Raven and the Dancing Tiger (7 page)

"Huh?" Peter berated himself.
Way to sound intelligent there.

"It was something my grandma told me. Pigs sweat, while ladies merely glisten."

"I'll keep that in mind," Peter said, grinning, as he helped Sally step closer to the bar. His palm stayed warm and tingling even after he removed it from the small of her back.

"Hey, Peter, what'll it be?"
Brin
called out, wiping her hands on a bar towel. Her hair, shaved close to her skull, was purple and blond tonight. She had piercings on her eyebrow, nose, lip, and probably other places Peter couldn't imagine. She had only one small visible tattoo, a black-and-white portrait of a Saint Bernard on her left shoulder, with a scroll underneath that said
Mom
.

"
Brin
, this is Sally," Peter said, using the introduction as another excuse to touch Sally.

Brin's
eyebrows shot to her hairline, but she merely said, "Nice to
meetcha
. Want me to make it a special, Peter?"

"Two," Peter said. "But no alcohol in either."

"You sure?"
Brin
asked. "I got some cherry-infused tequila tonight."

"Positive," Peter said, confused.
Brin
had never questioned his order before.

"All right then. A challenge,"
Brin
said, moving off.

"A special?" Sally asked, bumping shoulders with Peter.

"Bartender's choice," he explained, leaning closer, maintaining the contact, speaking directly into Sally's ear. He was glad to see she had pierced ears: Two strings of colorful beads dangled from the lobe and a gold ring with a beautiful blue bead hung from the top. Now he knew what he could get her when he decided to buy her jewelry.

"Do you always just let her choose?" Sally asked, watching the show
Brin
was putting on as she flipped the mixer, then one bottle of juice, then a second.

"Usually, yeah. Sometimes she makes something that knocks me on my ass. But mostly it's good." Actually, the last couple of times she'd really left him looped. Maybe he shouldn't let her mix alcohol for him for a while.

Brin
finished with energetically shaking the mixer while dancing behind the bar before she poured the drink into two glasses, adding a splash of grenadine to each. The red curled through the light brown liquid, like veins suddenly visible.

"Cool," Sally breathed, though Peter wasn't sure.

They clinked glassed and Peter took a sip. It had citrus in it—maybe grapefruit, maybe lemon—with something sweet, and an aftertaste of cool cucumber. It was instantly refreshing, and the red muddled the rest of the colors after the first taste.

"Wow," Sally said. "Okay. I'm down for any more experiments
Brin
wants to do."

"Welcome to the wild side," Peter said. He coughed nervously, as he realized what he'd just said. He and Cai were wilder than Sally had probably ever expected.

Cai cawed softly, sending Peter the soothing image of blue skies.

Peter knew Cai was just trying to comfort him, but he was still unsure. He liked Sally. He really, really liked her, a whole lot. But there were so many ways for this to go horribly wrong.

"Hey, where
ja
go?"

Peter shook his head, pushing against Sally's shoulder again. "Sorry. You said you moved here from Minnesota? Why?"

Sally made a face. "Job that didn't work out. I'm working at a food bank right now, but I came here to be a regional manager for a non-profit group."

"Which one?" Peter asked.

"Where am I working now? Jewish Family Services center, JFS."

"I volunteer at Northwest Harvest once a month."

Sally blinked at him, surprised. "Really? You do volunteer work?"

"Yeah. My parents—" and Ravens' Hall "—always made it a priority."

"You don't know how cool that is," Sally told him. "Seriously. So many people talk about it, but no one does it."

"It's only one Saturday a month," Peter warned her, though he was really happy she thought it was cool.

"It's still more than most," Sally countered, raising her glass.

They toasted each other and Peter knew it wasn't the alcohol—there wasn't any—but Sally's smile that warmed him.

"How about you?"

"I work IT for a printer," Peter said. "Keep the lights on and the servers running."

"I'm not the most technical," Sally admitted. "My phone is probably the most complicated thing I own. I don't even own a car."

"Who needs a car in Seattle?" Peter asked. "I rent a
Zipcar
when I want to go hiking in the mountains."

