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Making Allies

November 27th, 8:45pm (A few days later) San Francisco Bay ...

Fox ran his fingers through his sister's hair to stop her from doing her situps. His eyes met hers and he drew his hand back. "Paz, calm down. What's on your mind? You've been beating yourself up for two days. Exercising until it hurts _me_to watch you. I know you're trying to get back into shape but this is more than that. What's on your mind?" With his other hand, he folded a newspaper in sloppy fashion then tucked it under his left arm.

"That bastard killed Vincent and Aunt Nicky. He almost killed you."

"Karla rescued me."

"Yeah, I'll have to personally thank her for that. If I'd lost you, I don't know what I'd do."

"Funny, I feel the same way about you. I have a lot of pent up aggression towards that guy, too, but... the fact is, in the end..."

"Yeah." Her eyes lowered to the floor. "I know what you're going to say, Fox. You're happy that he let me live. It doesn't make sense. The guy kills his own people, like Rick Peterson. But he doesn't kill me. Why?"

"Actually," Fox trailed off.

"What?"

"I, uh... I killed Rick. He stuck me with an IV sedative on drip. I was just coming around when he jabbed it in my hand. I put my wrist over the tube, blocking it up. Then I managed to get it into my hands. Once he was out of the room, I jerked it out and taped the needle to my hand, so it would look legit. I kept my wrist on the tube while the drip backed up in the tube. He went to make a call. When he came back, he started gloating about how he wasn't going to need me anymore because you were his next target. That was it. I flicked off the heart monitor from my finger. He put a gun against my eye then stopped to look me over and find out why the monitor was beeping. I buried the IV into his neck and down he went. He fired the gun but was too sedated to realize he hadn't yet chambered a round. I took it out of his hand and shot him."

"All because of what he said about me?"

"Damn right. Nobody is laying a hand on my sister. Nobody. Ever."

Without thinking about it, Topaz reached her hands up and put them on either side of Fox's face then pulled him into a kiss of gratitude. Both paused, opened their eyes and gazed at one another. The kiss was relinquished slowly. She swallowed but didn't turn away.

Fox licked his lips then afforded her with a gentle smile. "Thank you. That was nice."

"Yeah..." She returned the smile, albeit in a semi-nervous way. "Thank you, Fox. I'm not only proud of you, I'm thankful that you care so much. I love you."

"I love you, too, Paz. Look, you've been in here breaking a hard sweat all day. The sun is down and you're still going. Why don't you take a break? There's a great shower and a huge hot tub. You're going to need it for your body because you're going to injure yourself if you keep up at this rate. I'll get some Advil. It's an anti-inflammatory. I'm pretty sure you've overexerted yourself. You need to..."

She reached up and put a finger against his lips then smiled. "Okay. You win." She leaned up, with her finger still on his lips, and kissed the backside of her finger, so that it would be a bit more innocent than the last kiss. "That one was plutonic. We can't fall back into those moments when we were eighteen. That has to stay in the past."

Fox nodded and brushed his lips against her forehead, offering a chaste but tender kiss above her brow. "Okay, Paz. I can respect that." He took her hand and drew her to her feet.

She lurched up, coming nose to nose with him, her torso pressed to his. He put his arms on her biceps to steady her. She feigned a weak smile then turned from him and reached for a sweat towel. Topaz draped it over her shoulders and stepped out of the bedroom. Fox followed.

Karla Howard paced back and forth on the rug in the living room. The twins looked from one another then back to the silent blonde woman. Fox leaned towards his sister and in a hushed tone, asked, "Why is she pacing? Why's she so pensive? This is totally unlike her."

Topaz leaned back and whispered, "We're not ready and we don't yet have the abilities to defend ourselves from whatever we may go up against next. She thinks we're going to need another team player but she doesn't know where we can find someone we can trust. Oh, and she woke up with a horrible migraine, mumbling about airplanes earlier this afternoon."

Fox quirked a brow, unfolded his newspaper then refolded it so that it was on the crease. With a thoughtful frown, he cleared his throat and raised his voice. "Karla, what about the police officer who dated Aunt Nicky? She trusted him implicitly. He may not be what we need for this team of freaks but he'll have access to resources that we'll need. That's a start. Plus we can use his ties to the police department to search through known cases of people reportedly doing things that would appear unnatural."

