Confused, I exhaled slowly. Wondering how I was going to handle this, I looked at his hand. It was a nice hand, strong and tanned. "Marshal," I started.
The phone rang in the living room, and the extension in the kitchen blinked, on mute from last night. Jenks shouted he'd get it, and I dropped back in my chair.
"Marshal," I repeated when Rex padded in since her master wasn't eavesdropping on us in the hall anymore. "I love what you're trying to do, and it's not that I don't find you attractive," I said, flushing and starting to babble. "But I study with demons, I've got their smut all over me, and my aura is so thin I can't tap a line and do anything! You deserve better than my crap. You really do. I'm not worth it. Nothing is."
My gaze jerked up when Marshal leaned over and took my hand.
"I never said you weren't hard to be with," he said softly, his brown eyes gazing earnestly at me. "I knew that the moment you walked into my shop with a six-foot pixy and bought a dive with a Vampiric Charms credit card. But you're worth it. You're a good person. And I like you. I want to help you when I can, and I'm getting better at staying out of the way and not feeling guilty when I can't."
His hand on mine was warm, and I gazed at it. "I needed to hear that," I whispered so my voice wouldn't break. "Thank you. But I'm not worth dying for, and it's a distinct probability."
The clatter of pixy wings intruded, and when Jenks flew in, Marshal drew back. Warming, I hid my hands under the table.
"Ah, Rache," Jenks said, glancing between us. "It's Edden."
I hesitated, my first impulse to have him call me back. Maybe he had something on Mia.
"It's about a banshee," Jenks continued. "He says if you don't pick up the phone, he's going to send a car."
I stood, and Marshal smiled and took a doughnut. "Is it about Mia?" I asked as I reached for the extension. My eyes flicked to the useless locator potions lined up on the counter, and I blinked. They were gone.
"Where's my-" I started, and Marshal waved a hand for my attention.
"Hanging in your cupboard. I invoked them for you." His eyes widened at my suddenly worried expression. "Sorry. I should've asked, but you said they were done. I thought I could help, you know..."
"No, it's okay," I said, distantly hearing Edden on the line talking to me. "Um, thanks," I said, flushing. Great, now he knew I had messed up on them. He made his own charms and would know by the lack of redwood scent that they were duds.
Embarrassed, I turned to the phone. "Edden?" I said, mortified. "Did you find her?"
"No, but I want your help this afternoon with one of these banshee women," Edden said without preamble, his gravelly voice a mix of preoccupied gratefulness, sounding odd with the original line still open in the living room. "This one's name is Ms. Walker. She's the iciest woman I've talked to since my mother-in-law, and that was just from our phone conversation."
I glanced at Marshal, then turned my back on him. Jenks was sitting on his shoulder, his kid probably in the desk where he belonged.
"She called the department this morning," Edden was saying, drawing my attention back. "And she's flying in this afternoon from San Diego to help me find Ms. Harbor. Can you be here when I talk to her? Banshees police themselves, same as vampires, and she wants to help-seeing as the I.S. won't do anything."
The last was said rather sourly, and I nodded though he couldn't see it. This was making sense, but I wasn't sure I wanted to meet this woman if a freaking baby of her species had almost killed me. "Uh," I hedged, uneasy, "I'd really like to help and all, but my aura is still thin. I don't think talking to another banshee is a good idea." Besides, I've got to come up with a way to make Al behave today.
Jenks buzzed his wings in approval, but Edden wasn't happy.
"She wants to meet you," he said. "Asked for you. Rachel, she made you being there a stipulation for talking to me. I need you."
I sighed, wondering if Edden was above stretching the truth to reach an ending he wanted. Putting a hand to my head, I thought for a moment. "Jenks?" I asked, not sure about this, "can you tell if she starts sucking on me?"
The pixy's wings brightened. "You bet, Rache," he said, clearly glad he could help.
I bit my bottom lip and listened to the echo of the open line as I weighed the risks. I'd like to see Mia get her own for letting her kid try to kill me, and Ms. Walker could help. "Okay," I said slowly, and Edden made a pleased rumble. "Where and when?"
"Her plane comes in at three, but she's on West Coast time, so how about a late lunch," Edden said confidently. "On the FIB."
"You mean my lunch, or your lunch?" I asked, rolling my eyes.
"Uh, say four at Carew Tower?"
