"So you're Rue Pierce?" was the withering inquiry with which Rue was greeted the moment he introduced himself in presenting himself to his new assignment.

The response wasn't a new one; he was resigned to provoking incredulity at nearly all his professional first-time encounters. Rue was fairly certain that the larger share of that was due to the fact that he wasn't anything like what people expected of his profession; he'd certainly met enough people to tell him so. With chestnut hair that he kept trimmed above his ears, falling nicely in a single wave to either side of his part; pale blue-green eyes, high cheekbones and a wide, white smile, he was told that he looked either like a businessman or a model. And there was also his height. Objectively he knew he wasn't short; at 5'9" he was a perfectly respectable height for a man, but it seemed that almost every male he worked with in a professional capacity or associated with otherwise was taller than he.

Looking too handsome and clean-cut to be considered authentic would never have been Rue's guess as to the biggest challenge of his career.

"Badge him," the young white-blond detective pronounced after a long moment sizing up the measure of Rue Pierce, raking over his physiognomy, matching up his appearance with the picture in the database and, no doubt, details of credit and criminal background history, counting the bills and change in his wallet for good measure. The detective's gaze was so surgically precise Rue could all but feel it give him a closer shave than the one he'd given himself barely an hour ago.

The young man moved on before Rue could take that probing glance as anything more than professional, leaving the long expanse of polished metal counter and going around a wire cage structure that looked as though it were reinforced with plasteel. Rue was left with a pair of women who lounged behind the counter, a young blonde with bored eyes and heavy make-up and an attractive brunette with full lips and a direct, friendly gaze.

"Good thing he didn't send you packing, because we really need you on this case," the brunette said, extending a thin manicured hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm Marina Whitbeck, para-forensic specialist."

"Rue Pierce," Rue introduced himself, taking her grip. She had a firm handshake, direct without prolonging contact. "Consultant."

"Ooh," Marina said, giving him a moue as she released his hand. "No descriptive working title, huh? I guess that happens when you work with a lot of classified material."

Rue gave her a neutral smile, wondering if she thought that prompt would get him to talk about what he did. In point of fact, he really couldn't talk about most of it -- the larger share simply for the fact that most people wouldn't believe him.

Marina gave him a little shrug as if to indicate she had to try, and waved him around the counter in the other direction from the one the detective had taken. It was a short distance of white corridor to a heavy metal door set beside a black security pad. It was reassuring to see that security was a serious item here, although this particular precinct surely wouldn't detain prisoners and was ostensibly not open to foot traffic. Marina met him at the door, holding the door open and waving him through.

Between the quick efficiency of Marina and the assistance of the blonde, they digitized Rue's image and handed him a thin wafer with his picture and a barcode beneath it subtitled simply "Consultant," no name. Also for security purposes, Rue assumed. The holographic seal of the New York city police hovered in the upper left-hand segment of the badge without any indication that he was attached currently to the supernatural division's precinct. That, he assumed, was part of the barcode or whatever identifying signals were encoded in the badge.

A sliver clip was produced, and Marina affixed the badge to the lapel of Rue's suit, leaning in and giving him a flash of subtle floral musk, straightening the fabric of his lapel and aiming a smile at him as she stepped back. "The badge is active for the length of your contract with us. Once the job is finished, you can turn it in or keep it; either way, your access to this building will be deactivated. You may as well keep it; with your talents, I'm sure you'll be consulting with us in the future."

"Thanks," Rue said, giving her a fraction of a smile, thinking of that lingering scent. It reminded him of something that teased at the margins of memory. "What's next? That detective..."

"Detective Randall is in charge of the case," Marina said with a slight smile. "You and I are his team, and besides that, he doesn't have a lot of manpower so today he's running around pursuing leads."

"It's just the three of us?" Rue said, appalled. From the details that Orion had sent to him, the case looked serious. There had already been five murders, and if not for the method of death in all five instances, it would have been declared a standard serial murder case with all the best resources of the department thrown at it.

Marina's dark brows raised. "Unfortunately, the commander of our division has already decided the case is impossible to solve. Detective Randall is the only one with the tenacity to hang onto it. But without more information or evidence, without a solid lead, the commander feels the department's manpower is better spent at this time on cases that can actually be closed." She lifted a hand to her mouth, quirking a brow at him as if to imply she'd said too much.

"How long have you been working the case?" Rue demanded.

"Since the second murder, and I have to admit, it doesn't look good. That's why Detective Randall contacted Orion."

Rue just barely stopped himself from saying 'so he contacted us?' He'd only met the man for all of a few minutes, but Randall had conveyed an overall impression of skepticism at the closure of their first meeting, as if he'd sized up Rue and found him wanting. Still, if he was lacking leads, an innovative man wouldn't hold back a chance to make a breakthrough simply because he didn't think Rue looked as though he weren't up to par.

"Do I have to sign anything?" Rue inquired. "I'm sure we're under a deadline of some sort, so the sooner I get briefed on the full details, the better."

Marina inclined her head. "A confidentiality waiver and standard contract for consulting. This way, please."

After taking care of the paperwork -- a silly holdover term, when all forms were loaded on electronic notepads and signed with a stylus -- Marina ushered him past the administrative area down a hallway that was packed to either side with offices. They were all occupied, most with the doors shut but the interior still visible through a wall-to-ceiling clear panel. Heels clicking a short authoritative staccato along the tiled floor, she led him to a long room that featured an oblong table, several workstations, screen-files scattered here and there, and a map of the city illuminating the far wall. Marina gestured him onward and shut the door behind him.

"The Birthday Murders," Marina enunciated, dropping gracefully into a seat on the far side of the table and waving Rue to one of the workstations. "That's what they're calling this one, oh-so-descriptively because..."

"All of the murders take place on the victim's birthday," Rue supplied. "I got that much from the tickler file Orion sent to me. Tell me everything you know."

Marina's generous mouth twisted. "That's a disappointingly short amount of information," she warned. "Really, Randall agreed to call you in because he is desperate. He believes in what I do because he sees the results, but I'm not entirely sure he believes in your line of work."

Rue tried not to smile, but it escaped at the corners. "I get that a lot," he assured her. "Especially because I look--"

"Quite amazingly normal!" Marina completed for him, her eyes dwelling on him appreciatively.

"Hmm." Rue couldn't help but flash a brief smile in return; she was attractive, and giving him that look. "I was wondering why the department didn't have anyone like me on payroll, but hired a consultant instead."

Marina favored him with a wide, beautiful smile. "You're expensive."

Grinning, Rue dropped his gaze to the workstation and ran his hands over the darkened console. "Do I have access now?"

Marina's head tilted and her look became focused. "Yes, slide your hand over the console again - we wouldn't let you back here if you didn't have access. It's the standard Djinn operating system--"

"That's not very secure," Rue interrupted.

"What, using Djinn?"

"No, leaving your network open to anyone who breaks into the building," Rue replied.

Marina's expression acquired that look that most moderately-technical people got when speaking with him, not exactly smug but self-assured. "No one's ever broken into our building, and our experts make sure they keep the security system in that kind of shape."

Rue shook his head. "Your funeral." Who the hell managed their technical department? It gave him easy access, which was great, but Rue had a moral obligation to point out their security flaws no matter who the client or how long he was working for them. The slightly less scrupulous side of him pointed out that he'd be able to run a patch then tap access at a later point any time he found the need, but that was a very dangerous game.

There were plenty of hacks who did all kinds of illegal shit; Rue made it a point of pride that he could do what he did above-ground and get paid quite well for it. Taking Marina at her word, he slid his hand over the workstation and it hummed to life. A brief color-patterned screensaver danced over the display, then the screen blinked at him and returned to a neutral desktop background. Someone had already powered it up and left it on - with full access; another security "don't" when the terminal was most certainly packed with all kinds of sensitive and confidential information.

"There's a folder on the 'V' conduit," Marina told him. "That has all of the comprehensive data and imaging on what the case has covered so far."

Rue tapped into it, eyes flickering from screen to the woman across from him. "So, Marina, I'm going to take a look at all of this but you can probably summarize it for me fairly well, huh?"

Marina's dark eyes dwelled on him, and she tapped something on her station. A holographic display unfolded mid-air, projected by several discreetly camouflaged fixtures that Rue hadn't seen before. He ran an eye around the table and still couldn't see them -- must be the new flat ports that hardly anyone possessed. This unit was well-funded.

Snapshots of the first murder hovered above the conference table; a man in his mid- to late fifties, salt and pepper hair, profile visible with half his face pressed to the desk. His face was gray in death, expression frozen in horror. There was an inset desk terminal inches from his face, its screen showing the same neutral Djinn op-sys background, the blank default. A spreading blotch of rusty red stained the desk calendar below his face, as if something inside his head had ruptured - or a bullet had been put through his ear canal.

"Charles Vanderbrant," Marina said, the identification unnecessary. Anyone who read the paper, let alone the business section, on a semi-regular basis would recognize this man. "Cousin to the wealthy and powerful Richard Vanderbrant. Died shortly after arriving in his office that morning, which was his fifty-seventh birthday. So, of course, this generated a lot of attention by itself."

"I remember reading about this one," Rue said with a nod. "Police were already calling it a big locked-room case. Cause of death?"

"Withheld from the media," Marina confirmed. "I get called in frequently for mysterious death cases and this was no exception; they want us to make sure there's nothing paranormal about unusual deaths before pursuing the normal lines of inquiry. Cause of death was an embolism. The ruptured eardrums, the blood on his desk, the doctor performing the autopsy was unable to account for that." She tapped her terminal with a long fingernail and reports and statistics scrolled up alongside the pictures.

"No fingerprints in the office besides his, the cleaner's, and his business partner - who was home having breakfast with his wife and playing with the kids. The business partner's whole week was thoroughly accounted for. The office door was locked behind Vanderbrant, so he was probably going over sensitive material that morning, and there was no forced entry." Marina gave him a tight smile across the table. "At first, the department who handled the call didn't even want to declare it a murder."

Rue raised his brows. "Did you convince them otherwise?"

"The room had violent death aura in it, thick enough to choke anyone remotely sensitive," Marina said. "I filed my report accordingly. There was also some kind of disruption to the electromagnetic spectrum of a variety I'd never encountered. And there was another finding that supported my observations."

"Something else withheld from the media?" Rue said, leaning forward.

"His computer was wiped clean," Marina said with a faint smile.

Rue frowned. "That implies a business motive," he said.

"If there was someone who retrieved his files, then wiped his system, yes," Marina said. "It wasn't simply that. His e-mails, which were stored on a conduit and not his terminal, were also completely wiped."

Rue let his eyes skim the photos and scrolling statistics. The details of a man dead and gone scrolled past, his height, weight, the neighborhood he'd lived, children grown and moved out, business partners. He'd worked for one of his cousin's companies in a fairly high position. Erasing and re-installing the operating system would be simple; from a distance, slightly more difficult but still do-able. Wiping out his archived e-mails, though...Rue thought about it. He could probably do it. It depended on whether Charles had been accessing his mailbox before he was killed.

"Someone visited him in the office, killed him as he was checking mail, retrieved what he wanted and then wiped everything?" Rue hazarded.

Marina gave him a bright smile. "Top of the class, Mr. Pierce, that was everyone's guess. There's only one problem with that scenario."

Rue nodded. He could guess what that was already. "There was no one there that morning besides Charles."

"Correct. Phoenixline Industries had cutting-edge security, and Charles' office was one of the most protected rooms in the building, besides their underground labs. Who would have thought a corporation might have something to hide?" Marina tilted her head. "At any rate, both the visual record -- and there was one -- and heat-signature and motion-sensor records place Charles as the only person in that room at the time of his death."

"That's an impressive data record," Rue praised. Seldom did a murder have so many different ways to show whodunit - if, in fact, someone had. "So he was alone when he died."

"Died violently, yet he died of an embolism." Marina was no longer smiling. "So you see, Mr. Pierce, why we had to call you in."

Rue's shoulders raised and dropped, not quite a shrug. "Call me Rue. There are ways to cause that, but they're playing a dangerous game that could backfire on them at any time."

"Shall I list the other victims?" There was a rustle from the other side of the table as Marina crossed her legs.

Rue tried not to glance down. He couldn't see through the table but he knew she was wearing a skirt. He could picture the length of bare leg uncrossing and extending, one over the other. From what he'd seen in the hallway, she had very nice legs.

"We suspect that the motives are money-related, after all," Marina continued. "In that case, might the potential rewards outweigh the risks?"

Rue scowled. "For some people, they might. Go ahead."

"Dr. Sarah Allbrecht, five days later. Found dead in her locked lab beside her terminal. All details were the same, and at that time it was declared a serial murder under the Paranormal Division's jurisdiction."

Rue nodded, scanning over the pictures of the gray-haired woman slumped between her terminal and several rows of colored vials. "What was her field of research?" he asked intently, tapping an inquiry on his own terminal. The neutral Djinn background in the murder photographs drew his eye. Almost everyone who used a single terminal for any length of time customized it, changed the background, made it their own. It was as if the murderer had wiped their identity clean along with all that data.

Marina's lips twitched. "You're not going to believe this, but..."

Rue's terminal beeped discreetly at him, and he flicked an eye over the results. "Demon pheromones?" he blurted out, disbelieving.

"Told you," Marina murmured, giving a fascinating shrug.

Rue tore his eyes away from that and looked over a summary of Dr. Allbrecht's research. "Pheremones, huh." That brought up an uncomfortable thought relative to his own personal situation, which he stifled. No point in thinking about it more than he was forced to.

"All classified, of course. At any rate, it wasn't Dr. Allbrecht's murder that made our division chief decide these were unsolvable so much as the next one."

"Go ahead," Rue said, fairly certain that the other three murders would have been kept out of the media lines of communication.

"Padil Chadhoury of Shiva Offshore, working here on long-term assignment," Marina said, bringing up pictures that Rue hadn't seen yet. "These haven't been seen outside of our office."

Rue stared, trying to absorb it globally instead of the individual details. The man was sitting splay-legged in an elevator, his back propped against the wall, dark head lolling to one side. A spray of blood had gushed from one side of his head to coat a formerly immaculate gold-thread suit jacket. In his hand was an open matte-red cell phone. His eyes were bugged out, wide and staring, his mouth open. Dead.

"The elevator malfunctioned," Marina said. "He was the only passenger aboard at 7:30 in the evening. When the repairman arrived and got the doors open, Mr. Chadhoury was as you see him." She tapped her terminal, and another picture replaced it. This was a close-up of the cell phone's lighted display.

"So all he had on him was the cell phone?" Rue said, his scowl deepening. That wasn't so much a problem, if Chadhoury had online capability like most standard models, but...

"It was wiped clean, restored to default factory settings," Marina said, confirming Rue's sinking suspicion. "Not only that, but Mr. Chadhoury's voicemail was also wiped."

"That's not possible," Rue stated flatly. No kind of 'net connection or hack job could wipe out data that wasn't associated with the network.

"Nonetheless, it was done."

"And it was Mr. Chadhoury's birthday too," Rue stated.

"Yes, five days after Dr. Allbrecht."

Rue looked at her. "You're kidding."

Marina spread her hands. "It makes the killings sound very un-strategic, doesn't it? Mr. Pierce, they've all been five days apart."

"With just a cell phone..." Rue mused, trying to work through it. "And all their eardrums were ruptured?"

"Yes," Marina confirmed. "We have three independent reports from auditory specialists that there's no electronic sound that would cause an embolism like that."

Well, that killed the easy theory. Then again, if the cause had been easy, they never would have called him in. And the cell phone, the only electronic device near Chadhoury, had been wiped clean like the terminals after death.

"How about the last two?" Rue said, shuffling through bits of data on the 'V' conduit. The first two victims had been older, the middle one a young man, twenty-eight years that day.

"Ramona Merro-Stallings, vice-president of Gen-Tech, found dead beside her home office terminal. She lived alone, the door was locked, and there was no one else on or near the premises during that block of time," Marina continued, bringing up pictures on the holo-display between them. Ms. Merro-Stallings was a handsome blond woman of middle years who had a strong jaw. She had died with an expression of contempt on her face, mingled with some disbelief. The ubiquitous fan of blood embraced her profile.