Karla Howard paused and cradled her chin in her palm. "True, and your relation to Nichole will help make him sympathetic to our cause. But cops can be tricky. He might see what we're doing as being on the verge of vigilante work. In over four hundred years I've learned that cops always have the same mentality. Oh, sure, there's a wimpy deputy here, or a whiney patrolman, or that one cop that wears the uniform for prestige with women... but most cops frown on someone who takes the law into their own hands. Most cops frown on people who don't abide by _their_guidelines. Most cops like order, and following orders. Hell, Interpol tried looking for me all throughout the 90's. Why? Because I helped stop a loon from shooting up a public area and I threw the gunman all around Lyon. I mean, c'mon, it's not like cellphones back then had camera yet. On a side note, I went back to Lyon the Summer of '99, and the cops left me alone. Thank God for that - I was babysitting a telepath while dodging drama from the Esoteric Council. But that's another story for another day."

"The nineteen nineties right?"

Karla glanced at Fox with a furrowed brow of her own. "The key words being Interpol, cellphones_and _cameras. Yes. The nineties. Remember Kurt Cobain? Goodness, that's what this yacht needs, a stocked iPod for the onboard sound system. Anyway, they were after me so I had to fake being dead. Wouldn't be the first time; won't be the last time."

"You're in a talkative mood suddenly," Fox murmured softly.

"Oh, ask your sister. I possess the gift of gab, my dear boy." Karla offered a brilliant smile and added, "Needless to say, cops don't just come in the form of mortal men with badges. I can promise that if you make a big enough mess... one of the several factions will come for you because they don't want mortals to know about them."

"Why not?" asked Fox.

"Uh, hello? Ever heard of that thing called, the Crusades? Or perhaps, Witch Trials? Yeah, when people freak out they attack in groups. I'm not trying to ignite another blasted Inquisition just because I feel the need to fling some rich slob's Mercedes Benz at a pedophile on the move. My unique abilities require me to be a bit more subtle. What I do is wired into my brain. Thank god it's not wired into my emotions, though. Can you imagine if I had an emotional outburst? It'd give a new meaning to the sentence, 'Karla just flipped-shit' because I'd actually be flipping shit over. And lets not even consider what I'd do during orgasm."

Fox glanced back down at the local paper, unfolded it and began reading again. "Yeah, I don't want you to get on the topic of sex, Karla. Please. You talk about it constantly. ...Holy shit." His tone changed at the end, grabbing the attention of both women.

"What babe?"

"Paz, I just brought up Aunt Nicky's fiancé a few minutes ago... eerie coincidence: he's mentioned in the paper."

"Oh?"

Karla came closer. "What's it say?"

Fox licked his lips then read aloud, "...Since Inspector Reno Nevada was attacked in Golden Gate Park over a week ago by a gypsy girl, whose name remains unknown. The police have said very little on the incident and maintain their position of seeking to bring justice to whoever is responsible for the triple homicide in the park, now known as the Golden Gate Slayings. However, since the incident, nearly two weeks ago, Inspector Nevada has now closed five other cases in what the police department is calling 'record time.' One such case involves a little girl slain by her mother while high on the new designer drug infecting the streets of our fair city." Fox made a sour face. "I can't stand the way this guy writes his columns - 'our fair city?' Really? Anyways. I usually only skim his articles but the bit about Reno caught my attention."

"I wonder how he's solving all these cases in record time," Karla pondered aloud. "And I wonder why he can't solve the gypsy killings. There's something missing."

"Why do you care about the case?" asked Topaz.

"Because, Paz, gypsies are magic users." Fox wiggled his fingers for effect. "They'll turn you into a..."

Karla cut him off with a glare. "Some do have magical abilities. If you're going to be an ass and pretend to talk about stuff, here's a suggestion... don't do it unless you know for sure what you're talking about. Anyhow, I have friends who have ties to one of the supernatural factions. Hell, I bet the justicar would have been up in arms about the gypsy murders because those three men were extremely important to the supernatural community for some reason."

Topaz frowned. She opened a nearby cabinet and took out a bottle of Advil then popped them into her mouth without water. "Do we know who did it, or are we going to rely on the cops to figure it out?"

The succubus shrugged. "Everyone is pointing fingers and people are honestly worried about something to do with Aris Falcon. Of those who are left, calling themselves The Fellowship, half the sect's leaders are convinced he's behind this mess. The other half thinks he's incapable of causing this mess because he's a typical mortal. Or was. He's backed by the government and if the mortals do stuff that accidentally encroaches on supernaturals, we're supposed to let it slide. It's crap. Anyhow, the three of us know that Falcon has found a way to give himself abilities. I've been given proof by Donovan. Now if I could just find his nephew... I can't believe he disappeared on us out of the blue. He's not answering his phone and it's aggravating me. It's not like I can make smoke signals and he'll suddenly appear. He's difficult to track down right now; something about wanting to beat his head problems, I suppose."

"You like him, don't you?" asked Topaz.

"He's... a nice guy," she murmured.

"So... Your super-buddy is named Donovan? Really?"

