The truth about Crin Dalmeiier was that she could turn blue.
This was actually not a euphemism or even a comparison. When Crin turned blue, she turned blue, the sharp, unbelievable, glowing shade of robin’s egg blue. Her pale features almost evaporated into the pure color that washed over her and even the odd shade of auburn that her hair sported disappeared into the cobalt tidal wave, her whole body lighting up like an unbelievable human beacon. Any observers standing on the bank of the Hudson River near the building that housed the Parisian Fox would have seen this spectacular event for themselves, for even as she fell, Crin began to glow.
As it turned out, the only one to see this happen was Jacks, who didn’t even have time to digest the change. The tall lawyer was too preoccupied with watching key moments in his life flash before his eyes to realize that his companion was doing something that no human should be able to do, even when the blue aura expanded to include him. Without any preamble or ceremony, the two were flung across space and time and dumped rather humiliatingly into the Hudson River. Jacks let out a yell and promptly swallowed a cold, disgusting mouthful of water. The azure light dissipated into the chill of the water, leaving two bedraggled victims behind, and only one conscious.
The next few minutes were hectic. Jacks, realizing that both he and Crin were alive, was just as shocked to see that the fall (and the hit to the head from the gun, although there wasn’t any way that he could know that) had knocked the woman out. He swung about in the water to get a look at the building, nearly submerging completely—the building was over fifty feet away from the water, and they had landed clear in the middle of the river. There was no possible way the wind could have blown them that for, or that they could have made it on their own momentum.
Well, he thought to himself, pulling an arm around the unconscious Crin and beginning to swim to shore, I always wondered what it would be like to see Crin again. I just didn’t expect that much drama.
Even though the woman was wet and unconscious, Jacks could see that she had changed in the eight years they had been apart. She wasn’t any taller—she had finished growing at thirteen, much to her own consternation—but her hair was shorter than he remembered, and her features were sharper, older, perhaps even a little sadder. Even unconscious, she looked grim. He dragged her to shore easily—she didn’t weigh very much—and set her down clear of the rocks, frowning. They needed to get to a building, but it looked like he would have to carry her. He couldn’t leave her out there alone when she was knocked out, after all. He needed to call 911, but his cell phone had taken a dunking with him.
As if sensing his dilemma, she shifted and her eyes crawled open, unseeing for a minute before they cleared. Jacks nearly leapt backwards at this—her eyes were glowing, a bright blue that almost matched neon in its intensity. She blinked, and the blue was gone, giving way to the stormy grey he remembered. "Jacks? What are you—oh." She broke off to swear and struggled to sit up, waving off his offered hand. Jacks stared. He’d never heard such vulgarity from a woman’s mouth before. "It wasn’t a dream. Did he get away?"
She recovered awfully quickly for somebody who had just defied death against all odds. "He?" Jacks repeated, still dazed.
She began brushing at her wet clothes, ignoring him for the most part. One hand stayed on the back of her head. "Yeah—the guy who threw the knife?"
"Guy?" In the middle of patting himself down, searching for any hidden injuries, Jacks turned to stare at his rather unlikely companion. "I thought that the woman—"
Crin sucked a deep breath through gritted teeth, finally giving any indication that she was injured at all. She tried to bat Jacks’ hands away as he pushed at her shoulder, trying to get her to hold still. Finally, she gave up and let him check her over, too weak to resist. "Rachel was only trying to kill me. She nearly had me, too, but then that guy came up. Don’t know who he was—"
"William Spodsere," Jacks interrupted, feeling along her neck for any protrusions. "He goes by Willy Spores on the street. He was my client." He didn’t mention that it was because of Willy that he had been at the nightclub at all. His head was spinning too fast to contemplate any links.
Crin’s expression tightened. "I’ve heard of him. So you’re a lawyer now?"
"Yes." Jacks winced when he felt the goose-egg already forming on the back of her head, his sympathy only growing when she cursed. For a second, it looked as though she was trying as hard as she could not to sock him. He held a hand out to stop her and twisted to check the lump, prodding at the area around it with a gentle finger.
She barely had the energy to bat his hand away. "Ow! Jacks! Stop it!"
Jacks whistled lowly. "You really clocked yourself that one. You’ll be feeling that one for awhile."
"I feel it now." Her energy gone, she sagged half-against him, scowling to show that this was entirely against her will. She really hadn’t changed that much from fifteen, Jacks decided. Certainly, she was older—and prettier, too—but the same stubborn backbone was evident even when she was practically an inch away from collapsing on him. Her whole body was shaking with tremors, but her grey eyes were still glittering obstinately.
It was time to take matters into his own hands. The breeze coming off of the Hudson had cooled their skin to the point of a chill, and "Can you walk?"
"No." Crin scowled at her weakened condition, her ire only growing as Jacks, without another word, stooped and collected her against him. "This is incredibly humiliating," she felt the need to point out.
