Cherry handed me a towel and kept one for herself. I wound the towel around my hair and retrieved a second towel for my body. We dried off in silence, no eye contact. It wasn't shower protocol; girls aren't as hung up about that as guys. I just didn't want to talk about what had happened. Not yet.
I wrapped the oversized towel securely around my body, and asked, "Why is Jean-Claude in jail?"
"For murdering you," she said.
I stared at her for a few seconds, and when I could talk, I said, "Pass that by me again. Slowly."
"Someone got pictures of Jean-Claude carrying you out of the club. You were covered in blood, Anita. He was covered in your blood." She shrugged, drying off a spot she'd missed on one long leg.
"But I'm alive," I said. It sounded almost silly saying it.
"And how would you explain that in less than a week you were healed of wounds that should have killed you?" She straightened, slinging the towel over one shoulder, not bothering to cover even an inch of her body.
"I don't want him in jail for something he didn't do," I said.
"If you go tonight, the police will want to know how you healed yourself. What are you going to tell them?" Her eyes were very direct. So direct it made me want to squirm.
"You're treating me like a lycanthrope who hasn't come out of the closet yet. I'm not a shapeshifter, Cherry."
She dropped her gaze then, wouldn't meet my eyes. It reminded me of the looks they'd all given each other in the room where I woke up. I touched her chin, having to reach up to do it. "What aren't you guys telling me?"
A man's voice came from outside the showers. "Can I please come in and clean off?" It was Micah. I'd planned on running for the hills the next time I saw him, but there was something in Cherry's eyes that kept me frozen. She was scared. And there was something else, something I couldn't quite read.
I yelled back, "Just a minute!" Then I continued, "Cherry, tell me. Whatever it is, just tell me."
She shook her head. She was afraid, but of what? "Are you afraid of me?" I couldn't keep the surprise out of my voice.
She nodded, looking down again, avoiding my gaze.
"I would never hurt you, any of you."
"For this you might," she whispered.
I grabbed her arm. "Cherry, damn it, talk to me."
She opened her mouth, closed it, and turned towards the door a second before Micah Callahan walked through, as if she'd heard him before I had. He was still naked. I expected to be embarrassed, but I wasn't. I was beginning to have the proverbial bad feeling about whatever it was that Cherry didn't want to tell me.
Micah had combed his hair. It was definitely curls, not waves. The curls were tight, but not small. The color was that shade of dark, dark brown -- almost black -- that comes to people who start out white blond as children, then darken. The curls fell to just below his shoulders, and, following the line of hair, my eyes found his chest. I quickly moved them up so I could concentrate on his face. Eye contact. That was the ticket. I was getting back to the embarrassment.
"I told you we'd be out in a minute." My voice sounded grumpy, and I was glad. The fact that I was sort of clutching the towel to my body was purely coincidental.
"I heard you," he said. His face, voice, were neutral. Not as neutral as a vampire's can become. They are the champs of blank expression. But Micah was trying.
"Then wait outside until we're finished," I said.
"Cherry is afraid of you," he said.
I frowned at him, then at her. "Why, for God's sake?"
Cherry looked at him, and he gave a small nod. She moved away from me towards the door. She didn't leave the room, but she got as far away from me as she could.
"What in hell is going on?" I asked.
Micah was standing about four feet away, close, but not too close. I could see his eyes better now, and they were so not human. I knew at a glance that they didn't belong in his face. "She's afraid you'll kill the messenger," he said, voice soft.
"Look, all this tap dancing is getting old. Just tell me."
He nodded, winced as if it hurt. "The doctors seem to think that you've been infected with lycanthropy."
I shook my head. "Serpentine lycanthropy isn't really lycanthropy. It's not a disease that I can catch. You either are cursed by a witch into snake form, or it's inherited like a swanmane." That made me think of the three women I'd last seen chained to a wall in the room of swords. "By the way, what happened to the swanmanes in the club?"
Micah frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Without warning, Nathaniel entered the shower. I was beginning to feel positively overdressed in my towel. "We rescued them."
"The snake leader changed his mind after I got hurt?"
"He changed it after Sylvie and Jamil nearly killed him."
Ah. "So they're okay," I said.
He nodded, but his face stayed serious, his eyes gentle, like someone who's about to tell you really bad news.
"Don't you start, too. I cannot catch serpentine shit. It doesn't work that way."
"Gregory isn't into serpentine shit," he said, the voice as gentle as his eyes.
I blinked at him. "What are you talking about?"
Nathaniel started to come farther into the room, but Cherry caught his arm, kept him near the door for a quick getaway--I think. Zane appeared in the doorway behind them. He was still the six-feet, pale, overly thin, but muscular guy I'd met when he was trashing a hospital emergency room. But he'd dyed his hair to an iridescent pale green, cut short, spiked. The fact that he was fully dressed actually looked odd to me. Of course, it was Zane's version of street clothes that ran to leather, no shirt, and vests.
I looked at the three of them in the doorway. They were so solemn. I remembered Gregory falling into me during the fight. His claws piercing me. "I've been cut up a lot worse by a wereleopard, and I didn't catch it," I said.
"Dr. Lillian thinks it may be because the wound was a deep piercing wound, instead of a surface cut," Cherry said, in a voice that was almost shaky. She was scared, scared of how I'd take the news, or scared of something else, but what?
"I am not going to be Nimir-Ra for real, guys. I can't catch lycanthropy. If I could ... I've already been cut up enough ... I'd have turned furry already."
The three of them just looked at me with wide eyes. I turned from them to Micah. His face was still neutral, careful, but there was a shadow in his eyes of ... pity. Pity? I did not do pity, not as the object of it, anyway.
"You're serious," I said.
"You're exhibiting all the secondary symptoms," he said. "Rapid healing to the point that your muscles cramp. A temperature hot enough to boil the brain of a human. Yet when they lowered your temperature you nearly died. You needed to bake in the warmth, the heat of your pard to heal. That's how we healed you. It wouldn't have worked if you weren't one of us."
I shook my head. "I don't believe you."
"That's okay," he said, "you've got two weeks until the full moon. You won't change for the first time until then. You've got time."
"Time for what?" I asked.
"Time to mourn," he said.
I turned away from the compassion in his eyes, the pity. Shit. I still didn't believe it. "How about a blood test? That should prove it one way or the other."
Cherry answered, "Wolf lycanthropy shows up in the bloodstream anywhere from twenty-four to forty-eight hours, sometimes seventy-two. Leopard lycanthropy, most of the big cat lycanthropies, take anywhere from seventy-two hours to over eight days to show up in the bloodstream. A blood test won't prove anything yet."
I stared at them, trying to wrap my mind around it, and it just wouldn't wrap. I shook my head. "I can't deal with this right now."
"You're going to have to deal with it," Micah said.
I shook my head. "Tonight, I have to get Jean-Claude out of jail. I have to show the police he didn't murder me."
"Your pard told me that you wouldn't want to be outted. That you wouldn't want your police friends to know."
"I am not a wereleopard," I said. It sounded stubborn even to me.
Micah smiled, gently, and that pissed me off. "Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?" he asked.
"Like a poor little deluded girl. There are things you don't understand about me, about where my power comes from."