"All right," Rue said, still frowning in concentration. He didn't even have to ask; the neutral Djinn background implied another wiped terminal.

"The last one broke form, somewhat," Marina said. She brought up pictures of a young man sprawled on the sidewalk, his neck at an uncomfortable angle. At one edge of the picture, bright yellow tape roped off the scene. He was barely out of his teens, long dark hair and the glint of a pierced ear at odds with the expensive dark green suit he wore. The boy was coffee-complected, had worn lip gloss and eye makeup, and he'd fallen on his side on one arm that might have been broken if he were alive. A pair of scuffed Oxford-type shoes rounded out his apparel. His slack paled face bore a heart-rending expression, as if the last phone call he'd gotten had been a break-up notice from the love of his life.

A chartreuse flip-phone lay open on the sidewalk bare millimeters from his slack fingers.

"He died in public," Marina said. "There were several witnesses, but it seems no one really knows what happened. He simply keeled over."

"As if he were listening to a call, or checking his voicemail?" Rue guessed.

"Exactly," Marina said with a nod. "And like Mr. Chadhoury, his phone and voicemail were wiped clean."

"That shouldn't be possible," Rue said with a shake of his head. Even so, he was a little excited. It would be his job to figure out how it was possible, because it had happened.

"We're at a loss," Marina said with another complex shrug. "At any rate, young Mr. Scott Amman is our most recent murder. He died yesterday, on his nineteenth birthday." She looked stricken over these pictures, though whether it was the youth and beauty of the victim or the fact that his life had been cut short at such a tender age, it was hard to judge.

"Four days until the next one?" Rue hazarded. "If there's going to be another murder."

"We have to proceed on that assumption, Detective Randall says," Marina informed him.

"All right," Rue nodded. There was something odd about the last boy's murder, something that struck him as different besides the obvious fact that he'd died out of doors in sight of dozens of witnesses. He'd have to read over all the material first, though. "Did you have any findings, besides the imprint of violent death?"

Marina blanked the holo-display and looked him directly in the eye. "Unfortunately, no," she said with regret. "They all had the overtones of a murder; they were rent unwilling from their bodies. There was a disturbance in the electromagnetic spectrum in all instances, which I can only connect with either the terminals or cell phones they were near at the time of their deaths."

"That gives me something to work with," Rue said with a taut nod. He focused now on the terminal before him, calling up file after file from the 'V' conduit. "I'm going to read through all of the data you have on this case before I settle on a line of inquiry."

"Makes sense to me," Marina said, pushing back from her side of the conference table, standing and stretching her slim arms above her head.

Rue watched with interest as the stretch pushed her ample breasts forward, her blouse clinging to their outline closely. He gave his head a little shake and turned his attention back to the screen.

"I'm going to get myself a coffee," Marina told him. "Can I get you anything, Mr. Pierce?"

"Just Rue, please," Rue begged, meeting her chest with his gaze before bringing it back up to eye-level. "Uh, sure, coffee's fine."

Marina's smile broadened ever so slightly. "How do you like it, Rue?"

Was she flirting? His mouth tugged upward as he replied, "With real cream, if you have it. Otherwise black is fine."

She nodded acknowledgement and left the room, still smiling at him.

Rue leaned forward, rubbing a hand over the shaved-smooth skin of his face briefly before steepling his fingers together and focusing on the neutral background as a point of concentration. No fingerprints, no forced entry, method of death: fatal embolism, accompanied by rupture of the eardrum. This was going to be a tough one.

True to his word, Rue pulled up every single file associated with the Birthday Murders and read through every piece of information, pored over all the details of every single picture. He made a short list of pertinent data as he went along. When he looked up from the last file, he was surprised to realize he'd gone through five cups of coffee, three twenty-ounce water bottles, and somewhere along the way Marina had placed a hapless sandwich in his path, of which only crumbs on a plastic wrapping remained.

"What do you think, consultant?" Marina asked him lightly, once he pushed back from his side of the table and rubbed his hands heavily over his eyes and cheekbones.

Rue let out a long, aggravated sigh.

"That's about where Detective Randall is right now," Marina noted, dry.

"They're all connected somehow," Rue said, opening his eyes and frowning at the notepad list he'd composed. "Besides the fact that they were all murdered on their birthdays, which just happened to fall five days apart. These aren't just random killings."

Marina cocked a brow at him. "Just because you say so, they're not random killings?"

"This is an incredibly difficult and tricky piece of work," Rue said, making a long arm and tapping his terminal. The list projected into the air on holo-display between them. "Even an insane person wouldn't do this if there were no advantage to them."

Charles Vanderbrant, 57, top executive at Phoenixline Industries (affiliate Vanderbrant Holdings, Inc.)
Dr. Sarah Allbrecht, 72, researching demon pheromones at Mobius Labs, division of Vanderbrant Holdings, Inc.
Padil Chadhoury, 28, computer programmer for Shiva Offshore (contract work for Vanderbrant and Orion Corp)
Ramona Merro-Stallings, 45, vice-president of Gen-Tech Labs, a division of Vanderbrant Holdings, Inc.
Scott Amman, 19, recent scholarship graduate of Vanderbrant High

"The obvious connection is Vanderbrant Holdings," Rue began, running a finger down the list.

"Say that quietly or Richard Vanderbrant will sue for slander," Marina advised.

Rue scowled, shaking his head. "I said that was the obvious connection, not that I thought Vanderbrant Holdings had anything to do with the Birthday Murders," he protested. "Besides, if Richard Vanderbrant were behind anything like this...well, he's ruthless in business, but much smarter than this. If he'd be involved in anything dirty, and I'm not saying he would be, he'd make sure it couldn't be traced back to him or his company."

Marina nodded but said nothing. She looked pale.

Everyone was afraid of the big, bad Vanderbrant. Rue shook his head again. "You might as well say Orion Corp could be involved, because just about every big business deal in the city can be traced back to them, too, in some form or another -- or the Kline family, they own the third largest corporation in the nation. They've all got ties to something. I'm pointing out the obvious connection in all five murders so that we can move past it and consider it only if it proves relevant later."

"All right," Marina managed. She gave him a sickly smile. "That makes sense."

Rue frowned harder. "It's good you've withheld details from the media, otherwise they might have crucified Vanderbrant already. Kline owns most of the media channels."

"Why do you think the division head has kept a lid on this?" Marina challenged. "And they were willing to hire a consultant of your level, no less. Just because there's no manpower doesn't mean the division won't levy what's necessary."

"Hmm. Well, that gives me another angle," Rue mused. He'd sifted through all of the details, now it was time to let his sub-conscious make connections before he tackled anything head-on. The thought of Kline contracting hits on a rival was another too-obvious.

He pulled a flash screen-file from his pocket and waved it at her in a silent question. "My screen-file is encrypted, if anyone but me tries to access it, it--"

"Self-destructs?" Marina supplied with a half-smile.

"Basically, yes," Rue said. The screen-file would fuse, not only rendering the data into a mess of melted silicon, but doing damage to the port it was attached to.

"Now, why am I not surprised?" Marina deadpanned. "Yes, certainly, Rue. It's part of the contract - you can take data home so long as it remains confidential."

Rue nodded absently, already plugging his screen-file into the port and copying the entire contents of the 'V' conduit. He didn't know what information he might need, so he might as well take all of it. He considered copying the details of the server so that he could uplink from home, but dismissed the thought. He'd need to talk to their IT person about that - his home IP was variable and would probably be treated as an intruder in any case.

Marina was looking at him expectantly. Rue blinked at her. Was she expecting him to do something? Then it occurred to him: he'd been sitting at a terminal reading all day. Perhaps she was expecting a show to justify the fat consulting fee he drew on every contracting jaunt. Rue dropped his eyes to the terminal, closing out screens and preparing to shut it down. He was accustomed to performing the bulk of his work in private whenever possible; he lacked the showy instincts of most people attracted to any kind of paranormal occupation. If Marina wanted to see him Work, she would have to remain unsatisfied. His mouth quirked.

"Rue, would you like to go out for dinner?"

Marina's soft voice crossed the space between them, making her open invitation a quiet and intimate one. When he looked up, startled, she met his gaze with twinkling eyes. Tanned, toned, and sexy, with a full-breasted but not plump figure, Marina was just his type. She even had a sense of humor, which was an occupational requirement.

He looked her up and down with regret. It had been two years since he'd done anything but turn women down. He wasn't exactly happy about it, but... "I'm sort of with someone," he said, an apology verging on a groan. It didn't get any easier.

"Oh, Rue," Marina said, surprised and a bit chagrined all at once.

The surprise got his hackles up a bit. Was it really so strange that he'd be in an exclusive relationship? Even if it wasn't exclusive by his choice, Rue dwelled on that briefly but bitterly. It was just that he didn't relish the idea of getting killed.

"Is it locked up that tight?" Marina followed up, giving him a sidelong glance. "I mean, you and I could..."

All at once Rue was glad she was across the table. It was a nice table, wide and long. Her glance intimated she wouldn't mind being spread over it, never mind getting as far as the nearest love-hotel.

"I have a son," Rue said softly, apologetic-like, then corrected himself. "Well, we have a son." He dipped his head and tapped the shutdown sequence for the terminal, checking his watch.

"Oh." Marina leaned on her side of the table, her blouse dipping in front and displaying a liberal eyeful of cleavage. "Well, that's too bad."

Rue stood hastily. "Speaking of which, I have to go pick him up."

***

The sky stretched wide and endless blue like an ocean upended, cloudless, but the sticky days of deep summer were past. Jayce Whelan Pierce kicked his legs over the rail, clinging to the cast-iron fence with both hands as he scanned the broad school drive. A group of his school friends scrambled past in a loose, ragged pack.

"Hey Jayce, you going home with Cal?" one of his classmates called, fixing a hopeful look on him.

Jayce flipped a hand at Sandy in a 'go, scoot' gesture. "Not today," he called back. Everyone in his class thought Cal was so cool, not just because he was big and strong and loved to play and let kids swarm all over him, but probably also because of his Jeep convertible. And the girls giggled about "how cute" he was, something Jayce really had no opinion of, but it was echoed in the line of lady teachers who queued up whenever Cal was in the playground with Jayce and his friends.

"Aww," Sandy complained, pulling a long face. "He plays a great 'dragon.' See ya tomorrow!"

Jayce waved at his friends as the rest of them chorused "yeah, see ya!"

He kicked his legs over the railing again and grinned cheerfully as he scanned over the slowly-passing cars. Great day at school, tasty lunch, no after-currics but his daddy would be by to pick him up any minute...and there it was, a blue hydro-cel Lexus pulling up to the curb. Jayce kicked off from the fence, making an impressive arc toward the sidewalk, landing with a cat's grace and running for the car.

"Daddy!" Jayce cried toward the open window. "Hi, Daddy!"

Rue Pierce leaned toward the passenger window, his face splitting in a wide, cheerful grin as he spotted Jayce. "Hiya, kiddo!"

Jayce popped the door open and slid onto the butter-soft seat beside Rue, buckling his seat belt right away.

"Have a good day at school?" Rue asked him, putting the car in gear once Jayce's seat belt clicked home.

"Aw, it was the best!" Jayce enthused. "We had chemistry demonstrations and flew rockets, and there was pizza for lunch!"

"Sounds fantastic!" Rue said, giving him half a grin without really looking away from the road and ruffling his hair a bit. "Did you learn new things today?"

"Oh, yeah, we learned about acids and bases and...um...explosive chemical reactions." Jayce grinned up at Rue, deciding to keep to himself the thought that explosive chemical reactions reminded him of some of the stuff that went on at home. "So how was work?"

"Oh, great," Rue said, sounding as if he were not nearly so heart-felt. His smile faded as he maneuvered the car from the school grounds into city traffic. "Daddy's been hired on an important contract, but it's a really tough one."

They lived in a good ring of the city, not one of the innermost where downtown and the richest quarters were located, but a nice neighborhood with houses and shops with everything Jayce considered to be important. Namely, places with good take-out, parks with greenery, a big library, and a gaming center that was kid-friendly.

Jayce considered Rue's statement. "Am I going to have to stay with Jess and Ryan for a while?"

Rue flicked a glance his way. He bestowed a tight-lipped grin on Jayce, not the real thing, because it didn't make it up to his eyes. "Well, you know Daddy doesn't like to bring work home..."

"But work sometimes follows you," Jayce finished for him with an impish grin.

"Yup."

Jayce turned his eyes to the view out the window. He wasn't particularly concerned. Rue seemed to get worked up on a regular basis, and things always turned out fine in the end, especially ever since Cal had come along. Jayce had the unshakeable faith of someone who'd never been let down and expected the same of his future circumstances.

"How 'bout pizza for dinner?" he said hopefully, then remembered. Even if he hadn't told Rue about pizza for lunch, a copy of the week's menu was available online, which Rue checked to synchronize evening meals.

"Nice try," Rue said, ruffling his hair again. "Maybe later in the week. Your Friday meal looked pretty healthy."

Jayce pulled a long face, but he was perfectly happy. He knew Cal would probably pick up something good.

***

Rue pushed his electronic notebook away in frustration, powering it down with a frustrated wave of the hand. He combed his hands through his short hair a few times, leaning back in his chair and gazing out the front-facing window at the view of the neighborhood. There were a few children playing outside in a nearby yard, Jayce among them, tossing a ball around, doing some sort of complicated game that involved diving and rolling and a lot of running around yelling cues to one another. Rue let his mind relax as he watched them.

There were some deep layers to the Work that had disturbed the electromagnetic spectrum, and it was a by-product rather than the intended result. That much Rue could determine from looking at the data. But the places he would normally tap to move his line of investigation forward - the terminals or electronic devices found at the scene - had all been wiped to default, giving him dead end after dead end.

The aim had definitely been murder in all cases. Whomever would set murder in motion with a Work this powerful, though, was tampering with forces that could backlash at any moment, rebounding on the user with a greater amount of risk for each subsequent death. Of course, whomever had done this was powerful, which was another puzzling factor.

Bad or good, Rue knew most of the truly powerful cyber-Wiccans in the city, by name or online handle. None of them were stupid enough to endanger themselves with this kind of Work.

As usual, the clock was ticking on his own investigations. On this case, if Rue didn't come up with viable leads another person would probably be dead by the end of the week.

The bang of the front door jerked him up out of thoughts on the case, and Rue passed a hand over his eyes, rubbing briefly.

"Dinner! Dinner's here, dinner's here!" Jayce was exclaiming gleefully, dancing around the kitchen nook from the sound of it. He thundered through the living room area, jarring the floor with the force of his passing. "I'm gonna go wash my hands!"

Rue groaned and sat up straight. Through the side window he could see the Jeep convertible at the end of the drive. He hadn't even noticed another car pulling up. He looked down at his notebook, the flat screen a dark eye waiting for his return, and the stack of screen-files beside it. For a change there was no enthusiasm in him for the task ahead - one avenue after another had gone as dark as the screen on his desk, cutting off further lines of inquiry.

A prickle of contact-anticipation rose the hairs along his neck; it was Rue's only notice. Warm, strong hands closed over his shoulders and Rue went tense for an instant in an instinctive response to being grabbed without much warning. He relaxed with a drawn-out sigh as long, limber fingers worked over the stressed tissue of his shoulders and kneaded them into compliance. "Long day at work?" a mellow, slightly nasal tenor inquired.

Rue let his head fold forward in a nod. He was pulled in an entirely different tide now, enjoying the simple sensations of those skilled fingers working him over. "You could say that..." Rue trailed off. He didn't like to express a negative, because it was too easy to get entrenched in a negative mindset. "I'm starting to think I signed up for more than I can handle this time."

The grip loosened and fell away, giving Rue the chance to swivel in his chair and meet the eyes of his companion. He got to his feet before his eyes had to travel too far up the muscled 6'4 length beside him; the chair put him at a serious height disadvantage and Rue definitely did not like being on the defensive, so to speak.

"Cal," Rue said under his breath, acknowledging the man beside him.

