Laws of the Blood 2: Partners by Susan Sizemore

warm sound. Warmth had been very alien to the companion Char remembered. Della wagged a finger under Char’s nose. “As long as you don’t eat any of my guests, that is.”
    Della was right about the street being deserted. There were only the two of them on the broken concrete sidewalk. This was not a good neighborhood. Subdued noise and warm light spilled out from the open door in an otherwise blank-faced brick building, but there was no one within hearing distance. Char recalled passing a bar that was open a few blocks back. Now she was in awarehouse area not far from the water, but whether she was closer to Lake Union or Elliot Bay she wasn’t sure. She didn’t remember where she’d parked her car. Somewhere along the line, she’d gotten completely lost, thoroughly disoriented, and ended up in the one place she hadn’t intended to go.
    “You’re confused,” Della said and took Char by the arm. “Come inside.”
    “This is a homeless shelter,” Char said, remembering what Della did these days.
    “Then you’ll feel right at home, won’t you?”
    Char almost pulled away, but there was no barb in Della’s question. Well, not much of one. Sympathy far outweighed the sting in the words. “I—we—need privacy. To talk.”
    “You,” Della said firmly. “Need a hot meal and a bit of company. Spend too much time alone and you get weird when you’re crazy like we are.”
    “We aren’t crazy.”
    “Do you have a cat?”
    “What?”
    “Bet you have a cat you talk to just to hear the sound of your own voice.”
    “I have a cat,” Char answered without meaning to, “because a stray jumped in my window and won’t go away.”
    “But you still have a cat instead of a lover,” Della answered with a wide grin. “And now you’re blushing and I think your claws are starting to grow.”
    Char knew Della for a tease but had never known her to be caring with it. “You have changed.”
    “You should talk.” The humor went out of Della after she spoke. She stood very still, blinked back tears, then tugged on Char’s arm again. “Inside, Hunter. It’s cold out here.”
    It was cold, all right, but not as cold as some of the places Char’d been this evening. This street was empty. Char looked up and down the blocks that stretched away under too-dim streetlamps. Empty, yes, but not devoid of—
    Something.
    She shook her head. “What am I missing?” She looked at Della. “What’s wrong with me?”
    “You’re the hunter,” Della said, amiable expression going suddenly sly. Her body went stiff, her voice turned familiarly cold. “You figure it out.”
    Char bit back the impulse to say that this was the Della she remembered. Della had been through a lot and had survived better than most. Char knew that if she’d lost Jimmy Bluecorn—
    “Well, you didn’t!” Della dropped her hand from Char’s arm. “You’ve got it all. I have nothing!” She glared at Char as she wiped away angry tears.
    “You’re alive.” Char grabbed the former companion’s shoulder. She kept her voice very low as she added, “And I know why.”
    “But I didn’t think he’d kill her!”
    “You knew very well what he would do. You like to pretend now that you didn’t.” Char hated the coldness in her own voice. She was appalled that she could be so callous. Well, honest, actually, but honest words could hurt. She liked to think of herself as more diplomaticthan this. She eased the tightness of her grip but didn’t let Della go. Her demeanor was a great deal gentler when she told Della, “You did the right thing when you told the Enforcers about the child abuse ring. You didn’t know so many strigoi were involved. Your help saved innocent lives.”
    “Like Danny’s?” Della asked. Then she laughed. And when she stopped laughing, she was different again, back to the woman who invited a vampire in out of a cold night and offered her a free meal. “It’s Thanksgiving,” she said. “We always have food donations