We quietly broke up after that. We never talked about it; we just went our separate ways. I’ve had relationships since. I dated a gorgeous blond guy in college. He was the most handsome man I had ever seen. He turned out to be dumb as a board. He was attracted to me because he bought into the whole mystical sexy Asian girl thing. Combined with my turning into a white tiger, he was sold. The sex was great, but eventually we had to talk. He was disappointed I wasn’t Chinese, and I never understood why he thought I would be, because I don’t look Chinese at all. He didn’t know Indonesia was a country. He couldn’t find it on a map even after I showed it to him several times. I told him about Bali and gave him a book with pictures. One night, about two months into our relationship he was laying on the bed next to me and asked me if I would wear a kimono for him like a geisha. And then he asked if we had geishas where I was from. I realized it had to stop.
There had been a couple of guys since, but I always knew they weren’t the One. It didn’t make me any better at relationships.
I sighed. I was brooding. I didn’t like to fail and since my brain ran across a roadblock, it now turned inward in sheer frustration. The One would be here any minute, if the Pack didn’t kidnap him to save the world or resolve some life-shattering crisis. He would be starving. I needed to make him that steak.
• • •
I had just managed to slide the steak off the pan onto the cutting board when the doorbell rang.
Jim.
I ran to open it.
Jim stood in the doorway. He was wearing black again. Black jeans, black T-shirt, and black boots. The scars on his arms where the hag had sliced him up had healed to narrow light lines. His gaze snagged on me.
I was wearing shorts, a white tank top, and a blue apron with white-yellow flowers. The apron was a bit too long. I realized I was still holding a spatula. There was something in the way Jim looked at me, with a kind of lingering appreciation, that made my heart speed up.
“Come in,” I said, my voice squeaky.
“Thank you.”
I locked the door behind him. Awkward blind tiger girl is awkward. What else is new?
He stalked into my kitchen. I liked the way he moved, like a massive cat, unhurried, almost lazy, unless something interested him and then he would become all blinding speed and overwhelming power. His scent followed him. He had no idea, but he could make me do all kinds of stupid things just with his scent alone.
He sat on the stool at the counter.
“I made you a steak,” I said and poked at it with a spatula. “It’s still hot.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“Don’t you want to eat it? I know you’re hungry.”
“Not right now.”
“It will get cold.” Here I went through an obstacle course to make him the thing, and he didn’t even want it, silly man.
“It’s best to let the steak stand a few minutes after cooking.”
“Why?” Was it me, or was there a strange almost purring quality to his voice.
“If you cut it right away, all the juices will run out and you’ll get a dry piece of meat.”
“Ew.” I waved my spatula. “Please keep your carnivore details to yourself . . .”
He caught me by my shoulders and leaned close. Oh my gods, things were happening. His lips touched mine, hot and gentle, forging a connection. Suddenly nothing else mattered. I dropped the spatula on the floor, closed my eyes, opened my mouth and let him in. His scent swirled around me, intoxicating, the pressure of his lips on mine deliberate but careful. I lapped at his tongue, my hands stroking the broad width of his shoulders. The muscles were so taut with tension under my fingertips, as if his whole body vibrated with barely contained power. The hint of it sparked an eager need inside me. I wanted him to let go for me. I wanted the real Jim. If I could do that, I could do anything.
His kiss deepened, growing possessive, rougher, turning from a tender invitation to a commanding seduction. Breath caught in my throat. A slow velvet heat spread through me, tightening my nipples. I kissed him back, stroking his tongue with mine and giving him a taste, then pulling back. He kissed me harder. The taste of him sent shivers down my spine. My muscles turned warm and pliant. A soft ache flared between my legs. My head turned dizzy. I had to take a breath. I was losing what little control I had and I wanted so much for it to be good for him.
His arms gripped me, the hard, powerful muscle sliding against my shoulders as he pulled me closer. I pulled back and he let go. We broke apart. I opened my eyes and saw him looking at me and in the depth of his dark irises I saw raw, overwhelming desire.
Oh my gods, I would do anything if he kept looking at me like that.
He wanted me. Oh he wanted me so badly.
I leaned in and nipped his lower lip.
He tipped my head back, his mouth closing on mine, the thrust of his tongue wild and hot. My apron went flying, and then his hands slid under my tank top. His rough thumb caressed my right nipple, sending tiny electric shocks through me. I leaned against that touch, grinding against him, his lust driving me out of my mind. It was all for me. He was excited for me. He was kissing me. His hands gripped my butt and he hoisted me on his hips. The long, hard shaft of him thrust against the aching wetness between my legs. He was hard for me.
I wanted it to be the best sex he ever had.
He tore himself from my mouth. “So beautiful.”
Please, Jim, please. Touch me, kiss me, love me . . .
He kissed my neck, nipping the sensitive skin, each pinch of his teeth adding fuel to my fire. I moaned, caught in the whirlwind of sensations, and rode him. I wanted him inside me. I needed to be full of him.
He jumped off the chair, his hands on my butt, caressing me, and I kissed him all the way upstairs. He dropped me on the bed and pulled off his shirt. Muscle corded his frame like steel cables. Excitement dashed through me. His boots and pants came off. He was huge. Oh wow.
