He did not immediately answer, but when he did, he said, "I left because I had to. I didn't have a choice."

"There's always a choice."

"No. Not when it's biological."

Aggie frowned. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean by that. Are you... dreaming somewhere? And then your body woke up?"

Charlie twitched, which under the bathroom light looked more like a ripple surging through his body. "Something like that. It's a bit more complicated."

Aggie waited for him to continue. When he did not, she leaned even harder against the lavatory door and folded her arms over her chest.

"You know all my dirt," Aggie said. "Everything. I've got no secrets from you."

"Agatha-"

She held up her hand. "You've managed to deflect every personal question I've thrown at you, and frankly, I find your lack of trust deeply offensive. You're asking me to risk my life for Emma, and that's fine, something I would do anyway. But I expect some reciprocity on your part. Show me a little respect, Charlie."

"You want a reason to trust me."

"Maybe," Aggie said. "Or maybe I just want to figure you out. I don't know who you are."

"I'm a guy who has too much time on his hands."

"You're a guy who helps kids."

"I'm a guy who never helped anyone before this kid."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Don't. I had secrets to keep. It made me selfish. Isolated."

"Secrets. The kind of secrets that let you float around like a ghost and read minds?"

"It's related. Part of a larger picture."

"And last night? Is that picture all biology?"

"Extreme genetics."

"The kind not found in nature?"

"No. I'm all natural. That's the problem."

"I don't see how there's a problem in being yourself," Aggie said.

"Then why do you hide what you can do?"

"Because I want to keep being myself without any scrutiny or interference."

"Good answer."

"My momma didn't raise no fool," she said.

"But you still want to know about... this."

"Your dream self, yes. I really do."

"It's not easy. The explanation, I mean."

"Just spit it out, Charlie! Mr. All-American Charlie."

For a moment she thought he would not answer, and the frustration that welled up inside her chest mixed unpleasantly with a strong ache of disappointment. She did not know why; it seemed ridiculous to expect any honesty from the... individual in front of her.

But she did. And if she did not receive a straight answer, if all she continued to hear was nothing at all...

"You play hardball," Charlie said.

"I'm just a hard person," Aggie replied.

"Now who's lying?" He shook his head. "Fine. Okay, then. Okay. You want the truth? I'm... I'm not human."

He sounded as though he was declaring his own death. Aggie chewed the inside of her cheek. "You're not human? Really?"

"Not at all."

"Well... what are you, then?"

"You work with shape-shifters. I've seen it in your head. Golden eyes. Animals. Occasionally bad-tempered."

"I didn't know their tempers were a racial cla.s.sification, but yes, I do. Is that what you are?"

"No. My kind are related, though. Distantly."

Aggie covered her eyes. Someone knocked on the door behind her.

"Miss?" asked the flight attendant in a loud voice. "Are you okay in there?"

"Fine!" Aggie shouted back. "My stomach! It's bad! Bad!"

If there was a response, she did not hear one. No one else knocked on the door.

"Okay," she whispered. "You're not human, and you're not a shape-shifter. What else is there?"

"Um, a lot, actually."

"Charlie."

"The technical term is gargoyle. That's what I am. A gargoyle."

Aggie blinked hard. She was going insane. Forget acting crazy; she was already there. "What the h.e.l.l does that mean? Aren't gargoyles little stone... watchdogs, or something?"

"Arf," Charlie said.

"Hey."

"I guess that explains why my mother always kept me on a leash."

Aggie buried her face in her hands. "I hate you."

"You don't even know me. I thought that was the whole point of this."

"I changed my mind."

Charlie laughed, and the sound curled warm in Aggie's stomach. He had a nice laugh. It was deep, soft. s.e.xy.

He stopped laughing. Aggie's face burned.

"Agatha," he said quietly. "Look at me."

She did, but it was painful. She stared up into his dark featureless mask and said, "So you're a gargoyle. Tell me what that is."

He touched her face-a hand made of darkness, resting soft against her cheek. He was warm; radiance poured through her skin. It felt good. Aggie began to relax.

"Charlie," she said.

"Originally we were demon hunters," he said. "You don't know about any of that. It's early history, not quite prehuman, but close. Things were different in the world. Different in a bad way. My kind kept the balance."