Cal wasn't exactly human, though he certainly could pass for such; he was any woman's wet dream, tall (nearly a head above Rue), dark (thick dark brown hair short enough to fall in his eyes), and handsome - masculine jaw, cleft chin, thin but sensual lips, a fine Roman nose, and those smoldering eyes. The eyes gave the clue; Rue thought that of all those who knew him right now, only he and Jayce had been close enough to notice that while Cal's irises were a normal, solid brown, his pupils were crimson red.

"You? I don't think that's possible," Cal remarked, fixing him with a good-natured smile.

It wasn't Cal's handsome dark looks that put Rue on edge. He was confident in his own attractiveness; Marina wasn't the first woman to ask him out in a long time. It wasn't the fact that Cal was part demon with some of the superhuman attributes that came with that, or that he'd entered their lives without warning and proved his paternity of Jayce.

Rue shrugged, casting a look around for their son. "What did you bring home for dinner?"

"Gyros and greek salad, I hope that's okay?" There was that ubiquitous earnest note to Cal's voice. They left the den for the living room on the way to the kitchen and food.

Rue nodded absently, tracking Jayce as the boy scrambled back into the room, giving them both sunny smiles. He had adopted Jayce when he was barely a year old after his mother, Trish Whelan, had died in an accident outside the Wall. For Rue, Trish had been love at first sight, or at least lust, but she'd put him firmly in the friend zone - and made him godfather of her newborn son. He wondered sometimes in the dead of night if Trish had suspected she'd die young; she had always been getting into trouble. He had raised Jayce as his own, dating only casually while devoting the better share of his time to the boy he considered to be his son.

Two years ago, everything had changed when Cal had walked into their lives. And in claiming Jayce, somehow he'd decided he wanted to claim Rue, too.

"Shall we?" Rue inquired, grateful for Jayce's return. Even after two years, he was occasionally uneasy whenever he and Cal were alone.

"I'm hungry!" Jayce announced, peering around the kitchen archway, aiming wide dark puppyish eyes in their general direction.

Cal tilted his head at Rue, questioning and perhaps a little wistful, then backed toward the kitchen, keeping his eyes on Rue.

With a little sigh, Rue followed. At moments like that, with Cal looking at him so earnestly, he couldn't help but feel there was something about himself that was unreasonable, resisting the way he did. "Let's eat."

The three of them settled down at the dining table for a remarkable semblance of an amicable family meal.

Well, Rue supposed he was the only one spoiling it. Jayce chomped happily on his pita-wrapped gyros, alternating with bites of salad and expressing satisfaction over the whole. Cal dug in, taking manful bites and swapping vignettes with Jayce about their respective days. Rue sat beside Jayce, across the table from Cal, and chewed his pita wrap slowly, glowering at the plate and looking up occasionally to cast an eye over his unconventional family. What was gnawing on his vitals today, his friend Jess might ask? It sure wasn't just the murders that bothered him so much.

Cal caught his eye, raising a dark brow at him, and Rue transferred his attention to the food. Maybe it had been Marina's blatant invitation stirring him up again. Women wanted him, but the only action he'd seen in two years was the kind he'd never asked for.

"Good food, dad," Jayce said appreciatively, finishing up bites of gyro.

"You like?" Cal grinned. "I got it at the Greek stand on the way home."

"Mmm," Jayce nodded, licking his fingers now.

"Rue?" Cal prompted, turning puppy eyes on him.

"Uh-huh," Rue grunted, cleaning up the last of the oil and vinegar dressing with a leftover hunk of pita. Somehow he had tucked away all that food in between avoiding Cal's eye and smiling over Jayce's enthusiasm.

"Hmm." That was Cal. "Jayce, why don't you..."

With a scrape, Jayce's chair pushed back from the table. "I'm going over to Jess and Ryan's, okay?"

Rue pushed back from the table too, leaning on his knees and looking over at the boy who was such a spritely blend of Trish, the woman he'd loved, and the overgrown quarter-demon sitting across his kitchen table. "Homework?"

"Don't have any tonight," Jayce assured him blithely. He looked back and forth between them, all innocence. "Call me later?"

Rue watched him leave, the sliding door to the back patio banging hard into the frame with the force of his passage, and ran his hands over his face again. He scrubbed at his cheekbones, his eyes, combed through his hair and gave the kitchen tile a long hard look. He could always ask Jayce to stay, but then the tension would build up until later, after the boy went to bed. The line of it had been building like a charge along his body ever since Cal had laid hands on him earlier.

He looked up at Cal, half-expecting the man to have divested himself of his shirt as he typically did for the larger share of his time at home. No, Cal still wore his sleeveless summer uniform, the flak vest unzipped and hung by now on its hook by the door, his white shirt form-fitting, delineating the muscle beneath. Handsome Cal, gorgeous strong Cal, whom he'd gladly be rid of, whom most of the girls he'd known for the past two years would die to get acquainted with but Rue refused to introduce any of them, Cal who got under his skin like no one else, infuriating Cal who wouldn't take no for an answer, who looked at him with those big dark wounded eyes the way he was doing now...

"Rue," Cal said, as Rue got up from his chair and started picking up plates. "Rue, why does it always have to be a fight?"

"I'm not in the mood for this, Cal," Rue said shortly.

"No, if I left it up to you, you'd never be in the mood."

"Why should I be?" Rue retorted angrily, whirling to face him and dropping the stack of plates to the table with a clunk. "Am I supposed to be excited about getting forced by a man?" There, he'd said it - the whipcrack fighting words. A queasy thrill rolled through him. He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, ready for confrontation.

Cal's brows arched and his mouth thinned dangerously. "If you were honest with yourself--"

"What, it wouldn't be forcing me?" Rue challenged.

Cal's brows lowered now into an intense look of concentration. He began to skirt the table, heading for Rue.

"Oh, no you don't," Rue muttered, sidestepping to keep the table between them. It was childish and he knew it and that infuriated him further. "You're not laying a hand on me. Every time you do, it invalidates everything I've said."

"When what's coming out of your mouth is totally at odds with what your body's telling me, maybe that's a good thing, huh?" Cal ground out, making a break for the smaller gap between them around the table.

"No!" Rue exclaimed, darting for the opposite side. He wasn't sure at that point if he was protesting the physical siege or the verbal one.

It was a feint. Cal changed tracks mid-lunge and rushed him, trapping him against the table with the cage of his hard-muscled arms. "Well," he murmured, dark eyes alight. "Now you can't run away, at least, not from me."

"Shut up," Rue muttered, shoving at his chest with one hand. They were this close, and though Cal wasn't even doing anything his body was reacting. Goddamn Pavlov's dog, responding to the conditioning of Cal's touch and it was inevitable now, because there was a triumphant glint in Cal's eye that let him know he wouldn't be releasing him until they were through.

"I can smell it," Cal said, voice low, leaning in as Rue wriggled as far as he could get. Cal ducked against his neck, inhaling against Rue's skin, his hands coming around to cup the seat of Rue's jeans. "How turned on you are."

"I'm not--" Rue began, a vain objection. With a soft growl Cal cut him off by sharply moving against him, thigh rubbing against the front ridge of his jeans. Even that pressure made Rue lose the rest of his sentence; he groaned, and Cal stooped in to nuzzle the side of his neck. "Ahh, don't."

"Don't what?" Cal asked innocently, his lips brushing over Rue's neck, his thigh a regular pulse against Rue's denim-shielded cock.

"Don't," Rue said, his mind muzzily trying to recover scattered arguments. "Just because...when a man is turned on by manual stimulation it doesn't mean...I mean, it's still sexual harassment. When I say no--"

"Then you're lying," Cal growled, tracking over his mouth, a huff of angry breath pouring over Rue's lips before he captured them.

He fought back, as always; resistance was the armor with which he tried to shield himself from the responses that Cal dragged unbidden from his body. He kept his lips pressed to a firm line that Cal breached easily with his tongue - as if Rue weren't resisting with all his might. With a gasp that was crushed between them their mouths were sealed together, and Cal's moving thigh was sparking interest in Rue's groin, and strong hands were kneading at his ass in coaxing rhythm. Cal's tongue found his and teased him into play. This more than anything was where he could release pent-up emotion, lashing out against his aggressor.

When Cal pulled away a fraction to give him air, they were both breathing hard. Rue found his hands snarled on Cal's t-shirt hard enough that the fabric was creaking in his fists. Cal's eyes glimmered at him in that bare distance, challenging him to say no again.

"Still going to say you don't want to?" Cal's taunt gusted over his lips, one hand leaving the seat of Rue's jeans to unfasten his top button.

Rue gulped, eyes sliding shut, cursing the way his cock leaped like an excited teenager's at the prospect of that rough hand on him. It was what came later that bothered him the most. "Not here," he said hoarsely.

Cal leaned into him, a full-body press, nuzzling along the side of his neck again. "No?" His voice was half-teasing, half-plaintive. "Wouldn't it be really hot to have it over the dining room table?" His long fingers split Rue's zipper and sought out the trapped heat of his cock, finessing him from his briefs.

"Ahh..." Rue groaned, as Cal's fingers worked on him and hot lips nipped at the side of his neck. "No biting!"

"I might be able to manage not spreading you on the table, but I can't promise no biting," was the earnest reply. Then Cal slid to his knees.

"Oh, Frigg..." Rue choked out, and reflexively grabbed at Cal's thick hair as the demon's skilled mouth worked him over. His demon, quarter-demon really, if he could ever bring himself to admit that thanks to Cal their fates were now inextricably linked. There was still a part of him convinced that Cal would tire of this, eventually, as every woman who'd ever come through his life had left it. That was, he was sure, what he wanted.

He propped himself on the edge of the table, adding the support of one arm as his knees crumpled. Cal took the length of him down his throat as if he had no gag reflex at all, swallowing him whole and slowly then undulating, fast enough to incite but slow enough to be maddening. His throat and tongue contracted around Rue, drawing at him in hot pulses. Rue let go, gripping the table as Cal sucked, his head tipping back as he gave up and let himself experience everything being done to him. Close, closer...Rue ran a hand over Cal's face over one cheekbone and into his hair again, tugging.

"Not here," Rue repeated, and Cal slurped free, looking up at him from his crouched position. A tremor went through Rue at the hunger in his eyes.

"The bed?" Cal uttered softly. He released him and stood, making Rue aware as he sagged how much Cal had supported him with a grip on his hips that was no longer there.

"Unh," Rue grunted, but it wasn't a negative by any means.

They stumbled up the hallway, Cal in the lead with a hand snagged on Rue's open jeans, tossing a dark sultry look over his shoulder every other moment as if to ensure Rue hadn't somehow wriggled free. No matter his protests, every time Cal scented out his arousal and pressed himself on Rue until it snapped, the tensile strength of the resistance inside of him was no use against Cal's bigger, stronger, his surprisingly skillful self.

The stresses of the day were obliterated as Cal tugged him onto the bed, climbing onto it ahead of Rue and fixing him with an intense gaze as he used his grip on Rue's jeans to draw him after. He slipped a hand around Rue's neck, seeking purchase at his nape, and pulled their mouths together with an almost painful clash. Rue responded in kind, biting Cal's lip before that tongue slid into his mouth, groaning as their bodies came into contact and Cal's hand moved between them. Long, strong fingers gripped his shaft and teased, a thumb rubbing over the thickest vein. He kissed Cal back, angry and aroused. Cal let go of his cock and guided Rue's hand to the top of his heavy-gauge jeans.

Rue's half of the kiss slackened. He didn't do things for Cal - he didn't do blowjobs, he didn't initiate, couldn't recall even initiating a kiss - but Cal always seemed to want this much. If Rue unzipped Cal's pants, he was a willing participant. Of course, if he resisted even this much (and he had before) then Cal would only tease him until he got to the point where he wanted it so badly he'd do anything... Cal's tongue probed into his mouth and Rue, cock twitching, fumbled at Cal's pants. He unzipped and unbuttoned and felt the heat of it under his hands, the hard lump causing his fingers to skitter away on contact.

This was how Cal broke him in, Rue thought crazily as their kiss broke off. Cal grabbed his hand, still keeping Rue reeled in with the other hand on his neck. Teeth grazed his jawline and Cal pulled Rue's hand back into his pants, pressing his fingers to seek the heat in there.

"Goddamn it," Rue growled, flexing his trapped fingers, tracing out the shape of Cal in his underwear.

Cal purred something into his neck and wrestled their bodies closer, letting go of Rue's hand to grasp his cock again and wank. Rue panted into his ear, turned on beyond all endurance; his hand closed on the radiant heat and he began to return the favor.

They struggled together for long moments, hands rising and falling in urgent tandem. Cal groaned, nuzzling at Rue's neck, licking down the tendon at the side of his neck, burying his teeth in the juncture above his collarbone.

"Fuck!" Rue cried out, jerking in his arms. He tried to pull away and Cal overwhelmed him, toppling him to the spread and sucking at the bite mark. "Vampiric sonuvabitch...knock it off!"

Cal ground on top of him, pressing their cocks together between taut bellies. He rolled, starting up a deliciously urgent friction, then finally left off gnawing at the suck-mark, keeping Rue pinned to the bed with main strength and a hand on one shoulder. "'Fuck?'" he repeated. "Was that an offer?"

"That's too cheesy even for you," Rue complained, trying to heave up against that strength. It was akin to a mouse trying to budge a boulder.

Cal's dark eyes glimmered down at him. "Where are you going to go if I let you up, huh? In this state..." He lifted up that barest fraction that allowed him to run his free hand down Rue's body and grasp at his erection again.

"Just do it," Rue rasped, pushing his hips up. His cock slid through Cal's fingers, painfully hard. From two years' experience he was all too aware he wouldn't be able to come unless Cal was driving toward pleasure along with him. That made him almost want...Rue's mind shied away from that conclusion.

Cal lifted off him, eyes searching his. "Stay here?" He tweaked Rue's blood-flush cock.

"Fine," Rue assented. If he tried to scramble off the bed now, it would only make his ass an obvious target anyhow. Cal climbed off him and reached for the nightstand, the jut of his erection swinging below his belly. Rue averted his eyes at first, then looked back, fascinated. He couldn't help himself. He was a respectable size, but Cal was both longer and thicker when erect, making it hard for Rue to believe he actually got pleasure from...that. He'd never been into checking guys out before Cal and even now he felt a lingering holdover of modesty, shame, whatever mental hang-up kept him from looking openly unless all his pleasure circuits were tripped and his inhibitions undone. Now he looked and his fingers twitched and he wasn't sure whose he wanted to grab more, Cal's cock or his own.

Heat rose into his face and Rue turned it away as Cal came back with the tube he'd retrieved from the nightstand. Rue lifted his hand and explored the contours of what would be an impressive hickey on his neck-joint. "Bastard."

Cal looked down at him, already recapturing Rue's interest with one hand. "Want me to put one on your thigh, instead?"

Rue winced. "No way!" He writhed as Cal stripped his pants off, the last shreds of his resistance rearing up as Cal shifted him into an angle that gave him access. It was, as always, a useless effort. Cal pinioned his legs and slid a finger into him, making him jerk and moan. It didn't hurt. No, that might actually allow him to retain some dignity. It was perhaps because it actually felt good that Rue tried to thrash, but Cal had his legs pinned to one side with that bar of steel he called an arm, while his other hand prepped Rue finger by finger.

Cal nuzzled at the place where thigh met ass, looking up at Rue over his hip. His fingers pumped in and out, lazy, stabbing at the prostate every time and coaxing a strangled noise from Rue, who curled up on his side and gritted his teeth. He was determined not to beg.

It was Cal that broke the ice, as always, quiet voice rolling over Rue's frenzied introspection of lust. "I want to."

Rue was hard, dripping, shaking with it. Fuck. He wasn't brainless yet. A number of replies ran through his head, most of them profane, some pleading. He clamped his lips shut and heard Cal sigh.

"Rue."

"Do it," Rue gritted. He closed his eyes as fingers gaped him wide and left him empty. The bed creaked and weight was on him.

"Rue, look at me."

I don't want to. He kept his face stubbornly turned away even when Cal pressed the heat of himself against him, still outside but seeking. "Take what you want, okay?" The injunction issued from clenched teeth, surprising him. At least it wasn't begging - Cal hadn't brought him to that kind of fever pitch.

