Caged View (14 page)

The Caged View Apartments’ sign appeared,
swinging back and forth with the wind. A chair was wedged between
the lobby door and its post, propping it open. I kicked the chair
into the lobby, pulling the door closed behind me. The lock
clicked. I raced upstairs, never looking back and hoping to any god
or goddess who listened that he wasn’t behind me, following me home
and waiting to kill the only witness to the murder he’d just
committed.

The bed slammed into the wall every second
as Joanne’s loud moans filled the air. The kitchen and MeShack’s
bedroom shared a wall. Every time MeShack had sex, he damaged
it.

“Oh, daddy, give it to me!” Joanne yelled.
Daddy?

I rolled my eyes. A joint lay between my
shaking fingers.
Is the woman from the alley dead? Did the man
follow me home?
I brought the joint to my lips, inhaling the
bluish smoke of marijuana and lotus petals, and wiped tears from my
face.

“Right there!” Joanne moaned.

My book sat in front of me. It was Freud’s
psychoanalytical approach to Vampires. Holding a yellow highlighter
in my hand, I wondered if witnessing a possible murder would give
me a pass on tomorrow’s discussion and inhaled more blue smoke. The
words on the page merged into a blurry black and white pattern.

“Oh, daddy!”

“Turn around.” MeShack’s voice thundered
through the walls.

I exhaled, rubbed my eyes, and put my feet
on our table, which was a huge door MeShack had found. He’d painted
it black and then placed it over cinder blocks.

“Don’t stop, daddy!”

I could clearly hear the booming sound of
MeShack’s bed banging into his bedroom wall. Pieces of plaster fell
from the ceiling and crashed onto the kitchen floor.

“Come back here,” MeShack said over Joanne’s
shrieks. “Don’t run from it.”

“Yes!” Joanne screamed. “Yes!”

I lifted my head, crossing my fingers. The
bed’s pounding stopped. A beautiful silence filled the apartment.
Finally.
I started reading and almost finished a page when
loud purring vibrated throughout the apartment.
Son of a mixed
bitch.
I closed my book.

One downside of living with a Were-cheetah
is that he purrs when he’s happy. At times, the apartment vibrated
all day from MeShack’s enjoyment of life.

After a few minutes, the purring stopped. I
exhaled more blue smoke, knowing he’d be out soon. I scanned the
living room and was sure MeShack would complain about the mess.

My wet clothes hung over the arms of our
russet brown couch, hiding the tan patches I’d sewn in last month.
Damp pages from the books I’d stolen tonight covered the burnt
orange coffee table, drying. More pages decorated the olive green
carpet near our old flat-screen TV. I increased the heat in the
air, hoped the pages would dry faster, and heard movement from
MeShack’s room.

Yep.
He was definitely coming out,
and there was no time to clean.
Fuck it.

I brushed away my bitten nails from the door
table, watched them fall onto the carpet, and kicked them under the
table. Besides the drying papers, the carpet appeared clean. My dad
gave it to us. It was a housewarming
gift/I’m-sorry-I-tried-to-kill-you-both-in-a-drug-induced-rage-and-forced-you-both-to-flee-from-your-childhood-home
gift. Nevertheless, MeShack had a profound affection for the
raggedy rug. If he found a mark on it, fangs and claws would
appear.

A creaking sound announced MeShack’s door
was opening.

“Like a slow river, baby,” MeShack sang. His
voice was a musical instrument, sending smooth liquid tones through
the apartment. “So slow, you run through my heart.”

He bent his copper-toned body under the
doorway’s frame.

“Like a slow river, baby.” He wrapped a pink
towel with yellow flowers around his waist and closed the door.
Drops of sweat clung to the rows of muscle on his stomach. “You run
through my heart. Like a slow—”

“Would you stop? You’re going to get that
song stuck in my head.” I glared at him. His skin glowed like honey
poured over layers of caramel. His black pupils blazed within hazel
irises. I looked away and asked, “Is Joanne asleep?”