Karla glared at Fox. "You need to take this stuff seriously, kid. If you weren't so damn cute I would knock you upside the head. He's Eric's uncle. You remember Eric - nice man; he kept you from stumbling off your roof in Pacific Heights the other day. MOVING ON, then. You two should get back to your training and try not to short out the houseboat's electronics again, please, Fox. You need to learn how to better control your newfound abilities."

"I don't need help. I just need to figure it out for myself."

"Fox..."

He turned to his sister and shook his head. "Just let me get accustomed to it, Paz. Please."

"Okay, Fox," Karla chimed in. "We're giving you time to get acclimated. Just don't screw with the boat. Keep your cool so you can better control things. Okay? Go out on a dingy with a cellphone and practice if you have to."

"I want to get back to working out, Fox. I haven't moved a muscle in over a month. I gotta get it all back. Will you just... work out with me? I don't wanna do it alone, okay?"

"Okay." Fox reached for his sister's hand. "C'mon. Let's go do our stretches then we'll get started."

Karla wiggled her fingers, palm out. The newspaper Fox held appeared in her left hand. She opened it and settled on a chair.

She paused to look at the personal classifieds. "Oh mercy. Get'a load of this guy," she said to the empty room. "Oh this is rich. 'Required to date me: You must be female. You must want a monogamous relationship - that means only me. You must be truthful. Trust is broken beyond repair by each lie. I will never lie to you. I expect the same in return. You must be loyal if you do, and will find me worth your time. Meaning you will stick through the good as well as the bad times. You must be willing to take the next step in the relationship, eventually, as I am not one to stagnate.' Seriously?" She tilted her head, looked around the room then lowered her gaze back to the paper.

"Damn, and here's where it gets good, apparently. 'You must be sexually curious and willing to let me take the lead in the relationship. That goes for things both inside and outside of the bedroom. You will be a kind follower and I will be a considerate leader. Your words will never fall on deaf ears with me. I want you to be comfortable when you put the decision making power in my hands, and I want to be the kind of man worthy of that trust.' Well, now. An interesting way of saying he knows he's controlling. Almost makes me curious enough to... no, I don't need that drama."

Karla's gaze lowered back to the section Fox read earlier. She took a moment to re-read the article then she withdrew her cellphone and searched the internet for information about Inspector Reno Nevada. Starting with a photograph.

A black and white picture depicted him in the Chronicle speaking to some middle school kids, dated a few weeks before the death of Nichole Marie Parker. His face seemed extremely familiar. Karla grinned deviously. "Oh, he's a looker," she mused.

"Is he now?"

She turned about and smirked at Eric. "Speak of the devil. You found me."

"Like I said... big boat, big target. Yes, I came out to apologize but also to get some of my things. Karla, I'm not disappearing on you forever. I just need to clear my head and have a few drinks..."

"Ah. Because alcohol is a problem solver, is it?"

Eric ran his fingers through his hair then back. "Well, no, but I like to drink. So what're you like when you're drunk? It's hard to imagine you're going to say you're any _more_sexual."

"Ah, well, uhm," she offered a nervous chuckle and shook her head. "Sometimes I get a bit emotional. But usually my old Welsh dialect comes out. It happens every so often every now and then but in America, that sort of thing helps you stand out."

"I thought you liked standing out?"

"Only amongst friends. But a pretty blonde face in California can get by without attracting too much attention so, after three decades in Wales and almost four centuries here, I picked up American dialect and I stay under the radar. Once I determined how to speak with and without an accent, I was able to use an American dialect. Nothing southern or northern, mind you. Just simple."

"I've gotta getcha hammered sometime," he chuckled softly. "I wanna see what you've been repressing. I will be back soon... A few days, maybe a week... who knows, maybe two; you really grew up on the other side of the Atlantic, huh?"

"As sure as I still shop at Ryman's."

"Huh?"

"Nevermind, Eric. So far as going away... I understand. Just do what you've gotta do, hon. I think I need some fresh air, too."

"Fair enough. I'm just gunna grab some of my belongings, but I won't be forever... You're really Welsh?"

"Oi, Cymru am byth. Ya 'appy, then, you sodding git?" She offered a smirk then continued, "Is that wot y're expectin' tae hear, nao, is it?"

"Wow. Wales in the sixteen hundreds then, huh?"

"I followed 'round th' likes of Marred ferch Dafydd, 'n her brilliantly clever man, Tywysog Cymru: Owain Glyn D?r. They met this daft girlie in her nickers, me! Then, t'gether, we went swannin' off never t' be heard from again. Totally me fault, it was! Dun believe me? Lookit-right-up on Wikipedia, then."

