Part 16 (1/2)

”I told you.” He must have been speaking to Francois, if he had s.h.i.+fted from his Fido form, but the streetlight had just turned red. Stepping out to cross French traffic took a heck of a lot more concentration than crossing a street in Mud Lake, Idaho. Unless there was a rodeo in town, then all bets were off.

”Let me rephrase.” He was using his put-upon tone. ”Why are you going there?”

”To find the doctor who was with Cheverill. He'll be able to validate that I had nothing to do with the old man's death.”

”You know his name?”

”Not exactly, but I will soon.” I swerved to avoid a matron with half a dozen small pug dogs snorting on their leashes. They were cute as all get out but sounded like a miniature train convention.

”Alex? You still there?”

I guess I missed something but I was trying to decide to cut through the green swath of the Esplanade des Invalides in front of me that looked like a wide park area between two busy streets, or head toward one of the thoroughfares, the Rue Fabert? Which area was creating the stronger tug?

I angled in the direction of the Rue Fabert but immediately halted. Using a casting spell might have been easier but it was like following a scent. I had to focus to make sure I didn't get turned around.

”Yes, I'm here, but I'm busy. Can I call you after I track down the doctor?”

”No.” The single word felt like a cold splash of water, until he added, ”The Rodan Museum is not far from where you are. A few blocks. Could you wait for us on the front stairs? I promise, we'll be there in less than twenty minutes. We might even be there before you are.”

When he was sounding helpful I was most wary. It meant he had his own agenda and was placating me long enough to get me to do what he thought was right.

Like that was going to happen. Unless I agreed with him, which hadn't happened that much.

”If you're not there in fifteen minutes I'm leaving.” Not much of a gracious concession but I'd already walked across what felt like most of Paris, was hungry and cranky, so Bran had to take what I had to offer and right now it wasn't much.

”We'll be there.”

He hung up before I could ask who he meant by we, but figured it included Francois.

Today was feeling less and less like my lucky day.

CHAPTER 33.

I'd found the Rodan Museum but only thanks to a pleasant Spanish gentleman I figured might be a gnome, even if he was out in direct sunlight. Something about his pointy beard, and the sly glint in his eyes. But he could have been a sprite. I wasn't so sure about the nuances yet.

So much to learn about preternaturals. So little time given the IR team had been run ragged dealing with Vaverek and whatever the man, if he was a man, was up to. Which made me wonder if he might be a mage or sorcerer. Like warlocks they were always stirring up trouble.

Which brought me full circle to thinking about Bran as I cooled my heels near the steps leading up to the museum's entry doors. There was a low-level stage set up directly in front of them so I had moved down a crushed rock pathway toward a pond complete with a spraying fountain. It was pretty in a rigid sort of way, but then that seemed to be the style of Parisian landscaping.

Where was he? I glanced at my cell phone and sighed as I stuffed it into my back pocket. I'd ditched the purse I'd been carrying as useless and to keep my hands free. In spite of the soft blue sky and wisps of clouds the day felt foreboding. Or that could be my mindset, waiting for a shoe to drop, or smack me up side the head.

On the other hand I sensed that Van was near.

That's what kept me going. Yes, I needed the doctor, but I needed to quit s.h.i.+lly-shallying along. Van needed my help and I'd spent all morning not doing a thing about it. On the other hand so much was murky. More questions raised than answers found and yet things seemed to be connected. The death of Cheverill. Bran being called before the Council. Vaverek and his machinations. What was connecting them? If anything?

One minute more and I was ditching Bran and whatever he was going to tell me. Standing around wasn't getting me closer to my brother. Or the doctor guy.

I stepped toward one of the hedges bracketing the entrance area when a hand came down on my shoulder.

My response was immediate. Grabbing the wrist I twisted it into a nice lock, spun to the outside of it and jammed the elbow with my other hand. A few seconds more and I'd pop the shoulder.

”d.a.m.nit, Alex, enough!”

Just when the fun was starting.

I released Bran, stepping far enough away he couldn't retaliate physically. At least not without bringing security guards from the museum down on us. As it was a few tourists milling about were giving us the stink-eye look that I smiled to deflect. Friends goofing off, that's all.

I guess it looked more like a grimace as several of them hurried away, their footsteps churning the gravel.

”She always greet friends this way?” A strange male voice asked behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder to see Frank in his Francois persona shaking his head at a broad-shouldered Mediterranean-looking man I'd never seen before. He smelled like a Were though there was no let-me-eat-you-then-meet-you vibe about him. He looked like a charmer. A Hugh Jackman type with an aw- shucks att.i.tude, sun burnished hair a little long and curling over his forehead, and a smile that could slay women. Not me, not right then, and he looked like he knew it, keeping his hands loose at his sides, his head angled down so that even though he was well over six feet he didn't threaten me with his size.

He wanted to disarm my resistance to the attraction he no doubt usually received from women. But why?

A Were who didn't act like a Were. Why?

”Our Alex is a little jumpy at times,” Francois murmured.

”I'm not 'your' Alex and if I jump it's because you scared the bejesus out of me.” I glared at Bran to make my point.

Rubbing his wrist he didn't snap at me but nodded his head toward the newcomer. ”Alex, this is Willie.”

And I cared because? But I had no beef against this stranger, no need to take my p.i.s.sy mood out on him.

He extended his hand but he shook as if afraid to crush my own. Thoughtful, but strange, as Weres usually were more aggressive. Even s.h.i.+fters had to practice giving human handshakes instead of pulverizing a stranger's hand accidently.

”A pleasure,” he said, tipping his head further, but his eyes were wary, as if waiting for something to happen. From me? Like I was going to take out a Were? I could be rash but not too stupid to live.

I glanced over at Francois to see what was up.

”He's our new consultant,” he said, as if I'd spoken aloud.

”Consulting for what?” This time I looked at Bran. When really confused go to the source.

It was the Were who answered though. ”All things Were.”

Seriously? I raised brows at him, not intentionally because making fun of a Were was suicidal, but he just shrugged and explained, ”I'm a recovering Were.”

”I didn't know there was such a thing.”

”I admit, there are not many of us.” He shrugged his shoulders and I bit the inside of my cheek not to say anything that could get me killed. ”In fact, I'm the only one I know in Europe.”

”Europe's a large place.”