"At least you don’t weigh much." Snaking an arm underneath her knees and wrapping his other arm around her, Jacks shifted her so that she acted as a sort of sling about him. "I could carry you like a sack of potatoes, you know."
"My thanks." Crin’s dry words were muffled against his chest. She had been trying hard to hide the shaking, Jacks saw now. The adrenaline from the fall, and whatever she had done to save both of them was wreaking havoc on her system, and her wet jeans and drippy, thin shirt weren’t helping matters at all. Her hair fell about her head in a wet tangle, obscuring most of her pale face. It looked black when it was wet. "Do you think anybody caught the guy?"
Jacks shrugged, and nearly dropped Crin. He received a scowl for his blunder.
By the time they reached the front of the building that housed the Parisian Fox, mass confusion had erupted from the nightclub and patrons were wandering about in crazed circles, demanding to know what was going on. Jacks didn’t see any ambulances yet, so he propped Crin against the side of the building and plunged into the fray, craning his neck over the crowd. It didn’t take him long to spot Tim—his accountant friend dwarfed basketball players on a regular basis. Jacks appeared at his elbow. "Tim!"
The accountant turned. "What, did you fall in?" he asked, staring at Jacks’ wet and dripping countenance.
Luckily the night was warm, otherwise Jacks might have been crankier about his situation. However, he had other matters to worry about right now. "Actually, yes. I fell in. Into the Hudson River, that is. Can I borrow your jacket?" Confused, Tim stripped out of the garment. Jacks rushed off with it without so much as a thank-you, trusting that his friend would follow. By the time he made his way back to Crin, her eyelids were drooping and she was struggling to stay awake. "Crin," Jacks said, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her. "You can’t fall asleep now. C’mon, stay awake."
She glowered, but didn’t resist when he wrapped Tim’s jacket around her shivering frame. Instead, she stared over his shoulder, eyes glazing over. Jacks nearly cursed; he had been wondering how long it would take for shock to set in. Before he could start feeling useless, Tim was there, crowding into their space and lifting Crin’s chin with his hand, shining a small penlight in her eyes. This time, she actually swore and mustered the energy to give them both a superior scowl.
"What on earth happened?" Tim demanded, looking for the bedraggled redhead to his best friend. "You go to the bathroom and end up jumping into a river with a shell-shocked chick you’ve never met?"
"Oh, we’ve met," Jacks said grimly. "We met eleven years ago. She was at the scene of the murder tonight. We ended up chasing the wrong suspect out a window and fell into the river." And he had not a doubt in his mind that she was the very same "Sticks" that he had been sent to guard that evening.
"Stay awake, darling," Tim told Crin, letting go of her chin. "I think the ambulance should be here in a minute. You two should probably get to the ER."
"A-Adele’s here," Crin managed through chattering teeth.
The piercing wail of an oncoming ambulance made both of the men jump. "Look, I can get her to the ambulance," Jacks told his friend. "Want to try looking for this Adele woman?" He looked at Crin, nudged her shoulder to make sure she was still awake. She jumped and gave him a look, trying to mask the fact that she had been very near sleep. "What’s Adele look like?"
Stuttering and chattering, Crin managed to convey that Adele had shoulder-length brown hair, and was wearing a green top and black jeans. "S-south-southern accent," she forced out before she collapsed against Jacks, out for the count.
"I’m amazed she held on that long," Tim remarked, helping Jacks lift the woman. His jacket was drenched through, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he forked off into the crowd, already on the hunt. To Jacks’ amazement, the crowd parted for him. Somehow, he got the feeling that that had more to do with the jacket-clad, shivering body that he was carrying rather than his devilish good looks. The paramedics spotted him coming and two rushed up, firing questions at him.
"What happened?"
"Fell out of the building into the river—accident—"
"How long has she been out?"
"Two minutes—"
Question and after question tumbled against one another, enough to make Jacks’ head spin. By the time that Tim found him again, dragging who he could only assume to be Adele, the paramedics were loading Crin onto a stretcher and muttering about shock and concussions. "I’ll ride along," Adele offered immediately, pushing past Jacks to get into the ambulance beside her friend. "Are you two coming?" She looked questioningly at Jacks and Tim.
"I have to give a statement to the police," Jacks said regretfully. He watched the ambulance doors slam and turned away, head still ringing.
"You’re kidding, right? Buffy is a full inch and a half taller than Crin. Plus, she fights vampires. I mean, Crin can kick any old bounty in the head as good as the next hunter, but she wouldn’t last against a vampire. I stand by my original claim." Deke tossed a milkdud into the air and caught it with his mouth, a trick that he had worked all through high school.
Kaye, meanwhile, was giving him an absurd look. "You know how tall Buffy is? And how tall Crin is? What are you, obsessive?"
