C.E. Murphy - Demon Hunts

I lay back down, put my nose against Coyote's shoulder and my arm over his ribs, and went back to sleep.

Thursday, December 22, 7:58 A.M.

There was an Indian in my parking lot.

All right, technically there were three, if you wanted to count me and Cyrano, but I wasn't interested in us. I was interested in the low-slung, shiny green beauty that had no business at all being outdoors in a Seattle winter. I approached with the reverence due a vehicle old enough to be my grandfather, and knelt in the slush, not caring that my knees got soaked.

I knew cars, not motorcycles, but I also knew beautifully restored work when I saw it. "It's a, uh…What is it? Early forties? You didn't…drive it up here. Not through the mountains. Not in winter." I twisted to look over my shoulder at Coyote, who looked as nervous and hopeful as a six-year-old.

"It's a 1938 Chief. There's a sidecar, but I didn't want it to slow me down." He shook his head, all but digging his toe into the slurry on the ground. "I shouldn't have driven, I know. I should've flown. But…"

The idiotic grin that'd been peopling my face for a lot of the past twelve or fourteen hours popped back up. "But you wanted to show off, didn't you."

Sheepish little boy voice: "I thought you'd like it."

I turned back to the bike, smiling so widely my ears hurt. There was a fringe on its leather seat, and the rich forest green paint job was highlighted by white over the wheels. The poor thing's engine was exposed, fine for someone living in the Navajo Nation, but less than fantastic for December in Seattle. "How the hell did you get through the Rockies without killing yourself? Without freezing to death?"

He sounded guilty. Pleased, but guilty. "I shanghaied a friend with a pickup into driving me over into California and then came up the I-5 as fast as I could." We both looked at the Indian, and the guilt in his voice turned smug: "Which was pretty damned fast."

"You weren't on this yesterday when you showed up at Mandy's house. I'd have noticed." The world could have been ending and I'd have noticed. There was a small, indiscreet part of me that wanted to lick the bike. That's how gorgeous it was.

"No, I parked it here and took a cab to where I felt you. I didn't want to bring you home on this without the sidecar. Or at least a helmet."

"You knew where I lived?" That didn't bother me, for some reason, but I grinned over my shoulder at him again. "You were going to put me in a sidecar? Not you?" Okay, honestly, the idea of riding around in a sidecar built for a 1938 Indian Chief, wearing one of the old-fashioned leather motorcycle helmets, was pretty appealing. But I was used to being the driver, so I had to give him hell.

"The apartment building felt like you. You've lived here a long time, haven't you?" His smile broadened a bit, too. "I'll let you drive the Chief the minute you hand over Petite's keys."

I raised my hands and stood up, defeated. "You drive. Except not in this weather. C'mon, we're going to have to move him inside. You're lucky it didn't snow last night."

"Inside? Do you have a storage unit?"

I wrinkled my eyebrows. "No, I have an apartment. We can bring him over to Chelsea's garage tonight, and our beloved but impractical-for-winter vehicles can keep each other company until the weather breaks." Or until Coyote went home, but I didn't want to think about that just yet.

He said, "Your apartment will smell like gas and oil if we store him in there," but he was heading for the bike when he said it.

I beamed. "Yeah. It'll be great."

My apartment building was mostly filled with college students—Coyote was right; I'd lived there a long time, since I was one of them—and the few who were up at eight in the morning clearly thought nothing of someone wrestling a classic motorcycle into the slow-moving elevator, nor of wheeling it down the building hallway on the fifth floor. The Chief looked a lot bigger inside my apartment than it had in the parking lot, and we had to move my computer desk and the smaller couch to fit it in, but he was safer and warmer inside, so I was satisfied. Of course, doing that took all the extra time we'd bought by getting up early, and the bus delivered us to the precinct building ten minutes late. It wasn't the optimum way to start a day when I needed a favor from my boss.

Billy was already at work, head down over a stack of files, and though he glanced at his watch when we came in, he didn't say anything. Possibly he didn't say anything because it was we, and not just me, who came in, but I counted my blessings anyway, and made the introduction I'd failed to yesterday: "Coyote, this is my partner, Billy Holliday. Billy, this is Coyote. Cyrano. Cyrano Bia." I noticed I was holding Coyote's hand, and let go so he and Billy could shake.

Billy looked like he was swallowing back seven or eight hundred questions as he shook Coyote's hand. "It's good to meet you. I'm glad you're all right. Joanie's missed you a lot."

Coyote mouthed, "Joanie?" at me, and aloud said, "Good to meet you, too. She thinks a lot of you. Sorry about the melodramatics yesterday. Have you heard from Ms. Tiller?"

"She sent an e-mail late last night. She and Jake are home and okay. Looks like the news didn't pick up on her adventure. Morrison still wants to see us."

Some of my good mood drained away. "Us, or me? Because this wasn't really your fault."

"Us, and it was as much mine as yours."

I started to argue, then subsided. We were both in trouble, and Billy apparently wasn't going to let me be the fall guy. "When's he want us?"

"About ten minutes ago."

I pulled a hand over my mouth, turned to Coyote, said, "Crap," turned back to Billy, then walked in three little circles while trying to figure out what to do with myself. "All right. He's going to kill me either way. I guess I should go get it over with. Hang tight, okay, Coyote? I'll be back soon, if I'm not dead."

"We don't have a lot of time, Jo. The wendigo knows there's someone of power hunting it now."

"Oh, it more than knows. It checked me out while we were at Mandy's." I bet that was an important detail I should've mentioned earlier. I tried for an apologetic smile, managed a grimace, and added, "But it ran away," hopefully. "Maybe it didn't think it could take me."

Coyote's expression suggested I definitely should have mentioned this earlier, and that I was probably also a moron for having made the hopeful suggestion. "If it's already retreated, Joanne, it's going to be all the harder to find. And it'll get worse the longer we let it run."

"Right. So I better go talk to Morrison." Who was going to kill me. Rightfully. I gave Coyote an impulsive kiss and scurried out of Homicide.

Billy caught up, looking between me and where we'd left Coyote so sharply I thought he'd give himself whiplash. All he said, though, was, "'Jo'?"

My face wrinkled up entirely of its own accord. "Yeah. I didn't used to like it, so everybody calls me Joanie. Everybody but Gary. He started calling me Jo and I guess I got used to it."

"Cyrano," Billy said, as if he was afraid he was pointing out something dangerous, "isn't Gary."

The stupid little smile cranked the corner of my mouth up again. "I know."

Billy said, "I see, " and any further commentary was lost because Morrison flung his office door open and we slunk in.

The captain left us standing there long enough that my feet began to itch from holding still. Under almost any other circumstances it would have started to be funny, and I would've turned into a smart-ass, but I was vividly aware that I wasn't the only one in trouble. I was afraid to look away from Morrison, though I didn't much want to look at him, either. I fixed on his right shoulder, judging it close enough to meeting his eyes. I could certainly still see his face, which was florid.