Karla cleared her throat, tucked a lock of hair back behind her ear then smiled and, in a typical American dialect, said, "Cardiff, darling - we call it Caerdydd. I left home in 1632 because politics were making me more nervous than the Black Death ever could. I headed to America, and then the rest, as they say, is history. I've lived in America far, far longer than Wales, now... The American accent is easy; I've been speaking it much longer, but then along comes the BBC and what can I say? It's nice to hear it again every now and then. Brilliant, that is. Oh, sorry - see? There I go. Now, enough for one day. I have errands to run and I'm cooking for the twins."

"Lamb again?"

Karla smirked. "Chicken ?ikka masala. Speaking of BBC, I'll have to have a NetFlix marathon later - lots of great stuff there, now. And speaking of 'stuff' you have to get your stuff. So go on, now. I think I'm gonna test out my new fake-ID and buy some beer. Bye for now!"

"Wait, what? Christ, slow down and take some Ritalin; this is what I need a break from."

"Oi, y'er'a barmy bloke, then; no need t' be cross or you'll be out on yer daps."

"I..." He ran his palms over his face as if to dispel the frustration. "I didn't mean for my tone to be rude. I asked what you meant; you're jumping topic to topic. It's not easy keeping up with you. God only knows what a 'dap' is. Okay, so you're buying beer...? Then what did you say?"

"Sneakers, silly boy. Then I said..." She wiggled her fingers in a playful manner, waving at him. "Hwyl am y tro!" Karla disappeared, leaving the newspaper behind.

X

---

X

** Reno Nevada** grunted softly, glaring at his exquisitely large television screen. The pre-game showed on the screen, with his DVR displaying the words, "Replay - Recording - Monday." It was recorded from the other night; Nevada put his feet up on the coffee table and relaxed. However, as soon as he saw the first stat-screen displayed, he cringed from another unwanted premonition - the home team lost by two touchdowns.

"Goddamn 49'ers," said the inspector, turning off the large screen. He set the remote down then leaned back on his sofa with a sigh. A knock on his door caused him to perk up.

Reno reached beneath his shirt hem and touched the gun on his hip then moved towards his door. He swung it open then blinked, staring at an attractive blond teenager with a busty frame and curvaceous body.

"Well, what the hell?" He tilted his head and blinked again. "It's not every day that a blonde bombshell shows up on my doorstep with a bottle of Chopin Vodka in one arm and a case of beer in her other. And aren't you a little too young for alcohol; shouldn't you be selling cookies instead?"

Something about her seemed familiar, as though he'd seen her face before but he couldn't place it.

"I wanted to meet the man who had helped with the gypsy murder case. I know: you're off the job. I visited your office. They suspended you. Well! I did some investigating and you got played. But there's no use rushing into a shit-storm and losing your ass. Plus, you're attractive for a cop, although now that I'm standing here face to face... you're not groomed, your teeth haven't been brushed yet today, you've got grit under several of your fingernails... and you desperately need a drink after all you've been through - on and off the job."

"Who the hell are...?"

She cut him off. "I'm Karla and I'm a friend of those three musketeers who were slain recently. I'm also a friend of Abigail. Five bucks says that's the no-named girl who took off according to the papers. She came to you because I told her to. We'll get back to that bit, later. Moving on! Since you've apparently got a lot of time and you're currently no longer a cop for now... I wanted to talk to you."

Reno ran his fingers back through the tousled dark hair on his head. He reached with his other hand and placed it on her shoulder, guiding her into the house. "I need to see some _real_ID. While hyper, you speak like a woman but you look like..." With his hand on her shoulder, his mind's eye opened and a vision struck him hard. Reno stumbled backwards. Karla used her heel to nudge the door shut. She extended her hands, teleporting the alcohol onto the coffee table by the sofa and reached out to steady him. Carefully, she guided him to the sofa without a word. Reno groaned and dropped onto the couch. "Sorry, I'm just... hold on."

"Relax, babe." She settled upon the cushion adjacent to him. "You okay?"

"The first word that came to my mind when I touched you is succubus. Isn't that some sort of sex demon or something? God, I'm sorry, I'm having some really weird daydreams and you're right... I need to shave and groom and shower and... everything. It's been almost two straight days of sitting on my sofa watching Netflix on the TV."

"Succubus huh? Honey, I've been called much worse at much louder volumes. And I'm a fan of that service, too. I love watching TV show marathons. So! Why don't you tell me what happened? Like I said, I'm sort of a friend of those three men who died. An acquaintance but, you know, just the same...."

"You say you knew them... fine, do you believe in magic?"

"You mean like _gypsy_magic? Or like sleight-of-hand, trick-the-eye illusions?"

