Remainders: Blood & Bone Series 3.5 Page 3

  “I’ve been wanting to see this anyway. I just don’t usually splurge on tickets,” the human replied.

  “I don’t own a television, and I spend way too much time on my computer for work. It’s nice to get out of the house to see something in huge surround sound,” she replied, smiling into the dark.

  Of course, that was the moment that the surround sound in question kicked into high gear with a series of alarms blaring across the screen while Jessica Biel stuck a gun in a confused Colin Farrell’s hands and told him to run. Under the noisy din, Grace pulled out two bags of candy: red vines and gummy worms and silently offered them to her companion. She couldn’t quite make out the look Sabira gave her, but she refused to feel bad about enjoying a little artificial sugar and coloring while the film in front them tried to trigger an epileptic seizure. Sabira took the red vines and they settled in to snack and watch.

  Two hours later, Grace stumbled out of the dark theater feeling a little sick to her stomach from all of the sugar and the powdered citric acid on her sour skittles and clutching heroically at a half-empty bottle of water courtesy of Sabira’s handbag.

  “So, what did you think?” she asked as they stopped outside on the sidewalk. She guzzled down the rest of her water and tossed it into a recycling bin.

  It wasn’t precisely raining in that way the clouds loved to settle thick and damp and misty over the city this time of year right before they opened up in a real deluge.

  Next to her, Sabira balled up all of their candy garbage and thew it into the garbage. She offered Grace a fresh water bottle.

  “Well,” the other woman mused, hugging her folded up coat to her chest as a cool breeze ruffled their hair. “At least there was plenty of pretty to look at.”

  “Mm, true. Colin Farrell is hot,” Grace agreed.

  She shot Sabira a conspiratorial grin. The other woman met her eye, a strange serious expression on her face for a beat before she returned the smile.

  “I suppose,” she replied. “If you’re into…”

  “Dark and delicious Irishmen?”

  “Or men, in general.”

  Grace laughed and knocked their shoulders together. “Thanks for coming with.”

  Sabira turned to her, hallowed by red and gold street lights. She blinked drizzle out of her eyes and said, “I had a good time. Thank you for inviting me.”

  Grace’s lungs felt tight in her chest, like they were made of helium balloons trying to expand past the limit of her ribs.

  “Do you need a ride home?” she asked, debating whether it would be too much to ask Sabira out for dinner while she was at it.

  “I drove. But thank you.”

  Grace grabbed the edge of Sabira’s sweater, it was as squishy as it looked and just a little bit scratchy under her fingers. “Wait, what about your number? Or are you going to make me call Patty’s desk again?”

  “You want my number.”

  Grace felt her cheeks redden, but she shrugged. “Why not? Do you have a rule about being friends with your partner’s sister?”

  “Friends? No, no rule about that.” Sabira handed her cell phone over so that Grace could text herself. The taller woman stared at the screen for a beat after she’d handed it back, that same strange serious expression flitting across her eyes before she tapped something into the touch screen and tucked the device away. “I should get going. Have a good night, Grace.”

  “You too,” she murmured at Sabira’s retreating back. Grace sighed up at the damp sky, closed her eyes against the softly falling rain, and tried not to feel too disappointed that the evening had ended so early. What more could she expect? Sabira wasn’t wrong, they were practically strangers, but damned if she didn’t want to change that a little bit.

  This wasn’t the first time she’d befriended one of Pat’s partners. And it was a cold rush to think about the last time she’d seen Adam, on another evening not altogether dissimilar from this one. A different night, a different movie, the last time she’d been able to drag him away from his work. He’d been distracted, irritable, and nearly impossible to see. And then he was dead.

  Grace tucked her hands in her scuffed leather jacket and walked down the block to where she’d paid to park her car, shoving away thoughts of dead not-quite-boyfriends. There wasn’t anything productive in thoughts like that. They only hurt; more sometimes because of the way they started to hurt less as time passed, until something reminded her all over again that she was sad, or supposed to feel sad, that all of her plans for the future had ended before they’d had any chance to begin.

