Shapeshifted (Edie Spence #3)

“Is Dren out there?”

Jorgen growled in frustration at me, a frightening low noise.

I highly doubted Jorgen was here with people who could drive. Surely they’d have sent a person who had hands to come and knock on my door; besides, there was no way he could fit himself into a car.

“Make him come up here to talk to me. I’m not going down there.” I wasn’t sure how protective my shun actually was. If there was a vampire in the parking lot, I’d rather meet him from inside the safety of my house, where no-entry rules applied.

Jorgen’s paws reappeared, pushing against my door. He rattled it inside the frame, and the chain locks groaned under the strain. He reared back then slammed forward again, and one of the freshly installed locks popped.

“Jorgen!” I reprimanded him, for all the good it would do. I swooped up the cross and swiped it across his claw-tips. He howled and jumped away from the door.

“What’s going on?” My neighbor opened up his door. He was a family man, with two kids and a wife, living tightly packed inside a one-bedroom like mine. At this, Jorgen ran away, snaking down the stairs and running off into the night. My neighbor looked at me through my jungle of lock chains. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I nodded to prove it.

“What was that about?”

“A bad ex-boyfriend,” I lied.

He grunted, crossing his arms over his gut. “We don’t want any trouble here. If he comes back, you’d best involve the cops.”

“I will.”

He squinted at me, then nodded and retreated into his house. His manly work here was done.

And mine was just beginning.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I tried to go back to sleep after Jorgen’s intrusion, but it was hard. I’d never seen a Hound without the owner close behind, and it wasn’t like Dren to taunt in absentia. I knew from our shared past that he was more the hands-on-personal-touch type. Or hand, singular, since I’d accidentally taken one of his. It was unfair that I’d become the enemy for life of a creature that never had to die.

I strongly doubted that Anna, the vampire who’d instituted the shun to protect me, would change her mind without warning me first, which made me wonder if she was okay. Was that maybe why Ti had broached the subject the other night? I should have asked more questions when I’d had the chance.

I didn’t sleep again that night. I watched the clock tick by until the sun rose, and then I got up. Maybe I could be a day person after all—if I pretended the day was another night.

By the time I brushed my teeth it was seven thirty. I could go out and get breakfast. The best diner in Port Cavell was two stops up the train line. Close enough that I could go there and drink a lot of coffee, and come back to the clinic station by nine for my escort with Hector. I singsonged his name a little bit in my mind, and I snorted at myself. I needed to get over my schoolgirl self. I’d managed to stuff down my libido for the past seven months. I could go a few more. Nothing had changed. Nothing. I put on clothes I wouldn’t mind getting indelible paint on, and walked out to the train.

On the weekend, it was almost nice this early. The train was nearly empty—there wasn’t anyplace exciting to go in the next two stops north, not on a hot weekend in July. Most people were staying home, sealed tight in air-conditioned bubbles, or standing in front of open fridges. I hopped off at the right stop, walked three blocks over, and went into the diner. I spotted someone wearing hospital green in a booth, facing away from me.

I did what I always did when I saw someone in scrubs—I hurried up a bit, in case I knew them. I walked past their table and glanced back casually—this time, I did. It was Gina, leaning over to put her wallet inside her purse.

“What’re you doing up this early?” I teased. I hadn’t seen Gina in seven months. My face lit up without thinking about it. She didn’t seem to hear me, so I tapped her table and waved. “Hey! What’re you doing here?”

She jerked her head up, looking night-shift tired, and she reached out to protect the tip she’d left her waitress like I might steal it. “Getting breakfast.”

“Gina—”

“Hey.” Her hand found the Y4 badge on her chest, and she shoved it into her scrub’s breast pocket.

“How’re you doing?” I pressed on.

“What’s it to you?” Her bangs swung forward as she jerked her head in a slightly threatening way.

“Gina—”

“Just because you can read a badge doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“You don’t remember me?”

She frowned deeply. “No. Should I?”

I blinked. Oh, no. I’d told the Shadows I didn’t want them to change my memories—maybe instead they’d changed everyone else’s?