"I want to see your eyes," Cal insisted, and the sincerity of the request humbled Rue, and shamed him. Again that guilt contracted around his heart, making him wonder not for the first time if his own mentality was the only problem.

He frowned and opened his eyes on Cal hovering above him, dark eyes intent and eager. Fingers bit into his shoulder and flesh pressed against Rue, until something gave.

Cal's mouth was on him as that big hard cock slid into him, parting him with difficulty.

Rue was aware of the tongue twining with his in a dreamlike kind of state, the larger share of attention riveted on the slow careful burn of Cal's entry. He was careful tonight, his lips soft on Rue as he worked his hips in the smallest of rocks from side to side to widen the passage as he delved his cock inside. Hands clasped over his, locking fingers and pushing to the pillow as Cal bit his lower lip, sinking into him.

They lay like that for a moment, Cal's warm breath pouring into his mouth. The intensity of it struck Rue like a blow he had another man on top of him, inside of him with their bodies linked and Cal in him to the hilt, hands interlaced like lovers and he wanted to turn his face away again but Cal was kissing him, his mouth gentle but lapping over him like the tide. Cal's mouth moved on him, and then he moved, easing back so that Rue felt each inch of it sliding out then pushing back in, God, and the friction and movement and the body atop him boiled away sense along with the blood in his veins. He was kissing Cal back now, grunting encouragement as Cal withdrew and drove into him with shallow thrusts.

They struggled together with it, always a while in finding the rhythm that let them settle against one another and fuck, or in Rue's case, enjoy being fucked. He had no illusions about that last part - no matter how he felt about Cal, and it was a tangled-up mess indeed, Cal always made sure he enjoyed it.

It wasn't often that Cal rode him out start to finish in missionary but today he seemed in the mood. The thrusting was replaced with long, languorous strokes that were meant to prolong their mutual pleasure and Cal drew back enough to look at him, hands clasped tightly over his, dark eyes searching. Rue turned his face away at last.

Cal bent to mouth at the other side of his neck, nipping the skin there, licking below his ear.

"Don't you dare," Rue panted, and clenched his eyes shut as Cal's pace quickened, rocking him deep into the mattress. His cock was hard and aching and he wanted to grab it and beat to a conclusion, but Cal had him pinioned. "Asshole. It's not so cool that I can wear a high-necked collar."

"I'll just have to mark you lower, later," Cal mumbled, squeezing his hands with painful intensity. He let go of one hand to jack one of Rue's legs higher, thrusting deep but fast now.

"Ah...ahh..." Rue was in no frame of mind to protest. The hottest crest of pleasure was threatening to engulf him, and all he needed now was that last little push.

As if reading his mind, Cal released his thigh and circled Rue's cock in sure fingers, forming a tight sheathe to push him through. There was finesse to his grip, the knowing touch of someone who knew how to please him. How many had ever touched him like this before...?

With a hoarse cry Rue's body clamped down, and he spattered the sheets and Cal's bared stomach. Eyes wide open, swept up in the stark honesty of climax he could see nothing but Cal's inscrutable, almost tender expression. Molten arcs of pleasure pulsed through his groin, shorting any synapse not sensual. In that moment he almost wouldn't have protested if Cal had set a mark into his skin just then. "Come on," Rue gasped, "come on..." He reached up his free hand and grasped at Cal's nape, urging him onward.

Cal's expression turned rapidly feral and he swooped down on Rue from that short distance, not kissing so much as gnawing, worrying at his bruised lips. His cock thrust into Rue with battering force then slowed, that drawn-out unbearably languid pace that threatened for an instant to draw out the sexual encounter past the point of Rue's endurance. Then he was shuddering, broad shoulders bowing over him, mouth slack against Rue as he went stiff. His hips pumped with the aftershock and their tongues met as Cal finished inside him.

"Get off me," Rue said unsteadily, not even waiting thirty seconds as Cal collapsed atop him, burying his face in Rue's neck - the marked side. He heard a sigh, or maybe that was Cal inhaling his scent.

"Can't we just lie here like this for a minute?" Cal inquired, nuzzling closer anyhow.

"I don't want to dry like this," Rue said with a grimace. "Get off me, I have work to do."

Now Cal really did sigh. "Oh," he said mournfully. "Can we do it again later, then? After you get done with work."

"No way!"

Cal's hand was on his groin, tracing lazy but deliberate circles over his sensitized skin.

"If I get the work done, which isn't likely, depending on what time it is--" Rue began.

Cal grinned, peeled himself off him, and bent down to bite Rue's nipple.

"Fucker! You asshole! Get off me and go shower, you get nothing else from me," Rue vowed. His eyes were heavy and he curled on his side to avoid watching the site of Cal progress, nude, from bed to bathroom. It wouldn't do any harm to nap, especially when he'd be up so late tonight. Five minutes...

***

Rue jerked out of a light doze, furious with himself when he hit waking thought for the hazy replay of the scene from earlier that had burned vivid traces of interlocked and moving bodies across his inner eye. There had been a different tone to the whole encounter, one more of seduction than coercion, and Rue was partly angry at himself for giving in with so little fight.

It was for his pride, right? He stayed for Jayce but the sexual side of his relationship with Cal was something he'd never asked for.

On the other side of the bed, he could hear the lowered tenor murmur of Cal, speaking on the phone. It had to be Jess or Ryan, or Cal's boss. Rue glanced at the clock. It wasn't so late as he'd thought. He sat up, scraping his hair back with both hands, and Cal glanced over at him.

"Okay, I'll be over in a moment," Cal said, no longer hushed. Jess and Ryan's place, then.

With a little wince, Rue got himself moving. Some considerate individual had wiped him down thoroughly while he napped, so he didn't have to worry about the sexual evidence revolting him with cold leavings. He grudged the thought that Cal was always good about that.

He showered anyhow, enjoying the cool spray after being wrapped in Cal's almost obscene warmth. It had to be his quarter-demon heritage that made him so bloody hot; even in the middle of winter his temperature ran high. As the pelt of cooling droplets sluiced away a little more of his near-constant tension, Rue's mind turned to more businesslike channels.

The intensity of physical activity had cleared out the tumbleweeds in his brain, leaving nothing but a clean calm space from which to Work. Rue recognized this kind of inspiration and accepted it. Tonight he would make use of it.

He had let himself get stumped earlier on the precise method, and that was a mistake. There was no way for Rue to know what spell the killer used; this was a completely new kind of Working. Maybe they could find out more after the perpetrator was caught. But there was a way to track that Working, because what it had done had reached through the fabric of ley-lines and electronics to create an embolism in whomever had used it last. A Working that had that kind of strength was powerful indeed, and energy left traces.

The discharges of electromagnetic activity weren't just a by-product of a Working, he knew. They were also an energetic reaction to it, part and parcel of whatever spell had been put into play. He had been focusing too much on the physical evidence, letting himself get hung up on electronic devices that weren't any use at this point. So although he couldn't hack the machines that had been involved at the scenes of the crimes, he could still scent after that energy - there would be a massive backlash along energetic pathways if only he could find them, and that would leave aftermath that led back to the caster.

There wouldn't be too many people in the city pushing around that kind of energy, after all.

Rue skinned a short-sleeved shirt and boxers on after his shower. It wasn't hot in the apartment, but it wasn't cool either - they were in that limbo weather before autumn turned crisp. He adjourned to the den, which doubled as his private study. When the door was shut, Cal and Jayce knew to knock; when Rue truly didn't want visitors, he set a ward.

Invigorated by sussing out a potential solution to his plethora of dead ends, Rue didn't even think to attribute vigorous chakra-clearing sex. There had been a marked improvement in his power levels since Cal had moved in with him, and Rue had noticed that much. He consigned it to constant struggles with a quarter-demon so-called "partner." In general Rue tried not to think about that aspect of their relationship as much as possible; aside from the frequent demands for sex, every other aspect of their relationship was harmonious.

Tonight he closed the door to the den and passed a hand over its surface, activating the ward that lay dormant, already sealed into the wood. It would glimmer from the outside, warning his family that Rue was hard at Work.

The tools of Rue's craft were all stowed away when he wasn't using them, partly out of Rue's innate desire for cleanliness but the larger share being discretion. Not only did Jayce bring kids trooping in and out, sometimes to the den if they wanted to play on the Net, but some of Rue's tools could have spectacularly explosive results if handled carelessly.

He unlocked the huge cedar chest pushed up against one wall. It was old-fashioned, the kind that actually required an antiquated brass key to turn in its keyhole in order to release the primitive tumblers within and open the hasp. Rue threw back the heavy lid, sorting through bundles of dried herbs wrapped in flax, stacks of pristine candles, a sackful of semi-precious gems, and sorted through the items he would need at least to start. He pulled free a drop-cloth worked in delicate gold-thread sigils, hanging that over his arm - he had several Circles of Power prepared already, and had found that Working the same one many times increased its power with use. Another locked box, this one long and weighty at the bottom of the chest, contained his athame.

He might prefer the more acceptable term of Cyber-Wiccan, but there were two things most people would know him by, if Rue ever allowed them the chance to see him Work.

Hacker. Witch.

With Rue the two were often mutually exclusive, but not always. He wasn't sure if his affinity for electronics had made him a stronger witch, or if his natural Wiccan abilities had opened the pathway to power with computers, but whether he did one or the other that was what he was.

He set up his Circle, left the box containing his athame beside it, and sorted through the wide, deep chest for other items he might need but didn't require at least to start. It took him several minutes to find candles of the right length and color. He sorted through a few sachets to find the mineral mixture he wanted to use to represent the pathways he wanted to identify. Then he sucked in a considering breath and peeled his t-shirt over his head.

The Birthday Murders had all involved blood and the specter of violent death. It wasn't the kind of energy Rue preferred to invoke, but it might take a bit of his own blood spilt in order to gain the knowledge he needed. Might as well be prepared.

Rue took a wrapped cup from the chest, the silver device far heavier than it should have been in his hands. The layers of use had accumulated on it, forming a psychic patina. If he needed it, the power was there for him to use.

Last of all, Rue powered on his notebook and laid it beside the Circle before he stepped inside, drawing the familiar swell around him like a flush of ecstasy. Oh, yes, he was full of power tonight, and didn't want to think whom he had to thank for that. Rue dropped into seated position and withdrew the cool silver shiver of his blade, inscribing an arc to seal the circle shut and beginning his Work.

***

With a shudder Rue blew out the last of the pine-scented silver candles. His skin crawled as if the Work had left a residue on him, though he'd taken care to cleanse himself after he'd finished. He stowed everything in the deep cedar chest exactly as he'd left it, and locked it up. The brass key went in a shallow hidden drawer of the computer desk. It took only a moment to back up the results from his notebook - he wanted to make sure he got his findings to the detective the next day - and only then did he look at the small clock perched at one corner of the wide desk.

"Wow," Rue huffed, eyes rounding. It almost was "the next day." He picked his shirt up from where he'd hung it over the desk chair, held it in his hands and grimaced. If he pulled it over his head, it would only get ripped off him before he was able to settle down to sleep. Shortly after starting his Work he'd sensed the house ward's twinge that meant Jayce had returned home - he would have long since gone to bed. Though he was home, Cal would still be awake in their bedroom, which was soundproof. There was no getting around that particular big great bundle of relentless enthusiasm.

He wadded up his shirt with a vague sense of the doomed. Padding down the rug-runner that led from den to the far end of the living room, Rue peered into the dim and shadowed corners of his night-entangled household. This was the kind of quiet he only experienced in the wee hours after a long Working or if he somehow managed to sneak out of bed super-early without waking Cal.

Reaching the smaller bedroom, he cracked Jayce's door and peered in. It was late, and tomorrow was a school day, but he had faith that Cal had tossed his son into bed on time - literally. Jayce was young enough that a "flight" from his father's hands onto the crisp sheets of his bed, shrieking the whole way, was a real treat. Rue grinned around the door jamb thinking of it, and sought out the small lump of his son beneath the rucked-up coverlet. He crossed over to the bed, smoothing back a lock of disheveled hair and kissing Jayce's forehead. The boy didn't even stir.

He left as quietly, taking his time up the stretch of hall that led to the master bedroom. When he opened this door, the room was just as dark but the figure under the bedclothes was man-tall. The sound of soft and regular breathing filled the air, but a prickle of expectancy ran down his throat and bare chest even before he had the door edged shut. Cal wasn't really asleep, or if he was, it was the light doze that could rouse up instantly.

Rue climbed into the nearer, empty side of the bed (his side of the titanium-core specially built bed, purchased after twice breaking beds built for normal fucking) and wondered how this had become his life.

"What time do you go in tomorrow?" Cal asked, voice thick with sleep. There had been no subtle shifting or even a break in his breathing pattern to presage the question.

It never failed to raise hairs on Rue's neck. Any small reminder, even if coincidental, of his demon heritage led to a whole untapped well of "what the hell am I dealing with?"

"I want to get in and present my findings as soon as possible," Rue replied, settling on his back and propping an arm beneath him, folding a corner of the pillow beneath his head. "So, around eight. Not sure if their office opens before then."

"I'm on call tomorrow," Cal's light tenor informed him. "I can take him to and from school if you want."

Rue glanced over. Cal was still lying on his side facing the wall, the broad expanse of his back pale against the dark sheets of the bed. "I can take him to school," Rue said, somewhat puzzled. "But if you pick him up, that would be great."

"Okay." There was some creaking of springs on the other side of the bed, but Cal stayed where he was.

Rue uncurled his hand from the death-grip on his pillow. It was still cool in their bedroom, almost too cool with the breeze drifting in through the open windows, tangling up the curtains just beyond the foot of the bed. He fidgeted this way and that, sighed, and tried not to think about his groin. Or anything else involving touching.

Cal's voice punctured the weight of silence. "Is that all?"

With a frown, Rue turned onto his side, facing Cal in the darkness. All he could see was the bare outline of the man. He reached out and set his palm against the center of that nude back.

***

By the time Cal ventured out of doors the next day, the early-morning chirp of the birds had given way to the more citified bustle of cars along the street and other noises, human-range and beyond, that he had come to associate with life inside the Wall. Sometimes, especially when he left for work very early, he missed the sounds and scents of life on the plains, but he had moved to New York to find his son. In doing so, he'd also found his chosen mate, amazingly enough, and Rue's talents would be wasted anywhere but within the Wall - so in the city they stayed.

He crossed the green expanse of their lawn at a slant, heading for the house beside theirs. Jess Reynolds and Ryan Mason had become his friends by proxy, having known Rue for a considerable length of time before Cal had ever arrived in his life. It had been their suggestion to Rue that caused him to consider the purchase of the big, beautiful house for sale next door to them when Rue's former landlord had begged him to move out, even offering the incentive of a full refund of the safety deposit and no consequences for breaking the lease early.

There hadn't been much of a choice in moving out - they HAD broken the bedroom wall. Well...Cal had. He couldn't help getting a little enthusiastic sometimes, and Rue only made it worse with his stubborn determination to play at resistance. At least Rue had decided they would buy the house together, though it had been Jess's influence there as well - she'd forced Rue to finally face down what he wanted and ask Jayce the question: did the boy want to live with Rue, or Cal, or both?

Cal couldn't quite believe that it was entirely Jayce's choice that had made Rue fall into line, but he was certainly willing to let Rue think of it as the primary excuse. If that was what it took...

He bent to scoop the newspaper off the front stoop, but the door opened before he could knock.

Jess Morgan skittered back from the door, green eyes wide. She pulled her robe shut, which had been fanned out around her wide hips, flat stomach, and bikini-cut striped panties. Cal swiftly averted his eyes.

"Whoa - sorry there, Jess, I didn't know you got the paper in your underwear--" he began an apology.

"Don't worry about it," Jess assured him, leaning against the door and making a long arm, snatching the paper out of his hand. "I was going to tie the robe before I finished opening the door. Oh, well. Coffee?"

Abashed, Cal followed her into the wide, sunlit kitchen on one side of the house.

