It was a month after my eighteenth birthday when it happened the first time. I’d been working for Jeremiah for more than a year, learning the pawnshop business and becoming fascinated by it almost in spite of myself. There was something about the history that an object held that had called to me, even as a teenager. I’d still been young enough to squirm with embarrassment when a customer who was desperate to sell and in need of money had come into the shop, though. But Jeremiah had always dealt fairly and compassionately with everyone, and without even knowing it, the lessons he’d taught me just by being himself had sunk deep into my bones.
In fact, it was my first day completely on my own in the shop when it happened. Jeremiah had taken a rare day off to go to Orlando to an antique show. I was working full-time that summer, saving money for college.
She’d walked in just before lunchtime, and I would never forget anything about her. She was a tiny woman, maybe five feet tall and painfully thin, and on the far side of forty, I’d thought at the time. Later, I’d learned her real age. Her age, and her name, and the story of her far-too-short life—Annabelle Hannah Yorgenson. Her sister had called her Anna Banana Hannah when they were growing up. She was forty-two years old. She’d been married for seven years to a man who’d beaten her, badly, for at least six of them.
And I’d shaken her hand and told her how she’d die, how her husband would smash her head in with a shovel.
Annabelle had screamed and run away, which was a totally normal response for a fragile, frightened woman to have upon encountering a crazy teenager who was spouting dire pronouncements of her impending murder. The customer who’d walked in a few seconds later had described to the EMTs how he’d thought I was having an epileptic fit. I’d been on the floor, convulsing, with drool coming out of my mouth and pain pounding like lightning strikes in my brain. I still didn’t know what would have happened if he hadn’t been there—if he hadn’t called for help. I didn’t like to think about it anymore. I’d spent far too much time over the years thinking about it.
It didn’t hurt as much these days when it happened, and I almost never fell on the floor. Practice made, if not perfect, then at least less painful.
Jack walked in with the plate of grilled meat, and I realized I’d been standing at the sink washing the vegetables and staring off into space for a long time. I quickly threw together a salad, and then we set the table in a surprisingly comfortable silence, considering the day’s events and my revelations. I was surprised but pleased when he didn’t bring up the subject of my visions again. Jack pulled the pitcher of water and the salad dressing out of the fridge, and I put out the plates and silverware.
“I only have paper napkins,” I apologized. “I didn’t expect company.”
Jack gave me a funny look. “I’ve spent the past ten years sleeping in tents, caves, or worse. Do you think I expect cloth napkins? Or a butler, maybe?”
I relaxed and smiled. “I can’t help it. Generations of southern women are dancing around in my DNA. It’s scary up in here. Any minute now, I’ll start whipping you up a pecan pie.”
He looked hopeful. “I love pecan pie.”
“Another time, maybe. I do make a mean pecan pie. There’s some apple left in the fridge, and I think I have some ice cream, so you won’t go without dessert.”
Jack sighed. “This might be the best dinner I’ve had in months, Tess. But you really didn’t have to go to all this trouble for me. I could have found some food and slept in my truck again.”
I paused in the middle of scooping salad onto my plate. “Why did you sleep in your truck? And when you say found some food…”
“Like fast food,” he said, a wry look on his face. “Not like pouncing around the yard catching squirrels.”
“Funny. Lou caught a bird for me once. She left it on the porch for me to discover and was quite proud of herself for days.”
He forked one of the steaks onto his plate and handed me the platter. “She deserved to be proud. She was catching food for you, which means that she cares about you and wants to take care of you.”
I glanced at my cat, who was curled up on her cushion underneath my tiny desk. “Really? I thought it was because she didn’t think I was a capable hunter.”
“Well. That too.” He grinned, and this time the smile reached his eyes, which gleamed forest-green in his tanned face.
I was caught off guard again by how incredibly good-looking he was, and that was definitely something I didn’t need to think about, so instead I concentrated on my food for a while. I complimented him on the steaks being perfectly grilled, and he said nice things about the leftover potatoes au gratin I’d warmed in the microwave. Other than that, we didn’t talk much until our plates were clean and he’d topped off his dinner with two pieces of apple pie and the rest of the ice cream.
I’d have to stock up on more Ben & Jerry’s before Molly came by.
“That was really good pie, and a great dinner. Thank you,” he said, and I realized I’d been staring at my empty plate in silence for a while.
“Thanks for grilling. I’ll get Jeremiah’s key for you so you can head over there and get some rest.”
“Are you still trying to get rid of me?” Jack stood up and carried his dishes to the sink and then rolled up his sleeves. “Where’s the dish soap?”
I blinked. There was something so completely bizarre about a shapeshifter standing in my kitchen, preparing to wash dishes, that for a minute I couldn’t actually think of how to answer him.
He turned and looked at me. “Tess? Soap?”
“No. I mean, yes, I have soap, but no to you doing the dishes. I have a dishwasher, see?” I pointed to the small but perfectly functional appliance under the counter next to the sink. “It’s almost eleven o’clock at night. I think we should just go to bed.”
Again with that dangerous smile. “Well, you did buy me dinner first,” he drawled.
I flushed, and he frowned. “Sorry. I’m used to joking around, and bantering—”
“I like banter,” I interrupted. “I’m just too tired for it right now.”
He nodded. “Right. Sorry. Thanks again for dinner. If you have Jeremiah’s key handy, I’ll be on my way.”
I dug around in my junk drawer until I found the key. It wasn’t the only spare key rattling around in there, but it was the only one with a tag on it, and I’d written J.S. on the little pink-and-white plastic oval.