"But things changed."

"Humans came into power. Demons lost their hold on the earth. When that happened, gargoyles had to find a new reason for being. It wasn't very difficult. There were still things to fight."

"And then things changed some more."

"Yes," he whispered. "We became monsters, the hunted. To survive, we were forced to subvert out natures. Gargoyles can shift their shapes in temporary ways. We made ourselves look human, and took up roles in human societies. Quiet professions, mostly. Anything to keep us off the radar."

"You did a good job. You're not much in the legend books."

"That's probably because we wrote them. Many of us become writers and scholars."

He still touched her. Aggie did not pull away. It was dangerous to keep this up-she had a future to subvert-but his hand was warm and large, and she said, "You don't feel like a dream."

"Neither do you," he said. The plane shook-turbulence. The seatbelt light dinged above her head and she glanced left at the mirror. She did not see Charlie's reflection, which was remarkable, considering just how much room he took up. She felt surrounded by a thundercloud, a shot of night.

Charlie turned his head to follow her gaze. "Oh. That's interesting. And no, I'm not even remotely related to a vampire."

The plane shook again, more violently this time. Aggie braced herself against the door, the counter. Charlie remained effortlessly still.

"Maybe you should go back to your seat."

"Yeah," Aggie said, but she did not move. Someone banged on the door.

"Hey!" shouted a man. "I gotta p.i.s.s, lady."

"He has to p.i.s.s," Charlie said. "Best to let him have at it."

She wanted to tell him that the man could tinkle in his pants for all she cared, but she kept her mouth shut. Charlie laughed, low in his throat, and when she turned to unlock the lavatory door she felt a pressure at her waist; warmth, sinking through her clothing. Her breath caught.

"Remember," he whispered playfully in her ear. "You've been ill."

Aggie glanced over her shoulder. Charlie's body had disappeared, but the warmth did not fade. She felt his hands move up her spine-a trail of warmth-and she swallowed hard. She unlocked the door.

A man stood there, and behind him, the flight attendant, who stared at Aggie with concern. Aggie tried to look sick, and hoped it did not come off as turned-on. Warmth burst around the front of her stomach and sides; Charlie, embracing her from behind. Her entire body felt hot.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "I need to sit down."

She pushed down the aisle, ignoring the curious gazes of the other first-cla.s.s pa.s.sengers. Charlie never let up the pressure; she felt like she was wearing her own ghost-and G.o.d, it felt good.

You need to stop this right now, she thought at him. A moment later, the pressure eased off. Aggie bit back her disappointment. Really, she needed to grow up. This was not any way to conduct an investigation. She was going to rescue an abused child, for Christ's sake.

She also realized the trip to the lavatory was a complete waste. She could have just thought that entire conversation from her seat.

Aggie threw herself down and buckled in, pulled her blanket up to her chin, knocked her seat back, and twisted so she faced the window. She did not want to look at anyone. Sleep. She was going to close her eyes and get some f.u.c.king Charlie-free rest.

"I'm hurt," he murmured in her ear.

Go away.

"We still have to talk about how we're going to take care of Emma."

We need to get the local authorities involved. We have to do this on the up and up.

"We don't have time for that. They'll need probable cause. A warrant. We need to get Emma out first. You corner these two, and they'll use her as a hostage."

And then what? Something needs to be done about the old woman and her son. They'll just hurt some other kid. If the police help- "I could have found some way of going to the local police, but I didn't. That was a last resort."

Are they corrupt?

"Worse. They think Mrs. Kreer and her son are pillars of society. Churchgoers, fund-raisers, volunteers. Those two do it all. Their reputation is perfect."

But they shoot women point-blank in the face so they can make daughters into child p.o.r.n stars? That doesn't make sense, Charlie. That's high-level crime. Psycho, too.

"True psychopaths are the best pretenders." He sighed, and warmth crept up Aggie's shoulder. "Please. At least consider getting her out first. Then call the cops. There won't be any lack of evidence, Agatha. Their house in one big... perversion."

Do you know why they do it? What drives them? Even why they chose Emma?

"No. I can't read their thoughts. Their minds are... blocked."

"Blocked?" Aggie said out loud, and then settled deeper beneath her blanket. What the h.e.l.l does that mean?