Reno offered a dry chuckle. "Gypsy magic. The kind that messes with your head. I think they call it a hex. The kind that makes you see the past and the present in a way that helps you better understand the future."

Karla placed her hand atop of his then reached behind herself. She took one of the cold bottles of beer and snapped the top with a flick of her thumb, empowered by telekinesis. The bottle cap flew across the room, bounced off the wall and dropped several feet to the floor. "Was that magic? Nobody has the physical strength to do what I just did... at least not without an enormous thumb, right? And yes, I believe you. The Past, Present and Future all walked into a bar together... it was tense."

Reno glared at her for a moment then, slowly, a grin spread across his whisker-covered face. "Let's switch powers. You get to know everything by touching it... I get to open beer with a flick of my thumb. You sure you're old enough to drink? Okay, let's test it... who was president when Star Wars hit the theaters?"

"Jimmy Carter, the peanut farmer. After Carter's four year run, with the highlight of his presidency remembered for high gas and giving the middle east a ton of money, half a billion, to build up their countries to better repel Russia's expansion... Reagan came along with another kind of Star Wars. Oh, and let's not forget Drug Abuse Resistance Education, thanks in part to Nancy... My favorite thing, though, was when Regan showed the world that an actor can have balls when he fired the FAA workers for going on strike. Let's see, what else happened - oh, yeah, I was in DC at one point, how could I forget that? It snowed its ass off in DC in 1985. I also liked how he decided to call tomatoes 'vegetables' so that schools could meet their health quota by serving ketchup as a veggie. So, that begs the question - if a tomato is really a fruit, does that mean that ketchup is a smoothie?"

Reno stared at her for a moment then reached for the beer and took a drink without another word. He drank down half the bottle then looked up and said, "Maybe more of a jam... So why is 'V8' still considered a vegetable drink? They should call it a fruit drink. Freeze it and make tomato daiquiris, right?"

"It would either be gross or amazing, no middle of the road." She offered him a smile then snapped the top off another beer and began drinking it. After a moment she paused and said, "I'm glad you have a sense of humor. I know my jokes are a little weird but at least you're humoring me and I like that."

"Okay then... Make yourself at home. So what brings you here and how did the people down at the job react to you looking for me?"

She smiled inwardly then told him, "If you tell me to 'make myself at home,' be prepared for me to take off my bra, drink your beer and yell at your kids. I said I had information for a huge break in your case. Some chicken-shit named Colonel Sanders told me that you were sent home because that case is closed. And I told him I already knew who did it. But that I'd only tell you. Then I left."

"I don't have any kids, but if I did, I'd probably let you." Reno finished his beer then snorted with laughter. "Did you mean to say that?"

"Say what?"

"You called him 'Chicken-shit Colonel Sanders.' Like the guy from KFC."

She brought the backside of her hand to her lips and snorted in return. "Oh, crap, did I really?"

"No, it's okay; it's funny. I like geeky humor like that." Reno placed the bottle of beer on his coffee table and reached for another one in the pack.

She smiled and watched him. "I could go geekier but it would ruin all this," she said, gesturing with a hand to her voluptuous body and small waistline. "But if you don't tell anyone, I might be able to come up with something geeky to amuse you."

"I have a few geek moments that I keep to myself. I'm reading a book about anti-gravity."

"Yeah? How is it?"

"Impossible to put down," he replied with an impish sort of grin.

"Touché. A helium atom walks into a bar and orders a beer. The tender exclaims, 'Out! I don't serve noble gasses!' The helium... didn't react." Karla offered a smile.

Reno rubbed his forehead, just beneath his hairline. "Okay, that one went over my head."

Karla chuckled with a shrug. "It's okay. I'll try for something a little more high school science level... An electron walked into a bar and ordered a beer. He asked the tender how much for the beer. The tender looks over the electron, smiles, and says, 'For you? No charge!' Is that better?"

Nevada grinned and nodded. "Okay, electrons are opposite of positrons right?... I think I got that one. No charge - cute." He brought the beer bottle beneath his left forearm then pressed his wrist into the cap and used his right hand to twist the bottle.

The top snapped off with a hiss-pop. The little metal cap stuck to his forearm. He moved his left hand down and the cap dropped into his palm then he tossed it onto the coffee table. "So what was this information you had about my case?"

Karla watched the cap clatter across the coffee table. It stopped just before the edge. A smile found her lips. "Well, now. That was professionally done."

"You liked that, huh?" he returned the grin.

"I did. The guy you'll want to investigate is named Aris Falcon. He's a genetic engineer and is working off the record for someone in the United States Government or possibly vice versa. It's not officially-government funded work but the crap you're dealing with is a little high end. Almost conspiracy level stuff."