"We feeding you this morning?" Jess asked, cocking an expectant look over her shoulder.

"Oh, um, no that's okay, I already ate," Cal replied. "Thanks."

"Good thing." Jess snorted a little. "I think we need to resupply. And Ryan's not up yet, and it's his turn to do the shopping. So, coffee?"

"Sure," Cal said gratefully. He liked coffee, but it was also a good social icebreaker, he'd learned. People were expected to talk about personal stuff over things like coffee and tea.

"How are things?" Jess asked, moving about the kitchen, taking out a silver container with a scoop, pulling out the coffeemaker. There was a lissome grace to her movements that Cal couldn't help but notice; it put him in mind of a cat. He liked Jess, but still, he preferred not to think of her as female. He liked her better as a friend that way.

"Oh...all right," Cal conceded, leaning on the counter.

Jess cast a knowing look over her shoulder at him with that. "Just all right?" she prompted, none too gently. Jess was blunt in the morning. "Sure. And that's what brought you here at nine in the morning on your day off."

"I don't know," Cal said, shrugging. He watched her finish the preparations for the coffee, switch the machine on, listened for the first gurgle as the water heated and got sent through the filter. "It was different last night. I don't want to get my hopes up."

Jess's lips quirked. "Well, you know as far as Rue's concerned he's not in a consensual relationship."

"I know, and that's what I don't get!" Cal burst out. "I mean...if he didn't...you know. If he honestly didn't want me, I would know it. I wouldn't...I wouldn't actually force him, you know?"

"I believe you." Jess laughed unexpectedly. "Don't let Ryan hear you saying even that much!"

Cal's lips twitched. "Ryan would tune it out like always," he scoffed. "Or he'd run out of the room to find the nearest copy of Boobs, Unlimited."

"He'd better not!" Jess exclaimed, fierce. She turned to the cabinet and extracted a pair of mugs. "Still, you know our Rue. He's repressed - at least, that's the best I can figure it. It's going to take him some time."

"That's why I don't want to get my hopes up," Cal sighed. "I mean, it's been two years. But every little bit of progress, or I think he's starting to give in a little bit, and there's some huge setback." Like the last time he'd broken the bed, Cal thought guiltily.

Jess shrugged, setting a mug of coffee in front of him, sipping at her own black brew. "Well, if Rue didn't want to be here with you, I guess he could've run away or something."

Cal trapped the mug between his long fingers and pushed it back and forth over the table's surface. "Not really. I would have hunted him down." He looked up from his coffee and gave her a small smile.

They both laughed, but they knew it was true.

"Well," Jess said after a moment, "what are you expecting, Cal?" She leaned a hip on the edge of the kitchen island, quirking her lip at him, sympathetic but slightly challenging.

Cal shrugged. "I'm honest about my feelings for him. I wish he could be honest with himself, and me. I mean, everything about our relationship is great -- seriously, everything," he insisted, sensing her disbelief in slight shifts of body posture and facial muscles even before her brows rose. "We agree over just about everything, when it doesn't come to sex, from raising Jayce to household chores to what kind of food we like. But when I want to touch him or kiss him or--"

"Okay," Jess said, lifting a hand before he could say anything more.

Cal sniffed, taking a few gulps of coffee. Normally Jess wasn't squeamish about details but rather tried to pump him for more, but maybe it was too early in the morning. In any case, he hadn't been about to say anything explicit because it made Cal feel icky when Jess got turned on thinking about him and Rue. He wrinkled his nose and devoted the lion's share of his attention to coffee.

A fuzzy-headed Ryan stumbled into the kitchen, his short brown hair spiked up in tufts that went in all the wrong directions. Bleary, he wandered over to the kitchen island, took Jess's coffee cup out of her hand and guzzled the dregs, made a face, set the mug down and grabbed her right breast.

"Wake up, dumb shit!" Jess yelped, smacking his hand and then elbowing him in the ribs. "Cal's here, can't you see that?"

"Wha?" Ryan squinted across the island at Cal, who waved helpfully. "Oh. So he is. Morning, Cal."

"Good morning, Ryan," Cal said, suppressing a grin for Jess's sake.

"More coffee?" Ryan offered his partner, picking up her cup. "Cal, I'd appreciate it if you pretended that never happened, which of course it would have anyhow if you hadn't been here, which I hadn't realized at the time."

"That's mine," Jess said firmly, taking her cup back and turning for the urn. "Refill Cal's and get your own."

"Fine," Ryan sighed, reaching over for Cal's empty mug. "What brings you to our lovely sun-filled sexpad this early in the morning?"

Jess choked on her freshly-refilled coffee.

"Uh..." Cal tugged at one ear, eyes sliding to one corner of their roomy, sunlit kitchen. Windows lined one side of it and the breakfast nook to the side, and there was also a skylight above for optimal light exposure. As often as Ryan complained about hearing the slightest detail that would associate Cal and Rue in his mind as sexual beings with one another, he did turnabout on Cal just as often with respect to himself and Jess. And he knew Cal was about as disturbed to hear those details as Ryan was regarding gay sex.

Then again, he supposed most of Ryan's relationships were founded on some kind of mutual torment.

Jess filled the void for him. "Cal and I were discussing his relationship with Rue," she informed her partner.

"Ew," Ryan said, pulling a face as he passed a full mug over to Cal, then helped himself to a fresh cup. "I think I'll go, uh, watch TV."

"Or you could start breakfast," Jess suggested, smacking his ass. "That is, I assume, if you want to eat some time today."

"Aww, but I...no! Oh shit...hey, Jeeeeess..."

"It's your turn," she said with a pugnacious turn to her jaw.

"Damn it."

Jess turned back to Cal, leaning her elbows on the kitchen island and ignoring her partner as he wandered aimlessly around the kitchen, opening drawers and uttering disconsolate noises. Cal sucked in a breath and continued. "Um. We get along in every way except when it comes to sex."

Ryan dropped a pan with a crash, then leaned against the counter and moaned, clutching one of his feet.

Cal had to haul his focus away from the spectacle to answer Jess's prompt as she raised an expectant eyebrow at him, flipping a hand, body language indicating for him to ignore the idiot. "Uh, well, that's pretty much it. I mean, you've told me before I just have to keep working on it, and I try--"

"I'm kind of afraid to ask, but how do you try?" Jess said, lifting her mug.

Ryan whimpered.

This time they both ignored him. "I can tell when he's aroused, so I approach him. But he always denies it. His body language is totally at odds with the words coming out of his mouth!"

"Which would be 'no,' I take it?" Ryan said, turning quickly and holding up a hand to blinker his face as if suddenly realizing he'd participated in a conversation in which he had no business.

Cal smirked into his coffee. "Uh, well...as a matter of fact, he, um. Always says no. But I know he doesn't mean it!"

Jess was struggling to keep a straight face. "That's really a good thing, Cal, and in most circles that would actually still be considered rape, but I do believe you - mostly because he could have hexed your cock off by now if he really, truly didn't want it!"

With a strangled moan, Ryan dropped another pan. He stalked out of the kitchen.

They watched him go.

"Huh," Cal said after a long moment. "You know, I never thought of that?"

***

This morning when Rue walked into the office, the blonde with heavy make-up was gone and Marina was seated at the counter. She greeted him with a smile and a cup of coffee, and Detective Randall was nowhere in sight, so altogether it was a better welcome than the day previous.

"I fixed it the way you said to yesterday," Marina said, and her smile today was warm but not flirtatious.

A kind of relief swirled in the pit of Rue's stomach, mixed with the tightening of anxiety/shame that was an overtone to most thoughts of Cal and the exclusivity of their relationship. He bestowed a smile on Marina in return that was only slightly edgy.

She leaned over the counter, displaying a hint of cleavage whether intentional or not. "Turn up any leads?"

Rue's smile turned honest but predatory. "Oh, yes." One hand sought out his pocket and he patted the shape of the screen-file within. "Enough to question some people, at the very least, if Detective Randall believes me."

Marina's eyes rounded. "Come around, Mr. Pierce, come around," she said, gesturing him toward the door down the hall.

This time Rue didn't correct her more formal use of his name. If that was what it took to maintain the distance, it worked.

Today they were in a significantly smaller space, about the size of a work cubicle with two stations packed in beside one another, which let Rue know how far the case had fallen in the division's estimation. He made use of one of the active terminals, connecting his screen-file and calling up the data he'd collected during his Work.

"Maybe we should call Detective Randall in for this," Rue suggested.

"Ah, of course."

The pale-haired detective entered the cubicle with lowered brows and a curt "this better be worth my time," making Rue glad his business ethic wouldn't let him lower his work standards out of personal dislike.

"I did some energy traces last night and linked them to queries made on the network," Rue said, knowing at once from the impassive look that masked the detective's face that he dealt with neither Wiccan nor cyber specialties. "In other words, I cast a Working last night to follow the traces of all major spells cast within the past couple of weeks."

Randall glanced at Marina. "This legit?"

Rue kept his own face pleasantly neutral with real effort. If they were going to call in consultants, wouldn't it be good policy to trust the results he turned up?

Marina nodded. "It's not something I'm able to do, which is why we need Mr. Pierce's expert help."

Rue nodded. "I honestly didn't expect to find much - but there were several major Workings within the city over the past few weeks. I couldn't narrow down the field by that alone, because the energy of a spell with the kind of power that was used to cause those murders is hard to distinguish from other spells of that power level."

"All right," Randall said warily. "You have something to show me?"

Rue pressed his lips together in a thin line. "I also gathered information on queries run recently on Vanderbrant holdings and their related ancillaries."

"Whoa, whoa, wait!" Randall exclaimed, holding up both hands in a defensive posture. "I did NOT authorize that, I'm not going to go along with--"

"Whomever did this is targeting Vanderbrant," Rue cut in swiftly. "Now, you want shit to go down on your watch because you were afraid of what it might look like, pulling that kind of data?"

"No, of course not," Randall replied at once. He shook his head, then rubbed a thumb along the inner arch of one brow, a headache-defusing technique. "Continue."

"Well, cross-referencing my results still didn't narrow it down as much as I'd have liked," Rue admitted. "But between the ley-lines tapped and the network searches run, I came up with five names. A surprisingly large number given the specifics - but it's a big city."

Detective Randall stared at him with narrowed eyes. "Were they legal traces?"

"I was deputized," Rue said, avoiding an outright answer.

Randall grimaced, but his fingers were twiddling. "Those five people, if I were to bring them in for questioning..."

Rue gave him a small, grim smile. "Marina would be able to link their aura to the violent deaths she corroborated." He inclined his head toward their para-forensic specialist. "There are things I could do, as well, to confirm positive ID."

Randall looked from him to Marina to the terminal with its open file and list of names. The slowly-dawning illumination implied a sudden Christmas gift thrust into his hands. "I've got probable cause," he said slowly. The detective straightened his shoulders and looked less tired, less blurred, and altogether more agreeable. "Hot damn, I can drag them in on probable cause! Pierce - I appreciate this."

It was a sop that didn't make Rue more inclined to charitable thoughts toward the detective, but it was a nice gesture.

"I'm off to grab a task force. Marina, if you could take those names and feed them into my mobile terminal, that would be great." The detective patted Marina's shoulder in passing and paused on the threshold. "And Pierce?"

"Hm?" Rue put on a noncommittal look.

"Can you tie those names to a legitimate evidenciary query that I can present in court?" Randall asked him, silvery blond brows hoisted high.

Rue waited until the door was closed to snort. Randall had seen right through his attempts to hedge. Marina gave him a quick grin and a smattering of ironic applause.

"Well, the legitimate line of inquiry would be your database," Rue said, seating himself at the terminal and stretching his hands before him, popping the knuckles. "That might take me a while."

"Better get started, then," Marina chuckled, slipping behind the next station. "Free coffee refills. Oh, and give me those names while you're at it."

***

Marina leaned around the door jamb shortly after noon, her dark eyes wide with excitement. She had been in and out of the closet-sized office all day, mostly to replenish Rue's coffee as she seemed to have fallen into an administrative fall-back position until Detective Randall brought in the potential suspects that Rue had fingered. This time was different; she had brought an air of the electric along with her as she fixed him with a dilated gaze.

"Rue, there is an incredibly hot guy out in our lobby," Marina gushed. "Incredibly hot guys do not, as a rule, come to our building. Ever. Which was why I was so glad to see you...he says he knows you?"

Biting off a virulent curse, Rue set his chair back and followed Marina to the front counter. They hadn't discussed it, so of course Rue wouldn't have expected him to show up. This wasn't Cal's typical modus operandi, either; he usually stayed away from Rue's contracting gigs unless they'd already arranged to meet for some reason.

Sure enough, the tall solid breadth of him was standing at attention on the faux-marble tile of the building's entryway, hands clasped behind his back. The combed-sleek wings of his dark hair tapered neatly over each ear, hair that gleamed in the sunlight shining through high deep-set windows. A happy grin brightened his features as Rue came into sight behind the desk. It was Cal's day off, rather he was on call, so he wasn't wearing his Wall-patrol flak or body armor, but a long-sleeved shirt in dark red fabric that hugged every curve of muscle and bone on top of a pair of tight black jeans.

"Wait outside, will you?" Rue growled, clamping down on the surge of every other emotion but the irritation at his unexpected interruption. He still had some hard number-crunching to finish before the good detective got his firm chain of legitimate evidence; two suspects down and three to go.

Cal's face lengthened and his dark eyes turned wounded. "Rue, I thought you'd want lunch?"

"You didn't give me any notice, you could've at least called," Rue said, struggling to modulate his anger as well as his tone. "Just...go, all right? You can't be here right now."

Cal's eyes got a little wider; he was definitely hurt. But he nodded and left the building, his shoulders dropping from his perfect posture.

With a sigh, Rue turned back, intending to find Marina and excuse himself for a brief absence, and bumped into her. She flashed a smile at him, stretching to peer over Rue's shoulder at the retreating figure of Cal.

"Oh, very nice," she said, and Rue jerked away from her as if burned by contact. "He a friend of yours?"

"You could say that," Rue said, guarded. Right now Cal was more of an inconvenience, was definitely distracting him from work, and qualified for more labels than friend but he wasn't going to dwell on that now.

"Can you set me up?" Marina asked him, dark eyes glowing. She pressed her hands together in supplication.

"No way!" Rue exploded, making a vehement gesture and clipping his hand on a desk. Damn...he winced, inspecting the injured appendage. "Absolutely not. Sorry." That last was tacked on grudgingly as he determined there was no lasting damage to the hand.

"Honestly, Rue, there's no reason to overreact," Marina huffed, drawing herself up. "First you, now this hottie...you can't blame a girl for asking." She tilted her head to the side, not glaring so much as inspecting him closely.

"Later. I'm going to lunch," Rue muttered, turning before understanding could grow in those perceptive dark eyes. Whatever she thought she understood, it wasn't quite right, and yet he certainly didn't want to explain the whole thing. That would be especially difficult when even he didn't get it.

He retreated around the counter and palmed open the front door. The steps that led to the building were empty and Rue took them to the sidewalk, glancing up the block in both directions. "Fuck," he snarled, finally giving vent to his unexpected spasm of temper. Cal was nowhere in sight - he'd misunderstood.

"I said to wait outside for a minute, that's all," Rue sighed, combing a hand through his short hair. "Damn it, you didn't have to actually leave." Now that the shock was wearing off -- as well as the unexpected bite of Marina's defection from coming onto him to asking for Cal -- he was starting to wonder why Cal had dropped by today. It really was unusual.

He looked both ways up the street again, but a tall, dark-haired figure like Cal's was unmistakable. He was gone.

Rue lowered his head and heard the mournful gurgle of his stomach. What was that Cal had said? Something about lunch. Well, it was past time as far as his neglected body was beginning to inform him.

Tempted to sit on the steps for a moment and just mull over the unexpected twist to his afternoon, Rue forced himself instead to pick a direction. One was as good as the other; he didn't know the area but he was sure there had to be food within walking distance.