  “Now you’re just being maudlin,” she berated herself, pulling out her phone to put a name to Sabira’s number before she forgot.

  Chapter 3

  Sabira Mallory

  Sent from Grace C. >> what do your friends call u? Sabira? Sabs? Sabsy?

  Sabira stared at the message for a long minute. It had been just over a week since her evening out at the movies with Grace, and so far the other woman had proved to be an enthusiastic, if somewhat inane, texter.

  Sent to Grace C. >> Pls don’t call me Sabsy. Or Sabs.

  Sent to Grace C. >> Your brother calls me Mallory.

  Sent from Grace C. >> bcuz he’s boring

  Sent from Grace C. >> so I can call you Sabira at least?

  “What are you smiling about?” Detective Bukowski’s voice interrupted her while she was formulating a response.

  Sabira looked up to find the other detective perched on the edge of her desk, dark blue tie askew, the top button of his dress shirt undone, and an ingratiating smile on the man’s face.

  “Was there something I could do for you, detective?” she asked, thumbing the screen dark on her phone.

  “Ah, don’t be like that. You’re all work, work, work, all the time. A guy can’t just want to see how you’re doing?”

  “I’m fine. Thank for you asking,” she replied, tone crisp and purposefully polite even though every bone in her body wanted to push her chair away as he leaned over her desk into her personal space.

  “I guess you have to be really focused on getting everything done yourself, being partnered to that useless lump, Clanahan.”

  Sabira bit her tongue hard. It was one thing for her to gripe about her partner’s distraction in the safety of her own thoughts, but she didn’t appreciate the way the other human detectives talked about the werewolf.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Bukowski snorted, pawing absently at his tie even though it was a lost cause, the silk wrinkled to hell and Sabira noted a couple of dark brown stains near the bottom—his lunch or his coffee break.

  “Come on, you don’t have to put up a show around me, Mallory. We’re all human here, am I right?” he directed this last part across the bullpen to where his own partner, Smiths, sat watching them over a stack of paperwork. Smiths made a disgusted look and nodded.

  “No shit,” he called back.

  “I’m not sure what show you think I’m putting on,” she said. “Was there something else you needed?”

  Bukowski hooked his hand on his hip and stared at her long and hard, the edges of his lips turning up in a smirk that made Sabira’s blood rush hot with irritation though she never let it show on her face.

  “Yeah, I was wondering if you wanted to get out of here and grab a drink with me later.”

  “Ah. Well, that’s a very kind offer, but I already have plans.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Really.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Well, that’s too bad.”

  Sabira watched Bukowski watching her. His eyes ran over her shoulders, lingered beneath her chin, before skimming around her head without ever settling on her face let alone her eyes. His left hand started to come up, reaching towards her face in a vague movement that made Sabira lean back, pushing her chair back so that she could grab her purse out of her desk drawer and make a show of packing her personal belongings into it. He was still there, perched on the
corner of her desk, watching, by the time she was finished. Sabira checked the time on her computer monitor. Captain Augustus wasn’t in her office, but she figured the Captain wouldn’t get on her case if she left a couple minutes early.

  “Have a good weekend, detective,” she said, standing up.

  “What, that’s it?” he asked with a frown.

  “I’ve got to get going if I don’t want to be late.”

  She hated to turn her back on him, but she wanted out of the bullpen. She walked quickly to the elevator without running, without looking like she was in a hurry, and didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until the doors closed her in without anyone getting into the lift with her.

  Sabira stopped at the Whole Foods on her way home and picked up a package of fresh stuffed tortellini, tomatoes on the vine, a wedge of cheese, a bottle of wine, a thin baguette, and eyed the bakery while debating whether she could justify the purchase of an entire cake just for herself.

  “’Treat yoself,’” she murmured at the bakery case and picked out a small raspberry cheesecake.