“I’m sorry—I must have had you confused with someone else,” I said. It wasn’t worth Gina wondering who the Shadows had stolen away from her for the rest of her day. I’d been the one to choose remembering. I didn’t think she would have chosen to forget.

Gina deflated. “Whatever.” I backed off, and she scooted out of her booth and walked toward the door.

I stood there watching her, all my memories struggling to get free. We’d been friends, good friends. I’d helped her out a lot—we’d trusted each other. And now … she didn’t remember me. At all.

I wished I’d thought to check if there was a ring on her ring finger now, if her were-bear boyfriend had finally proposed. I hoped she was happy, without me.

“Miss—would you like a table? The next one down’s already been cleaned.” A waiter stopped in front of me and gestured to the next booth over.

“Sure.” I stood by the booth meant for me. If I sat there alone after seeing Gina, that’d be no good for me. I reached out to tap the waiter’s shoulder as he walked away. “Actually—I’ll just get some coffee to go.”

I made it to the Divisadero station early. The fact that it was a weekend hadn’t stopped the marketplace at all; in fact, there were more people here, buying and selling goods.

Waiting seemed dumb, and two blocks wasn’t that far. I angled around people, feeling much more at home among them in normal clothing instead of scrubs, and heard a familiar voice at the end of the aisle.

“Who among you has not felt the evil eye? How long can you take the risk that someone has cast bad luck upon you?”

I walked over to Olympio, and he waved low with his hand in acknowledgment that he saw me. So this was what he did to drum up business on weekends when the clinic was closed. He pointed at me. “You, woman—you look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Because I had? The ghost of my former life. I made a face at him. “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

“The curandero can give you a candle to burn to make you sleep like a contented child. He can chase the ghosts away from you.”

“Can he prescribe me Ambien?” I asked.

Olympio groaned and walked away. Something smelled like garlic over here—there was a grill running. I inhaled deeply and looked around. The rest of the people were ignoring Olympio. Either none of them needed ghost relief, or all of them had heard Olympio go on like this before. He sighed and dropped his act and came over to talk to me. “Man, I hope all these people meet the Donkey Lady. I wouldn’t feel bad if she ate all these disbelievers,” he said, louder at the end. The other people still ignored him. He rolled his eyes at them.

I was close enough to him to smell garlic. “Olympio—what did you eat for breakfast?”

“Nothing. I just slept with a head of garlic last night. And ate five raw pieces this morning.”

It was his breath. Definitely his breath. I leaned away from him. “Did it occur to you that that’s why people are ignoring you?”

He frowned. “You’re the one who told me there were vampires down here.”

I held up my forefinger. “I never said anything about down here. I just meant in town.”

“Same difference.”

I hated that phrase—and I hated the fact that Olympio remembered our conversation about vampires. I’d been hoping that the Shadows would erase his memory of our conversation, but apparently they were too busy wiping minds of people whom I wanted to remember me. “And anyway, garlic doesn’t work on vampires.”

“But silver and crosses do?” He raised his eyebrows, ready to throw anything he could back at me.

“I’ve created a monster,” I said flatly.

“You said you’d tell me more today.”

“Here?” I looked around at the people surrounding us.

He followed my gaze and grunted. “Later. But today, okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed.

Olympio jerked his chin up. “Hey—don’t you want to ask if I know anything about your clinic? Your doctor was here earlier, asking.”

“He’s not my doctor,” I shushed him, feeling my cheeks turning red.

“When will you all be done? By Monday?” Olympio obliviously went on, luckily for me.

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

“I like it better when all the sick people come to the same place. It sucks bad enough on weekends here—I don’t want to have to do the market on weekdays too. The owner of the pharmacy won’t let me stand in front of it. Says ‘no solicitors,’” Olympio said, obviously making fun of the other man’s Indian accent.

“Yeah, well. We’re repainting today. If Dr. Tovar hasn’t done it all by the time I get there.” I could see him doing just that—coming in at five A.M. and doing everything before any volunteers arrived.

Olympio nodded. “Let me know if you need an extra hand. Para el pago, of course.” I stared at him blankly. “For pay,” he said, for my sake.

“Hell, I don’t think I’m getting paid for this. I must have been high on paint fumes when I agreed to come in extra.”