At any rate, there’s a fine line between desire and lust, and unfortunately, lust is one of the Seven Deadlies. With my emotions roiling under the surface, it wasn’t safe to skirt around the edges of it; not to mention the fact that casual hookups for me tended to go south at some point. There are circumstances under which it becomes very difficult to conceal a tail, even a small one. Believe me, that’s an awkward conversation to have.

“Check it out.” Jen nudged my arm, jerking her chin at the accordion player. “He’s checking you out.”

“Yeah.” Ruefully, I folded up the image of my licking his throat and packed it away in a mental suitcase, zipping it closed. “But it’s complicated.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jen was quiet a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” I was grateful for her understanding.

In the west, the sun sank slowly behind the tree line. Los Gatos del Sol took a break. The Pride of Pemkowet, a replica of an old-fashioned paddle-wheel steamboat, churned down the river to catch the sunset, laden with sightseers. There was a splash, and then oohs and ahhs from the tourists aboard the boat. They’d caught a glimpse of something this time: a flash of a naiad’s pearl-white arm, maybe, or an undine’s hair trailing like translucent seaweed. The locals stayed seated while the tourists in the park rushed to the dock to see, returning in muttering disappointment. Whatever it was, they’d missed it.

By the time the band began its last set, the dusk was luminous. I watched the children at play.

It was a lovely sight, and only a little bittersweet. I missed the careless unselfconsciousness of childhood, when a boy on the bus could be a hero and nothing more complicated. The youngest kids flitted around the park like dragonflies. There were little girls forming friendships on the spot, one in a flounced polka-dotted skirt, one decked out in tie-dye by latter-day-hippie parents. There was a young gymnast showing off, turning cartwheel after perfect cartwheel. Jen’s brother, Brandon, was hanging out with a couple of buddies, trying to look like they were too cool to play with the little kids. He was a surprise baby, what they call a change-of-life baby.

There was a dad letting his three daughters spin around him like a maypole, making themselves dizzy until they fell tumbling onto the soft grass. A few yards away, a boy who couldn’t have been older than five or six was swiveling his hips like a miniature Elvis. There was a giggling blond girl with a doll in the crook of one arm leading another little girl in gingham by the hand toward the bushes—

Oh, crap.

My skin prickled. One of those kids wasn’t a kid. Reaching into my purse, I eased out my police ID and stood slowly.

“What’s up?” Jen asked.