  Sabira lived in the same two bedroom apartment she’d moved into with her best friend their junior year at college, situated just outside the U-district and on a bus route to the University of Washington. Carolyn had moved out of the city six months ago and though covering the rent on her own hadn’t been ideal, Sabira had been nonplussed by the cost of moving. At least here she had a fixed rate almost on par with what she could be expected to pay for a studio. They’d moved in just after the housing market collapsed and gotten a decent deal that she felt loathe to give up. At least the pay raise that came with making Detective had been enough to cover it for now, even if it didn’t leave her with a whole lot of extra cash.

  She carried her groceries up to the second floor and left everything in a pile on the kitchen pass through, headed straight for her bedroom to wriggle out of her clothes. Her suit went on a hanger, she’d been lucky this week, no field work so she could skip the dry cleaners for another wear. Shirt went in the hamper, badge and gun into the nightstand next to her IKEA bed. In her clingy girl-cut boxers and tank top, she braced her feet shoulder width apart and folded over into mountain pose, relaxing her shoulders, cupped her elbows and let her bent arms hang down with the weight of muscle and bone. She breathed out, planted her fingers and stepped back into a lunge, raised her hands palms together and breathed back into the slow stretch and curve of her spine. She moved through the rest of a sun salutation and then repeated the motions two more times until her work-tense body had relaxed and a light sweat just began to tickle the edge of her scalp.

  Flexing her toes and rolling her shoulders, she went to the kitchen to start cooking dinner. Sabira didn’t have enough time during her work week to be a great cook, but she’d spent more nights at her teta’s elbow helping her cook meals while they waited for her mother and father to get home from their long shifts at the university hospital, which meant that she knew more than the basics, enough to feel guilty about ordering take away too often. Too much fat and MSG, her teta would have scolded her, not enough real flavor. She compromised with the store made stuffed pasta by whipping up her own tomatoey sauce and paired it with a side of broccoli that she found in the back of her freezer. She cooked extra so that she’d have enough for lunch tomorrow if she slept late and didn’t feel like leaving the house.

  Her phone buzzed while she was tasting the sauce, Grace’s name illuminated with a call instead of a text.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi! Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “You’re fine,” Sabira said, giving the sauce a quick stir and turning down the heat to low while she emptied the pasta into a pot of boiling water.

  “Would you believe, Roisin begged off going to the movies with me again?”

  “No.” Sabira said, holding back a laugh. “You were going to go again? Not to see that movie again?”

  “Nah, Dredd just came out. Usually I like to wait, but I’ve seen everything else I want to see.”

  “Your sister must have difficult classes.”

  “I guess.”

  Sabira could hear what sounded like street traffic through the phone. She wondered if Grace were standing outside the theater from the other night, and then she put a pin in that thought because it had been clear enough the last time she was wrong about their movie outing being a date. All that talk about hot Irishmen and not a single word about Kate Beckinsale, the girl had to be straight. Sabira needed to learn her lesson about getting overly invested before she knew whether or not a woman swung her way.

  “So, what do you think?”

  “About?” she asked, pulling out a plate and stemless wine glass.

  “Do you want to see Dredd with me?”

  “Oh.” Sabira felt a warm rush at the invitation despite all of her resolutions. But at the same time her nose was full of delicious food smells, and Sabira could honestly say that she wasn’t in the mood for leaving the house, no matter how cute Grace Clanahan looked in a dark theater with the bright lights of future cities glinting in her green eyes.

  “Not a fan?” Grace asked, sounding hesitant now.

  “Not really. I was planning on staying in with a tv marathon.” Sabira poured wine in her solitary glass. Stared for a beat and then said, “If you wanted, if you don’t mind watching some classic sci-fi and not a reboot, you could come over. I’ve even got food and wine.”

  “Oo, wine. Now that’s something I’ve never successfully smuggled into a theater. I don’t want to crash your evening though.”

  “I wouldn’t offer if that’s how I felt about it.”