"Mountains?" Sally asked wistfully. "Look—" Then she stopped and shook her head.

"What?" Peter asked.

She shook her head again.

"Come on," Peter said, bumping her shoulder. "I've already accused you of not being a lady and sweating. Can't be worse than that."

Sally took another drink, looking at the bar and not at him.

Had he ruined everything already?

Finally Sally took a deep breath and spoke, addressing her glass. "I like you," she said quietly.

Peter had to lean closer to hear, his stomach strangely floating.

"I don't know why. We just met."

"Me too," Peter broke in.

"So, here." Sally grabbed a pen off the bar, flipped over the coaster and wrote out a phone number. "Call me. Text me. Whatever," she said, shoving the coaster at him. Then she leaned forward and brushed her lips against his cheek. "Or don't, and we'll just dance together sometime. Good night." Sally turned and left before Peter could say another thing.

Cai cawed unhappily, already lonely.

"She'll be back," Peter said out loud.

"Will she?"
Brin
asked, her tone doubtful.

"Yes."

Peter sent the image of a nest to Cai as he programmed Sally's number into his phone.

He wasn't about to let her go.

* * *

Peter sat on his futon-couch, his phone in his hand, resting on his leg. He stared at it. While he was nervous about calling Sally, he told himself it wasn't the same as when he'd called Tamara.

The rolling of his stomach hinted otherwise.

Peter looked out the window. The leaves had come in more; in just a few days he'd be in what he called his "tree house," unable to see the park. Then he looked back down.

His phone wasn't about to dial itself.

Peter swiped it on and dialed Sally's number.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Sally. This is Peter."

"Hi there. I'm glad you called."

The warmth of Sally's voice made Peter warm in return. "I know tomorrow's a work night, but would you like to have sushi with me?"

"Sure. I love sushi."

Cai gave a happy bounce that startled Peter.

"Um, yeah. Sorry," Peter said into the growing silence. "6:30? The sushi bar at the far end of Broadway?"

"I know the place. I'll meet you there," Sally said. "Thanks for calling."

"Great! Great. I'll see you then."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Peter ended the call, still glowing.

Cai gave another happy bounce.

Peter didn't break into his full victory dance, but he did spin once on his heels before shimmying into the kitchen.

She said yes. Of course she said yes. She wasn't Tamara.

Peter danced a little more as he made coffee. He felt more in control than he had after he'd called Tamara the first time. He and Cai were in better alignment now, he realized.

An involuntary shiver overtook Peter. He'd been misaligned with Cai and he hadn't really known it. And for a while, too. At least none of the prefects had been around to see it.

Peter stretched out his hands automatically, his gaze drawn to them.

The bones there were perfectly aligned. It had never been his hand that had been broken. It had never been his wings clipped.

But nightmares of others' pain lingered, ghost pains of what might have been still wrapped deep around his bones, a place where even Sally's smile couldn't bring warmth.

* * *

Sally stood just inside the door of the sushi bar, wearing a black leather jacket that looked supple and soft. She wore her hair down. It fell in natural waves, curling up just past her shoulders, and Peter wanted to touch it. She wasn't bird bright, no. She was more like the bleary sun, warm and gracious on a hazy summer afternoon.

"Hi," Sally said, smiling at Peter as he came in.

They flowed naturally into a hug that Peter didn't want to give up. "I hope you weren't waiting long," Peter said as the waitress led them to a table.

A long red bench ran along the wall, under the sloping white ceiling. Small beige tables were arranged in a line before the bench, with brown wooden chairs under each. It was both modern and homey.

Peter pulled out the chair but gave Sally the choice of either seat. She slipped off her jacket before she slid onto the bench, revealing a sophisticated gray shirt with white pinstripes, collar, and cuffs.

"I wasn't waiting long," Sally assured Peter as placed his coat next to hers and took his own seat on the hard wooden chair. "But you'll find out, though, that's one of my habits. I'm always disgustingly prompt, or even a bit early, like tonight."

"Me too!" Peter exclaimed.

"I think being late is rude," Sally confessed. "It's like, my time is more important than yours. Which it isn't."