Carew Tower? This has to be some woman.
"I'll send someone to pick you up," Edden was saying. "Oh, and good job on the AMA. How did you get one so fast?"
I glanced at Jenks, sitting on Marshal's shoulder. "Rynn Cormel," I said, hoping Marshal was starting to understand how risky it was to be around me.
"Damn!" Edden exclaimed. "You do have pull. See you this afternoon."
"Hey, how's Glenn?" I asked, but the phone had clicked off. Four at Carew Tower, I thought, mentally going through my closet for something to wear as I hung up the phone. I can do that. How am I going to do that? I was exhausted, and I'd just gotten up.
My gaze darted to the island counter where I'd once kept my spell books. Ivy had moved them all back into the belfry when I'd been in the hospital, and the thought of bringing them all down again made me sigh. Al had said there wasn't a spell to supplement a person's aura, but maybe there was something to protect a person from a banshee.
I stood to go check, and from the living room came the beeping of the open line. Jenks buzzed out to take care of it, and I froze, remembering I had company. "Uh, I'm sorry," I said, staring at Marshal's amused expression as he sat comfortably in his chair and ate a doughnut. "I have to go up to the attic and get some books. To look for a, uh, spell."
"Want some help bringing them down?" he asked, already stretching into a stand.
"It's just a couple of books," I hedged, thinking about the demon texts in with the others.
"Not a problem." He headed to the sanctuary, pace casual and confident, and I scrambled to follow. Crap, how am I going to explain why I have demon texts?
The sanctuary was silent, warm from the space heater cranked up for the pixies. Jenks had hung up the phone, and he was sitting with his two eldest kids in the rafters on sentry duty. "I can do this by myself," I said when I caught up with Marshal, and he gave me a sideways look.
"It's just a couple of books," he said, then took a bite of the doughnut he had brought with him. "I'll bring them down, and then if you want me to leave, I will," he added around his full mouth. "I know you've got work to do. I just wanted to check on you was all."
His tone had held a measure of hurt in it, and I felt bad as I followed him through the cold foyer and into the unheated circular stairway that led into the belfry. I had spelled up there once before, when I'd been hiding from demons last Halloween. Marshal had just come into town and was looking for an apartment. Cripes, had it been two months that we'd been doing stuff? It seemed longer.
"Marshal," I said as we found the top and I clenched my arms around me in the chill of the unheated belfry. Dang, it was cold up here, and my breath steamed. I searched the open rafters above the huge bell that made a false roof over the space, but Bis was elsewhere. He'd probably put himself on the eaves last night, where the sun would hit him all day. The adolescent gargoyle didn't come in apart from inclement weather, and when he got older, he probably wouldn't come in even then.
"Hey, this is nice!" Marshal said, and I dropped back, pleased as he looked the hexagonal room over. The rough floor was the color of dust, and the walls had never been finished, still showing the two-by-fours and the back of the siding. It was the same temperature as the outside, about fifty something, refreshing after the steamy warmth downstairs.
The slatted windows let in slices of light and sound, making it a nice hidey-hole where one could sit and watch the day happen. I wasn't surprised when Marshal bent one of the slats to look out. Next to him was the folding chair I'd left up here for when I had to get away. The middle of the ten-by-ten space held an antique dresser with a green marble top and an age-spotted mirror. My library was on the mahogany shelf propped up in one of the spaces between the windows. Beside it, next to the door, was a faded fainting couch. Other than that, the space was empty of everything except the almost subliminal hum of the bell resonating faintly.
Tired, I sat on the couch and pulled one of the books onto my lap, content to sit while Marshal satisfied his curiosity. My thoughts sifted back downstairs to the useless charms in my cupboard. "Um, Marshal, about those locator charms," I said softly.
Marshal turned, smiling. "My lips are sealed," he said, crossing the room. "I know the stuff you do for the FIB is confidential. Don't worry about it."
Okay, that's weird, I thought when Marshal sat beside me, taking the book out of my hand and opening it. How could he not know the charms were bad?
"What are we looking for?" he asked cheerfully, then looked at his hand when it probably started to tingle. Demon books were like that.
"A spell to protect my aura," I offered. "Um, that's a demon text you've got there."
Marshal blinked, stiffening as he realized what he'd opened. "That's why you keep them up here," he said, looking at it, and I nodded.
