Page 82 of Forget Me Not

Ray nodded and got a wide, wide smile for it, toothy, for a human.

“How’s your mate, detective?” The man continued to smile. His voice was clear and carrying. Calvin, in the background, raised his head. The girl at the counter made a funny sound, like a kitten’s growl. The box of candy fell out of Ray’s hand.

“Cal Parker, right?” said the other one, smiling too. “Callalily Parker is your mate, isn’t he?”

Ray was staring at carpet, faded carpeting that had too many smells. The muscles ached in his wrists. His arms were shaking. The world was red when he tried to turn away and red when he looked at his hands. Someone was speaking softly near his ear despite how someone else was shouting. His headhurt. For a moment, he thought he might be sick.

He could feel his teeth in his lip, claws deep in in the palm of one hand, more buried in his thigh. His throat was sore. Like he’d swallowed acid. Like a growl kept inside.

No, hewasgrowling. There were humans around and Ray was growling. Atnothing.

The voice near his ear was speaking in Spanish and then English. All Ray understood of any of it wascálmateandlet go.Let go so the bleeding will stop.

Ray clenched his teeth and yanked his claws from his leg. He had to stare at his hand to relax it, watching claws recede and more blood flow out. That would stop, eventually. The voice was right.

He smelled perfume, the kind old ladies wore. His mouth was dry. He was breathing too fast.

“Ray,” Calvin spoke urgently.

Ray couldn’t lift his head. “Stay back,” he pushed out, eyes down. His limbs were still shaking.

A small hand with skin as thin as paper came to rest on his arm.

Ray could feel the snarl before it emerged. “Stay. Back.”

“Ray, look at me,” Calvin ordered, on his phone, dialing a number.

“Don’t move! Nobody move!” The new voices, barking commands in English, started a flurry of motion where Ray couldn’t see. Tripping heartbeats and footsteps and screaming, Calvin shouting. The teenager at the register jumped to her feet, knocking over her stool.

Ray jerked his head up, saw two uniforms, humans, young faces, guns drawn and high-ready, aimed at him.

“Get back!” One of them yelled. Ray wasn’t moving. They yelled it again, both of them now, and the frail hand on Ray’s arm curled around Ray’s elbow and held on.

Calvin was suddenly in front of Ray, hands up, his phone making sounds like hiccups or choked breathing.

“Stop,” said the voice near his ear, Ray caught the howl in his throat and swallowed it down. His palm was throbbing again, bleeding. He didn’t care.

Calvin kept talking, calm, calmer than anyone else seemed to be. “This is a mistake.”

“We’ve got a report of a feral were in here, sir. You need to back away.”

“You stand down right fucking now,” Calvin shouted, roared.

For a heartbeat, everyone was quiet.

Calvin stood in front of two pistols with only a fairy-knit cardigan to protect him.

Ray put a hand to the floor to push himself up. Without turning, Calvin said, calm again, “Stay down, Ray. Show them your badge if you have it, but stay down.”

“What do you think you are doing in here?” the soft voice demanded in slow but sure English. “No one called you.”

“Ma’am,” one of the uniforms began. She was in body armor, the vest over her uniform shirt, not beneath it, the padding thicker than something just meant to deflect knives. They both were in body armor.

“Ray, your badge,” Calvin snapped.

Ray licked his blood from his teeth. “I don’t have it.”

“Detective Branigan!” One of the officers glanced from Ray to Calvin, then back to Ray. “Sorry.” He lowered his gun without putting it away. “Didn’t know it was you.”

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