time faintly, but with genuine affection. “You should know that there are those of us who appreciate you for what you are and do not dismiss you for what you are not, Daisy. The Outcast will support you as best we can in whatever manner necessity dictates. I have conceived a fondness for this ridiculous town, and I do not wish to see it forevermore haunted. When All Hallows Eve has passed, I will answer any question your heart desires. But for now, it is best that you go.”
I went, the impress of his kiss lingering on my lips. Life can be incredibly inconvenient at times.
Although I debated it, in the end I asked Lurine to be on hand to provide backup. I figured that if she was in costume, the odds that anyone would recognize her would be reduced.
Lurine agreed readily to help out after dark. “No worries, cupcake,” she said, idly tossing the hammer I gave her. “Some of the prettiest boys from Rainbow’s End are planning to march in the adult parade as an entire squadron of Lurine Hollisters. No one will recognize the real deal.”
“What about . . .” I struggled to remember the name of the satyr, who was nowhere in evidence. “Nico?”
“Nico?” She looked blank for a second. “Oh, right. He got a little tiresome. I sent him off to pick apples at Pomona Orchards. Perfect place for a rustic deity. Do you want him there?”
“No, that’s okay. I’d rather have people I know well enough to trust,” I said. “I just thought maybe you were an item.”
“An item.” Lurine looked amused. “That’s not really a term that applies to satyrs, cupcake. Satyrs are for . . .” She gave a little wriggle that managed to suggest serpentine undulations even though she was in human form. “Oh, let’s just call it a down-and-dirty celebration of the urge to merge, shall we?”
Kind of like Cody and me, I thought. Well, except for the part where I wanted an actual relationship, which wasn’t an option for a werewolf and a hell-spawn, because we were unsuitable mates incapable of producing little half-breed werecubs. Not that it was anything I was contemplating, but . . . God, I wondered if members of the Outcast could have children? I’d never heard of it happening, but I didn’t know if there was a physiological reason for it, like maybe the plane of mortal existence between salvation and damnation was a sterile one, or—
“Daisy?”
I blinked at Lurine. “Huh?”
“I lost you for a minute there, baby girl.” There was concern in her blue eyes. “Everything okay?”
“Are you kidding?”
“No.” It was a good, solid “no,” a bracing, cut-through-the-bullshit “no.” Lurine sat on the couch opposite me, arms spread casually along its back, legs crossed at the knee, one dangling foot flashing the trademarked crimson sole of a spike-heeled Christian Louboutin pump. The wisdom in her patient gaze dated back to the Bronze Age, rendering Stefan Ludovic a mere child in her experience.
I sighed. “Didn’t you tell me heartbreak was a rite of passage?”
“I did.”
“Well, I might be stumbling toward a new phase of maturity.”
“Oh, baby girl.” Lurine came off the couch in a graceful slithering motion to embrace me. “It’s all right.”
I closed my eyes. “It’s not, though. It’s really not, Lurine. All this crap that’s going on in my personal life doesn’t matter. I screwed up. And I’m scared. Hel’s disappointed in me. So is the chief.”
Lurine shrugged. “Oh, fuck them.”
I inhaled sharply. “Lurine!”
“Oh, you know what I mean, cupcake.” Letting me go, she ruffled my hair. “I’m on your side. And you can do this.”
My eyes stung with tears. “Thanks.”
“What can I say, baby girl?” Holding me at arm’s length, Lurine regarded me. “I believe in you. Go out there and make your mama proud.”
It heartened me.
It’s surprising what an affirmation from a millennia-old monster can do for your self-esteem; and I don’t use the word monster lightly. The truth is, Lurine was a monster by her own admission. In a way, so was I. And it was good to be reminded of it.
Feeling a little better about tomorrow’s prospects, I stopped by Sinclair’s after his last tour was done for the day.
Jojo the joe-pye weed fairy was lurking outside his place, huddled under the juniper bush, clutching her slingshot. She looked weary and bedraggled, a brownish cast to her green skin, the purple clumps of her hair going to seed. It was late in the season for a wildflower fairy