Much to my surprise, he didn't give the book back, but turned the page, curiosity getting the better of him. "You don't need a charm to help your aura," he said. "What you need to do is get a massage."
My shoulders eased, and glad he wasn't running screaming into the afternoon, I murmured, "A massage?"
"Full body, head to toe," he said, starting when he turned the page and found a curse to destroy an army with a single note of music. "You really think this works?"
"If you do it right, sure." Reaching, I picked up a university textbook and turned to the index. My fingers were cold, and I blew on them. "A massage will make it all better, huh?"
Marshal chuckled and turned a yellowed page. "If you do it right, sure," he said, mimicking me, and I looked up to find him smiling. "Scout's honor. Massage triggers the digestive and sleep rhythms. That's when your aura replenishes itself. You get a massage, and your aura will be better."
I eyed him, trying to figure out if he was joking or not. "Really?"
"Yup." His confident assurance faltered when he saw the next curse to blow up a wind strong enough to topple buildings. He looked at me, then the curse. "Uh, Rachel?" he stammered.
"What?" I said as my warning flags started going up. I wasn't a black witch, damn it.
"This is some creepy-ass shit," he said, brow furrowed, and I laughed, sliding the demon book back onto my lap and the university text onto the floor.
"That's why I don't do it," I said, grateful that he didn't think I was bad just because I had a book that told me how to twist a curse to cause the black plague.
He made a small sound and scooted down to read over my shoulder. "So, running the risk of opening a wound, what did Robbie think about you being in the hospital?"
I turned a page and blanched. HOW TO CREATE WOLF PREGNANCY IN HUMANS. Damn, I didn't know I had that one in my library. "Uh," I stammered, quickly turning the page. "Robbie said it was par for the course and told me to stop doing dangerous things because it might upset Mom. He's the one upset, though. Not her."
"That's about what I thought he'd say." Marshal leaned into my space and turned the page for me. I breathed deep, enjoying both the extra body heat in the cold belfry and the rich scent of redwood. He'd been spelling recently, and I wondered if he had a modified warmth amulet keeping him from shivering.
"I like your brother," he said, unaware that I was breathing him in. "It irks me, though, seeing him treat you like you're the same kid you were when he left. My older brother does that to me. Makes me want to pound him."
"Mmmm." I let the weight of our bodies slide us together a little bit more, thinking it suspicious that he was saying all the right things. "Robbie moved out when I was thirteen. He hasn't had the chance to see me as a grown-up." Our arms touched as I turned the page, but he didn't seem to notice. "And then I go and put myself in the hospital the week he comes for a visit. Really good, huh?"
Marshal laughed, then peered more closely at the text describing how to make bubbles last till sunrise, and I felt better as he saw that not all curses were bad. I suppose you could make them appear in someone's lungs and suffocate them, but you could also entertain children.
"Thanks for coming with me to my mom's," I said softly, watching him, not the curses he was flipping through. "I don't think I could have taken sitting there all night and listening to Cindy this, Cindy that, followed by the inevitable, 'And when are you going to get a steady boyfriend, Rachel?'"
"Moms are like that," he said in a preoccupied tone. "She just wants you to be happy."
"I am happy," I said sourly, and Marshal chuckled, probably trying to memorize the curse to turn water into wine. Good for parties, but he wouldn't be able to invoke it, lacking the right enzymes in his blood. I could, though.
Sighing, I pushed the book entirely onto his lap and dragged a new one onto mine. It was cold up here, but I didn't want to go downstairs and risk waking up four dozen pixies. Am I jealous that Robbie seems to have everything? Has it so easy?
"You know," Marshal said, not looking up from the book he was searching for me, "we don't have to keep things the way they are...with us, I mean."
I stiffened. Marshal must have felt it, seeing as our shoulders were touching. I didn't say anything, and emboldened by my lack of a negative response, he added, "I mean, last October, I wasn't ready for anyone new in my life, but now-"
My breath caught, and Marshal cut his thought short. "Okay," he said, sliding to put space between us. "Sorry. Forget I said anything. I'm lousy at body language. My bad."
My bad? When did anyone ever say my bad anymore? But letting this go without saying anything was easier said than done, especially when I'd been thinking the same thing off and on in stupid-Rachel moments for weeks. So licking my lips, I said carefully to the book on my lap, "I've had fun with you, these last couple of months."