He leaned over me and then I had no clothes on. I reached for his neck and pulled him down on top of me. He dipped his head and his mouth closed on one nipple, while his hand stroked the other. The wave of pleasure rolled through me and I arched myself, my hands in his hair. His mouth moved to the other breast. My whole body was keyed up, ready for him, as if I was perched on the edge of a scalding bath and I needed to take a plunge.
He reared above me and I reached for him. My fingers found his hard length and I stroked it. Jim growled. I laughed and wrapped my legs around him. He lowered himself on me, his weight on his arms, his expression wicked and hot, so hot.
“Yes?”
What? Of course it’s a yes. “Yes . . .”
He thrust into me, fluid and deep. Pleasure exploded in me and I moaned his name. He built to a smooth, rapid rhythm, sliding inside me, thick and hard, each thrust a burst of ecstasy. I locked my fingers on his back and matched his rhythm. We were one and I was losing myself in the sheer physical bliss of it. He made love to me like I was a goddess. I tried to hold on and stay there with him, but the pleasure crested inside me and dragged me under. I melted into a soft, happy climax. Jim moved faster inside me, pounding, intense, his whole body so rigid, the muscles of his back were trembling under my fingers. His face turned feral. He grunted and I felt him let go inside of me. I wrapped my arms around his neck.
For a while we stayed just like that and then slowly he slid his big body to the side and pulled me to him.
“Mine.”
I blinked at him. “What?”
“You’re all mine.” He grabbed and hoisted me onto him. “Mine, mine, mine.”
I laughed and sprawled on top of him.
• • •
JIM was a cat. And like all cats, he liked soft places, sleeping, and lying around. We hadn’t left the bedroom. We napped, we cuddled, we had sex again and it was glorious. And now we just lay togeth
er enjoying each other’s company. We were both starving but going downstairs was just too much effort. Outside the sun slowly set. The world was growing dark.
“About the barbecue,” I said. “Should I bring something?”
“No, they’ve got it under control.” He was playing with my hair. “I called and told them you would be coming for sure. You’ll have to cut them some slack. They’ve never dealt with anyone like you.”
“Anyone like me? Indonesian?” They probably didn’t expect him to bring home someone like me. What if they didn’t like me?
“No,” he said. “Vegetarian.”
I stared at him for moment.
“It’s a barbecue,” he said. “We’re werecats. Everything is either meat or has meat in it. I explained to them about stuff not touching. They bought a new grill for you, but they can’t figure out what to grill on it . . .”
I snorted and laughed.
He grinned back at me. My handsome, smart Jim.
“Just a fair warning: you might end up having corn seasoned in three different ways . . .”
I giggled.
“They’re excited,” he told me. “You’ll have to answer questions. If it gets too much, tell me and I will snarl and make an ass of myself.”
“Diversion tactics!”
“That’s right. Anything for my beautiful girl.”
He said I was beautiful. I smiled.
“I called in a request to the Pack,” Jim said. “Let’s see if they can dig up anything on that law firm.”
The doorbell rang. Who could that be? I slid off the bed and glanced out of the window. My mother, my aunt, Komang, and her daughter stood on my doorstep. Oh no.
“My family is here,” I hissed. “Do not make noise.”
He laughed at me.
“Jim! I’ll strangle you.”
“Okay, okay.”
I ran into the bathroom to clean up, threw on fresh clothes, and ran down the stairs.
Oh no, the stupid steak again. I dashed into the kitchen, grabbed the cutting board with the steak, and whirled around. Where to put it? Not the cabinet, Mom would find it. Not in the fridge either, it would contaminate all my groceries . . .
I jerked the wooden cover off the oversize bread basket, stuck the cutting board and the steak in there, pulled it closed, and raced for the door.
My mother raised her hands. “Again?”
“I was sleeping.”
“I thought you were chasing after that stray cat you adopted.” She walked inside and the other three women followed her.
“You got a cat?” my aunt asked.
“It’s a stray,” my mother said. “She adopted him.”
I sighed, shut the door, and followed them into the kitchen. We sat at the table.
“About that boyfriend . . .” my mother said.
“There is no boyfriend,” I said. “It’s someone from the Pack. He was helping me and he was just being funny. He’s a practical joker.”
Komang opened her mouth. Aulia made big eyes at her and Komang closed her lips and sat back.
“Anyway, I found out about jenglots.” I explained about the cursing and the property. “This magic user is very dangerous and powerful. It’s one thing to summon a mythological horror like a hag. But this person also summoned a living killer car. People believe in old hag syndrome, but most of us would instantly dismiss a killer car as complete nonsense. He or she doesn’t require a mythological basis for their summonings. So if someone was afraid of ghosts, this person would conjure a murderous ghost for them even though ghosts do not exist.”
“So this person will try to kill grandmother again?” Aulia asked.
“I believe so,” I said. “But he or she will come after the comic book guys, the courier shop owner, or me first. This person is clearly targeting everyone in the building and I’ve made them very angry. They must’ve sacrificed something personal and now that sacrifice is wasted because of me. They may want to get me out of the way.”
