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.”
“It’s okay, Rachel,” he interrupted, edging farther down the long fainting couch. “Forget I said anything. Hey, I’ll just go, okay?”
My pulse quickened. “I’m not asking you to leave. I’m saying I’ve had fun with you. I was hurting then.
I still am, but I’ve laughed a lot, and I like you.” He looked up, slightly red-faced and with his brown eyes holding a new vulnerability. My mind went back to me sitting on the kitchen floor with no one to pick me up. I took a deep breath, scared. “I’ve been thinking, too.”
Marshal exhaled, as if a knot had untwisted in him. “When you were in the hospital,” he said quickly, “God help me, but I suddenly saw what we’d been doing the last couple of months, and something hurt me.”
“It didn’t feel that good to be there,” I quipped.
“And then Jenks told me you collapsed in your kitchen,” he added with a worried sincerity. “I know you can take care of yourself and that you’ve got Ivy and Jenks—”
“The line ripped through my aura,” I explained. “It hurt.” My mind jerked back to my jealousy when I sat all night beside Marshal and listened to Robbie go on about Cindy, almost glowing. Why couldn’t I have some stability like that?
Marshal shifted to take my hand, the space between us looking larger for it. “I like you, Rachel. I mean, I really like you,” he said, almost scaring me. “Not because you’ve got sexy legs and know how to laugh, or because you get excited in chase scenes, and take the time to help get a puppy out of a tree.”
“That was really weird, wasn’t it?”
His fingers tightened on mine, drawing my gaze down. “Jenks said you thought you were alone and you might do something stupid trying to rescue that ghost.”
At that, I gave up on all pretense of levity. “I’m not alone.” Maybe Mia was right, but I didn’t want her to be. Even if I was, I could still stand alone. I’d done it all my life and I could do it well. But I didn’t want to. I shivered, from the cold or the conversation, and Marshal frowned.
“I don’t want to ruin what we have,” Marshal said, his voice soft in the absolute stillness of a winter’s afternoon. He slowly slid closer, and I set the book on my lap on the floor to lean up against his side, testing the feeling though I was stiff and uncertain, trying it on. It felt like it fit, which worried me. “Maybe friends is enough,” he added, as if really considering it. “I’ve never had as good a relationship with a woman as I’ve got with you, and I’m just smart enough, and old enough, and tired enough to let it ride as it is.”
“Me, too,” I said, almost disappointed. I shouldn’t be resting against him, leading him on. I was a danger to everyone I liked, but the Weres had backed off, and the vamps. I’d get Al to see reason. I didn’t want Jenks to be right about me chasing the unattainable as an excuse to be alone. I had a great relationship with Marshal right now. Just because it wasn’t physical didn’t make it any less real. Or did it? I wanted to care about someone. I wanted to love someone, and I didn’t want to be afraid to. I didn’t want to let Mia win.
“Marshal, I still don’t know if I’m ready for a boyfriend.” Reaching out, I touched the short hair behind his ear, heart pounding. I’d spent so much effort trying to convince myself that he was off limits, that just that small motion seemed erotic. He didn’t move, and my hand drifted down until my fingers brushed his collar, a whisper from touching his skin. A small spot of feeling grew, and I drew my gaze back to his. “But I’d like to see if I am. If you do…”
His hand came up to pin mine against his shoulder, not binding but promising more. His free hand dropped lower, suggestively crossing the invisible boundary of my defenses and retreating to give me his answer. That we’d spent the last two months keeping our distance made that simple move surprisingly intense.
Marshal reached to tilt my head up to his, and I let my head move easily in his grip, turning to face him. His fingers were warm on my jawline as he searched my gaze, weighing my words against his own worries. I shivered in the chill. “You sure?” he said. “I mean, we can’t go back.”
He had already seen the crap of my life, and he hadn’t left. Did it matter if this didn’t last forever if it gave me peace right now? “No, I’m not sure,” I whispered, “but if we wait until we are, neither of us will find anyone.”
That seemed to give him a measure of assurance, and I closed my eyes as he gently turned my face to his and tentatively kissed me, tasting of sugar and doughnuts. Feeling raced through me, heat from wanting something I said I never would pursue. His hand pulled me closer, and the slip of a tongue sent a dart of desire to my middle. Oh God, it felt good, and my mind raced as fast as my heart.
I didn’t want this to be a mistake. I’d been with him for two months and proved neither of us was here for the physical stuff. So why not see if it worked?
Tension plinked through me, sharpening my thoughts and arraying an almost-forgotten possibility before me. Despite—or maybe because of—our platonic relationship, I wasn’t ready to sleep with him. That would be just too weird, and Jenks would tell me I was overcompensating for something. But he was a ley line witch—I wasn’t a slouch either—and though the age-old technique of drawing energy from one witch to another probably had its origins in our ancestral past to assure that strong witches procreated with strong witches to promote species strength, nowadays all that remained was insanely good foreplay. There was only one problem.
