"in my bedroom." He tossed her a towel. "Here, cover yourself."
Tachyon admired her long, tanned legs and shapely buttocks as she arranged herself on his bed, draping the towel discreetly over her hips. The blast of refrigerated air coming from the laboring air conditioner raised goosebumps all over her, but Tachyon ignored them.
"Your hands better be warm," Peregrine warned as he knelt next to her.
"Just like my heart," Tachyon said, palpating her stomach. "Does this hurt?"
"No."
"Here? Here?"
She shook her head.
"Don't move," he ordered. "I need my stethoscope." This time he warmed the metal head with his hand before placing it on her stomach. "Have you had much indigestion?"
"Some."
A strange expression crossed Tachyon's foxy face as he assisted her off the bed. "Get your jeans on. I'll take a blood sample, and then you can go play tourist with the others."
He got the syringe ready while she finished tying her track shoes. Peregrine held out her arm, winced as he expertly raised the vein, swabbed the skin above it, inserted the syringe, and withdrew the blood. She watched in fascination and suddenly realized that the sight of blood was making her ill.
"Shit." She ran into the bedroom, leaving behind a flurry of feathers, and leaned over the toilet vomiting up her room service breakfast and what was left of last night's dinner and champagne.
Tachyon held her shoulders while she was sick, and as she sagged against the tub, exhausted, wiped her face with a warm, wet washcloth.
"Are you all right?"
"I think so." He helped her to her feet. "It was the blood. Although the sight of blood has never bothered me before."
"Peregrine, I don't think that you should go sight-seeing this morning. The place for you is bed, alone, with a cup of hot tea."
"No," she protested. "I'm fine. It's just all this traveling. If I feel sick, josh will bring me back here."
"I'll never understand women." He shook his head sadly. "To prefer a mere human when you could have me. Come here and I'll bandage that hole I put in your arm." He busied himself with sterile gauze and tape.
Peregrine smiled gently. "You're sweet, Doctor, but your heart is buried in the past. I'm getting to the point now that I'm ready for a permanent relationship, and I don't think you would give me that."
"And he can?"
She shrugged, her wings moving with her shoulders. "I hope so. We'll see, won't we?"
She picked up her bag and hat from the chair and walked to the door.
"Peri, I wish you would reconsider."
"What? Sleeping with you or sight-seeing?"
"Sight-seeing, wicked one."
"I'm fine now. Please stop worrying. Honestly, I've never had so many people worrying about me as on this trip."
"That's because, my dear, under your New York glamour, you're incredibly vulnerable. You make people want to protect you." He opened the door for her. "Be careful with McCoy, Peri. I don't want you to get hurt."
She kissed him as she left the room. Her wings brushed the doorway and a flurry of fine feathers fell to the floor. "Damn," she said, stooping and picking one up. "I seem to be losing a lot of these lately."
"Indeed?" Tachyon looked curious. "No, don't bother with them. The maid will clean them up."
"Okay. Good-bye. Have fun with your tests."
Tachyon's eyes were worried as they followed Peregrine's graceful body down the hallway. He closed the door, one of her feathers in his hand.
"This doesn't look good," he said aloud as he tickled his chin with her feather. "Not good at all."
Peregrine spotted McCoy in the lobby talking to a stocky, dark man in a white uniform. Her two other companions were lounging nearby. Hiram Worchester, she reflected, was looking a little haggard. Hiram, one of Peregrine's oldest and dearest friends, was dressed in one of his custom-made tropical-weight suits, but it hung loosely on him, almost as if he had lost some of his three hundred plus pounds. Perhaps he was feeling the strain of constant traveling as much as she was. Father Squid, the kindly pastor of the Church of Jesus Christ, joker, made Hiram look almost svelte. He was as tall as a normal man and twice as broad. His face was round and gray, his eyes were covered by nictitating membranes, and a cluster of tentacles hung down over his mouth like a constantly twitching mustache. He always reminded her of one of Lovecraft's fictional Deep Ones, but he was actually much nicer.
"Peri," said McCoy. "This is Mr. Ahmed. He's with the Tourist Police.