Deamon's Daughter Part 19

"Charles usually takes him to school," she said, then grinned slyly. "Today, however, Charles is starting a new job." She nodded at his inquiring look. "Yes, at the Astoria House. For now he's on breakfast s.h.i.+ft. Apparently, the head chef was impressed by his toasted cinnamon kirbaz. You should have seen him bouncing around this morning."

"I'm sorry I missed it."

"Me, too. That was a wonderful thing you did for him. I don't know how to thank you."

He brushed his thumbs through the baby-soft tendrils above her ears. Though his heart was pounding, he tried to speak casually. "It's not the least bit necessary, but if you wished, you could let me stay here on a regular basis. We could thank each other the way we did last night."

She opened her mouth, then shut it, then shook her head. Her response seemed more a sign of disbelief than refusal, but it disturbed him. Was she really that surprised he wanted a more permanent arrangement?

"Roxanne." He rubbed the small of her velvet-covered back, just above the bustle. "Won't you let me stay? I don't think I can stand another separation."

She buried her face in his shoulder. Her hat's little feather tickled his ear, but he didn't want to move. When she spoke, he felt as well as heard her words.

"I'd like you to stay," she said, "but I don't want you to look back someday and be sorry."

"Missing you is the sorriest thing I know."

She looked up at him, her lips caught between her teeth.

"Let me," he crooned, kissing the slant of her cheek. "I don't ever want to be away from you."

"Ever?" she said in a small, worried voice.

For some reason, her insecurity sparked his confidence. He dropped his mouth to hers, tasting her tremors and her welcome. Her arms tightened around his neck even as her mouth tightened on his kiss. When she pressed closer, the folds of her velvet skirt swung between his legs, half parting his towel. It gave him an odd feeling, as though he were at once naked and clothed.

"I could get you a key," she said breathlessly when he finally released her.

Adrian smiled. A key might not be as satisfying as a successful proposal of marriage, but it was a start.

Work was quiet for once. Maybe too quiet. Adrian caught more than one speculative look as he pa.s.sed his fellow officers in the hallsa"though that could have been because Adrian was too contented to wear his usual reserve. Despite the oddness of their reactions, he saw no point in worrying what rumors might be flying. Trying to quash them was likely to make them worse.

The sphere of avoidance that surrounded him did have one positive effect. He had plenty of time to call on his acquaintance at the Children's Ministry board. Adrian had extricated the man's eldest son from a situation that, while not illegal, could have caused his family embarra.s.sment. Happily, the father was still grateful, though he cautioned Adrian that his intervention might raise eyebrows.

Beyond caring about that, Adrian thanked him for his help.

The plan for Max's future safety set into motion, Adrian decided to act on the instinct that prodded him to speak to the station's coffee vendor. She confirmed his suspicion that the doctor who handled his implants was known as The Dragon. Though she seemed unsurprised by Max's story, she professed not to have heard of the experiment.

"We only know what The Dragon do to us," she said, her lips pursed with what, on a human face, would have signified mild disapproval. On her, it had to mean hatred.

"What did he do to you?" Adrian asked.

She turned away to serve another customer, her motions suddenly sharp. Adrian wasn't sure she'd answer when she turned back. She wiped her spotless counter with a clean white rag.

"If a rohn is exiled," she finally said, "no matter how small the crime, that rohn never have babies."

"Oh." Adrian rubbed his chin. He wanted children himself, but he could only begin to imagine what being unable to have them meant for a woman. Now he knew why he'd never seen young demons in Harborside. He'd thought they were simply kept very close.

"Yes, oh," said the rohn, her expression fierce, her silver eyes glittering. Adrian didn't think he'd ever seen a Yama this close to crying. "No babies. No grandbabies. No one to bounce on one's knee or make one laugh when one is too old to shock anyone."

"Other doctors refuse," she went on. "Say even rohn deserve to have their lines live on. Not The Dragon. He do whatever daimyo want." Her rag rubbed another furious circle on the smooth old wood. "You stay away from him, Policeman Philips. He not care about the law."

Adrian hadn't been aware that she knew his name. He certainly didn't know hers. As gently as he could, he put his hand on top of hers. Her skin was cooler than a human'sa"and surprisingly smooth. Her eyes widened at his touch, exposing even more silver. "I'll be careful," he a.s.sured her.

"Careful not good enough," the rohn said emphatically. "You be smart."

