"Not exactly flying," Logan pointed out. "Chickens, unlike eagles, don't really fly. Not long distances, to be precise."
Jack's eyes flashed amber, and then he followed Uncle Mike out the door. "You're here to be precise about poultry?"
Aunt Ruby made a strangled sound like a sob crossed with a gasp and ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I started to follow her, but then another spike of pain shot through my skull, and I fell into a chair instead, clutching my head.
"Come on in," Uncle Mike said, still in that deadly calm voice. "Unless you have any weapons on you. If so, hand over the bird and get off my property."
I glanced out through the screen door in time to see Jack, in profile, give Uncle Mike a look of surprise that quickly turned to appreciation, and at that moment I realized my uncle had put himself between Jack and someone my uncle perceived as a threat. I had to swallow a sudden lump in my throat.
Jack put a hand on Uncle Mike's shoulder and gently moved to stand beside him. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I've got this one. Mackenzie—"
"I don't have any weapons on me," Logan said, also quietly. "Well, only what I am, naturally. I just want to talk."
After a long moment that should have come with standoff music from an old Western movie, Jack finally nodded. "All right. But hand over the chicken."
By the time the three men and the mostly unharmed roast chicken were all in the kitchen, along with a bouquet Logan had picked up somewhere, Aunt Ruby had calmed her nerves and came back downstairs.
Logan, to his credit, immediately noticed her overly pink cheeks and gave her a courtly half-bow, handing her the flowers. "Ma'am, I have never encountered anyone with such kindness and graciousness as to be so concerned about what I might want to eat," he said in his lyrical accent, which made both Shelley's and Aunt Ruby's eyes widen. "Tales of Southern hospitality have not been exaggerated."
Uncle Mike and Jack both rolled their eyes, but my liking for the guy went up a notch for being kind to my aunt.
"Well, you are welcome at my table," Aunt Ruby said, flustered. "Thank you for the flowers. Everybody, sit, please."
When we were all seated—Logan was sandwiched between Uncle Mike and Jack, which was no accident—and passing around the food, Shelley, who'd been staring at Logan the entire time, finally spoke up.
"Butdoyou eat chicken?"
Logan winked at her and grabbed a drumstick off the platter. "Eagleslovechicken."
"Euwww," she said happily, before grabbing the other drumstick. "Can you fly?"
"I can absolutely fly," he said. "Not like this, but in my other shape. I guess that means I'm way cooler than Jack. Tigers can't fly."
Shelley's smile vanished. "Nobody's cooler than Jack," she said icily. "He saved my life."
Logan put his chicken down on his plate. "Yeah. He has a habit of doing that. He saved my sister's life, too."
"Was that before or after you stabbed him?" My head was still pounding, so maybe that's why my voice was so sharp. I half expected Aunt Ruby to chide me for rudeness, but her gaze had iced over considerably as she watched our dangerous chicken-catching guest.
Lou picked that moment to meow at the back door.
"Saved by the cat," Logan said, grinning and jumping up to open the door.
"Eagles better not hurt cats," Shelley said, the threat clear in her voice and in her tiny fists clenched on the table.
"This eagle does not," Logan said, leaning down to pet Lou, who hissed at him, surprising everybody. She then stalked around the table and jumped up into Jack's lap.
"Cats are excellent judges of character," Jack said smugly.
It was my turn to roll my eyes, but even that much movement hurt.
"Ow," I said, wincing. "This headache is really unpleasant."
Aunt Ruby automatically reached out a hand to feel my forehead. "You don't have a fever."
"I'm not sick. I just have this weird headache."
"But you never get headaches unless you're sick. Maybe you're coming down with—"
