put everything I had in there. Formula, bottles, bottle brush, diaper wipes, cloth diapers, bibs, towels, a few washcloths.”

I held up my hand. “Does she really need all that?”

“And more.” Megan pulled forward a rolling suitcase.

When had she packed all this stuff? For the past two hours she’d been entertaining close to thirty people. The woman never ceased to amaze me.

“What’s in there?” I asked. “Tiny tiaras, teenieweenie high heels, itty-bitty mini skirts?” This kid was shaping up to be a diva of epic proportions.

“Clothes, Liz. She can’t run around in a diaper.”

“She can’t
run
around at all.”

“You know what I mean.”

Actually, I didn’t.

“Faith’s a baby,” I said. “She couldn’t care less if she’s naked. She’d probably prefer it.”

“People don’t drag infants around wearing only diapers. Especially little girls.”

“Why not?”

“Because little girls are clothes magnets. Everyone buys them every beautiful thing they see. Their closets look like Clothes ’R’ Us exploded.”

“Just because a kid owns eight thousand shirts doesn’t mean she has to wear them.”

“No, but she needs to wear something. If she doesn’t, you’ll stand out. Running around with a kid who obviously has nothing to her name but what can be bought at the nearest grocery store makes it seem like you snatched her.”

I hadn’t thought of that.

“Fine. Grab whatever and put it on her.”

Megan reached into the suitcase then tossed something pink—was
everything
Anna had ever owned pink?—in my direction. “You need to get used to taking care of her.”

I examined what appeared to be a fancy T-shirt. Snaps at the bottom, short sleeves, lace around the neck. Not a single animal insignia that I could see.

I tossed the garment at Luther, but he was still feeding the baby. The piece of clothing hit him in the face.

“What the hell?” he asked.

“Language,” I said absently. “Put that on her when she’s done eating.”

“Nope.” He set the bottle on nightstand and laid Faith on the bed. “I’m a guy. She’s not.”

“She’s a baby.”

A shadow passed over his face. “That doesn’t matter to a lot of people,” he said, then he walked out.

Luther had been the victim of an even more unpleasant experience in foster care than I had. He’d torn one of his foster fathers into pieces and strewn him around the backyard. From what I’d seen of Luther’s past when I’d touched him, the guy had gotten off easy.

“The world is sick,” Megan murmured.

“You have no idea.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” Megan said. “You’d better burp her before she starts to cry again.” At my expression Megan appeared both amused and exasperated. “Pick her up, put her on your shoulder, pat her back until she burps.”

Suddenly Megan’s eyes widened, and she took two fast steps toward the bed. I spun, but Faith was still in the center; she’d just flipped from her back to her belly then pushed up on her hands so she could watch us.