"Try me," he replied.

"Sure, alright." Karla took another sip from her bottle, still on the first, nursing it. "A member of the Rothschild family is funding a small group of US Government affiliated scientists to round up artifacts from around the world. God knows why. That team is doing the research on how to find whatever artifacts are necessary to do whatever it is they plan on doing. The people with the funds have no idea what they've gotten themselves into."

"And this 'Falcon' character?"

"The team has chosen to work with Doctor Aris Falcon who promised to deliver the artifacts. Falcon wants them for himself, for different reasons, and is using the money that comes in to perform genetic experimentation that may allow him to do... God-knows-what... perhaps he's trying to expand his life or make his body heal faster or... who knows. The man is crazy. And smart."

"What am I dealing with here?"

"You know how comic books over the last forty-to-fifty years always seem to have a crazy guy taking over the world? Or they depict some guy working for the Nazis in World War II, trying to control paranormal forces using artifacts that are beyond human comprehension? Well... you're dealing with stuff like that but in the modern age."

"Jesus." Reno ran his fingers back through his hair then drank from the bottle of beer. After a moment he leaned back on his sofa and sighed. He glanced at the floor, trusting her because of what he felt when he touched her, earlier. "Okay, I'm going to humor you because you're hot. How do you know all of this?"

"Because I used to know Aris Falcon. He's a genius and a screwball all in one. He's also very eccentric - more than myself. Always wears all-black or all-white suits. He does experiments on bodies and kills indiscriminately. He experiments on people to test his genetic research. Last I heard, he managed to do something to his lungs to help him increase his energy, stamina and all that stuff. I'm not sure how realistic this information is but he's also supposed to be able to heal serious injuries in incredibly short periods of time."

Reno rubbed his chin with his free hand. "All black suits, huh?" His thoughts turned to his first vision about his fiancée and brother. "So you heard I was assigned to the gypsy murder case and you came to warn me?"

Karla tilted her head. "I'm friends with the Parker twins. Your would-be niece and nephew. I suppose you've heard that Jon turned up dead from some sort of overnight viral infection."

"I heard. I also heard the body had to be burned because the virus was unlike anything doctors have ever seen. Now the tabloids claim that hospital staff says the body disappeared or that he walked out of the hospital on his own and disappeared, after the hospital caught fire. Blah, blah, blah. They're being publicly disrespectful... I'm sure the twins are struggling with the thought of losing their father."

"I've offered myself as their shoulder. They're staying on my houseboat. They think you can somehow help them. I'm here to see if you measure up and see if you can help us."

Reno face faulted and finished the second bottle of beer. He put it on the coffee table and reached for another in the case she brought. Same as before, he twisted off the cap with his left forearm.

"I'm suspended, remember? I can't help you guys because I don't have access to the departmental resources. I'm just an asshole with a lot of baggage. My fiancée disappeared, and may have been killed recently while building a case against that Aris Falcon guy. Something to do with a new designer drug that hit the streets of San Fran. Now you're telling me he wears black suits and it's got my mind racing."

"She was making a case on Falcon? Then she turns up missing? Don't you find that a little screwed up, Mister Nevada?"

"It's too complicated to wrap my head around... We have her body in the morgue and it apparently isn't her. Then one of those gypsies did something to me. I can see stuff when I touch things. I don't expect you to believe it but I saw a man in a black suit stepping over the bodies of my brother and my fiancée. In another vision, I saw him standing over the three gypsies in Golden Gate Park. If it turns out to be this Aris Falcon guy, I'll find him and rip him into kibble with my bare hands. But I need evidence. I need proof before I kill a man."

She leered at the suspended Inspector then drank from her own bottle. "I'd say you already got it. You were just suspended while working on a case that would eventually lead you to Falcon. Suddenly, you're sitting on your sofa drinking beer. What's the missing connection, here?" She watched him guzzle down half the bottle then glanced back over at the two empty ones on the table. "You're packing it away, aren't you?"

"It's therapeutic," he replied, finishing the bottle. Reno sighed then put it with the other two. "I miss Nicky. I was hyper-focusing on the job to get my mind off of her. Now that's gone, too. I don't get it. I met the gypsy girl at the Pages Lost the other night. The next day, I'm off the case and I'm off the job."

Karla blinked. "That stupid gothic night club with the chick who colors her hair blue?"

"Krys Monroe is her name."

"Yeah," said Karla with a firm nod. "I know her; I met her when her SUV crashed into an Exxon truck - long story, don't ask. She's Falcon's personal lackey. Did you say anything in earshot?"

"She was tending bar the night I met with my contact. She even interrupted our conversation a few times. Monroe is connected to Falcon? Somehow it feels familiar to hear you say that," Nevada said.

