Eileen Wilks - Night Season

Toby was Rule's son, and Rule was… well, just about everything to Lily, except a husband. Lupi didn't marry. "You mean he's going to sue for custody? Or did Toby's mom finally agree to let him live with Rule?"

"Alicia didn't agree, but her mother has. I think Mrs. Asteglio approves of me, and with Rule and me going down there so often after she broke her leg—"

"She broke her leg?"

"Fell down the stairs. It was a wake-up call for her. She's sixty-three, you know, and has some other health problems that make it hard for her to care for a child Toby's age. And she knows Toby wants to live with his dad."

Since the boy had run away just before Christmas so he could spend the holiday with his father, Cyinna agreed that Toby's preference was obvious.

"I feel sad for her," Lily added. "She loves Toby. It's hard on her, giving him up, but we'll make sure she gets to see him often."

"But Toby's grandma doesn't have legal custody, does she?"

"Toby's grandmother," Lily said tartly, "has raised him. His mother sure hasn't. Alicia visits on the occasional weekend, but even that's dried up now that she's in Lebanon. She's huffing and puffing and dragging her feet, but for the first time Rule has a good chance of winning if she does contest the suit. We're hoping she won't. It'll be easier on Toby if we can come to an agreement."

For years Rule had had no legal rights to his son. Toby's grandmother had allowed the boy to visit his father, but his mother—a reporter for the Associated Press—hadn't even put Rule's name on the birth certificate.

Rule had never taken the matter to court. The son of the best-known werewolf in the world would have been irresistible to the paparazzi. Besides, Rule had been certain he'd lose. The courts weren't exactly friendly to lupi.

Until a few years ago, some states had allowed people to shoot them on sight. Most lupi had actually preferred that to the federal government's policy—forced registration and drugs that prevented them from Changing.

But those were the bad old days. A few years ago the Supreme Court had ruled that lupi were citizens. As such, they were entitled to all the rights and protections of the law… when they were shaped like humans, that is. It was still legal to shoot one in wolf form.

After a few moments Cynna sighed. "I've been an ass, haven't I? So busy doing the poor-me bit I didn't have a clue what was happening in anyone else's life."

Lily gave her a smile. "It's okay to play turtle for a while, as long as you don't get too fond of your shell. You're out of it now. How much of your money do I get to spend today?"

"Oh, a couple hundred. I usually buy myself a Christmas present, but this time I never got around to it, what with the demons and all."

"Triple it."

"What? I'm not going to—"

"You said you wanted a new work wardrobe. Unless you've changed your mind? For example, you might have some reason to think your size could suddenly change—"

Cynna made a beeping sound.

"What?"

"That's the allusion alert."

Lily slid her an amused glance. "We'll start with the basics. Two good jackets—"

"I have jackets."

"Sure, and they might work if you were eighty pounds heavier. And eighty years old. And not interested in fashion. You look great in jeans, but the suits you pick…" She shook her head. "Is that what you think an FBI agent is supposed to look like?"

"All right, all right—but I look like crap in suits. I'm not built like you. I can't wear those teeny little fitted jackets."

"You can wear clothes that fit, though. As for how you're built…" Lily snorted. "You don't like looking like Xena, Warrior Princess? You're tired of wiping the drool off men's faces?"

"Well, but—"

"You've got a goddess's body, Cynna. Not the Maiden, but the Mother or some fertility deity."

Cynna gave her a dark look. She did not care for fertility deity references.

"Add in the butch haircut and tattoos, and I'm thinking we need to go for simple but dramatic. Whatever we get will probably have to be tailored, but—"

"Tailored?" Cynna squeaked.

"Most likely. We'll start with two jackets, like I said, and four pairs of slacks to mix and match. You could add a skirt, but I've never seen you wear one, so I thought we'd stay in your comfort zone and go with slacks."

"You've got a weird notion of my comfort zone."

"And of course you'll need things to wear under the jackets. Tees, a long-sleeved shirt, a sweater or—"

"There's a Wal-Mart about a mile from here."

"You didn't buy those jeans at Wal-Mart. They're killer."

"Thanks. But jeans aren't like suits. They have to fit exactly right, and most of them aren't long enough, so… quit looking at me that way."

"Uh-huh. How much did you pay for the jeans?"

Too much. "Sales. There are bound to be sales."

THE Fashion Center turned out to be a three-story temple to consumerism. It was midweek and the middle of the day—somehow Lily had persuaded her to take a day off for this insanity—so the teens and tweens were missing. But everywhere Cynna looked, a mom had stuffed a baby in one of those enormous touring devices they called strollers.

There was a muffled little lump of infant in one not ten feet away when Cynna emerged from the dressing room. It was staring at her with enormous, wary eyes.

It gave her the willies. She scowled at Lily. "They don't make clothes for people with breasts. Have you ever noticed that?" She tried tugging the jacket across her chest. The ends wouldn't meet. "See that? If you're more than a B-cup, forget it."

"Shut up, Cynna, and try this instead."

Maybe she'd been tactless. Lily was kind of small on top. Cynna slipped off the too-tight jacket and eyed the leather duster Lily was holding out. It was a dark, rich brown like baking chocolate, but… "It's not black."

"Black is so not your color."

She loved black. She'd always worn black. "You keep saying that, but black goes with my tattoos." They weren't precisely tattoos, but Cynna generally used the word other people recognized, not the Swahili that truly named the patterns overlaying her skin like heavy lace. The spells were kilingo; the core patterns she used to Find things were kielezo . Neither had been applied with ink and needles.

"Black makes people just see the tattoos, not the skin. Try on the duster."

Dubious, Cynna shrugged on the long duster. "Can you wear something like this to Headquarters?"

"I couldn't. I'd look ridiculous, like I was dressing up in my big sister's clothes. But on you, with those slacks…" Lily shook her head and sighed. "Check out the mirror."

Cynna turned. And stared. After a moment she felt a smile stretching her cheeks. The dangerous-looking woman in the mirror smirked right back at her. "Hey, is that me? I look hot."

"You do, except for the bag."

The brown slacks Cynna had been complaining about looked wicked cool now. So did the copper sweater, but her old denim bag was all wrong. Even she could see that. "I guess I could get a new one. Purses don't hold enough, so I usually get a tote or something, but… hey." While she spoke she'd tried buttoning the duster. Lo and behold, button met buttonhole, "It fits! How'd you find one that fits?"

"I asked one of those snooty clerks to help me. Ah… it didn't come from the sale rack."

Cynna gulped. Leather. Not on sale. And in this store… She grabbed her courage in both hands and looked at the price.

"Steady." Lily put a hand on her shoulder.

"I can't… there's no way I can afford this." Though part of her brain was scrambling to come up with a way… she had plenty of credit, but she hated paying interest. She had savings, too, but—