2.

I got to Richard’s job just as the classes were letting out for midmorning break. In this day and age, it should be a difficufclt task to just walk onto a Junior High campus, but no one stopped me. Maybe it was because I’m not much taller than most of the students. It’s one of the few places where someone my height can actually blend with the crowd.

I stopped at the door of his classroom. It was open. Richard’s that kind of teacher. Even during breaks, his door is always open for the kids. He was bent over a book on his desk, talking to twiggy girl student whose eyes were wide with puppy love.

She closed her book, thanked him shyly and started towards the door. He looked at the door as she went. He didn’t look surprised to see me. He looked me over from foot to head, starting with my black pumps, my slim black pantsuit, my grim face.

His eyes lingered briefly at my waist and chest, not in a sexual way. He didn’t have Jean-Claude’s talent for imbruing every glance and glare with the whispers of flesh on flesh. I think I loved him more for that lack. No, Richard was looking at the places, now well concealed by my jacket, where I wore my guns.

Yes, guns. With an "s". Not long ago, I had only brought the Browning and Firestar out for special occasions, but the tone of my life lately had made me reconsider that. A lot.

"Please close the door behind you, Jenny," Richard said quietly as I stepped past his student into the room.

I heard the door close. I looked at Richard. His face was blank, expectant. I couldn’t hear anything, but I knew he was listening to the sound of Jenny’s footsteps receding down the hall.

His brown hair was pulled back into a tight queue today, making it look like he had a very short, conservative cut. I knew differently. I hadn’t seen much of him lately, and it was hard now. He wanted me to choose between him and Jean-Claude but we both knew I couldn’t. So we were at an impasse. Seeing him now brought it all back.

I’m not one to wallow in misery, so I did something to take both of our minds off the subject of our romantic entanglement.

"You should talk to the administration about security." I shrugged my jacket back and flashed the handles of my guns in their holsters. "The next person that comes in here armed might not like kids as much as I do."

I’m pretty good about concealing my weapons. I buy my clothes so that they fit over the holsters, and I’ve learned not to move in ways that press them against the line of my clothes. Most people never even know I’m carrying, unless I want them to. Me with my guns is kind of like an old vamp who can give you a wide smile and never show a fang. Time and practice teach well.

Richard looked dismayed to see my guns. He had never liked to be reminded that I carried them, though he never seemed to complain when they saved his butt.

"I would have hoped you could at least have left those behind when you came here."

"You know my policy, Richard."

"Why are you here?"

"You don’t seem surprised to see me." I stalled. Somehow, I thought it was unfair to bring up the topic of murder, even self-defense, here in Richard’s school. He tried so hard to be human. I knew that when I spoke Dominic Dumare’s name here, in Richard’s classroom, I’d taint his last refuge from his beast with the sordid realities of blood and death The sordid realities I lived with everyday.

"I smelled you--and the guns--in the hall. Why are you here?"

"I got a call from Vice this morning…"

"So what did Jean-Claude have to say?" I glared at him. Lousy pun. Bad joke. God, I missed him.

"The police found a book addressed to me from Dominic Dumare."

"Strange. What can I do?"

"I’m told that the pack…took care of things. This is evidence linking me to him. I need to know that the police won’t…find anything incriminating."

His face went hard and still, as though he were remembering something he’d rather not think about. "Don’t worry, there’s nothing to find."

My face must have gone pale. Richard’s not the only one who doesn’t like to think about the fact that once a month he turns furry, and sometimes, he eats people. I’d seen him do it once. It was part of what had thrown our relationship into its current fractured circumstances. "You mean--" I began, then stopped myself.

"Yes," Richard spit out the word. "Not me, but yes."

He turned his back on me and began to erase the last class’ lesson from the board. "The bell will ring soon. I have things to do." He didn’t turn around to say goodbye, but I knew he wanted me to leave.

I walked to the door. I turned around to close it behind me and saw that Richard was sitting at his desk, staring at a pile of papers. His face was still hard and blank.

"Richard. I’m sorry." My voice was just loud enough to carry to him, but I knew my words would not be enough to make up for the memories that my questions and my presence stirred.

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