"Sure I know how tall Crin is. She’s the same height as you." They were walking down Birch Lane, near the Crin and Company headquarters. The movie had let out some time earlier, and Deke had swung for sodas and milkduds. "Five feet, and one and a half inches. I’ve heard you correct me enough to know that the half inch counts."
"Good man," Kaye commented just as Deke’s cell phone, which he wore strapped to his bicep, began to wail Fleetwood Mac’s Rhiannon. "We really need to talk about that ringer tone, buddy."
"Shut it," Deke ordered, flipping the cell phone on. "Hello?" Even Kaye could hear the person on the other end ramble on. After a minute, Deke stopped walking, his eyebrows latching together. He held up a hand to stop any questions on Kaye’s part. "All right, all right. We’ll be there in a few minutes. Who are you, again? Adele? Okay, we’ll be there in a few minutes. Tell her that—if she’s conscious." He closed the cell phone without saying good-bye and turned to Kaye, whose eyes had grown wider throughout the conversation. "It’s Crin. She’s in the hospital."
She grabbed his arm, fingers digging in painfully. "What?!"
"Yeah—took a dive out the nightclub window, landed in the Hudson River." Deke’s long legs hurried both of them to the alley beside the headquarters and he hurriedly pulled the tarp off of Crin’s pride and joy. "She’s okay. No broken bones or anything. Just a pretty big goose-egg." He hurriedly dug a set of keys from his pocket and prayed Crin wouldn’t kill him for using her Ducati Monster 1000. "C’mon, this’ll be quicker than a cab."
Kaye was scrabbling for her own cell phone, waving him off. "Give me a minute—I have to call Dad."
While she was making the phone call, Deke wheeled the Ducati out into the street, waiting until she hung up to start the bike. It was one of Crin’s rare indulgences—normally, she was a frugal woman, living off of the unstable bounty hunting wages. She hated leaning back on the giant trust fund she had received as the only heir to the Dalmeiier line. Still, she hadn’t hesitated to dig in to purchase her motorcycle. It gleamed in the streetlights, a black monolith of sleek beauty built for speed. Crin rarely let anybody touch it, but she had given Deke a spare set of keys as a measure of trust.
She would kill him if she found out he was driving it without a helmet, but he could deal with that later. He started it up, the raw power rumbling from the bike to his body. Kaye hurried up and swung on behind him, tightening her hold on him into a death-grip. Although Deke didn’t have his own bike, he had gone through the training course and had his own motorcycle license (mainly in case a moment like this ever DID happen). He guided them from Birch Lane to Memorial Hospital with nary a problem, expression grim. One should enjoy any ride on a Ducati, but the fact that Crin was in the hospital hung over their heads like a very persistent thundercloud. It took everything the two had not to sprint for the emergency room.
The waiting room was relatively empty, with only a few people scattered about. Deke paled at the sight of a police officer questioning a woman he recognized as Adele from the photographs. Her eyes widened as the pair of them entered, lingering on Kaye. Of course, Deke thought silently. Kaye and Crin were often confused for sisters, so it didn’t surprise him that Adele noticed them by that fact alone. "You’re Kaye and Deke?" she asked, excusing herself from her conversation with the police officer.
"How is she? Is she all right?" Kaye asked instead of answering. Her black hair was tousled from the bike ride, and her nose was red from trying to hold in the worried tears. Both she and Deke knew that Crin couldn’t swim, so it couldn’t be anything good if she had been dumped into the Hudson River. How had she managed to get out? Had somebody pushed her in?
The police officer butted in before Adele could finish bringing them up to speed. "You two know…Corinthia Dalmeiier?" He struggled with the last name in particular.
"That’s pronounced Dal-my-er," Kaye corrected. "Yes. Crin’s my biological aunt, and Deke’s boss. Why? What’s she done now?" It was an inevitable situation: whenever cops were involved, it was just natural that Crin had pulled some sort of stupid stunt. At least she had learned to keep her concealed weapon license on her at all times.
"At the moment, she’s the only witness we have to a murder that took place earlier this evening." The officer shifted uneasily at Deke’s intense gaze. "We’re still waiting to get the full story from her. When she’s able to answer questions, that is. You—you said you’re related to Ms. Dalmeiier."
"Yes—she’s my biological aunt and my adopted sister." Kaye and Crin usually didn’t tell people that they were legally sisters, usually because they enjoyed the reactions when they told people they were aunt and niece. "I can tell you anything you need to know about her. We grew up together…sort of." It had been rough when Crin had been shipped up north to join the ranks of Podmore students. Kaye, who had been seven at the time, didn’t understand why they wanted Crin—Crin had been her aunt, not theirs, therefore she had more right to keeping Crin in New York with her.
