Page 52 of Petrified

His eyes go bright, and he tries to cover it with a crooked smile. “That was disgustingly sincere.”

“You started it.”

“I know. That was my first mistake.”

I kiss him before he can keep going, and this time he laughs against my mouth. When we settle again, he stays tucked between us with Amand’s hand resting over his thigh and my arm around his waist.

After a while, Lev looks toward the folder on the coffee table. “There was one useful thing in Gerald’s old Chameleon records.”

Amand hums softly. “The bond information.”

Lev nods. “My body is stable. It isn't still marching toward some mystery collapse we have not found yet. Your magic and venom are already part of my baseline now.”

I look down at him. “And you're comfortable with that?”

Lev twists enough to look back at me. “I was comfortable with you two before I knew what the biology was doing. Now I just know I'm not going to randomly drop dead because one of you spends too long at the grocery store.”

Amand gives him a flat look. “That was never the actual threshold.”

“You don't know that. Grocery stores are dangerous places.”

I snort, earning a glare from Lev that has no real heat behind it, and pull him tighter against me.

Chapter 16

EPILOGUE

Leviathan

Six weeks later, I've learned three things about owning part of a private investigation business. Being able to disappear doesn't legally exempt me from paperwork, Rowan should never be allowed to choose office furniture without supervision because apparently every chair needs to support the weight of a shifted rhinoceros, and Amand considers a labeled filing system an act of love. I'm currently ignoring all three lessons from behind my desk.

Our new office is smaller than Essence, quieter than Essence, and missing the unsettling sensation that somebody might be measuring my magical output every time I scratch my ass. I consider that a significant improvement. We have two interview rooms, one storage room, an office big enough for all three of us, and a coffee machine Rowan bought after I threatened to leave him over the one that came with the building.

Gerald is still dealing with the investigation into everything he did, and enough of Essence has been dismantled, reorganized, or dragged through legal review that I stopped checking the updates unless something directly affects us. The Chameleon records are ours now. My father’s files are locked in the safe behind Amand’s desk, and I've managed to read most of them without either throwing up or putting my fist through anything expensive, which I'm counting as progress.

Amand looks up from his computer when I lean back far enough to put both feet on Rowan’s thigh. Rowan catches one ankle automatically and keeps reading the report in his lap while rubbing his thumb over the bone.

“You have your own chair,” Amand says.

“I also have two mates. It would be wasteful not to use the available furniture.”

Rowan doesn't look up. “He has a point.”

Amand stares at him for a second before returning to his screen. “You are the reason he keeps doing this.”

“I was doing this before him,” I point out, sinking lower in my chair when Amand gives me another look. “So if anything, Rowan is enabling a preexisting condition.”

“That is somehow worse.” Amand goes back to whatever he is working on, and I grin because this is exactly the kind of argument I'm happy to have for the foreseeable future.

Cases come to us now instead of through somebody deciding what kind of magical disaster might force another useful trick out of me. We take what interests us, turn down what does not, and charge people enough that Amand finally stopped making that face every time I mention my consultation rate. We have already handled three cases without anybody being petrified, impaled by a unicorn horn, drained for a resurrection ritual, or used as a laboratory stimulus, which has started giving me dangerously optimistic ideas about normal investigative work.

The receptionist ruins that almost immediately when her voice comes through the speaker on my desk. “There is a man here who says he has an identity problem.”

I glance toward Amand and reach for the button. “Tell him to call the DMV.”

The pause on the other end lasts long enough that I know I'm not getting out of this that easily. “He says the problem is supernatural.”

“Of course he does.” I pull my feet off Rowan and sit upright while he finally lowers the report in his lap. “How supernatural are we talking?”