“Is that her name?”

I rolled my eyes and nodded.

“Yeah, she’s asleep.” He walked in a
bowlegged stride toward me, bent down to kiss my X brand, and
snatched the joint from me. “Cool shirt. The hot Were-cheetah that
bought you that shirt must be a comedic genius.”

“Or a pre-med geek who thinks he’s funny,” I
muttered. The shirt I’d put on after my shower read,
I wish I
was an Ion so I could form an exothermic bond with you
.

“I see you’ve been in my marijuana supply
tonight,” he said. “And I’m not a geek. Hot band leaders can’t be
geeks.”

“You’re right. Perhaps the best words to
describe you would be humble and modest,” I replied. He smiled and
flexed his biceps in response.

Humming, he walked into our kitchen, pulled
a rubber band out of the “everything” drawer, and tied his black
curls into a pony tail that went beyond his shoulders and lay at
the center of his back. He’d gotten the hair from his father, a
Were-cheetah from somewhere in Africa. Everything else came from
his Iranian Were-cheetah mother.

Ten stray Pixies flew from under the door
table and swarmed in MeShack’s direction.

“These freaking strays are killing me. No
more, La La. I’m serious. I convinced Janice to take two home with
her.”

“Joanne,” I corrected, watching him pull out
sugar cubes and hand one to each Pixie.

“I haven’t seen you smoke in years. What’s
up?” He grabbed a slice of raw ostrich meat from the refrigerator,
folded it, and then stuck the entire piece in his mouth.

I scrunched my nose up in disgust. “On a
scale of one to ten, with ten being horrific, today was a hundred
thousand.”

“Why?” He drank milk straight from the
carton, threw the empty container into the trash, and burped.
“What’s wrong?” He balanced the joint between his full lips and sat
down next to me. “Whose neck do I have to break tonight? Please say
it’s Zulu.”

“For the thousandth time, I’m not dating
him.”

“Whatever, La La.”

MeShack had called me La La since we were
nine. Most Shapeshifters know how to control their shifting by six.
His mother and my father were drug buddies. She’d been too busy
getting high with my dad to teach MeShack control. When I met him,
he couldn’t say Lanore. His face had shifted in and out of cheetah
form. La La had been the only words he could manage as his long
tongue hung out of the side of his furry mouth.

“So?” MeShack’s eyes focused on me. My
stomach clenched into a tight ball as I told him what had happened.
With each detail, the muscles in his jaw twitched.

“Why did you start crawling across the
alley?” He stamped the joint out on his hand. The charred skin
surrounding the burn healed and vanished.

“I don’t know why. I keep correcting my
actions in my mind over and over.”

“You think this Shorty guy saw the murderer
too?” MeShack’s eyes transformed to feline.

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“You said the killer was holding a long
knife, right? Could you draw it for me?” He handed me my notebook.
I drew it. He looked over my shoulder. “That’s a machete.”

“Do you think he’s out there looking for
me?”

“Stop it. If he wanted you dead, he would
have already been in this apartment.” MeShack scooted his chair
over to me and rubbed the back of my neck with his fingers. I
exhaled, enjoying the feel of his fingers caressing my skin.

“I would never let anything happen to you.
Nothing.” The veins in his large neck bulged. “Just play it safe
and stay out of the rain. Only go out when it’s dry enough to make
fire.”

He stopped massaging me, opened his box of
marijuana, and took out a gold piece of smoking paper. His eyes
returned to normal. “And since we’re discussing your safety, I
think you should stop hanging around Zulu.”

I ignored the comment and asked, “How was
last night’s gig?”

“I beat up a Were-leopard for booing.” He
laid his right arm on my chair. “Javier dropped the band from next
month’s line up.”

“You need anger management.”

“I’ll fix my anger problem when you do
something about your kleptomania.” He pointed to the wet books I’d
stolen earlier. I showed him my middle finger. He leaned forward
until his chest touched my arm.

