The Shifters. Alexandra Sokoloff
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kinds of things could be gleaned: past, present and future.
The rowdy lead singer, Case, was the charismatic. But Danny…Danny was the psychic. One of New Orleans’ best, which was saying a hell of a lot—that is, when he was straight enough to concentrate, which was almost never, these days.
Wasted, Caitlin thought again. Such a waste.
She pulled her eyes away from Danny and concentrated on Case: skinny as Keith Richards, for the same reasons, in pencil-leg black jeans, sporting alligator boots with outrageously long toes. He was leaning into the crowd with Danny now, threatening to topple off the stage into the throng, and shouting, “Somebody freakin’ scream!”
And then, as he straightened, his eyes fell on the corner where Caitlin stood…and he stopped for an instant, staring. Then his smile curved.
Caitlin thought, He’s good. He saw her. Of course he did; he always could. She let the glamour slip away from her like a cloak, and he gazed full into her face. Then he lifted the mike again and shouted, “Somebody make some noise!”
As the crowd went wild on the floor beneath him, he turned the mike over to the guitarist for a solo and dropped off the stage, landing hard on those ridiculous boots and swaggering out into the crowd, stopping to let some drunk sorority girl kiss him, openmouthed and sloppy.
Caitlin turned away and walked out the back door, into the small inner courtyard, away from the noise. The courtyard was mostly used for storage. Cases of booze were stacked to the eaves against the inner wall, but there was a small outdoor bar, framed by white strings of Christmas lights, tonight unmanned and deserted.
Case pushed out through the double doors and into the dark. He was already flicking a Zippo, lighting a cigarette, dragging hard, and Caitlin wondered wearily what it would be laced with tonight.
As if hearing her thoughts, he extended the cigarette toward her mockingly. She stared at him, ignoring his outstretched hand, and history vibrated between them like an electric pulse.
Finally he smiled. “Ah, the little Keeper. Sister Goldenhair Surprise. Nice glamour, by the way. You’re getting good at that. We’ll have you full-tilt shifting any day now.”
Her anger flared, and she answered without thinking. “Not in this lifetime.”
He gave her a “We’ll see” smile and dragged on his cigarette. “Well, Keeper, has someone been bad?” He asked the question slyly, and she jolted. So he does know something, she thought, trying to conceal her excitement.
“Why would you say that?” she answered, unconsciously echoing Jagger DeFarge.
“Someone must have been pretty bad, to bring you up to our little den of iniquity. Or is that din?” he corrected himself, reaching to his ears and pulling out earplugs, the only thing that had kept him from going deaf for all these years.
“I need…” She hesitated.
“My help?” His eyes gleamed at her.
“Some information,” she said coldly.
“You’re in luck. I’m running a special tonight.” He sat back on a bar stool, legs spread casually—nothing to do with the conversation, of course.
Caitlin’s heart turned over with the old, familiar pain, then she answered back, sharp and hard. “Good thing I’ve got credit running into the next century, then.”
To her surprise, he laughed aloud, and she realized with relief that with that comeback she had scored—enough to keep him playing along, at least for a while. “There are people dying of some kind of bad batch,” she said quickly, while he was still smiling. “Meth, the police think.”
His eyes widened innocently. “'Just Say No.’”
She ignored that. “I want to know if you know anything about it.”
Caitlin suddenly noticed there was a bartender behind the bar now, a young kid, college age, with good enough instincts not to hover; he was quietly restocking the shelves. Case snapped at him, “Jack and Cokes over here,” and waited until the kid turned away to answer Caitlin.
“What about drugs don’t I know?” he quipped. “But it’s only tourists who are dying, sugar. NHI.”
NHI was a cop insult referring to the lowest of low-lifes: No Humans Involved. Of course, in New Orleans that could get confusing..
“Just tourists,” Caitlin echoed, pondering.
“Drug virgins,” Case elaborated helpfully. “Couldn’t handle the high.”
But why? Caitlin wondered. Tourists doing meth? It didn’t make sense.
The young bartender set drinks in front of them. Caitlin ignored hers, while Case drained his in one pull.
Behind the bar, cloaked as the college kid, Ryder bided his time. It was taking everything he had to conceal his disgust for Case, for the scene playing out before him. Classic Shifter, this one, taking full advantage of his glamours, which wouldn’t work on an Other, obviously, but humans fell for them every time. And Keepers, too, it looked like. Even with her specialized knowledge, Caitlin had been ensnared, at least at one time. And by what? This pathetic excuse for an Other, so enamored of his powers that he’s lost all sense of who he ever was—the center cannot hold. And a drunk and an addict on top of that, clearly.
“Do you know a shifter named Ryder Mallory?” Caitlin asked suddenly, and Ryder was jarred out of his thoughts. Did she sense him?
He moved casually down the bar to get out of her range, crouched as if to reach under the sink.
Case stared at Caitlin, lifted an eyebrow. “Can’t say that I do.” He reached in front of her for her drink, lifted and drained it.
Lying, Caitlin thought. Not even bothering to cover.
He smiled at her, as if reading her thoughts. “Can’t keep track of everyone, cher.”
“Well, if anything comes to you, you’ll tell me, I’m sure,” she said.
“I’d rather come to you, cher. In you, with you, in every which way,” Case said softly, and leaned over to lift a strand of hair from her cheek, curling it around his finger, tugging her forward..
Behind the bar, Ryder abruptly stood, anger flaring, and in that moment Case turned sharply and stared toward him. Ryder adjusted his body, struggled to hold the cloak of illusion in place…and once again he was just a college kid, merely spacing out in Case’s direction.
After a long moment Case turned back to Caitlin, but Ryder could see that the younger shapeshifter was jumpy now, and figured he’d better get while the getting was good. He couldn’t afford to be caught, at least until he knew more. He picked up a case of Turbodog and headed for the kitchen door.
Caitlin didn’t know what had just gone on, but Case was suddenly edgy and hyper.
“Got to get back,” he said, jerking his head in the general direction of the stage. “My public awaits.”
“I want to talk to Danny,” she said abruptly.
She saw Case stiffen subtly, but he covered it well, smiled at her. “Why would that be, Keeper?”
There was no point in lying to him; he always knew. “I want a sitting. To see what he’s seen out there.” She knew Case would know she didn’t mean on the streets but in the astral.
Case shook his head mockingly. “Danny’s not home tonight.”
Meaning Danny was high, as if she didn’t know. Her anger burned. “How do you live with yourself?” she asked, not bothering to hide her contempt.
“Same way Danny does, cher. One hit at a time.”
Too angry to speak, she turned and stalked for the door.