Page 18 of Pike

It gave a girl a lot to think about.

She turned a corner and took a key ring out of her pocket. Once upon a time, she’d lived in a small town just outside of Asheville, her house several miles beyond town limits and nestled deep in the gloom of a pine forest. Their old family home was a neatly restored colonial with two-color stories dating back to the early 1900s. Her mother had wanted it painted orange, the color of the sun setting over the hills. Too much for the entire house, though, so in the end, they’d settled on her mother’s orange for the lower story and a creamy yellow for the upper. It worked.

Lavinia missed that house like crazy.

Keeping an eye out over her shoulder for any strange activity, she quickly unlocked the apartment building entrance door and hustled inside. Made sure to check the hallway and the street level again before locking the door behind her. One could never be too careful.

She hurried up the short flight of stairs to the second floor and paused outside her apartment door, key at the ready. Alert for any suspicious sound, Lavinia hastily dispatched the three deadbolts. Another quick glance around before dashing inside and firmly closing the door, making sure all the locks were again engaged. Only then could she let out a breath and relax.

“Mom, I’m home.” It was an unnecessary greeting. Her mother no longer cared. Or understood. The woman didn’t remember her own name.

For a split second, staring across the living room at the chair she’d positioned beneath the window—to see the trees better—it was as if Lavinia didn’t really live here. She felt like a stranger coming into someone else’s time and space. Her mother looked at her that way, too. Like a stranger. Like they didn’t belong in the same room and hadn’t spent the last twenty-six years together.

It had fallen on Lavinia’s shoulders to take responsibility. Her father was gone, off in some other state with another woman who could “give him what he wanted.” Her brother had passed away fighting monsters in Iraq—the flesh and blood kind that didn’t need glamour to appear average. Sometimes she wondered what he would have said if he saw her like this. Living like a cockroach in a hole and doing her best to survive.

The problem was, she wasn’t average. She wasn’t ordinary. She was something extraordinary that no one had ever seen before. So why couldn’t she pull herself up? What good were magic or visions if she couldn’t use them to help someone she cared about?

“Momma,” Lavinia greeted again. “How are you feeling today?”

No answer.

It was the same every day. It had been the same since her mother developed dementia in the last decade. Worse since dementia developed into full-blown Alzheimer’s disease.

She didn’t expect to be recognized. She didn’t expect a conversation or questions about her job, her friends, her personal life. She was lucky if she got a blink in reaction.

Lavinia sighed and set her purse down. “Let me tell you about the week I’ve had.”

**

“Tell me you love me.”

Pike grinned. Hopefully, she believed him when he said those three paltry words. It was his number one priority, to make sure she believed him. “Oh, love. You know how I feel about you.”

“But I want to hear you say it.”

His Monday and Saturday bird might have thought herself cute. She gave him a pout designed to get her way. Accompanied by a small bite on her lower lip, and he should have been putty in her hands. With long reddish-brown hair, round eyes, and just enough cleavage to tip his interest, she was attractive. A delicious feast.

He never let the situation get away from him. Poor thing. The deeper she fell for him, the less he gave. And had no qualms about taking whatever he could get. It was in his nature.

“I know you do. I know.”

His lips descended for a kiss on the top of her head. His reward? A purr in the back of the throat before she stood. Stretching in just such a way as to give him an unimpeded view of her breasts. It was chilly inside the house and he appreciated her body’s reaction.

“Do you want something to drink?” she asked, pointing over her shoulder. “I got a bottle of champagne in the fridge.”

“Champagne? For me?”

“Anything you want, Pikey-Poo.”

He turned the grimace into a grin at the nickname. “I’ll have a bit. Sure.”

He knew the answer would please her. His Monday and Saturday bird shot him a megawatt smile before swiveling around on her legs-for-days. She was a nice enough person and fulfilling in many ways. Eager to please. Perhaps he would keep her around a little longer.

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. With the bird distracted in the other room, Pike spared a glance at his screen. And cringed.

U owe $. Pay now. Or elz. Last text.

Rat shifters weren’t exactly known for their spelling abilities. Yes, he owed them money. Too much money. Valedictorians they weren’t, but great with cash? Absolutely.

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