Though Adrian's exchange with the coffee vendor had unsettled him, he managed to shake off the reaction by the time he returned to Roxie's that evening.

Charles made dinner for everyone, a truly inspired meal of fresh baked bread and greens and pepper-roasted fish with baby lemon rosettes. The four of them made a cozy group around the butcher block table in the oven-warmed kitchen. Charles looked tired but happy. Their conversation was quiet, mostly murmurs of appreciation for the food. This was a far cry from Adrian's parents' house, where the constant babble barely left one energy to think. Adrian ate everything set before him, then tucked into dessert as well.

Once the last crumbs of hot apple tart were licked from the last thumb, he pulled a doc.u.ment from his jacket pocket and gently whacked Max over the bristly top of his head.

"Wha-ha-hat?" he giggled.

"Wash your hands, and I'll let you read it."

"But I can't read yet!" he protested.

"Then tell Roxie to wash her hands, and I'll let her read it to you."

Max was laughing too hard to follow those instructions, so Roxie rinsed her hands in the sink and dried them on Charles's ap.r.o.n.

"Hand it over," she ordered, her face alight with pleasure.

Her hand flew to her chest as soon as she opened the folded doc.u.ment. "Oh, my goodness. 'The fifth children's court of the third district of Awar hereby declares the male child heretofore known as Maxwell McAllister to be the true and lawful custodial responsibility of Roxanne McAllister, from this day forward until he shall reach the age of majority in the aforesaid district.' Oh, Adrian."

Overcome, she sank into the chair that Charles slid behind her knees.

"Does that mean I'm really, truly yours?" Max asked.

Charles ruffled his cowlick. "Really, truly."

"And Charles, too?"

Color swept up the older boy's face. Adrian's own cheeks heated. He hadn't thought about Charles.

"Actually, Max," said the boy, with a small, throat-clearing cough. "I'm only six months short of majority. I've got a good job now, and much as I appreciate having aa a family to be with, I can take care of myself."

His countenance was purple by the time he finished. The parlor clock could be heard ticking across the hall. With a woman's genius for deepening a man's embarra.s.sment, Roxie a.s.sured Charles that he was family, too. "And I love you every bit as much, sweetie."

"Yes, well." Charles cleared his throat again, then popped up like a jack-in-the-box to clear the table. "Thanks."

Roxie was still chuckling when the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Adrian volunteered, sensing his absence could only improve Charles's situation.

Whoever had rung must have remained outside. Adrian left the door ajar behind him and sprinted down the twisting flights to the street. The setting sun filled the stairwell with dusty gold and rose. Whistling as he went, his legs felt as bouncy as Southlandic rubber. He was a hero tonight: his soon-to-be family's hero.

To his surprise, he knew the person waiting on the stoop. A full-blooded Silver Islander, Sergeant Farsi Ross had skin the color of roasted chestnuts and the curliest black hair Adrian had ever seen. His accent was melodic, serving as counterpoint to his intimidating bulk. In Adrian's opinion, he was the department's most promising new recruit.

"Sergeant Ross," he said, swinging the door open. "Has something happened with one of my cases? Do I need to return to Little Barking?"

He hoped not. Roxie deserved a bit of a honeymoon before being forced to habituate herself to policemen's hours.

Whatever the sergeant's news, he seemed more interested in tugging imaginary creases from his uniform than in sharing it.

"Would you like to come in?" Adrian offered, a p.r.i.c.kle of unease flas.h.i.+ng between his shoulder blades.

"No, sir. I am sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, but Superintendent Atkinson asked me to relay the message that you need not come to work tomorrow."

Adrian fell back a step. The gla.s.s of the door was cool against his shoulder. "I'm being suspended?"

The sergeant screwed his dark, broad face into a picture of regret. "Well, not to put too fine a point on it: You're being dismissed. I am sorry, sir. It's ridiculous to dismiss you simply because you intervened with the Children's Ministry on behalf of a friend."

Adrian cursed under his breath. He'd known word would spread, but not that this would turn out to be Atkinson's final straw. He supposed he hadn't wanted to know.

"Rumor has it the superintendent was getting pressure from above," Ross said sympathetically. "But he knows you're a good man. Maybe if you talk to him?"

Adrian snorted. "And say what? That I'm sorry? I'm not sorry. Or maybe he wants me to promise not to come here again. I won't promise. I intend to see this woman as often as she'll let me."

Ross lifted his hands. Even in the fading light, his grin was brilliant. "I'm no enemy to romance. We Islanders have our priorities straight. Your gain is Security's loss."

