Chapter Twelve
It was the softest sound of fabric sliding against leather that woke me. In a pulse of adrenaline, my eyes flashed open and my breath came fast. The scratchy softness of an afghan brushed against my face, and I sat up with a smooth, fast motion.
I was on the couch in the sanctuary, not my bed, and the light coming in the tall stained-glass windows was bright with the sunrise. Across the coffee table, Marshal was frozen halfway to a stand from his chair. His expression was one of shock.
"Wow," he said as he straightened to his full height. "I was trying to be quiet. You're a really light sleeper."
I blinked at him, realizing what had happened. "I fell asleep," I said stupidly. "What time is it?"
With a soft exhalation, Marshal sat back down on the chair where he had spent most of last night. A bowl holding leftover popcorn sat on the table with three bottles of pop and an empty bag of gingersnaps. His stocking feet spread wide, he squinted at his watch. It was analog, which didn't surprise me. Most witches shunned digital. "A little after seven," he said, his gaze rising to the muted TV and the puppets that were dancing there.
"Oh, God!" I moaned, falling back into the warmth of where I had been sleeping. "I'm so sorry."
Marshal had his head down as he adjusted his socks. "For what?"
I gestured to the stained-glass windows past the gently swaying bats. "It's seven."
"I don't have to be anywhere. Do you?"
Uh, not until later. My swirling thoughts slowed. I didn't feel that good, seeing as I still had a chunk of sleep waiting for me somewhere, and I scooted myself up a bit so I wasn't so...schlumpy looking.
"Hey, you, ah, want to crash here for the rest of the morning?" I asked, staring at the happy puppets on the TV. Must be a human thing to watch puppets at this hour, because it sure as hell wasn't appealing to a witch. "We have a couch in the back living room. It's darker in there."
Marshal pressed his lips together and shook his head. "No, thanks. I didn't mean to wake you. I was going to leave you a note and slip out. I've been on a human clock for three years. I'm usually up by now."
My face twisted as I imagined that. "I'm not," I complained. "I've got to get to bed."
He smiled as he gathered the empty bottles to take to the kitchen, and I yawned. "Don't bother," I said. "I'll take care of them. If I don't rinse them out, the rani of recycling yells at me."
Smiling, he pulled his hands away and stood, leaving them where they were. "I have to check a few more apartments this morning, but I'll burn through my list in a few hours. You want to get together later?"
A spike of anticipation rose through me, dulled by my sleepy state, but I couldn't help but wonder where this was going. Last night with Marshal had been fun. Comfortable. True to what he had said earlier about wanting a break from a girlfriend, we just sat around and watched TV. I had brought all my runner instincts to bear on him, and though it would be stupid to think that he might not be interested in more later, right now, he just seemed to appreciate the company. God knew I did.
"Sure," I said, carefully, "but David's run out to that witch's house comes first." I was reluctant to move, feeling rumpled and ill from the early hour. I'd thought it had been odd when he'd fallen asleep in his chair at midnight, right during the news, but if he'd been running on a human clock, that would be late for him.
I had intended to let Marshal sleep through the late movie and then wake him, seeing as it was nice having company without having to worry about triggering any blood lust attacks when I got excited in a chase scene. Falling asleep during the slow spots had never crossed my mind. But someone had turned the volume down, so he'd probably woken up at some point and let me keep sleeping. That was nice.
"You need any help? At the house I mean?" Marshal asked, and I smiled up at him.
"Nope."
"Then I'll get out of here," he said, then dropped down to crouch before me. He was way too close, and I drew back with my eyes wide.
"You're funny," he said as he got on his hands and knees and peered under the couch. "I'm not going to kiss you. You're too much trouble to be my girlfriend. Too high-maintenance. My boots are under there."
I grinned in embarrassment as he came up with his boots.
The click of the front door opening shot through me. Marshal got to his feet and turned in one smooth motion, and I bolted upright.
"Ivy?" I called, recognizing the sound of her boots clacking.
Her path ruler-straight and her face placid, she walked past Marshal and me. "'Morning," she said, no clue to her mood in her voice as she vanished into the darkness of the hall. The collar to her jacket was up, and I think she'd been bitten in an intentionally obvious place. My thoughts jerked back to Rynn Cormel, and a feeling of anger burned. He had taken her last night, making his claim in an obvious, indisputable way. I'd known it was coming, and Ivy said it was expected, but it still seemed degrading to me.
