Free Of Saints and Shadows (1994) by Christopher Golden Page A

the edge of the roof and surveyed the city he called home. It was the kind of night in the kind of city where you’d really have to go out of your way to attract attention. Peter didn’t want attention, he just wanted to be on time for his date . . . appointment with Meaghan. And he wanted to fly.
    Of course it was quite painful—excruciating in fact—but hey, what’s five hundred years of living do if it doesn’t heighten your tolerance for pain?
    The metamorphosis began as painfully as ever, and Peter tried to keep his concentration on the city lights and heavy snow. It was an effort not to voice his pain, and he set tight his lips against the urge. Neither he nor Karl nor anyone he had ever met truly understood the nature of the thing that was happening to him now. He only knew that it must be magic pure and simple, for now his clothes were changing with him and the pistol in its holster, and when he returned to his human form—a much less painful process—he would be dressed just as he’d been when he left his apartment.
    Ah, the pain again. Over the years he had waited for it to go away, for his body to grow accustomed to the change. It never happened. Though it was often worse, it was never better.
    And then the metamorphosis was complete, the pain was ended. Until next time.
    It was nearly eight, now, and he flew quickly, manipulating the high winds, using them to bolster his speed. Though he knew it was nothing but a myth he could not completely thrust from his mind, the initial transformation always made him feel somehow unclean. Riding the winds was a relief—soaring, cleansing.
    Meaghan did not mention his lateness, nor did he apologize. Her mind was on Janet and, more and more, on Peter. There was something about him that was at once incredibly strong and amazingly gentle, something . . . unnaturally natural, if that could be. The only word she found to describe him was human. He seemed a prime example of what people want to be, of humanity. And yet he scared her as well, as if somehow, being around him might lead her to some self-examination she wasn’t entirely prepared for.
    What the hell, she’d been in lust before. He’d probably turn out to be an asshole after all.
    “So what did you find out?”
    “Well, I went to Claremont,” she began with a toss of her head and a cascade of auburn that she could see had pleasantly distracted him.
    “That’s Janet’s firm?”
    “Right. Claremont, Miller and Moore. I was able to get most of the stuff she was working on, but the lawyer I needed to talk to, Dan Benedict, with whom Janet worked quite a bit, was in a meeting or some such thing. So I left him a note. I figure Dan would be able to give us an idea whether any of these cases might have put Jan in danger. And that about covers it.”
    “Have you started going through the papers at all?”
    “No, I figured I would wait for you. I didn’t want you to miss the fun.”
    Peter made no reply other than to nod his assent, and Meaghan suddenly felt like an intruder in her own home. The night before she had felt slightly uneasy in his presence, but it had been a nervous kind of feeling, her stomach telling her she was about to begin something whose outcome was far from certain. She still felt that, but this was different, more personal. He meant no insult, she was sure, but he was all business.
    “I had the best lunch today, at this little place on Beacon Street,” she began, trying to lighten the mood as they dove into Janet Harris’s private files.
    Peter nodded on occasion or mumbled a resigned uh-huh to show that he was listening, though she could see he was not. Finally, she tired of blabbing about herself and backed Peler into a corner about his own life.
    “I don’t like talking about myself much,” he answered coolly.
    That irked her.
    “Peter, I know it’s really none of my business . . .” she started, and perhaps because of the sound of her voice, he finally looked up.
    “ . . .