He was nearly past the smooth faux-marble faÁade of the building when a couple of big, bouncer-type men emerged from a narrow gap between the police station and the brick face of the next building. Rue slipped a hand into his pocket, fingering the slim line of his phone. On some contracts, he worked in such a sensitive environment that he was actually issued a panic button that would bring the police to him - this wasn't one of them. The big men were studiously not looking at him as they approached, which was in itself a suspicious thing.

Rue reached them in a couple of steps, his instincts pricking him to turn and run, which engaged his brain to scoff over the ridiculous nature of his suspicions. Two big guys walking down the street were no cause for worry. It was a huge city, how could they possibly be here for him? He drew even with them and began to relax, thinking he'd been overly paranoid.

The man closest to him lunged and grabbed his left arm, pivoting and drawing Rue close, a burly hand clapping over his mouth.

Rue shouted but a thick palm muffled his outcry. The other man closed in fast on his other side, twisting his right arm up behind his back. They hustled him into the alleyway on the side of the building with the quiet proficiency of professional thugs.

"You been poking into the wrong places, witch," husked the man who'd first grabbed him. He was taller and sported a shaved scalp. He released Rue, leaving him to the other guy, who twisted Rue's arm tighter as if trying to make him cry out in pain. The first thug twitched his thigh-length overcoat aside and pulled free a length of metal pipe, twirling it with the ease of a baton and giving him a truly unpleasant grin. He lifted his chin at the other man, "Don't let him use his hands."

Rue's eyes were shocked wide. His hands, as the first thug knew, were his primary tool if he didn't have athame or cup or Circle to aid him - there were still a few tricks and hexes he could pull off with his Will and his hands, if they were free.

The thought that he had nothing to save him fueled a move born of equal parts desperation and stupidity; he snapped his head back and it cracked against the man behind him with a painful but satisfying thunk. The guy yelped and the grip on him loosened. It was enough for Rue to twist and throw an elbow, and he slipped free. The tall, bald one lunged forward but Rue was quicker, and he darted for the street end of the alley, dipping a hand into his pocket for his phone.

Something hard slammed against his legs and with an undignified "oof" whooshing the breath from his lungs, Rue went down to the gritty surface of the alleyway. He fell on chest and elbows, narrowly avoiding the hard slam of cheek to pavement, and lay stunned for an instant. That was long enough for someone to seize his hair and drag him back further into the alley. He opened his mouth to shout and one of the thugs sucker-punched him in the solar plexus, forcing the breath out of him again.

"His hands, I told you to get his hands!" the first thug hissed, exasperated.

"If we beat the shit out of him fast enough he won't be able to focus enough to throw nothin' at us," the other replied, and a severe kick to the ribs made him lurch back, testing the limits of the grip on his hair. His scalp was on fire as the handful of hair got strained to the roots, and he lifted his arms to protect his body as the man kicked him again, laughing.

He heard the whistle of the metal pipe and raised his arms, cringing.

There was a blur of red before his eyes, but no pain. For a second Rue thought he'd been hit so hard that not only was he blinded by blood but he couldn't even feel the pain yet. Then the shape resolved itself into an arm, blocking the descent of the pipe not far from Rue's head.

His eyes kept traveling up the length of that red arm. Cal towered over him, head turned toward the thug who'd tried crushing his skull in with the red pipe, his profile steely and limned by harsh sun from the mouth of the alley. He looked frighteningly angry of a caliber Rue had never seen.

The hand clutching his hair released him, and Rue sagged as his captor stepped over him, prodding him again in the ribs.

Cal twitched his arm, and the bald thug staggered back as if he'd been pushed hard. The one standing over Rue rushed him with a hoarse yell, pulling a pipe from beneath his coat too, and Cal's head turned, brow furrowed in a thunderous glare. The second pipe sliced down in an overhead arc and Cal reached out, palm-up, and caught it as effortlessly as if the man had tried to pass it to him, though the smack of the pipe was loud and painful. He tugged, and the man stumbled toward Cal, pipe wrenched out of his hand.

Another pipe whistled from behind and Rue pushed himself up on his elbows, watching with awe and no real ability to react as the length of metal came into contact with Cal's head, hard. It made the right noise - the meaty thunk as if a melon had been split - but Cal didn't even blink. He did, however, hold up his captured pipe, holding the gaze of the thug before him, and bent the metal in half like snapping a twig. It sheared into two pieces with a rasping clink and he tossed the pieces aside.

Cal stepped to the side, mouth curling in a feral smirk, and the bald thug scrambled back, holding up his pipe in a defensive posture now.

"What? You didn't bring any guns?" Cal challenged, lifting one hand palm-up and gesturing almost negligently for the man to bring it on.

Rue scooted back on his ass, thinking perhaps it would be better to get out of the path of damage because he'd never seen Cal so pissed, and now he might get to see how far Cal could throw a man. He groped for his phone again, flipping it on and calling the station. They'd need back-up, especially if Cal held onto restraint enough not to bust their heads.

When he looked up again, one man was down against the brick faÁade clutching his nose and moaning in pain. A vivid crimson blossom was spreading out from his fingers.

"What the hell are you, a demon?" the bald thug screamed, rushing at Cal with his lead pipe again.

Cal grinned, but the expression that was normally so natural and easy on him now looked menacing - and his canines, longer and more pronounced than a normal person's, were definitely in evidence. "Come and find out."

Instead of coming, the man threw the pipe at him. Cal laughed, caught it, and jammed it into the building, driving it into the brick up to the place where he gripped it.

The thug sucked in a horrified breath, then turned to run. Cal wasn't just amazingly strong - he was fast, reaching the man before he was even close to the end of the alley and seizing him by the back of the coat. He had the man's arm twisted up behind his back in a painful hold before Rue got to his feet, patting himself down and checking himself for serious damage.

"Good work," was all Rue said, still fumbling with any kind of proper descriptor for what Cal had just done. 'Amazing' didn't quite seem to cover it. Breaking a bed or even a wall was one thing; seeing Cal in action was another thing indeed. He was fast, graceful, the strongest thing Rue had ever seen...

"Who sent you?" Cal growled, fingers gripping the thug's arm with seeming negligence. The man howled like a dying thing and collapsed to his knees. "You knew where to find him, who hired you and gave you the information?"

"Don't kill him," Rue warned.

Cal glanced over his shoulder, dark eyes black with fury. "He doesn't really need this arm." The most frightening part was the calm, earnest tone - that was the usual Cal.

"It was some mid-city bitch!" the man blurted, voice hoarse and alarmed. "She called us over, paid us cash, told us not to let the guy's hands free while we were beating the crap out of him--"

"No, she told you to kill him," Cal contradicted, twitching his grip on the man's arm and drawing out a scream.

"All right! All right, she paid us to come here and kill him!"

Cal palmed the man's head and his hand...flexed. The thug went flying into the brick wall, his head slamming against it with a horrible crack. He slumped.

"Cal," Rue said, not quite shocked but maybe disappointed.

"Don't worry." Cal's hands were still clenched into fists but the look he turned on Rue was reassuring. "He'll be fine. I wouldn't kill him."

The humanity was back in his eyes, Rue thought.

"You," Rue said, turning on the man whose nose was still bleeding profusely. "I'm thinking you can identify the woman who hired you both, am I right?"

Wide-eyed, the man held onto his broken nose and nodded.

A heartbeat later, the alley was flooded with cops yelling at Cal to put his hands on his head.

***

Rue hustled into the station with a sandwich bag from Cal dangling already forgotten in his hand as he entered a scene of chaos. He remembered thinking just the day before that the division for supernatural crimes didn't detain prisoners, nor did it handle foot traffic but the place was swarming today with uniformed officers, one of the men Cal had whupped in the alleyway, and Detective Randall was directing the flow. Marina was nowhere in sight, but the blonde in heavy makeup was at the counter, long-manicured nails working non-stop behind the front terminal.

"Pierce." The detective came up to him and that incisive once-over probed him, pale blue eyes coming up relieved. "I heard there was trouble outside our own building? If I'd realized you were a potential target I would have assigned a detail to guard you."

"It's my own fault," Rue said dismissively. "I didn't think I'd been careless in my Working last night, but I was complacent and certainly didn't cover my tracks well enough."

Detective Randall narrowed his eyes. "Then our perpetrator sent someone to silence you."

"Yes, and according to one of those attackers he was paid off and instructed by a woman." Rue risked flashing the man a grin, this was too good to keep to himself.

Pale blond tufts rose for the detective's hairline. "A woman? No, we couldn't be this lucky. There was only one woman on the list of names."

"I know," Rue said, managing to avoid smugness. "Is she here? Did your men bring her in?" If memory served, a woman named Tara Schieler had been on his cross-referenced list, she was unknown to him, and according to the tracks he'd uncovered in the police database she was also relatively new to town. It was almost too good to be true.

Randall hustled him along the corridor to the left, making a chopping motion to hurry him along. "As a matter of fact, she was the most difficult to bring in, but we have her in custody. Know why? She had hacked herself an appointment in Richard Vanderbrant's schedule. Both his executive secretary and Mr. Vanderbrant himself confirmed she hadn't been on his planner before she showed up that morning."

"She messed up when she dropped the cash to hire those thugs," Rue noted with a frown. "Everything else was meticulous - and untraceable. She must have hired them to silence me on her way over to the Vanderbrant building. But why..."

"Oh, right, I heard something as the perps were on the way in," Randall said, pausing beside a featureless steel door. "Did you have your own personal bodyguard, or what? The men were saying there had been serious violence in the alleyway, and the man defending you was a professional."

Rue glared at a far corner of the hallway. Next contract, he would be careful not to tell Cal where he was working. Then again, if he was going to put his own life in danger, wouldn't it be worth putting up with him for lunch every day? There were trade-offs... The detective had no idea what Rue had to deal with on a daily basis. "I know someone in the City and Wall Defense Corps, I suppose you could call him a professional but not in the sense you mean."

"Wall Defense Corps?" The respectful tone indicated a sudden increase in how impressed the detective was. "We're lucky the perps weren't torn in half, huh."

Clearly the detective did have some idea.

"Yes," Rue said tensely, and neither of them laughed.

Detective Randall rapped his knuckles on the door. There was another one a few steps beyond. "This is the viewing room for the interrogation chamber next door. Schieler's being held there. You said there was something you could do to confirm her involvement in the Birthday Murders?"

Rue nodded, folding his arms. "You'll want Marina here to verify my Work."

"She's waiting for you in the viewing room," Randall said with a nod, cracking the door open. "That chain of evidence you knocked together is enough to get an indictment right there, but I need your confirmation first - I don't want to put her in a room with Marina yet until we're sure, partly because for Marina that's a psychic hit that could take her out for the rest of the day. We might even be able to pressure Schieler into an admission. She doesn't know yet that her hit attempt failed, and we're putting together a line-up right now for the perp who's still conscious." Now he favored Rue with a tight grin that expressed a fierce enjoyment. It was the look of a man moving in for the kill.

"I'll do my part, then."

As the door grated shut behind him Rue had the sense of a man being locked into a cell. It was dim within, illuminated more from the brilliance blazing through a rectangular window that opened onto the other room. The walls were gunmetal gray and there was a single, heavy table inside. Marina was seated on the far side of it, a notepad beside her hand as she gazed into the other room, chin in hand. She turned and gave him a nod as Rue took up a stance beside the table.

"Sorry," Rue said, and hesitated. "About before."

"Forget about it," Marina said, now giving him a reserved smile. "I've been told before, I'm too pushy. What do you think about this, you think she's the one?" She gave a nod to the rectangle of one-way glass. On the other side of it, the room mimicked theirs, giving Rue the eerie sense that he really was trapped behind a mirror. The difference was the sun-bright wattage from the overhead strips, and the woman seated at a position that mirrored Marina's. She was lean, with a long torso sheathed in a designer suit and long, thick blonde hair that cascaded around her shoulders and spilled down her back in loose curls. She shifted slightly and the clink of handcuffs made it clear that her wrists were handcuffed individually to each side of the chair. Her face was elegantly made-up, with a hungry, feline quality, currently arranged in a deliberate look of boredom. Wide, burning green eyes roamed over every inch of the mirror.

"Well," Rue said, and took a step back. For an instant, it had seemed their eyes had locked. "Does she look like an innocent woman to you?"

Marina sighed. "Everyone's got something to hide, Mr. Pierce, and people of our particular talents have to be more paranoid than most. There are too many people willing to judge us before anything is proven one way or the other."

"Point," Rue conceded. He shook his head slowly. "She was the only woman on the list, Marina. You'd know better than I the statistical likelihood of a woman committing a crime like this, and I know that women Wiccans as a rule don't cast any Work with such negative consequences out of respect for the threefold law, but there are always exceptions."

"What makes you so sure it's a woman?" Marina questioned, shooting him a puzzled look.

"Oh, that's right." Rue settled into a chair with a sigh and a thump. "You wouldn't have heard yet. Two men tried to kill me just now outside of the building" -- this much punctuated by Marina's sharp gasp -- "and they were hired by an uptown woman in a hurry. She paid in cash."

"Merciful goddess, Mr. Pierce, are you all right?" Marina demanded, half-rising, sinking back into her seat when Rue stayed where he was, calm. "How did you - I mean, what happened?"

"Cal saved me," Rue said quietly.

On the other side of the glass, the door to the other room opened and Detective Randall walked in, shutting the door behind him. He was alone. Marina started to say something and Rue shushed her, lifting his chin in the general direction of the room beyond. Randall stalked in with a confident stride, his blue eyes glittering in a neutral face. He stood behind the table and punched a button on the table controls.

The dead face of Charles Vanderbrant hung suspended mid-air, his grayed profile against a fanned-out splotch of blood on a white ruled day planner.

Tara Schieler inclined her long torso away from the table and folded her arms, but other than that, made no sign of distaste or recognition.

Other pictures expanded and hovered beside Charles; Dr. Allbrecht, slumped at her desk, Padil Chadhoury's horrified expression and staring eyes, the indignant death stare of Vice-President Merro-Stallings. It stopped there, and Rue frowned.

"What does this have to do with me?" Tara Schieler had a throaty voice, the deepest range of feminine timbre.

"Ms. Schieler, what were you doing at Vanderbrant Holdings today?"

"I was booked for a last-minute interview," the woman said, her husky tone dropping into a sullen register.

"Interesting that neither the company president, nor his executive secretary were aware of it," Randall prompted.

"Like I said." Her green eyes glared up at him, then glanced sidelong at the mirror. "Last minute."

Detective Randall's mouth twitched. "Not the only thing last-minute about your day, was it?"

Tara Schieler twitched. "I want my lawyer."

Randall raised pale brows. "Lawyer? I've picked you up for questioning, Ms. Schieler. If I were to book you for something, you'd get the lawyer. Now, you can cooperate or I can charge you for obstruction."

The woman smiled at him, and it was not a nice or pretty expression. "I can't help you."

Rue stood. "This is going well," he observed, and extracted a pen-case from his pocket. Marina watched with interest as he withdrew a white grease-pen and knelt on the floor.

"You're going to do a confirmation?" she asked softly.

"Yes," Rue said. "With you here, it should be even easier. You were present to sense the energy of violent death. What was done would leave traces. If there's something that I'm doing that you don't understand, ask, all right? You're an expert witness." He tested the pen on the floor to make certain it would come off with the cloth he kept in his pen-case for just that, then drew a Circle.

She asked a few questions as Rue prepared, which Rue answered tersely. He didn't step inside this Circle. There was no need.

Randall was questioning the woman about her whereabouts on the morning of Charles Vanderbrant's murder when Rue cast the circle, finishing with the final sigil and passing a hand around its circumference. It kindled with a soft, vibrant glow and Marina drew breath.

"How can we tell when it's working?" Marina said, and chuckled at her own inadvertent pun.

"Oh, you'll be able to tell," Rue assured her. Like most of his more ostentatious power, he couldn't help a certain sense of showmanship. It was more fun to see the looks on their faces when a Working made itself obvious.

Tara Schieler's face appeared like a ghost-image above the glowing Circle, a vivid rendering of the woman in the room just beyond. In the image, though, her expression was twisted, lips curled up in covetuousness, her green eyes wide and pushed beyond hunger into a consuming madness.

"What is that!?" Marina demanded.