  “Okay. You’re on. Text me your address?”

  “Sure.”

  “See ya in a few.”

  She sent her address, stuck lids on pots over the warm burners to keep all of the food warm, and then gave her apartment a critical once over. It was small, tiny really, barely five hundred square feet and a good portion of that taken up by the two bedrooms. The kitchen, dining nook, and living room all ran together with a small stretch of bar the only thing separating the kitchen from the living area. She had a sofa, basic entertainment center, low table, and a couple of bookcases all from IKEA. All of it fell somewhere between shabby and poor millennial chic, she thought, running around to collect all of her loose garbage. She ran the vacuum over the beige carpet and lit a scented candle to help with the musty shut-in smell, and then Sabira cracked the sliding glass door a couple of inches to let in a little fresh air while she was at it. Most weeks she worked four days, ten hour shifts, and only came home to sleep. And on the weekends she spent a lot of time lazing around in bed or reading, and so her apartment could come across as drab and stuffy, especially now that Carolyn wasn’t around to help clean.

  Luckily, Grace knocked before she could get too anxious and pull out the duster.

  “I picked up some more wine,” Grace said, brandishing a bottle.

  “Excellent. Come in.”

  “Shoes?”

  “Off, please.”

  “Oh good. I hate wearing shoes inside. If norms could smell what was on the bottoms of their shoes they’d never dream of keeping them on inside, but they do,” Grace said with a shudder and a quick flash of grin.

  Her words reminded Sabira all over again that she was a werewolf. That wasn’t to say that she’d forgotten, not really, but it was hard to keep in the forefront of her brain when Grace didn’t act any differently than a norm. She didn’t have the same simmering rage or short temper that Sabira attributed to her brother, nor did she exhibit the same aloof reserve that she’d had encountered in their cousin, Vector Clanahan. Now there was a werewolf you were hard pressed to forget about. He’d called himself a tracker, a wolf with senses far beyond those of an ordinary werewolf, and Sabira had seen enough of his skills in action to believe him. But maybe because of those enhanced abilities, Vector looked like he was constantly taking a reading on the atmosphere, sniffing everything and everyone who had passed thro
ugh a room.

  “That’s disgusting,” she replied belatedly.

  “Ignorance can be a gift.”

  “I wonder how Vector can stand it.”

  “You know Vector?” Grace turned to her. She’d shrugged off her damp coat and hat and discarded her wet shoes in a pile by the door.

  Sabira gestured for her outerwear, panicked for half a second before she remembered that there was a tiny, practically unused, coat closet in the wall separating the two bedrooms. She hung up the other girl’s coat to let it dry.

  “Yes, I had the chance to work with him on a case over the summer.”

  “Oh, wow. You mean that thing with his boyfriend?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Lachlan something… it’s terrible I met him over Fourth of July but I can’t…”

  “Graham,” Sabira said.

  “That’s it.”

  “They seemed…very close.”

  Grace wandered around the small space until she came back to the kitchen. Sabira had set out plates and glasses, now she poured a second glass of wine for her guest who accepted it with a soft thanks.

  “They’re basically attached at the hip these days.”

  “How is Mr Graham?”

  “Vector moved in to take care of him. I guess he had a close call.”

  “He was nearly killed. The case involved the death of his friend. The guy got mixed up with a drug ring and as far as we can tell they tried to kill Graham as well.”

  Grace gave her an awkward grin. “Sounds like you know more about it than I do. I haven’t really seen much of Vector. So, what are we watching?”

  Sabira shook herself and moved over to the television. She woke it up where Deep Space Nine sat queued up on Netflix. “All right?”

  Grace cocked her head. “Not sure I’ve seen many episodes from this one. You promise to explain things?”

  “If you need it. Food?”

  “I could eat.”

  They dished themselves up with pasta, Sabira sliced bread, silently cursing herself for not putting it in the oven to toast even though Grace made appreciative unassuming noises over all of it before they settled onto the couch.