“Is that an invitation?” The flecks of gold
in his hazel eyes sparkled.

I tried to calm my heart pounding in my
ears. When would his effect on me stop?

“Your invitations expired when you cheated
on me last year.” I leaned away from him.
Good job,
Lanore.

He continued to stare at me.

“Everybody is saying that Mixbreeds for
Equality did the bombing in St. Barbara’s square,” he said.
“Hanging around with them will hurt your chances of getting into
law school.”

“That’s a bad rumor. I would never be in a
group that harmed others.” I got up from my chair and headed to the
kitchen. A sharp pain throbbed at my temples. “Stop worrying about
me being in MFE.”

“You’re all the family I have.”

Our parents would get high, argue, and then
get high again. On payday, they’d turn on some cartoons, give us
candy bars, and leave for days. As kids, we thought it was an
adventure. We ate syrup sandwiches and stayed up all night watching
TV. A year later, MeShack and his mom moved in. Sometimes her pimp,
Joe, stayed for a few weeks.

Everything changed when I was fourteen.
MeShack’s mom disappeared. A month later, the habbies found her
behind Linderman Blood Factory, drained dry. We figured Joe had
killed her and took her blood. Back then, Supernaturals could get
$5,000 from the factory for a bucket. The next night, MeShack
returned to me, silent, and covered in blood. The habbies
discovered Joe later that evening with his head ripped from his
body, his heart torn out of his chest and stuffed into his
mouth.

“MFE is getting a lot of bad press.” I heard
MeShack say as I opened the freezer section of the fridge. Cold air
hit my face. I took out a large tub of ice cream that I’d stolen
from the university’s cafeteria.

“And this Zulu guy is telling people you’re
his lady,” he said as the skin wrinkled around his crescent moon
brand.

I shook my head and laughed.

“That doesn’t sound like something Zulu
would do. You Shifters gossip worse than Witches.” I spooned ice
cream into bowls. “If I was involved with him, I would tell
you.”

“And what happens if I don’t want you to be
with him?” He stood up.

“Absolutely nothing will happen.” I grabbed
honey off the counter. “I just listened for an hour as you pounded
my classmate, Joanne, whose name you keep forgetting, by the way. I
don’t think you’re the authority on what makes a decent guy.”

He marched over to the kitchen’s doorway,
wrapping his huge arms around his chest. I exerted heat into the
air as a warning for him to calm down. Ice cream dripped from the
spoon onto the counter.

“You’re about to lose your temper and
shift.” I attempted to focus on the bowls in front of me. The
pounding in my temples increased. “And you’re aggravating me.”

Within seconds, MeShack charged in a blur of
motion toward me. The towel fell from his body. I resisted the urge
to look below his waist and remained standing, not moving one inch.
His beast loved a good chase. I had to keep still.

“If I find out you’re dating him, I’ll rip
his throat out.” His nostrils flared.

Swirls of fire erupted from my hands.

I targeted my eyes on his. “You mess with
Zulu and I’ll burn your balls off. I’m not with him, and even if I
was, it’s none of your business.”

MeShack stared at the fireball I bounced in
my hand. He opened his mouth in shock, exposing sharp fangs that
stuck out of the top and bottom rows of his teeth. Silence hung
between us for a few seconds until he said, “I wish I wouldn’t get
jealous, but I do. You spend a lot of time with him, and for the
past few weeks he’s been leaving messages and sending flowers.”

“Flowers?” I scrunched my face in confusion,
searching the kitchen with my eyes. “Where are the flowers?”

“I threw all of them away.”

“Asshole! You had no right. You know how
much I love flowers.” I slung the spoon into the sink and walked
around him. He reached for my arm, but I moved it away, grabbed my
satchel, and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” He stared at the
floor.

“I’m freaked out from this murder. Instead
of you calming me down, you take the opportunity to belittle MFE
and act like a jealous ass.”

“La La, I’m sorry.”

“I need fresh air. I’m suffocating in here
with you and your ego.” I put my hand on the doorknob.