"That's the energy aura of the person who matches the signature I was tracking," Rue said quietly, running two fingers around the edge of the circle like turning a dial. "Now that we have her in the next room, it's distinct from the other energies that muddied up the trail."

"Yes, but..."

The image of Schieler faded, replaced by another image - a dead man. Scott Amman's pleading, betrayed expression hovered above the Circle, tinged with red.

"Jesu e Maria, what on earth--" Marina choked.

Rue couldn't actually look into the eyes of a dead man. At least, it was comforting to think so. Still, the illusion was there as he tilted his head to the point where those haunted, empty eyes were oriented. "Her last Working affected this man."

"Scott Amman," Marina said. "Our most recent victim. And today she went to Vanderbrant's office. She went there to report, or she went there to interview for a job, having shown him what she was capable of?"

The face dissipated and gave way to another, the older female vice-president who'd died. Her expression was caught between haughtiness and surprise eternally. Rue admired Marina's quick wit - those were pretty much the options. Either she had done this with Vanderbrant's knowledge, or that "interview" she'd claimed really was that. Why secure an interview with a man you planned to kill?

"I guess we'll never know," Rue whispered, and another dead man's face ghosted into view.

Marina stood, heels clicking, and pressed a button on a long strip below the one-way mirror. "Detective, we have confirmation." Her voice was tinny and doubled, from hearing it on his end in the viewing room and through the speakers that piped sound from the interrogation chamber.

A smile appeared on Detective Randall's face, there and gone quick enough to be a trick of the light.

Tara Schieler laughed; a short, sharp bray of sound. "Is that supposed to scare me? Please. I know my rights. I don't have to answer any of your questions. Now, release me, or..." She rattled her wrists, glaring at the mirror.

Randall leaned back and crossed his arms, fixing Tara Schieler with a cool stare. "One of your mistakes, Ms. Schieler, was thinking we needed a confession to book you. You're under arrest."

The woman tried to lunge, but the handcuffs shackled her to her chair. She overturned it and sprawled on the floor, glowering up at the detective with a sizzling rage. "You're the one making the mistake!" she declared stridently.

"Come along," Randall said, leaning to seize her chair-arms and set her chair and the woman in it upright with a remarkable lack of effort - as if he, too, had demon blood. "We've got a nice line-up for you after we take your picture and prints. You see, Ms. Schieler, when you pay men to kill someone who's tracking you, it's usually better not to meet them in person--"

Marina picked up her notepad and gave him a tight smile, cocking her head at the door. "Let's go, Mr. Pierce. But for court testimony, I think your part here is done, no?"

Rue returned the expression, thin-lipped, weariness pressing him down like a sudden hand. He leaned over with his cloth and wiped the key symbol from the edge of the circle, allowing the victim to fade away from this world for the last time.

***

The Jeep was already parked in the three-car garage when Rue pulled his Lexus into its space within. Rue had more or less expected this, since they'd arranged for Cal to pick up Jayce from school that day, but one never knew - Cal might have decided to take Jayce to a park, or out for ice cream, or they had lagged at school playing with the other kids. A number of things. He turned the car off, resting his hands on the wheel as he stared at the empty Jeep.

"How did you find me?" he'd asked, after the cops had hustled Rue's attackers out of the alley.

Cal shrugged, giving him wide anxious eyes in a woebegone face. "I figured you were snapping at me because you were hungry, so I went to go and get us some lunch. I hadn't gotten very far, just the next block down, when I heard the trouble."

When Rue blinked at him in disbelief, Cal tapped one ear with an almost sheepish expression. "Super hearing, too."

Rue pocketed his car-wand and reached for the plastic bag on the passenger seat. The steaming fragrance of all his favorite Chinese dishes was making him starved unto stomach rumblings, and it was time to bring it home to his family. He navigated the hazard circuit of the garage, stepping over piles and skirting deserted half-finished projects that had lost the enthusiasm of either Jayce or Cal. It was time for a little clean-up project, and he mentally reserved the right to punish the next infraction with garage duty.

In the laundry room, he eyed the three loads lined up by the washer and dryer and paused long enough to start a load. When he leaned against the thrumming machine, head lowered, Rue finally admitted to himself that he was stalling in a bad way.

Cal had saved him. Rue had given him nothing but crap that day but Cal had been there when he needed him. In his rush to get back to the station, Rue realized, he hadn't even thanked him.

With a weighty sigh, Rue pushed off from the washer and picked up their dinner again. He was trying to come to terms with what he was really conflicted over. He'd been impressed with what he had seen today, and Cal had saved his life and he was exceedingly grateful, but now Cal would sidle up to him after dinner and...and Rue could write the ending to that one and it put him in an awkward position. How was he supposed to say 'no' and not seem horrifically ungrateful, especially when he ended up putting out anyhow?

Jaw clenched, Rue left the utility room for the house proper. As he went past the entryway, he heard rock music playing on the living room stereo - the middle ground, the kind both he and Cal liked. It made him chuckle and realize how stiffly he'd been holding his shoulders. He entered the kitchen with a lighter step. He was coming home, not arriving for a death sentence.

"Where's Jayce?" he asked of the room at large, setting the heavy bags on the counter and looking around. His son was a food-dowser; set a foot inside with fresh hot food and Jayce showed up. Between he and Cal, they ate enough for five and their food budget was more than enough for a family of that size.

Cal appeared around the bedroom-side kitchen corner, stripped down to jogging pants and a clinging tank top. "Hey," he said, propping up a muscled arm to lean against the corner wall.

Rue raised his brows. "I brought home some great take-out and Jayce isn't here to help demolish it? What's up?"

"Oh." Cal pulled a sheepish look. "Well, I took him over to Jess and Ryan's, because I wasn't sure if there would be more trouble. You didn't say whether the woman who'd hired those killers was apprehended, so..."

"Right," Rue said with a weak chuckle. "It slipped my mind. Yes, she was, I forgot to call and let you know. Sorry."

"Hey," Cal said, approaching on soft feet. His dark eyes were intent on Rue until he was close enough to lean a hip against the kitchen island. "I'm just glad you're all right. And it's resolved?"

"Yes," Rue confirmed, holding his ground. He shouldn't feel that way - as if he was making a last stand. To combat the sensation he deliberately reached up to undo his tie, letting it hang to either side of his collar. Squaring himself, he lifted his chin and met Cal's gaze, which hadn't wavered from him. "It was one of the names I gave Detective Randall. I was careless, she must have had a net set up to detect encroaching energies like my Working last night, and she was a cyber-Wiccan too, so--"

"As long as she's locked up," Cal growled, that feral look touching his features for an instant, then it smoothed away, leaving only a reflective frown. He lifted a hand as if to nudge Rue under the chin and bring his face closer (within range), then uncertainty flickered over his normally decisive face. "What's wrong?"

Shouldn't that be my line? tilted crazily through Rue's brain, and he lifted his chin anyhow as the thought percolated that Cal was asking because Rue wasn't resisting. He was close enough to see the crimson flare at the center of Cal's eyes before the taller man angled his head and took Rue's mouth.

He stood firm against it as Cal's hot, firm lips moved against him, plying at him, only his mouth in a fervent but very nearly chaste entreaty for more. Cal's lips nipped at him now, a wash of moist breath breaking over him, lips closing over his bottom lip and tugging. Rue held still, eyes screwed shut, and tried to convince himself he was not participating in this. His hands came up in protest as Cal's tongue sought the rim of his lips at last, coaxing where gentle nips hadn't induced Rue to open his mouth to him. What he pushed against was hard muscle, the swell of tight pectorals beneath his palms, and that didn't even get him very far as Cal had slipped an arm around his waist, anchoring him in place. He opened his mouth at last - gasping for breath, resistance insisted - and Cal's tongue slid neatly into the breach, tangling with his. Cal's tongue pulsed against his the way his hips wanted to move, and Rue was having trouble convincing himself that he wasn't turned on.

"Cal," Rue gasped when Cal pulled back enough to nibble at his lip, then release him with a look of blurry contentment. He'd forgotten his argument. There was one, right? Something about...the fact that he hated being dominated, forced to submit. It didn't feel like that right now. Cal's encircling arm made him feel secure. The way that, as a man, he couldn't protect his own self earlier that day, but this arm had come between him and certain death. Was that where his pride had gone? He didn't think he had any resistance left. "What about the food?" His voice came out hoarse, an underlying rasp of what he truly didn't want to consider - need.

Cal's voice was thick with it. "We can heat it up later." His other hand went around Rue, snaking down straightaway to palm one ass-cheek.

Rue grunted, squirming in the arms that enclosed him to disguise the way his cock throbbed though there was little hope of that. They were too close and Cal too perceptive in every sense not to notice. Cal leaned into him, pressing Rue's hands back as easily as though they werenít there, and nuzzled at his neck. "Don't bite," Rue warned, and he hissed as teeth grazed him ever so light. "Damn it, Cal!"

"Sorry," Cal groaned, lapping a moist line from neck up Rue's jawline instead, closing over his earlobe and suckling. "I just want...I want..." His voice roughened, lowered, but he stayed where he was and didn't push Rue any further.

Something in Rue's gut tightened to that tune, and he became aware of the curve of muscle beneath his palms, hot flesh separated from him by the thinnest of shirts. He was in Cal's arms already and there would be no getting away from this, but he wasn't struggling yet. Maybe he was tired of it, or maybe this was his thank-you. But that didn't mean he had to actively cooperate.

Cal's eyes searched his, brief, a question forming. The faintest crease formed between his brows, then without warning his head dipped to capture Rue's mouth again, hard and demanding. There was no wiggle room for evasion, this time - Cal caught him with his lips slightly parted and that energetic, plundering tongue laid him bare again, twining. Cal licked his mouth open and left him gasping, then crowded him against the edge of the island, taking the space between their bodies and crushing it.

The sudden press was overwhelming, both in Cal's body etched against his own full-length, and the hard unyielding of lips and teeth prying him open, tongue plunging into him as Cal's hands clasped at the arch of his hips and strained him painfully close. Rue couldn't even grunt a protest, smothered by lips and tongue as he was, and fought back the only way he could, gnashing into the play of Cal's lips and tongue, biting, pushing back until he couldn't tell whether he was kissing or bleeding. As their tongues thrust back and forth, Cal's pelvis settled against him even closer.

Besides the kiss, his sensory overload came from the stimuli of Cal's sleek hard muscle beneath his hands - he could feel the heat of him radiating through his shirt - and the bulge of him taking shape against Rue's lower belly. Those sweats concealed no part of him. Nipping at Cal's tongue, Rue was in a sexual haze like none other as he peeled up the flimsy tank to run his hands over silken hot flesh. He could almost forget, as he aggressively stroked his way up Cal's torso, that the sex he was getting was what he'd sworn he couldn't stand.

Cal disentangled their mouths and sucked in a ragged breath, tugging their hips together with hands so urgent he ripped at the seams of Rue's pants.

Rue ran an appraising eye up the length of stomach and chest he'd bared, riding it high and exposing the dark coins of Cal's nipples. In the grip of honest lust the only thing coursing through him as he surveyed the laid-bare ripple of abdomen, flawless muscle sheathing ribs and the swell of pecs beneath his fingers was admiration, and a hunger rooted deep enough to frighten him when he actually thought about it. Which wasn't now.

He was aware of Cal's eyes on him, wondering, lusting, and of the fingers that dug into his hips and held them together as one or the other of them, or both, moved in small, needful circles, but Rue ignored both as he ran his palm over Cal from breastbone to the muscles of his abdomen, which tensed under his hand. He wanted...he wanted...

With a ripping groan Cal moved, flexing his hips against Rue to the edge of pain but not over. He pried his fingers loose from Rue's pants and in a single motion ripped Rue's shirt open down the middle, sending pale nacreous buttons shooting across the kitchen and bouncing over countertops, then stooped in to latch onto Rue's collarbone. He bit, making Rue jerk and shout, his caresses turning into desperate shoves.

"Stop. Get off me!" Rue cried, pounding at the immobile cage of Cal's chest, his encircling arms. "Fuck, Cal, get your damned teeth off me!" The breath hissed through his teeth in frustration, pain, the bleeding edge of desire as Cal gnawed on him, the sharp prick of his large canines damned fangs digging in to mark Rue as he sucked a purple shadow into the imprint of teeth he'd made.

Cal drew back, the largeness of his lower body leaving Rue but hands still on him, ripping his clothing to shreds, leaving him exposed. His teeth finally came free of Rue's already-sore collarbone and he stood panting over him, then angled in for a kiss.

Rue flinched back, hands out before him as a pitiful shield. "Asshole!" he shouted in Cal's face, and that finally made the quarter-demon blink, take stock, survey Rue's angry face and defensive posture. "You fucker, I'll bet I'm bleeding." As Cal's passion-suffused face melted into penitence, Rue put a hand to his throbbing wound. His fingers came away moist but blood-free, but it hurt and he was still pissed.

"I'm sorry," Cal panted. "I just--"

"Not sorry enough," Rue vowed, pushing at the arms that had settled to either side of him, starting up from the hard line of the kitchen island at his lower back and trying to duck away, to shove his way through or past Cal. It was, as usual, pointless to try. "Let me go." He could ignore the insistent ache of his cock, especially if he got free of Cal and jumped in a cold shower right now.

"I said I was sorry," Cal repeated, frowning. "Rue, don't. We still--"

"What about when I say 'don't?' You never take me seriously," Rue shot back, bitter. He considered the ridiculous extreme of dropping to his knees and rolling to the side to get free, but that would only end up in a tussle on the kitchen floor. Probably followed by a handful of vegetable oil and some seriously intense rear-ending. Rue managed to convince himself it was experience talking and not a desire to have a re-enactment. "So why should I take your 'don't?' and do as you like?"

"That's different!" Cal protested, a hurt look readily crossing his handsome face. "I didn't mean it, I just...you were doing, I mean touching...yeah, and it really turned me on so I..." He cut himself short, ducking his head sheepishly so that his eyes were riveted on the floor and not Rue.

Rue almost felt sorry for him. Not quite, though. This had repeated too many times for him to be sympathetic, and it was one of the things that truly made him uneasy over Cal's attentions. The slightest bit of reciprocation on Rue's part drove Cal over the limit, tripping some sort of crazy-enthusiastic circuit in him that usually translated into swift and thorough marking for Rue. As if he didn't already have enough incentives to keep Cal's hands off him...

If he was honest with himself Rue would admit that Cal was in general a thorough and considerate lover, always making sure Rue got pleasure out of what they did and plenty of it. But that was so utterly subsumed by the fact that Cal ignored what Rue asked of him in favor of what Cal claimed he "really wanted" that any positive points got buried in the clamor of Rue's entire being against the subjugation he was forced into on a daily basis.

Unbidden, a snatch of memory brought Marina to mind, the warm loveliness of the woman leaning over him with a cup of coffee, displaying a flash of cleavage and pouring her spicy-floral fragrance over him. There had been women like her in his life, not many but a few, and they'd all left him. He was "too nice." Too much "a good friend." He remembered her excited eyes and parted lips as she sighed over Cal and asked for his number. Even a year ago he might have snapped that chance up to see what Cal might do with it.

Cal cocked his head inquiringly, then took Rue's hand, dark eyes still focused downward. He lifted it, inspected it, placed a small, searching kiss on the meat of Rue's palm right where he'd slammed it into the desk after yelling no at Marina.

"Don't." Rue's throat worked. "Don't read my mind."

Cal shook his head, tugging on Rue's hand until he took an unwilling step forward. With his other hand at the small of Rue's back, he molded their bodies together. "I'm only responding to what you're telling me."

It mortified and unnerved Rue by turns that Cal could fathom his body language like reading print off his forehead. To him, it really was like mind-reading.

"So what now?" he said unsteadily, tempted to say stop, knowing he'd only be laughed at. He was still rock-hard and the large firmness of Cal against him was not making him diminish by any means.

"Bedroom," Cal said firmly.

"I don't want--"

"Rue," Cal interrupted, holding up Rue's hand close enough to his mouth that shivers of breath traveled over his skin, "if you ever told me that and you really, truly meant it, I'd stop. I would hate it, of course, but I'd stop."