Marshal shifted uneasily, and my attention returned to him. He was standing over me, and I suddenly realized what it must have looked like to Ivy. He hadn't been there to give me a kiss, but he had been in the right place for it.
Ivy slammed a kitchen cupboard door shut, and Marshal jumped.
"I'd, ah, better go."
I pulled the afghan up around my shoulders as he started for the front door. Stretching to feel every ache the couch had put in me, I followed him. The pixies were loud outside, and the shadows of their wings showed where they were clearing spiderwebs off the outside panes to help deter fairies from trying to take up residence. My balance bobbled as I came around the coffee table, and Marshal caught my elbow. "Thanks," I mumbled, looking up his considerable height. I didn't like how awkward the early hour had made me, but he looked fine, standing there in his rumpled shirt and lightly stubbled face.
"Kinda klutzy in the morning, eh?" he said, then let go of my elbow when Ivy's boots clattered in the hallway. He stepped back, and I tried not to frown at Ivy. She had Marshal's coat from the kitchen, and she draped it over my swivel desk chair. "Do you want some coffee before you go?" she asked, sounding sincere, but the coat said different.
Marshal cracked his neck, his gaze sliding to his coat before returning to Ivy, who was framed by the hallway opening, her hip cocked, looking predatory in her sleek leather pants and coat. "No, thanks. I have an appointment. See you later, Ivy."
He pulled his coat from the chair, and as it slowly spun, I followed him to the door. Fatigue made my feet heavy, and I yawned, trying to wake up. God, I must look terrible.
"'Bye, Marshal," Ivy said, still unmoving. Her face was empty, telling me she wasn't happy. I gave her a pointed look when Marshal paused to put on his boots, and finally showing her ire, she turned and left.
Immediately my tension eased in the dim gray of the foyer. "Don't mind her," I said as Marshal laced his boots up. "She likes you."
"Could have fooled me," he said as he tugged his coat on and the scent of oil, gas, and redwood came to me. "Thanks for last night. I didn't want to sit in my hotel room, and I'm too old for the bar scene. I feel like I'm using you to keep from being alone."
A smile came over me, sort of sad but happy as well. "Yeah, me, too." I hesitated, not wanting to sound pushy, but it had felt good not to be alone. "So, I'll call you later this afternoon when I know my schedule?"
He took a deep breath, exhaling quickly as he gathered his thoughts. "Not if I call you first." Smiling, he opened the door and stepped out onto the stoop. "'Bye, Rachel."
"'Bye," I called after him. I slumped until my back hit the door frame, giving him an unsure smile when he looked up from the sidewalk with his keys in hand. His boots were almost soundless on the walk, and I watched him as the cooler air slipped in to make my ankles chill and a stray curl dance before my eyes. I hoped this wasn't a mistake. I'd had guy friends before, but it usually slipped into something else before it ended.
The human neighbor down the street drove past in his minivan, and when he slowed to check Marshal out, I ducked back inside. Seven o'clock. What was I doing up at seven o'clock? This was a stupid-ass hour to be up.
But I felt good. Sort of melancholy, but good.
The darkness of the foyer was comforting, and I wrapped my arms around my middle as I went back into the sanctuary, grabbing the bowl and bottles on my way to the kitchen. Ivy was in there, and I wanted to know if Rynn Cormel, the charismatic world leader, had taken advantage of my roommate and bitten her.
Squinting at the brighter light and feeling the early hour all the way to my bones, I rinsed the empty pop bottles before dropping them into the recycling bin and slumped into my chair with the last of the popcorn. Ivy was still wearing her coat, sitting poised at her computer and checking e-mail before bed. An open box of flavored cereal was by her keyboard and she chewed slowly. Leaning, I tried to catch a look at her neck, and she jerked back so I couldn't.
"He seems nice," she said, her face emotionless, but I could hear a hint of annoyance.
"He is," I said defensively. "It's nice of you to pretend to like him, by the way. Thanks."
The corners of her eyes tightened. "What makes you think I don't like him?"
Oh, that is just stupid. "Because you never like anyone who pays attention to me," I said, feeling my pulse quicken, angry that she would try to bullshit me.
"I liked Kisten," she said bitterly.
Emotion welled, and I got even more angry that she'd try to make me feel guilty for wanting to move past his death. I tugged the afghan closer, ticked. "The only reason you liked him was because he got me to loosen up and sleep with a vamp," I said sullenly.
"That's part of it," she said mildly.
"And because you knew he was never a real threat," I added. "That if push came to shove, Kisten would back off. You used him."