By Wynne's wings, they were perfect for each other.

"Yes. Exactly."

Tamara had been late—and that was the last he was going to think about Tamara.

Cai gave a soft caw of agreement.

Fly with mate.

Peter agreed.

Fly indeed.

* * *

Peter reached for the check the waitress had put on the table.

Sally did, too.

They ended up both holding onto the plain brown plastic holder with a slip of paper curled on top.

"I should pay," Peter said, tugging on it playfully.

"Should?" Sally asked, suddenly serious.

"It's,
uhmm
, it's our first date," Peter said in a rush. "And I asked you. You can pay next time."

It was their first date, wasn't it? Sally wasn't about to play some game on him, like Tamara had?

Sally nodded slowly. "So. Next date. When I ask you out, I pay, right?"

"Yes," Peter said, nodding enthusiastically. She wanted to go out on a second date!

"Good," Sally said, relinquishing the check holder. "I understand holding out chairs or opening doors, but I will not be bought. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," Peter said. He would have to be careful with her. Had she been hurt by some asshole?

Cai ruffled at the thought.

Guard.

Peter nodded, still unsure what to say.

"Look, you're probably not like this, I'm sorry. But guys sometimes think if they pay, the girl owes them something."

"I won't do that," Peter said. "Promise. I would never think that way." He'd never take her for granted like that.

They got on their coats and left the restaurant, heading down Broadway. Not many people joined them on the sidewalk; it was a weeknight.

The cool night air held the promise of rain. Peter didn't care, though. His stomach was full, Cai had gotten to have raw meat, and his girl was still by his side. "May I walk you home?" he asked, hopeful but prepared for a rejection.

"Maybe next time," Sally said. "You can walk me down to the pet shop. I need to pick up treats for Pixie."

"Pixie?" Peter said, falling into step beside her. She didn't have a cat, did she?

"My Scottie." Sally paused, sliding her phone out of her blue vinyl purse. "See?" She held up a photo of a tiny black dog with great big, soulful eyes.

"Cute," Peter said, relieved. He and Cai generally got along well with dogs. "Why did you name him Pixie?"

"He's a rescue dog," Sally said, putting her phone away. "He had another name, Blackie, but…well, you're going to think I'm crazy."

Peter bumped her shoulder with his. "Going to?" he teased.

"All right. See, Pixie does this little dance when I come home. He's always sitting, waiting at the door when I unlock it. Then, as I walk into the room, he circles my feet, making these little ruffing noises, not quite a bark. All the way through the living room to the kitchen, as if he's telling me about his day."

"Okay," Peter said, not seeing the point.

"He does this for a few of my friends, too, not everyone. But—he also does it when there's no one there."

"What?" Peter asked, worried.

"He'll go sit by the door, like he's heard someone there. Then he'll do the dance, circling someone or something I can't see, from the living room to the kitchen."

"Huh," Peter said. Who or what was Pixie seeing? "Do you ever feel threatened, or unsafe?" he asked.

"Nope," Sally said with a grin. "If Pixie approves, they're probably okay."

What would Pixie do when he met them? How would he greet Cai? "That's cool, then," Peter said, relieved.

"So, you believe me? You think Pixie is greeting beings I can't see?"

"Yes," Peter said with absolute conviction. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, before he finally settled on, "There are…lots of strange things in the world."

Sally looked at him with her clear brown eyes. "What have you seen?"

Peter shrugged, cautious. "I just—I just feel that way."

"It's more than that," Sally said.

Peter's heart dropped. He couldn't tell her. Not yet. Not about Cai or magic or anything else.

"But you'll tell me when you're ready," Sally added.

Peter didn't nod or confirm Sally's belief. The recitations had been too many, too strong, for him to even casually think about breaking them. Still. If the image of the nest came true, he might, someday. "So are you going dancing—"

"Got any spare change?" a harsh voice interrupted them.

Three street kids stood outside the grocery store with a cardboard sign that said, printed in crooked letters, "Got change?"

They hadn't bathed in days, based on their rank smell. Their clothes carried the dirt of the street. Peter didn't make eye contact with any of them.