The nymphs blinked big eyes at me - blue and brown and translucent green - then turned back to one another, and the screaming commenced again. I caught a few snippets - something about bascule bridges and treaties and water flow. They were clearly unimpressed that I'd arrived.
My grandfather rolled his eyes in amusement. I grinned back and gave him a finger wave - and nearly lost a chunk of hair to the snap of pink-tipped fingers before Lindsey pulled me back from the fray.
I looked over at Catcher, who offered me the Look of Disappointed Sensei. "Arm's reach," he said, inclining his head toward the nymphs, who'd moved on to clawing and hair-pulling. It was a catfight of You Tube-worthy proportions. Hems were tugged, hair yanked, bare skin clawed and raked by prettily manicured nails. And through it all, screaming and tears.
"For goodness' sake," said a voice behind me, and Jeff pushed through us to the edge of warring women. "Ladies!" he said, and when they ignored him, gave a little chuckle, before yelling again, "Ladies!"
To a one, the nymphs stopped in place, even while their hands were wrapped around the necks and hair of the ones nearby. Heads swiveled slowly toward us, took in the group of us, stopped when they reached Jeff. The nymphs - all nine of them - dropped their hands, began adjusting hair and bodices, and when they were set, turned batty- eyelashed smiles at Jeff.
Mallory and I stared, openmouthed, at the skinny computer programmer who'd just wooed nine busty, lusty water goddesses into submission.
Jeff rocked back on his heels, grinned at them. "That's better. Now what's all the fuss?" His voice was soothing, crooning, with an edge of playful that made the women visibly shiver.
I couldn't help but grin . . . and wonder if I hadn't been giving Jeff enough credit.
The tallest of the petite group, a blue-eyed blonde whose perfect figure was tucked into a blue cocktail dress - and who I remembered from the posters at my grandfather's office was the Goose Island nymph - looked across the group of women, smiled tentatively at Jeff, then let loose a stream of invectives about her sisters that would have made a salty sailor blush.
"Uh, earmuffs?" Mallory whispered next to me.
"Seriously," I murmured back.
The gist of Goose Island's argument, without all the cursing, was that the (slutty) raven- haired nymph on her left, North Branch, had slept with the (whorish) boyfriend of the platinum blond nymph on her right, West Fork. The reason for the betrayal, Goose suggested, was some sort of complicated political nudging of their respective boundaries.
Jeff clucked his tongue and regarded the North Branch brunette. "Cassie, darling, you're better than this."
Cassie shrugged sheepishly, looked at the ground.
"Melaina," he said to the West Fork blonde, "you need to leave him."
Melaina sniffled, her head bobbing as she toyed with a lock of hair. "He said I was pretty."
Jeff gave her a sad smile and opened his arms. Melaina practically jumped forward and into Jeff's embrace, squealing when he hugged her. As Jeff patted her back, crooned soothing whispers into her ear, Mallory, agog, slid me a dubious glance.
I could only shrug. Who knew little Jeff had this in him? Maybe it was a shifter-nymph thing? I made a mental note to check the Canon.
"There, there," Jeff said, and released Melaina to her sisters. "Now." He folded long- fingered hands together and looked over the group. "Are we done bothering Mr. Merit for the evening? I'm sure he's noted your concerns, and he'll pass them along to the Mayor." He looked at my grandfather for approval, and Grandpa nodded in response.
"Okay, girls?" A little more sniffling, a few brushes of hands across teary cheeks, but they all nodded. The making up was as loud as the dispute had been, all high-pitched apologies and plans for mani-pedis and spa days. Hugs were exchanged, ripped hemlines were cooed over, makeup adjusted. (Miraculously, not a mascara smudge to be seen. Indelible mascara was a river nymph necessity, I supposed.)
When the nymphs had calmed themselves, they gathered around Jeff, peppered him with kisses and sweet words, and filed out the door. Mallory and I watched through the screen door as they flipped open cell phones and climbed into their tiny roadsters, then zoomed off into the Chicago night.
We turned simultaneously back to Jeff, who was typing with his thumbs on a cell phone with a slide-out keyboard. "Warcraft tourney tonight. Who's in?"
"How long do shifters live?" I asked Catcher.
He looked at me, one eyebrow arched in puzzlement. "A hundred and twenty, a hundred and thirty years. Why?"
So he was young, even if, at twenty-one, a legal adult in human years. "Because he's going to be frighteningly good when he grows up."
Jeff looked up, pointed at his phone. "Seriously, who's in?" he asked me, his eyes wide and hopeful. "You can be my elf? I have headsets."
"When he grows up," Catcher confirmed, and slipped the cell phone from Jeff's hands, and into his own pocket. "Let's eat, Einstein."
After exchanging belated hello hugs with my grandfather, I was led into the dining room. A meal fit for a king - or a cop, two vampires, a shifter, and two sorcerers - was laid out on the table. In the infield of a ring of green place mats lay bowls of green beans, corn, mashed potatoes, squash casserole, macaroni and cheese. There were baskets of rolls and on a side buffet sat the desserts - a layered white cake mounded with coconut shavings, a pan of frosting-covered brownies, and a plate of pink and white cupcakes.
But the showpiece, which sat on its own platter in the middle of the oval table, was the biggest ketchup-topped meat loaf I'd ever seen.
I made a happy sound. I loved to eat, sure, and I'd eat nearly anything put in front of me, the pint of blood I'd downed earlier evidence enough of that, but my grandfather's meat loaf - made from my grandmother's recipe - was by far my favorite meal.
"Anyone touches the meat loaf before I get my share, you become chew toys," I said, pointing a cautionary finger at the grinning faces around the room.
My grandfather put an arm across my shoulders. "Happy birthday, baby girl. I thought you'd appreciate the gift of food as much as anything else."
I nodded, couldn't help but laugh. "Thanks, Grandpa," I said, giving him a hug before pulling out a chair.
They moved around the table, my friends, Mallory beside me, Catcher at one end, Grandpa at the other, Lindsey and Jeff - who wore an unfortunately eager grin - on the opposite side. There was a quick moment of silence led, interestingly, by Catcher, who closed his eyes, dropped his head, and said a quick, reverential blessing over the food.