My mother frowned. “What is so special about that property?”
“I don’t know. I’m checking into it. It is likely that . . .”
Jim walked into the kitchen. He was wearing a white towel around his hips and nothing else. His skin glistened with dampness—he had obviously just taken a shower.
I stared at him in horror.
He nodded to my aunt, my mother, and the two other women. “Ladies.”
Then he walked to my silverware drawer, got a fork, took a plate out of my cabinet, walked to the breadbox, speared the steak with his fork, put it on the plate, turned around and walked out.
This did not just happen. It did not happen.
Aulia looked at me with eyes as big as dessert plates and mouthed, “Wow.”
All four of them stared at me.
I had to say something. I opened my mouth. “As I was saying, I think the next two targets would be the comic book store guys and the courier shop owner. Their curses are likely already in place. Then me, because I made this person really angry. So Eyang Ida is safe for the time being.”
“That’s good to hear,” Komang said. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. We will be going now.”
She got up. Aulia jumped up as well.
“I am going, too,” my aunt said, her voice too high.
I followed them to the door. Aulia was the last one through it. She turned around, pointed up, pretended to flex, gave me a thumbs-up, and fled. I took a deep breath, walked into the kitchen, and sat down.
“I knew,” my mother said.
What? “Since when?”
“He came to see me after you saved him from the spider woman.”
How did I not know this?
“He said he wanted to date you and he understood if I had a problem with it because he wasn’t Indonesian, but that it wouldn’t stop him. I told him that you were special and if he wanted to try and win you, he could knock himself out. I told him that prettier men tried and failed.”
“What did he say?”
“He said that was fine and you were beautiful enough for both you and him. And that’s when I knew.” My mother smiled. “True beauty isn’t in how big your breasts are, or how large your eyes are, or how pretty your nose is. All that is temporary. Breasts sag, skin gets wrinkles, waists become wider, and strong backs stoop. I tried to teach you this when you were younger, but I must’ve done a bad job, because you never learned it. True beauty is in how that person makes you feel. When a man truly loves you, the longer you are together, the more beautiful you will be to him. When he looks at you and you look at him, you won’t just see the surface. You will see everything you shared, everything you’ve been through, and every happy moment you hope for.”
Her eyes teared. “Your father died a middle-aged man, balding, with a round belly and when I looked at him, he was more beautiful to me than when we first met and he was twenty and all the girls panted after him.” Her voice trembled. “After thirty-two years, we were more than lovers. We were family.”
I swiped tears from my eyes.
“You either have that bond or you don’t,” my mother said. “If the bond isn’t there, no matter how pretty the two of you are, you’ll go your separate ways. You’ve changed, sweetheart, since the two of you started going out. You don’t lose your temper as often. It used to be one wrong word, and you had all your claws out. He must make you happy. So. If you like him, I like him. If you hate him, I hate him. But I think he loves you and that’s all any mother could hope for.”
My mother got up and left.
For a while I sat at the table crying and I didn’t even know why. About five minutes after the door closed Jim came down from upstairs and put his arms around me. I leaned against him and let him hold me.
• • •
MAGIC flooded during the nigh
t, but the phone rang anyway. It wasn’t for me. It was for Jim. He listened to it for a long time, while I made us breakfast and wondered why I wasn’t freaking out about the fact that someone in the Pack clearly knew Jim was spending his nights with me.
“Wait a minute.” Jim pulled the phone from his ear. “Dali? I’ve got a guy at the courthouse. Want to hear what he’s found?”
“Yes!” I waved the kitchen towel at him.
“The law firm that sent the letters only exists on paper,” Jim said. “It was active about eight years ago but Shirley retired from law practice five years ago and moved away, Sadlowski died shortly after, and Abbot died about a year ago. But the firm still exists as a legal corporation. It’s registered with the Georgia Bar Association under John Abbot.”
“The one who died?”
“No, different bar number.” Jim frowned. “This is where it gets interesting. I also had them check into the building. It’s old, pre-Shift. The records are sketchy, but apparently it used to be a strip joint.”
“I don’t see why it’s so valuable.” Strip clubs sprang up in Atlanta like mushrooms.
“It was a full-nudity strip club,” Jim said.
“And?”
Jim shrugged. “I don’t understand what the deal is either. A full-nudity license is more expensive, but that’s about it.”
“What was the name of the club?” I asked.
Jim repeated the question into the phone. “The Dirty Martini.”
“Is the license still active? Can they pull up prior owners?”
“Good idea. Check if that license is still active and see about the last owner,” Jim said. “Oh and, Tamra? Check the alcohol permit for me.”
“Why alcohol permit?” I asked.
“A place with the name Dirty Martini is likely to serve alcohol.” Jim tapped his fingers on the table. He was thinking about something. I could see it in his eyes.
Minutes passed by.
“Okay,” Jim said. “Thanks.”
He hung up and looked at me.
“Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“The club owner’s name was Chad Toole. He was indicted twelve years ago on money-laundering charges, convicted, and sentenced to thirty years in prison,” Jim said. “He died while incarcerated. Guess who represented him?”