actually defined our relationship, I don’t know if you can call it breaking up, but . . . yeah.” I winced. “Sorry. I’ve never done this before, and I kind of suck at it, don’t I?”
“Yeah.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “And I’m half asleep. Is it because of my sister?”
“Yes and no,” I said. “Ultimately, no.”
Dropping his hands, Sinclair regarded me. “And yet you’re doing exactly what Emmy told you to do.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Sinclair, listen. If Emmy hadn’t blown things up, I think we could have had a lot of fun together, and I wish we’d had that chance. But you’re not just some nice, uncomplicated guy with a great smile. And I’m . . . me. In the long run, I don’t think we’re the right kind of complicated for each other. Do you?”
“No,” he admitted after a long moment. “But I was happy to give the short run a try, Daisy.”
“Yeah, me, too,” I said ruefully. “But after yesterday, I think right now we can do each other a lot more good as friends. Are you okay with that?”
“Do I have a choice?” Sinclair asked.
I shook my head. “Not really.”
“All right.” Sinclair gave me a reluctant smile. “If I’m going to face down my sister, I need all the friends I can get. But if you ever need to make another funky satyr booty call, girl, I’m your man.”
A sense of relief and gratitude suffused me. “You’re the first person I’d call,” I assured him.
We parted with a hug. There was regret in it, but there was genuine affection, too; and it occurred to me as I drove downtown to the police station that in a perverse way, Emmeline might have done us an unwitting favor. After taking a long, hard look at my own feelings, I doubted that any budding romance with Sinclair could have withstood the double-barreled assault of his sister’s surprise visit and her return to either collect on the ultimatum she’d issued or deliver on her threat.
But friendship? Hell, yeah. It was a lot easier to forgive a friend in trouble than it was a sort-of-boyfriend who’d been less than honest. I had experience with standing up for my friends.
And all dear Emmy’s prank with the charm had done in the end was warn me not to underestimate her.
Next time I wouldn’t.
It actually felt good to settle into a familiar routine at the station, reviewing the stack of incident reports that had accumulated over the holiday weekend. Nothing suspicious of an eldritch nature caught my eye, which meant Tuggle and his hobgoblin buddies had the last hurrah of the high season with their shell game.
Well, except for Emmeline Palmer. A part of me—the part that was embarrassed by the fact that I hadn’t exactly handled the encounter with aplomb—wanted to avoid documenting the incident. But it was my responsibility, and it was time I started acting more professional about it, so I wrote up a full report for the X-Files.
Chief Bryant came in just as I was finishing. After exchanging a few words with Patty Rogan at the front desk, he caught my eye. “Daisy. I’d like a word with you in my office when you’re done.”
A little knot of apprehension formed in the pit of my belly. “Be there in a few, sir.”
He nodded and went past me into his office, closing the door. I shot Patty an “Am-I-in-trouble?” look. She shrugged. Patty and I had a decent working relationship, but not a great one. I knew there were times she thought the chief was guilty of favoritism toward me. And the fact is, it was probably true. I’d known Chief Bryant since I was little. When my mom waitressed at Callahan’s Café, sometimes during a day shift she’d park me in an empty booth with a coloring book. The chief used to come in for coffee, and occasionally to cheat on his diet. That’s when he first took a sort of paternal interest in Mom and me, which ultimately led to my part-time job here in the department.
Since that time, I’d never been less than a hundred percent straight with Chief Bryant. Well, at least until I called in sick yesterday, which is probably why I was feeling apprehensive. As a rule, I tried to avoid lying. It’s not one of the Seven Deadlies—why, I don’t know, since dishonesty seems a lot more like a sin than oh, say, sloth—but when it comes