He tried to look away, but the stark honesty of Cal's gaze pinned him in place. It was an invitation and a challenge and the heady entreaty of desire rolled into one sucker-punch of a look. Now he had to say something. He tried to move, back away even though there was no place to go, but the slightest shift sent a pulse through his groin, bringing with it a return push, subtle but definite, Cal throbbing against him.

"I want," Rue rasped, "for you to let me go." That much was true, he knew to the soles of his feet. He was tired of being cornered.

Dark eyes impassive, Cal released him. The hand left the small of his back, in its wake leaving a triangle of skin chill by contrast, and his uplifted hand was let go. "What else?"

Numb, still somewhat dazed by the unorthodox success of his request (maybe all along he'd asked for the wrong things) Rue got careless. "What do you mean, what else? I...I don't want anything else, I don't want sex." He gulped a breath, avoided Cal's eyes, had to skip away from the bulge at the front of Cal's sweats. Not subtle. Couldn't think about his own tenting underwear. There was no single more bald-faced lie. "Nothing. No fucking. No..." He trailed off, because Cal was smirking.

He had time to process the snort that slipped free of the gorgeous quarter-demon's mouth before his arm was seized, then he was tipped ass over teakettle into Cal's arms. It had been a warning of sorts. Sputtering, beating his fists against skin as unyielding as a dragon's hide, Rue was carried like a bride over the threshold. Cal kicked the door to the master bedroom shut behind them, and then the odd muffled-sound suppression of the soundproofing closed in.

"No fucking?" Cal demanded, sounding equal parts amused and angry. "No sex?" He dumped Rue on the bed and stood over him, skinning the tank over his head, tossing it aside.

Rue scrambled back, then took stock of the remnants of his clothes. His pants had been torn off his hips and they were in shreds around his thighs. The shirt, one of his favorites, had lost most of its buttons and wasn't torn, but he had no clue how to sew fit to repair it. Here was more cause for anger, but when he dipped a hand to check his underwear, he lost his train of thought. Cal was standing over him, tall and gorgeous and obviously aroused, and Rue had one hand on his cock. If he weren't so goddamned turned on he might have blushed.

He stood there for a moment while Rue waited for the pounce. Rue realized after a bit that Cal was standing there looking at him, really looking at him, not even touching himself. He couldn't stand up to that kind of scrutiny. If the pace of what they did lost momentum for even a moment, if things stopped, he might have to actually take a look at himself and what he was thinking, feeling. Rue wasn't ready for that. All of this passed through him at a not-quite-conscious level. He stripped his shirt off, tossing it over the side of the bed, then caught Cal's eye, lifted his hips, and shed the remnants of his pants.

The bedroom was dark but Rue could swear he saw the red glint in Cal's eye before the man rolled him.

They ended up in a writhing, struggling heap on the far side of the immensity of king-sized bed, and this was more the speed to which Rue was accustomed. To Cal, punches, the hammering of fists, and thrown elbows were light as caresses anyhow, but Rue wrestled with him to the extent of his repertoire on the wide bed. He wound up pinned underneath, of course - Cal would have to be prone already or dead asleep for Rue to wind up on top - but it was the fight itself he couldn't give up, rather than any expectation of winning.

Cal settled over him, fierce grin visible even in the darkness. Their cocks overlapped and Cal was moving over him, easing his hips in small shocks that made Rue's breath speed up.

"Get off me," Rue huffed.

"No," Cal said, calm and almost apologetic. He bent to kiss Rue, who turned his head. "Rue..." That tone ripped at the scab of the afternoon, the alley, the flash of the pipe and not even enough time to think he was going to die but enough for ohshit, and how he hadn't thanked him, after. Cal's strong arms rested on either side of his head.

He lifted his chin and closed his eyes and Cal's lips were on him, the firmness of his mouth heavy. They rocked together for a long moment until Cal's hand moved between them, passing over naked flesh with a lingering touch until he reached Rue's underwear. This, he ripped down the side with a jerk. Fuck, another article of clothing to replace. The thought vanished like a shadow when lights flooded as Cal thrust against him, starting to lift him up as if he'd push into him dry. Their mouths were still locked and Rue tore away.

"Don't," he gasped, "don't you dare!"

Cal rose above him on hands and knees. "I wouldn't!" he said, aggrieved. "That would hurt me, too." There was a moment of consideration. "Maybe." He ran his hands up Rue's stomach and down his sides and his other hand reached down with an impatient tug to tear the rest of Rue's underwear off him and fling it aside.

"Fucking asshole," Rue said, without a large amount of rancor. "If anyone ever wondered why our third biggest expense is clothing..."

Cal ignored that. Instead, he fetched a tube of slickness and Rue seized the opening, scrambling for the foot of the bed. "Where are you going?" Cal demanded, catching him by the ankle and bringing him down.

Good question. Rue lay on his stomach and panted as Cal worked lube-ready fingers into him. He tried to push back every now and then, but Cal had an arm over his thighs and that was it so far as the struggle was concerned. Prep didn't usually last beyond three fingers to stoke him, between Cal's urgency and the fever-pitch of their bodies' demands by the point they actually got down to this part.

"Rue," Cal mumbled, planting nipping kisses over the curve of his buttock, the dip at the base of his spine. His dry, free hand stroked at Rue, then fingers dug into his skin, a prelude move that warned him Cal was going to flip him over.

"No," Rue protested, dropping his head into the cradle of his arms. This was another point of contention - Cal wanted acknowledgement or at least to see his face every time. It wasn't that he wasn't an imaginative lover, but he sure seemed to get off the most from the face-to-face contact. When Cal did him missionary, that meant more immersion.

Cal hooked an arm under his legs, spilling him onto his back over the spread, and Rue thrashed. "Fucker, if you were going to do it, you should just do it!" he groaned, kicking out of Cal's grip and trying to roll over again. Too bad a kick to the jaw never put an end to fun and games; at least, not when Cal got kicked. It was useless, because even if he escaped off the bed and somehow managed to make it to the bathroom, there wasn't a lock. Rue didn't even bother installing them anymore. Cal thought a lock meant the door was stuck extra tight.

"I want to see you," Cal insisted, pinning his legs, scowling down at him as Rue continued to struggle. "Damn it, Rue! Can't we just..."

"What does it matter so long as you get to put it in?" Rue gasped, pulling at the bedspread in the one dominance struggle left to him. Cal wanted him on his back, so fine, instead he'd bottom up for him, but it didn't mean--

Cal glared at him, relaxing his grip on Rue's legs, and Rue scrambled away, not sure where he would go from there but knowing he couldn't just lie down for it. No matter how grateful he was. An exasperated sigh greeted his actions, and Cal hooked him with offhand ease, scooping him onto his side.

"Fuck!" Rue cried, not really sure what he was protesting.

"I just want to make love with you."

"Don't make me laugh."

Cal laid his head on Rue's thigh, the tenderness of the gesture belied by the iron grip of one arm thrown over his legs. Still he reached up, easing Rue's erection along in his hand, recapturing interest that hadn't flagged so much after all. Palming it, thumb running over the head and down, Cal's hand telescoped wide to become the whole world. Rue's grip on the bedclothes slacked and he panted under the motion of that hand, pushing into it, aware too of Cal's hot cheek on his leg, then his mouth, and the enormity of the thumb circling on the aching tip of him. When he began to push his hips into that grip, it went away.

He fought again, a little, as Cal reeled him in on his side and jackknifed his legs, then positioned and thrust into him in more or less one long motion. Sound escaped Rue in a string of groans, and he grabbed onto the bedspread now for support as Cal rocked him with some serious thrusts, moving over him with more urgency than finesse.

The sudden fullness riveted him. For that instant the only thing in existence was Cal and the relentless drive of his hips. "Fuck...oh, god, fuck," Rue panted, as Cal moved over and into him, the blunt surety of him dragging over an orgiastic nerve cluster inside with almost every quiver. A large hand caressed his face and Rue closed his eyes. Cal's other hand was on his hip, holding him in place. Even when they touched, grinding together in the prelude or Cal's insistence pressed against him, it was easy to lose all conception of the proportions of Cal until the length and girth of him was slicked-up and seated. Rue held onto his anchoring handful of comforter and kept his teeth clamped shut as the tight, short thrusts that had sawed him open changed mid-stroke into that long, leisurely pace. Rue felt bursts of pleasure spark up his spine with the withdrawal and return and his eyes squeezed shut as he was intimately acquainted, yet again, with just how much pleasure the slow pumping of that thickness sent shuddering through his body. He jolted on the quilt with each beat and his teeth dented his own lip and Cal rolled him, pulling out between one thrust and the next to shift his position, settling Rue on the spread beneath him and driving in even more deeply.

He wrung a groan from him at last, and now Rue almost regretted his insistence on sprawling face-down; Cal mounted him without prelude or caution and pushed in so fast and deep Rue tasted blood. He'd bitten his cheek and the iron of it spread over his tongue, flavoring his renewed stubborn silence as he swayed forward on hands and knees, borne by Cal's weight on his back. There was breath on his skin, lips on his nape, and fine-boned big hands that curved over his everything, stroking chest and stomach and on down to his cock. He was so hard it slapped his belly as Cal strained in him to the deepest point, and the new position spread him out with legs braced wide, helpless to anything but taking it.

His world narrowed to light falling over his knuckles, strained white under the dimness of sun filtered through half-closed blinds. The scent of sex, Cal's musk and mingled sweat, the ripeness tickling his nose that presaged male eruption; it washed over him as he bore up under the weight of the man and the fullness that threatened to split him as Cal worked his length back and forth. He took it and rolled beneath it, his own cock straining into the coverlet. Lips soft on his nape, no longer sucking or biting marks into his skin and last Cal's fingers, closing over him as he pulled Rue tight into the spasmodic climax of his pistoning sex. The weight of him quickened, jerked atop him in fragmented rhythm that eased into slow thrusts straight to the core of him.

Like the pulse loud in his ears, his ragged breath filled the space around him, and Rue stared at the play of light over his skin and Cal's. He pushed back and Cal was there, too, hand wrapped around him and coaxing, urging, rough like the incessant whispered imprecations in his ear...Rue's head dropped to their interlaced hands as he gave in, finally. He folded under Cal's strength and came, breath sputtering, Cal's hand turning palm-up to touch his face, and Rue bit down on his fingers, nibbled and sucked as he eased himself in the grip of Cal's thighs, the hand moving on him, and yielded to pleasure.

It felt as if he came for a long time. They settled into the bedspread, still entwined. Rue was too exhausted and Cal too content and heavy to be dislodged.

"There." Cal's teeth were on the back of his neck, a light imprint then gone, replaced by the moist fullness of Cal's mouth. "Was that so bad?"

Still submerged in the afterglow, Rue mumbled, "'S always good."

Cal chuckled warmly, wrapping an arm over his waist and tugging them over into a spooning position on the rumpled bedspread. He pressed a kiss to the back of Rue's ear and something that sounded suspiciously like an endearment. They lay in the dimming brilliance of the sun that gilded the blinds fit to set them on fire as it reached that particular angle of evening. Soon other bodily needs would take precedence; there was, after all, damn fine take-out still cooling on the counter.

For now Rue was content to lie unresisting, for once. Any object in motion had to come to rest before long.

Despite his best resolution and the fact that he was still hungry, Rue had almost fallen asleep by the time his pants rang. This continued for a moment until he was certain it was real and not a pre-dream auditory hallucination. "Ah, hell." He fumbled for the edge of the bed and the arm around him loosened enough for Rue to wriggle free.

Retrieving his cell phone was a perilous maneuver that pitched him over the edge on his elbows, legs still tangled on the bed above. With a grunt of annoyance, Rue got a hand on his cell phone and extracted it from his shredded pants far enough to note it was an unknown number, then took it and grappled his way back up onto the bed. A hand gripped his waist, steadying him as he heaved himself back up and letting him know Cal was awake now, too.

"Pierce here," he answered his phone, frowning. It was after the typical business hours but technically his contract with the supernatural division was still active. If it were Orion contacting him, it would've been through one of Rue's pre-programmed numbers.

"Mr. Pierce," Marina's voice husked in his ear. "Are you able to talk?"

Cal's arm tightened over Rue's midsection and for the first time Rue considered the fact that Cal could probably hear both sides of the conversation whenever he was on the phone. It was an unsettling thought.

"If I couldn't, I wouldn't have picked up the phone," he said dryly.

"Well. Yes. I thought...given the fact Ms. Schieler tried to have you killed, you might want a little closure on the case--"

"Did Detective Randall get any motives from her?" Rue interrupted. That was really the closure he was curious to hear.

"Oh." There was an awkward pause. "Well, as a matter of fact, yes. Once she was ID'd in the line-up, and she discovered your confirmation as well as mine when I joined Detective Randall for a later interrogation, she told us everything."

"She was proud of it," Rue guessed.

"She was," Marina agreed. Her voice was hoarse when she continued, as if she'd talked herself out before picking up the phone to call Rue. "She told us how she practiced in Chicago until she perfected the Working that would allow her to kill like that, from a distance. Recruiting an accomplice, and researching different targets in the city with his help. Did you know that Richard Vanderbrant's birthday is five days from now?"

Rue sucked in a harsh breath. "There's an eye-opener. So, if she didn't succeed today, she would have killed him?"

"That's everyone's best guess." Marina's voice dipped. "That boy. He was her lover, and she killed him. She didn't show the slightest bit of remorse over it. When the detective asked her why, she would only say that he knew too much."

"Why did she do it?"

The mega-million dollar question. Rue was certain even as he asked it that he didn't want to know the answer, not really.

"She said--" Marina had to pause, choking a bit. She sniffed hard. "Sorry, Mr. Pierce. She said...it was an audition."

Rue's gut tightened. It was disgusting, yet nothing he hadn't expected. At least he had to tell himself that much. For one human to do something that terrible and final when over half the world had died of the demons went beyond madness. "How soon do you think I'll have to testify," he asked shortly, thinking it was less 'have to' than pure privilege.

There was a beat of hesitation on the line, then Marina said, "But you won't have to, Mr. Pierce. That's why I called."

"Why not?" Rue demanded, stunned. Different scenarios chased through his head; Schieler had escaped, and he should set up a defensive Work at once, she had made bail, the police had been paid off, something worse - a psychemaster had stolen in and busted her out, lifting a potential apprentice or at least a creature to be used.

"She's dead," Marina said flatly. "She was put in a general lock-up. Apparently some kind of processing error. By the time the detective sorted it out, she was already dead."

Vanderbrant, the thought went numbly through his head, but this time he had the sense not to voice it. There would be no proving it, but in this instance, Rue trusted his intuition. The man was by all accounts ruthless enough to have such a tremendous potential threat eliminated immediately. In all honesty, Rue could not bring himself to believe it had been truly wrong - but bloodshed to answer blood was never the right answer. Putting her outside the Wall, perhaps...

"Thank you, Marina," Rue said quietly. "I'm sure you want to get home."

"Yes. Well." She sniffed again heavily. "I hope you have someone to keep you warm, Rue. This was a nasty one, I know I won't forget any time soon."

Rue laughed, but his heart wasn't in it. They said their goodbyes. Marina expressed the hope to work with him again, sometime soon. Then he thumbed the button to end his call, and set the phone aside. After a moment he squirmed, and the heavy sprawl of the larger body made room for him, settled over and partially enclosed him. Rue let out the sigh he hadn't even realized he'd built up, and long fine-boned fingers stroked his stomach. Breath stirred his nape, warm and regular. There was always someone beside him -- whether he wanted it or not. And there were plenty of times when what he needed the most was what he couldn't ask for.

"Anything important?" Cal's whisper was tentative, as if he'd been uncertain to give such explicit notice he was awake.

Rue closed his eyes and sank into the arms that held him. "No," he said, letting it go. On any other day, unless he were dead tired he'd fight until subdued to get out of this embrace. "Nothing at all." In a moment, he'd suggest they get up, shower, fetch their son and have dinner. In a moment. He couldn't find any compelling reasons to claim it as an immediate need.

It wasn't any other day, and he didn't have to ask for what he needed most.

+fin+