Adrian was warmed by his response, even if it didn't change a thing. "Somehow, I doubt Atkinson is wasting any tears on me."

Ross treated him to a true Island shrug. "So you'll work for yourself now. No more politics."

"Maybe." He picked a fleck of paint off the door, then watched an electric tram clack its way along the rails. Sparks flew off the metal wheels as it rounded the corner. Dismissed. This threw a proper wrench in his marriage plans. You couldn't support a wife on what he'd set aside to supplement his pension.

"You put your mind to it, sir," Ross said, "and you can do whatever you like. In fact, you ever want to hire another investigator, you call Farsi first."

Adrian smiled. "That means a lot to me. Of course, I'll be lucky to support myself as an independent, never mind hiring an employee."

"Don't count on it. You've got a way about you, Inspector. I know Securit hasn't always treated you as they should, but outside the department, people trust you. You make them want to put their troubles on your shoulder. I think you'll have plenty of work." He finished his declaration by pressing Adrian's severance envelope into his palm. The stack of notes felt thick. Atkinson must have been feeling guilty.

"Thank you," he responded, trying to hide his dejection. He wasn't sure he wanted to enter the sometimes seedy business of private surveillance. Still, the sergeant meant well. He held out his hand for the other to shake. "I'll remember what you said."

When he shut the outside door, he found Roxanne waiting on the last step. So. She'd witnessed his humiliation. It seemed inevitable, even appropriate. Her hands were knotted together, and her feet were bare. For the first time he realized how affluent she looked, despite her eccentric dress. The sheen of good health and regular meals glowed in her skin. She owns her own business, he reminded himself. And she's twelve years younger than you.

He hated the look of pity in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said. "You loved that job."

He shoved his hands in his pockets to hide their unsteadiness. He shrugged. "I've lost things I cared about before. What's one more?"

"One more is one more." She sounded watchful. Wary. "If Herrington was behind Max being taken, he may be behind this, too: his retaliation for being thwarted."

Adrian wasn't sure it mattered. Atkinson might have fired him anyway. He pushed his hair back from his face. He was going to have to get it cut. Then again, why worry about looking businesslike now?

"We should have talked to Herrington," she said, "as soon as we got Max back."

"We can't know that would have made a difference. Plus, your custody of Max wasn't secure."

"But if we'd givena my father a chance to yell at us to our faces, maybe he wouldn't have done this."

"Yama don't think that way. They prefer the indirect route."

"If I'm mad at someone, I want to yell."

"That's funny. I don't believe I've ever seen you do it."

She sighed. "I could have given in to him," she admitted reluctantly.

Adrian c.o.c.ked one eyebrow. "Without knowing what his idea of father-daughter obligations involves? a.s.suming he was behind thisa"which we don't knowa"you couldn't have guessed this would happen. h.e.l.l, if I'd guessed, I would have done it anyway."

She took this in, her wrists twisted together between her knees. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Go private, maybe. Investigative work is all I'm trained for. I'm not dest.i.tute, if that's what you're worried about."

"Adrian." One bare foot dropped to the dusty vestibule floor, but aside from that, she didn't come closer. "You know I'm not worried about your finances."

"Aren't you?" He studied the concern on her face. "Tell me you weren't wondering whether you should offer to help."

She blushed and drew a circle with her toe.

"That's what I thought."

"You're my friend. And you've helped me. Look what you did for Max and Charles."

"You're a woman," he said. "You're supposed to need help."

She drew her foot back onto the step and crossed her arms. Her expression said this was the stupidest thing she'd ever heard. "Come on, Adrian. With thinking like that, you might as well grab my hair and drag me back to your cave."

Anger heated in his veins. So what if he was stuffy and middle cla.s.s? So what if she wasn't truly his to take care of? What right did she have to mock him when he was at his lowest?

Catching himself before he could say something he regretted, he forced his body to relax. He wasn't angry at her. He was angry at fate. "You feel like a drink?" he asked abruptly. " 'Cause I sure could use one."

"I don't know." She seemed startled as he caught her elbow and began to escort her back up the stairs. "Maybe you shouldn't drink when you're upset."

"Who's upset?" He stomped them forward determinedly. "We'll celebrate my freedom. We'll celebrate not having to worry about whether I'D get fired. After all, I already have been."

When he laughed at this irony, Roxie did not join in.

Chapter 21.