A familiar sense of shame worked its way through him—but a spark of anger accompanied it. “Maybe I don’t want your help. I didn’t ask for it, you know.”
“You’ve already been roughed up once. You need someone to protect you.”
“And how are you going to do that?”
Alistair came to a halt and gave him an incredulous look. Then, to Sam’s surprise, he laughed. “Follow me.”
He walked another half a block until he came to a narrow alleyway between two buildings. It smelled like urine and garbage, and Sam’s first thought was it would be a good place to go if you wanted to get robbed or murdered. The buildings blocked out most of the sunlight, and he kept expecting one of the piles of trash to start moving. A rat darted across the alleyway, nearly running over his foot, and he shuddered.
“This is disgusting. Why are we back here?”
“Because I didn’t want to scare anyone but you.” Alistair paused. “Stay here.”
Confused, Sam did as he was told. Alistair walked to the other end of the alley, farthest away from the street. One moment, he was there, features obscured by the shadows.
The next he was gone, and Sam found himself facing what seemed to him to be a very large cheetah.
And it was still Alistair, of course it was, but the biggest animal Sam had ever seen before was a cow, and they weren’t exactly scary predators. The cheetah stalked menacingly toward him, hackles up and a low growl starting to rumble from his throat. Sam caught sight of long canines as the black lips drew back into a snarl.
“All right, you’ve made your point. You can protect me.” Sam held up his hands. “So…can I pet you?”
The cheetah froze. Then Alistair was back in human form, gaping at him. “Pet me? No you can’t pet me! I’m not a house cat!”
“Oh.” That fur had looked awfully soft, though, especially around the ears. “So you don’t liked to be petted?”
“I didn’t say that,” Alistair muttered. “What I was trying to convey was that yes, I can protect you. If anyone else comes to threaten you again, they’ll get the scare of their lives.”
“Right,” said Sam. Then something occurred to him. “But it’s not like you’re staying in the house with me.”
Alistair folded his arms over his chest, looking annoyed. “Until this is over with, it seems I am.”
Alistair returned to his room in the back of The Pride, muttering imprecations at himself the entire time. A part of him wondered if he could fob Sam off on someone else. Philip, maybe, or Doris. Doris was a tiger; she’d be better at protection than Alistair would, since apparently he wasn’t half as intimidating as he’d been led to believe. Or maybe Sam just didn’t have any survival instincts.
“So…can I pet you?”
Shock had him reverting to his human form before he could even seriously ponder the question. Not that there was anything that needed seriously pondering, of course. Sure, it might have been nice, but…
But this was not a road he was prepared to go down. He shoved the thought as deep as possible, down with all the other things he didn’t care to think about. It would have plenty of company.
He dragged a box from under his bed and took out a battered pack with U.S. stamped on it in large letters. As he removed a few changes of clothes from his dresser, Wanda appeared at the door. She was dressed as always in a sharp suit, this one a brilliant blue, and smoking a cigarette in an elegant holder. Her vibrant presence highlighted the dullness of his little room with its mismatched furniture.
When they’d been renovating the building to house The Pride, she’d pressed him to decorate the space however he’d wanted. And he had, in a way, taking whatever leftover or cheap furniture was laying around. The duvet on the iron-framed bed was a hideous yellow and black pattern that clashed wildly with the ancient purple lamp shade, and neither matched the pale blue wallpaper.
She’d disapproved, and said so. But what did it matter? Who cared about decorating, so long as he had a warm, dry place to sleep that wasn’t on the ground? One bed was the same as another; none of it mattered.
“How did things go with Sullivan, and why are you packing for a trip?” she asked, inviting herself in and taking a seat at the table. “I hope you didn’t say something stupid to his face and have to get out of town fast.”
“Of course I didn’t.” He retrieved his shaving kit and put it in its place in the pack. “There’s been a new development. Eldon might have been making deals with one of the other gangs.”
Wanda let out a low whistle. “No wonder he’s dead. Tell me everything.”
Alistair did so as he finished packing, then slung the pack on his back. “I figure staying with Sam for the next few days is safest, until we find the hex, or Sullivan finds whoever threatened him.”
Wanda arched a brow. “Well. You seem quite taken with this witch.”
“I am not,” he snapped. “I don’t give a damn about him. Didn’t you hear me? If we don’t get the job done and find the hex, we might lose The Pride.”
“And that’s the only reason.”
“Yes!”
“If you say so.” She let the subject drop, finally. “You will be coming to work, won’t you?”
“Of course.” He’d thought about it on the way over. “It’s not like I have to be here during business hours to keep the books. And when I do come, I’ll bring Sam with me. He can practice his hexwork or something.”
“Is he any good?”
“Fuck if I know.” He paused. “Though I can’t imagine Eldon would have wasted much time on him if he couldn’t get the basics. At a guess, Eldon wanted Sam to copy the hexes he designed, so he must at least be able to do that.”
“You have a point.”
“That reminds me.” Alistair shifted the pack of the haversack on his back. It felt far too light, his muscles still recalling the fifty or so pounds of gear he’d hauled through the Argonne Forest. “If you don’t mind, I’d like some alarm hexes for the house. Just in case.”
She nodded. “Not a problem. And Alistair? Be careful.”
“I haven’t been careful since 1917,” he said. “See you later.”
Once Alistair returned, they spent the afternoon searching Eldon’s house for any possible hiding spots for the hex, including the tiny attic space, which was too cramped even for Sam to stand up in, and the minuscule basement. They opened every book, took down every picture frame, even knocked on walls in search of hidden cupboards.
Nothing.
Sam sat down dejectedly on the couch. “It’s not here.”
Alistair paced the living room like a caged animal. Now that Sam had seen his cheetah form, he couldn’t stop noticing it in the way Alistair moved, the lanky dimensions of his body, the glow of his amber eyes. He was so beautiful.
Whoa. Sam shook himself. That was no way to think about someone who was helping him out. Especially if he was helping out under duress.
After striding across the room a few times, Alistair dropped into a chair. “Let’s think,” he said. “Did Eldon have a safe deposit box?”