He trailed off then reached for a fourth bottle of beer and opened it. His eyes grew cold. "That little bitch. She messed with the wrong man. Do you have proof she's the reason I got suspended?"

"No, I don't. I know how cops operate. You'll have to treat her like a roadblock before you can treat her like a suspect. If it was me, I'd go back to that club and raise hell. Test the waters to see just how much sway she and Falcon have over the police department. Then go from there to see if she and Falcon really are connected to your fiancée's apparent death. Personally, I can't stand her and neither can the twins."

"Yeah, she's friends with Fara Parker. But nobody else trusts her. Up until now, I've pretended I don't know her. But ever since my gypsy contact put that damn hex on me, I can tell you that Krys Monroe is bad news simply by looking at her."

Karla placed a hand on his forearm. "Inspector, I believe you. I know those gypsies can do some pretty wild things. If you sense Krys is bad news... then she's bad news."

"I sure as hell don't know what to believe anymore. My little gypsy pal referred to the hex as 'opening my mind's eye.' I don't know if that accurately describes what I'm going through but it's been one hell of a bad acid trip, that's for sure."

"What do you sense when you touch me?"

He glanced at the hand on his wrist then looked back up at her. "Same as I said earlier. Succubus. Sex demon. But I don't get the creepy 'bad news' vibe from you... so that's always a good thing."

Karla grinned again then lifted her hand and ran her fingers back through his short hair. "You're right, Inspector. I'm a bit of a demon because I'm very good at raising hell. And I'm very sexual. So your powers of observation are spot on."

"I also sense you're older than you look. Just like you said. Definitely legal age, and then some."

"Also true." She finished her first bottle and put it on the coffee table. Her eyes danced over his disheveled clothes. Her slight grin broadened in reaction to the way he guzzled down the fourth bottle of beer and put it with the rest on the table. Karla moved her hand to the top of his left and, in a tender voice, said, "I wish I could be Nichole Parker for you. I wish I could fix everything you've gone through. I wish I could help you. But first, you need to help yourself. You need to shave and dress like you give a damn about your life again."

"Yeah?"

The demoness nodded firmly. "Yes! You need to pick yourself up by your bootstraps and take a deep breath, then you've gotta do whatever it takes to see this thing through. If I was Nichole, though, I would demand you to get yourself back in the game. I wouldn't want you slouching on your sofa like a slob. Besides, you're an attractive man. You can't go wasting away on your couch just because you're sitting in the penalty box, twiddling your thumbs."

His eyes moved to the last bottle in the cardboard case. "You gunna' drink that?"

"No, babe, it's for you." She handed it to him and used her thumb to snap off the top like she'd done earlier. The metallic cap flew across the room and disappeared in the hall somewhere. "You're at your lowest point and I fully expect you to get drunk as shit tonight. You can get it out of your system. You can cry or punch a wall or shout at the TV... whatever it is that you wanna do. Then, tomorrow, you can shave, shower, put on some slick clothes and get your ass back in the game."

Reno took the bottle and drank heavily until the beer was gone. He put the final bottle on the table, took the vodka from her lap and put it aside then said, "You know what I miss about Nichole? I could talk to her just like this. We'd talk, we'd put our heads together and think about things, we'd have sex then we'd talk some more. We were a team. Now I'm alone, I'm out of work and I've got a lot of anger bottled up."

"Anger is good. That's what you need to power your way through this mess," Karla told him with a firm nod. "Testosterone-fueled rage. That will motivate you to get back in the game and finish it. The twins and I have decided to start training so we can intercept these artifacts before Falcon puts them together. If the boss doesn't let you return to work then you can aid me to keep your mind focused. I'll help you get to the bottom of this mess, Inspector."

"Just... Reno. So what should I call you? Sex demon?"

"Demoness, Karla, bitch... I answer to all that stuff. The last one is kinda' hot, too. Well, at least it's hot when used in proper context. I'm sorry if I'm being too flirty or making you feel uncomfortable, Reno."

"Not to be anything less than classy to a female, but I'm drunk. You're flirting with me. And you're wearing a skirt. I love skirts."

Karla licked her lips and reached for his belt and unclasped it. Her eyes lifted in a coy fashion, as if gazing up at him in a submissive way. She noticed he held his breath; she inhaled deeply and willed herself to remain stoic.

Her eyes lowered once more. Karla unbuttoned and unzipped the front of his pants, peeling back each flap with a meticulous, relaxed sense of calm. She unbuttoned the front of his boxers. 'Cute, they're solid red... adorable,' she thought to herself. Her fingers eased through the flaps of cotton and she felt him. Again, her eyes lifted in a somewhat demure way.