“Wait,” I said, breathless as our kiss broke and reason filtered back into me.
Marshal’s fingers slowed and dropped. “You’re right. I should go. Dumb idea. I’ll, uh, call you if you want. In about a year, maybe.”
He sounded embarrassed, and I put a hand on his arm. “Marshal.” Looking up, I shifted closer until our thighs touched. “Don’t go.” I swallowed hard. “I, uh, I haven’t been with a witch in ages,” I said in a small voice, unable to look up. “One who could pull on a line, I mean. I’d kind of like to…you know. But I don’t know if I remember how.”
His eyes widened as he understood, and his chagrin at my supposed rebuff was pushed out by something deeper, older: the question our DNA had written that begged to be answered. Who was the more proficient witch, and how much fun could we have finding that out?
“Rachel!” he said, his soft laugh turning me warm. “You don’t forget stuff like that.”
My mortification grew, but his gaze was one of understanding, and it gave me strength. “I didn’t practice ley lines much then. Now…” I shrugged, embarrassed. “I don’t know my limits. And with my aura being damaged…” I let my words trail off to nothing.
Marshal put his forehead against mine, his hands on my shoulders. “I’ll be careful,” he whispered. “Would you rather pull than push?” he said softly, hesitantly.
I flushed hot, but I nodded, still not looking at him. Pulling was more intimate, more soul stealing, more tender, more dangerous in terms of confusing it with love, but it was safer when the two people didn’t know each other’s ley line limits.
He leaned in slowly for an inquisitive kiss. My eyes closed as his lips met mine, and I exhaled into it, my grip on his shoulders tightening. I shifted to face him. Marshal responded, his hand going to the back of my head, possessive yet hesitant. His redwood scent sparked in me a rise of emotion, pure and untainted by the fear that had always lurked with Kisten. The kiss lacked the adrenaline push of fear, but it struck just as deep, hitting emotion born in our beginnings. There was danger in this not-so-innocent kiss. There was the potential for ecstasy or an equal amount of pain, and the dance would be very careful, as trust was only a promise between us.
My pulse leapt at the chance to see this through. A power pull didn’t have to include sex, but it was probably the reason female witches always came back after playing with invariably more well-endowed human males. Even if humans could work the lines, they couldn’t do a power pull. My only worry besides embarrassment was my compromised aura…It might hurt instead. It was basically the same thing Al used for punishment, forcing a line into me to cause pain, but it was like comparing a loving kiss to rape.
A trill of anticipation lit through me and was gone. Oh God. I hope I remember how to do this, ’cause I really want to.
I drew him to me even as I br
oke our kiss. My breath came fast, and eyes still shut, I leaned my head against his shoulder, lips open as I breathed in his scent. One of his hands held my waist, the other was lost in my hair. I tensed at the feel of his fingers. He knew I wasn’t going to hit him with a blast of ley line force to repel him and his advances, but several millennia of instinct were hard to best with only a lifetime of experience, and we’d go slow.
I shifted, straddling his legs, pinning him to the back of the couch. A spike of anticipation dove deep. It was followed by worry. What if I couldn’t loosen up enough to do this? My breath was fast, and with my hands laced behind his head, I opened my eyes to find his. Their deep brown was heady with a desire to match my own. I shifted, feeling him under me. “You ever done this with a friend before?” I asked.
“Nope, but there’s a first time for everything,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice as well as see it. “You need to be quiet.”
“I…,” I managed to get out before his hands edged under my shirt and he kissed me again. My pulse hammered, and as the rough-smoothness of his hands explored my midriff and rose higher, his mouth on mine grew intense. I met his aggression with my own, sending my hands to his waist, dipping a finger beneath his jeans to prove I might do more someday.
I pressed into his warmth, deciding not to think anymore, but just to be. My chi was utterly empty, so with the soft hesitancy of a virginal kiss, I reached out my awareness and found the simmering energy his chi held. Marshal felt it. His hands on me tightened and relaxed, telling me to draw it from him, to set his entire body alight with the rush of adrenaline and the ecstasy of endorphins when I forcibly took it.
I exhaled, willing it to come.
The warmth of his hands on me flashed into tingles. In a sudden rush that shocked us, the balances equalized. Adrenaline spiked out of control. Marshal groaned, and, frightened, I tightened my awareness. Barriers clamped down, and I warmed in embarrassment. But the energy had come in smooth and pure, lacking the sickening nausea that a ley line left me in. Coming from a person, it had lost its jagged edges.