White Witch, Black Curse

Marshal's eyes showed his concern when I got in his SUV and slammed the door. Two months ago, the man had shown up on my doorstep, back in Cincinnati after the Mackinaw Weres had burned his garage down. Fortunately he'd saved both the house and the boat that had been his livelihood—now sold to pay for getting his master's at Cincy's university. We'd met last spring when I was up north rescuing Jenks's eldest son and Nick, my old boyfriend.

Despite my better judgment, we'd been out more than a few times, realizing we had enough in common to probably make a good go of it—if it weren't for my habit of getting everyone close to me killed. Not to mention that he was coming off a psycho girlfriend and wasn't looking for anything serious. The problem was, we both liked to relax doing athletic stuff, ranging from running at the zoo to ice-skating at Fountain Square. We'd kept it friendly but platonic for two months now, shocking the hell out of my roommates. The lack of stress from not wondering will-we, won't-we was a blessing. Curbing my natural tendencies and instead keeping our relationship casual had been easy. I couldn't bear it if he got hurt. Kisten had cured me of foolish dreams. Dreams could kill people. At least, mine could. And did.

"You okay?" Marshal asked, his low voice with his up-north accent heavy with worry.

"Peachy," I muttered as I tossed the box with the teddy onto the backseat and wiped a cold finger against the underside of my eye. When I didn't say anything more, he sighed, rolling his window down to talk to Ford. The FIB officer was making his way to us. I had half a mind to accuse Ford of asking Marshal to drive me here and back, knowing I'd probably need a shoulder to cry on, and though he wasn't my boyfriend, Marshal was a hundred percent better than taking my raw turmoil back to Ivy.

Ford looked up as he angled to my door, not Marshal's, and the tall man behind the wheel silently pressed a button to roll my window down. I tried to roll it back up, but he locked the controls and I gave him a dirty look.

"Rachel," Ford said as soon as he closed the distance between us. "You won't be out of control for even an instant. That's how it works."

Damn it, he had guessed why I was afraid, and embarrassed that he was bringing this up in front of Marshal, I frowned. "We don't have to do it at my office if you're uncomfortable," he added, squinting from the bright December sun. "No one needs to know."

I didn't care if the FIB knew I was seeing their psychiatrist. Hell, if anyone needed counseling, it was me. But still…"I'm not crazy," I muttered as I angled the blowing vents to me and my hair flew up from under my hat.

Ford put a hand on the open window in a show of support. "You're probably the sanest person I know. You only look crazy because you've got a lot of weird stuff to deal with. If you want, while you're relaxed, I can give you a way to keep your mouth shut about anything you want under just about any circumstance. Completely confidential, between you and your subconscious." Surprised, I stared at him, and he finished, "I don't even have to know what you're keeping to yourself."

"I'm not afraid of you," I said, but my knees felt funny. What has he figured out about me that he isn't saying?

Shifting his feet in the slush, Ford shrugged. "Yes, you are. I think it's cute." He glanced at Marshal and smiled. "Big bad runner who can take down black witches and vampires afraid of little helpless me."

"I am not afraid of you. And you're not helpless!" I exclaimed as Marshal chuckled.

"Then you'll do it," Ford said confidently, and I made a noise of frustration.

"Yeah, whatever," I muttered, then fiddled with the vent again. I wanted to get out of here before he really figured out what was going on in my head—and then told me.

"I have to tell Edden about the sticky silk," Ford said, "but I'll wait until tomorrow."

My eyes flicked to the ladder, still propped against the boat's side. "Thanks," I said, and he nodded, responding to the heavy emotion of gratitude I knew I must be throwing off. My roommate would have time to come out with the Jr. Detective Kit she probably had stashed in her label-strewn closet and take whatever prints she wanted. Not to mention sniffing the carpet.

Ford smiled at a private thought. "Since you won't come in, how about me coming over tonight about…six? Somewhere after my dinner and before your lunch?"

I stared at him for his brazenness. "I'm busy. How about next month?"

He ducked his head as if embarrassed, but he was still smiling when he met my gaze. "I want to talk to you before I talk to Edden. Tomorrow. Three o'clock."

"I'm picking my brother up at the airport at three," I said quickly. "I'll be with him and my mother the rest of the day. Sorry."

"I'll see you at six," he said firmly. "By then, you'll be home trying to get away from your brother and your mom, ready for some relaxation. I can teach you a trick for that, too."