He grinned and she returned it. Her eyes gleamed with mirth, giving her a coquettish, sexual look. Her devious gaze caused his grin to widen slightly in anticipation.

After a torturously long moment of looking into his eyes, Karla lowered her head over his lap. Her hair covered his legs. She pushed her face downwards, firmly, and breathed calmly through her nose. Her chest tightened but she willed herself to loosen up. The demoness swallowed, forcing her uvula to relax while tightening her throat. Karla offered a long, low moan of pleasure, teasing him with vibrations. Finally, she began to bob her head, adopting a rhythmic cadence.

Reno groaned at the sensation. He gasped then placed his right hand in her hair, pushing her face down firmly. "Jesus Christ, is this deep-throating?" His sentence ended on a grunt of delight. Nevada sifted his fingers through her hair then curled them shut.

He took lead in the dance, drawing her head up. Reno opened his fingers and put them against the nape of her neck, guiding her back down. He leaned back on the armrest of the sofa then arched upwards, teeth clenched, turned on most by her sexy little murmur. He curled his toes and narrowed is gaze.

Karla intensified the pace of their swing to the unheard music in her head, bobbing gracefully. She paused to peer up at him with a coy expression, as if to gauge his reaction. Just to tease, she offered a soft hum, which resembled a muffled moan, letting him in on the tune in her head.

Nevada's reactions to her devious saunter sent her through the metaphorical roof. Karla's blond locks framed her face, the platinum tips fanned out over the denim. She placed her hands on either side of his hips to keep herself steady then she continued taking their metaphorical dance to the next level by increasing her tempo.

The succubus slid her right hand up beneath his shirt, touching his chest with her fingertips. She could feel his heart racing against her palm. Her left hand moved from his hips until she located his right hand.

She guided his fingers to her throat so that he had his hand wrapped consensually around her neck. Her actions appealed to his pent up aggression and his normally-bottled masculine desire to be feral.

Reno accepted the gesture and took her by the throat in one hand and by the back of her head in his other. His heart raced and his body tensed up. His stomach tightened so that Karla's hand beneath his shirt could feel the sculpt of his abs.

Reno murmured some sort of warning, took a long, deep breath, and then sighed in contented delight. Both of his hands moved to either side of her face. "That's my girl," he panted, winded by their two-step despite the lack of footwork. He felt her struggle slightly beneath his touch but hormones took over and a strange sense of aggression overcame him.

Nevada clenched his eyes shut. His tone became a deeper hint of baritone then, hazily remembering what she'd said earlier, added, "Every bit of it, Nicky." All at once, with the succubus' effect taking hold, he sank back at the end of the sofa and his body relaxed. The inspector began panting heavily for a moment then his breathing pattern changed to a deep, calm pace. Sleep overcame him.

Karla lifted her head, licked her lips with a smirk and used her hands to push her hair back. "Good boy. I knew you had it in you to take control."

She reached for his legs and pulled him out along the sofa then adjusted his head to make him comfortable on the sofa's armrest. She stood up like a well fed lioness and tucked her hair behind her ears. Karla lowered to one knee adjacent to the sofa.

She fixed his disheveled clothing, fixed his belt and leaned up to kiss him on the forehead. "Succubus was an accurate term, dear. I know you miss Nichole and I'm sorry I had to get you drunk for this to happen. But this was the best way I could get close enough to you to draw off your energy. And what I learned about you really surprises me, especially considering that you taste, well, familiar. I just can't place it, though. Needless to say, you'll hear from me again soon. I need your help. But now isn't the time for that. And Christ, Inspector, you were pent up... a lot."

She reached for his cellphone, fished it out of the front of his pants then smiled when his background wallpaper came up. "Ferrari Testarossa Spider, huh? Now that is a sexy convertible." She thumbed to his call logs until finding the option to input her number.

Karla added her digits; her first, and last name then saved the new contact file to his phone. "Thanks, doll, for not password protecting your cell. I hate leaving paper trails on actual paper."

She carried his phone over to his bedroom then rummaged around until she found the wall charger. Karla plugged it in then sent herself a text message. She heard a soft buzz from her purse in the living room then she grabbed a blanket off his bed, left his bedroom and approached the sleeping man on the sofa.

"Thanks for the fun, cutie. Do yourself a favor and groom yourself. For all Krys Monroe has put you through, you really owe her a visit. Just don't go getting yourself killed or anything stupid like that. I'll do my best to keep an eye on you but I'm also looking out for the Parker twins. I can't let them get killed, either. I can't be in two places at once no matter how much I fake it. Stay sharp, Top Cop." She draped the blanket over his body then left his apartment.

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Next Chapter: https://www.sofurry.com/view/558236