While Kaye answered the officer’s questions, Deke took the opportunity to step to the side and offer his hand to Crin’s friend Adele. "I’m Derek Harrison, Crin’s…well, I guess you could say I’m her sidekick, even though she refers to me as her business associate. We spoke on the phone?" Up close, he saw that she was even more stunning than her photographs led one to believe. Her skin was enriched by the sun, her blue eyes sparkled even in her worry over her best friend. Her hair was still done up for a night of dancing, but strands of it had fled the barrette and were framing her face in anxious wisps.
"Oh! You’re Deke!" Adele’s southern accent was thick and almost jarring in the New York emergency room setting. She looked so much like any other nightclub visitor in New York that the southern accent made him stop and think for a second. Her handshake was firmer than he expected, as well. "Crin’s mentioned you time and again. I’m Adele Warren, since you’ve already guessed and all."
"It’s nice to actually see more of you than a photograph," Deke informed her. "What happened at the nightclub?"
Adele shook her head, growing pale under the fluorescent lighting. "I’m not sure. One minute she leaves to go to the bathroom, the next we’re all being herded downstairs and everybody’s whispering about a murder. She just seemed to appear out of nowhere—this guy had apparently hauled her out of the river. I’m thinking she fell from the Parisian Fox but that’s…" She trailed off and pulled at her jacket sleeves fretfully, her gaze on him rather puzzled. "Unless she was using her…"
"Unless her strange powers saved her?" Deke finished, figuring out why she was looking at him so nervously. She was obviously wondering if he knew about Crin’s strange abilities. "It’s entirely possible. She shoved me through a glass wall with them once."
Adele stared. "Did she really?"
Deke was about to answer, but he was nearly knocked aside by Kaye, who had just spotted her family and was running towards them. Deke excused himself from Adele and followed more slowly. They’d come out in full force, all of the Westminsters that Crin spoke so fondly of on many occasions. Kaye, Micah, and Gwen Westminster were her siblings in essence and though she had always seen Evan first as her brother, it was obvious to anybody who knew her that he was quite happy to be the father figure in her life. Eileen had often filled in as a surrogate mother, and Crin loved her for it. They hadn’t owed her a thing, yet they’d taken her in with their brood. Deke knew from firsthand experience that the Westminsters were an adoptive family—they’d certainly dragged him into the family when Kaye had brought him home after rehearsal one night.
Now, the newly arrived Westminsters were firing questions at Adele and Kaye almost too fast for the two women to keep up. Deke kept his distance, knowing how loud it could get in the fray of this particular family. Of the four of them, Micah and Gwen looked rather bored, for they were rather used to Crin’s antics landing her in the hospital. However, Evan and Eileen exuded the aching intensity of a parent’s anxiety. They sat down on either side of Kaye to wait, and Deke reluctantly took a seat next to Micah.
"Hey, man," Micah greeted, jutting his chin upward in greeting.
Deke gave him the obligatory handshake, high-five hybrid that was required for a conversation with Micah. "How’s it going? You still playing basketball?"
"Nah, coach thought I would be too short. They’ve got me playing soccer now." It was an ironic twist of fate—Crin and her family were probably the most athletic people Deke knew, but they were all doomed to be short. Evan Westminster was only around 5’9" and only three inches taller than his wife. Kaye and Crin had inherited Crin’s mother’s height, it seemed, for they stood at exactly 5’1.5" each. Gwen, at twelve, was already taller than the pair of them, and Micah was creeping up to his father’s height. "Right defender. What about you? How’s it going working for my sisters?" Both he and Gwen referred to Crin as a sister.
"Slow, as of late, which is why all hell decided to break loose tonight." Deke kept an eye on Kaye as he talked. With the possible exception of Adele, she was the closest to Crin of the group. He wondered if he should get up and ask a passing nurse, seeing as none of them knew exactly what had transpired between Crin’s leaving for the bathroom and landing in the river. Whatever it was, it would have Crin grumpy for days.
"You still in that band?" Micah wanted to know. "Plate of Monkeys or whatever it is?"
"Paladin of Monkeys," Deke corrected absently. "Currently on hiatus, as the main singer is kicking it back in Fulsom for a couple of months. The town, not the prison." Besides that, he hadn’t even touched his keyboard in a few days. The other members of Paladin called to check on him every few days, but other than that, they didn’t keep in touch. They’d known each other in high school, and it had just been natural choice to start a band after a few afternoons of just playing cover songs from their favorite bands. "What about you? Still playing guitar?"
Micah never answered, for at that moment, Crin strolled into the waiting room, looking just as though she hadn’t kept seven people on their edge of their seats waiting. Immediately, she was surrounded by Adele and her family, all of them talking and questioning at once so that all anybody could hear was a giant gabble of words. She laughed when she could get a word in, leaning on Evan for support. She was the color of milk, and desperately trying to hide it behind her gaiety. "Have I got a story for you guys!"
