Ghosts of Christmas Past Read Free Page A

clear but the full physical strength of the man was hidden. What was evident was that whoever he was looking for had better start saying some prayers.
    She labeled the drawing Detective Fixit , the ironic nickname given to him by other members of the force because he was called in on all the weird cases. Hardly anyone called him Captain James, and she never heard anyone use his full first name, Aloysius.
    She flipped to the next page, labeled Al . He stood in the kitchen, wearing only his jeans. No shirt, no shoes, plenty of service because he was cooking her eggs for breakfast. Al was fine . Plus, he noticed things.
    And she wasn’t normal, anyway. They worked. Even Al had to admit that. For now. He was worried whether they’d work a year or even ten years from now.
    â€œThis is your guy? He’s black?” Cassandra said from over her shoulder.
    Lucy turned. “Yeah, is that a problem?”
    â€œNope, I just wanted to make sure I had it right,” Cassandra said. “Wait, he’s a cop?”
    â€œHe’s my cop.” Lucy flipped back to Detective Fixit . “See?” And she went back to shirtless Al. “And this is my guy.”
    Cassandra whistled. “Okay, he’s a feast for the eyes, but I don’t know. A cop? You know what they’re like in this city.”
    The sculptress was wearing a tie-dye dress today, her long white hair pulled back by a similarly dyed scarf.
    â€œAl’s not like other cops,” Lucy said.
    â€œCops are the man. They’re all kinda the same that way.”
    â€œNot Al.”
    â€œMaybe not now. Wait until power corrupts. That’s what happens to all of them.”
    â€œYou’re generalizing, Cassandra.” This is why she hadn’t revealed Al was a cop until now. She liked Cassandra but the woman could be pedantic about “the man”. Though, she was right about most of the local police.
    â€œAl would be the first to tell you way too many Double C cops are ill trained, incompetent or on the take. He’s been trying to change that since they promoted him to captain, but it’s only been a few months. Give him time.”
    And Noir had helped him. Quietly, sneaking into homes here and there to collect evidence, using her invisibility to follow around suspects, among other things.
    When she was Noir, Al never complained about their relationship. She liked being Noir. But she liked her art as well. Al’s work consumed him. She needed her art and Noir. Why should she choose?
    Cassandra nodded and patted Lucy’s shoulder. “If he’s your guy, okay, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. For now.”
    â€œYou’d like him, Cassandra.”
    â€œMaybe I would,” she said. “So, you going to use these sketches in the show?”
    â€œI don’t know. You think they’re that good?”
    â€œThey have life in them. You picked a great subject, even if it wasn’t one I’d have picked. He must have been thrilled when he saw them.”
    â€œI didn’t show them to him. He’d be…” What? Angry? Embarrassed? Confused?
    â€œHe has a problem with your art?” Cassandra leaned against the easel. “Cops can be controlling.”
    â€œQuit it, okay? Al’s not controlling.” The opposite, actually.
    â€œSo what is it then? If you want a way to mellow him out about these sketches, I know some great sex tips that will have him agreeing to anything in the afterglow. Even for a cop.” She smiled.
    â€œSex isn’t the problem,” Lucy said. “And he loves that I’m an artist. Al thinks…um, I think he thinks I deserve something better in my life. I’m not sure what he means by that. He said something about this being a transient-artist place this morning and asked why I was spinning my wheels here.”
    â€œI’ve wondered the same myself. This is last-chance saloon, kid. Why would a nice girl from