Flame in the Dark (Soulwood #3)(98)
“I thank you both for saving me.”
Occam kissed my cheek again. “Don’t forget that improper kiss I got planned.”
“I don’t think I can forget that improper kiss. Occam. I ain’t—I never had an improper kiss.”
“Must remedy that. Soonest.”
I shoved the egg at him. Grabbed up my gear bags and got out of the truck. Aware that my color was high and I was overwhelmed with sensations, images, improper thoughts. Occam behind me. I let us into the stairway and climbed to the second floor. And walked alone into the locker room. I stepped fully clothed under scalding water and let the shower wash away the stench and gore and the river water. And my blood. I stripped, then wrung out and bagged my clothing. Then started in on grooming myself. Or landscaping myself.
It wasn’t funny. Not at all. But I was laughing quietly as I started clipping. I used the mindless landscaping tasks to let my brain go free to ponder and ruminate and reason, trying to see how all the unmatching pieces might fit together. They didn’t. Not yet.
? ? ?
Twenty minutes later, my longer, straggly hair still wet, but my leaves and vines all clipped away, I joined the rest of the team in the break room: Occam, Rick, T. Laine, Soul, JoJo, Tandy, and me. The egg was in the small sink and they were discussing what to do with it. I stepped into the room and spotted a box of donuts on the table. The Krispy Kreme jelly-filled pastries looked almost fresh. I took one and stuffed half of it into my mouth. It was raspberry flavored and so good and so sweet that my mouth ached as the filling squished into it. I might have moaned, just a little, because Occam whipped his head my way.
He was dressed in clean blue jeans, field boots, and a T-shirt the same color gold as his eyes. His hair was dry, but too long, and his beard was scruffy, telltale signs of a shift to his cat. His expression was severe, stark, and he was staring at me with eyes that carried the faint golden glow of his cat, reminding me that we were very close to the full moon. Rick was looking at Occam, and his gaze swung to me, his nostrils widening as he scented, probably taking in the smell of my blood, tadpole blood, the stinking water, and the egg. His eyes too were glowing, that green that signified the coming phase of the moon. Pea was sitting in a corner, cleaning her nether regions, just like a cat. Not something I needed to watch. Occam passed me a metal travel mug of coffee, pale with cream and smelling of sugar. It was prepared the way a cat might like coffee. I drank half the mug empty. It was delicious. Someone passed around a platter of cold hoagies; Occam took three, and started eating like a starving cat.
“If the egg is still viable,” T. Laine said, breaking the silence as we ate, “then cracking it might kill the creature. If it’s sentient, that’s murder.”
JoJo added, “It would be handy to have it alive, whatever it is, to study.”
“That’s keeping a sentient creature against its will,” Soul said. It didn’t sound like disagreement, but more like information added to the discussion. “Civil rights and protections of paranormals haven’t yet been addressed by Congress or the Supreme Court or the UN and are not protected by the Geneva Conventions.”
“Special Agent Ingram,” Occam said, his voice slow and growly. I whipped my eyes to him and saw his dimple appear and deepen. “What do you think?”
“’Bout wha’?” I said through the sweetness.
“About the viability of the egg.”
“It’s not alive. The creature inside’s dead.”
Soul leaned in so she could see me around the others. She reached up and coiled her hair, which she did when she was deliberating. “And you know this how?” Her tone was arch, as if she might be ticked off. Or doubting me.
I shrugged. I was pretty sure I’d said all this to someone once before. “I know it. I knew it when I touched it the first time.” I scowled at her and then at the others. “You people really can’t tell when something’s alive or dead when you touch it?”
“No,” Soul and T. Laine said together. Soul asked, “Are you always correct in your evaluation? Your judgment?”
I shrugged and stuffed the rest of the donut in, chewed, and eventually swallowed. The others were all looking at me, waiting. I drank more coffee, thinking back. “I don’t remember being wrong, but then I don’t remember always proving it to myself that I was right either. So I guess I coulda been wrong and not known it.” I licked my fingers to get the last of the sugar. “I knew when Leah died. I was out of her room and I felt her going. I ran in and she was mostly gone. I shouted for John and we were both there when her pulse stopped. Same with John.” I shrugged. “But that was on Soulwood.” I took a second donut. I sipped more coffee. “Tandy, you agree?”
“I do,” he said softly. “But I must admit that my lack of familiarity with the egg species and your conviction may be overriding my judgment.”
Occam freshened my cup and adjusted the creamer and sugar. I pretended not to notice him serving me, but the room was awfully silent. “Thank you,” I said. He gave me a dimpled smile, one that felt warmer than it should have.
“So we open the shell,” Soul said, “and see what we have.”
“What about PsyCSI?” JoJo asked. “They’re supposed to do all necropsies on paranormal creatures.”
“On my authority,” Soul said. “I want to see this thing now. This thing”—she glared at me—“that is most assuredly not a salamander.”