“J.S. works for you too, if you want to keep it,” I offered, holding it out by the very edge of the plastic. I’d learned through trial and error how to be careful about not accidentally touching anyone.
“Like I said before, pink is totally my color,” he quipped, and then he took a sudden step forward and wrapped both of his hands completely around mine. “Why don’t we just get this over with?”
This time, I didn’t fall down. I hadn’t done that in years. But it still hurt, and the jagged pain in my head almost drove me to my knees. Flashes of color; the scents of gunfire and blood. A crashing cacophony of shouting and screaming. Jack, in the middle of battle. The pain. Always the pain. That never changed.
“Do you see how I’m going to die, Tess?” His eyes were dark pools of green, and I thought crazily that I could lean forward and fall into them.
“No,” I gasped, wrenching my hands out of his. “I see that you already did.”
Then I fell down.
An hour or so later, my cup of tea sat on the coffee table in front of me, ice cold, and I huddled under the faded blue and green afghan my great-grandmother had crocheted seventy or eighty years ago. Sometimes nothing but family-love-infused yarn would do.
Jack knelt on the floor next to me and apologized again, for about the seventeenth time. “I’m sorry. Tess, please say something. Anything. I need to know you’re okay, or I’m going to call an ambulance. Or Ruby. I didn’t know it would be so hard on you—”
“Maybe you should have thought about that before you grabbed my hands,” I snapped, finally speaking to him. The threat of him calling an ambulance snapped me out of the fugue state I’d been plunged into by the unwanted vision of his death.
He blew out a huge sigh of relief. “Okay. You can talk. Are you in pain? Do you want to go to the hospital?”
“No, you idiot. I don’t want to go to the hospital. I don’t want to be the subject of any more gossip.” I threw off the afghan and stood up, still slightly woozy. “I’m going to get a glass of water, and you’re going to explain to me how you’re here in my living room when you already died. Clearly you’re not a vampire, and zombies don’t exist, so what the hell?”
He put his hands on my shoulders and gently pushed me back down on the couch. “You stay here. I’ll get the water, and then I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Just don’t pass out on me again.”
“I didn’t pass out. I just got a little shaky,” I informed his back as he headed for the kitchen.
“Right. I know. I’m just glad I was there to catch you and carry you in here.”
He carried me? Oh crap. Like a swooning southern belle. I wanted to crawl under the couch and hide there for a week or two. Lou, who’d jumped into my lap as soon as I sat back down, meowed in agreement. Or at least I thought it was agreement. Who the heck knew with cats? It might have been, “Oh boy, I need to get Tess another dead bird, because she’s losing it.”
I shook my head and tried to recapture an ounce or two of sanity. When Jack came back, I drank half the water in one gulp and then took a deep breath. “I’d say I’ll kill you if you ever tell anyone about this, but since you apparently already died, it’s probably an empty threat.”
“I won’t say a word.” He sat down on the couch with me, but wisely kept some space between us. I still wanted to punch him, manners and hospitality be damned.
“What happened?” We both said it at the same time, and then we both laughed. It wasn’t much of a laugh, but it served to cut through the tension.
Jack looked at me and nodded, as if coming to some decision. “All right. I’ll start. What did you see?”
I shoved my hair, which had come loose from my ponytail at some point, out of my face. “A battle. Vampires. People with swords. A small woman with short dark hair screaming at you not to die.”
He flinched and then nodded. “Quinn. Yeah, that’s about it. The good guys had a tough time that night. We won, in the end, but the cost was high. And as you saw, I was pretty messed up. Knife wounds, gunshot wounds. I think one of the vampires broke my spine.”
My hand was shaking when I put my glass of water on the table next to the teacup. “How is that even possible? I mean, you’re right here. Is this a shapeshifter healing ability? The shifter community is pretty private about their—your—supernatural talents, but I’ve never heard even a hint that you can regenerate something as bad as a broken spine.”
“We can’t,” Jack said flatly. He stood up and rolled his neck, as if he could feel the pain from his memory. “A very powerful Atlantean priest, who happens to be a giant pain in the ass, healed the injuries and my bones. But I was still dead—at least in part. The human side of me had gone over, or tried to go, I guess. I’m not much for the metaphysical stuff. But the tiger half of my dual nature was still clinging to life, though just barely.”
I stared up at him. “You came back, though. How—”
“Well, the tiger in me wasn’t ready to die. I stayed in animal form for a long time. Eventually that part of me convinced the rest of me to live.”
He said it like it was so simple.
“Sure, no problem. I understand perfectly. You died, or half of you did, but the other half—the furry half—didn’t, and the doctors at the hospital just hung around trying to figure out whether to bring you Jell-O or Meow Mix,” I said, not even realizing I was shouting until I got to “Meow Mix.”
“I don’t think doctors actually carry Jell-O around,” Jack said cautiously, in a “back away from the crazy woman” tone. “That’s more of a nurse’s assistant or candy striper job, isn’t it?”
“Who even says candy striper anymore? There are no candy stripers. Why are we talking about candy stripers?” I jumped up off the couch, displacing Lou, who was vocally unhappy about it. “Where did you do this amazing recuperation? Why wasn’t the hospital on CNN, holding a press conference about their incredible doctors?”
“I was never in a hospital. I was in a secret, magically warded cave near the peak of Mount Fuji, in Japan,” he said, as if that were any kind of normal answer.
All at once, the fight went right out of me, and I sank back down on the couch and put the afghan over my head.
“Of course you were,” I mumbled. “Where else?”