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“You don’t think Warren might’ve been a sheriff in Germany, do you?”
“Hands or paws?”
“Hands.”
“Then no.”
I slumped back in a chair, propped my elbows on the table and rubbed my temple. “Well, if I can’t piece together what Ingram and his overlord want with me, I guess I’ll buy eight ounces of pork blood from my butcher and attempt to commune with them direct through a cereal bowl.”
“Let’s sleep on that idea.” Caelan pulled me to my feet. “Sure you’re okay with me staying?”
I held up my hand. “One, you’re dog tired. Two, I offended the cats by pulling the warm sheets from the dryer and locking them out of my bedroom, so my night better be worth making their shit-list. Three, bad parenting 101: I forgot to call Calico. If trouble comes knocking, I'd prefer having my big bad wolf around.”
He chuckled. “Your big bad wolf?”
I lifted one shoulder, embarrassed. “Well, if you want to be. Either way, I’d like you to stay.”
“Alright.”
“To the staying or being mine?”
He rubbed his chin. “That’d be the second mystery I’m fixin’ to solve tonight.”
I dimmed the lights. “You mean the only mystery you’re able to. Hate to break it to you, but I haven’t spoken my true name in years.”
“I may find myself unable to draw a bat in a cave, but rest assured, Miss Davins, I will draw your name off your lips.” He approached, stopped with a few feet to spare, looking every bit a wolf hungry enough to swallow the moon. . . “Well, if you want me to.” . . . And there behind his golden eyes the last of his restraint burned low.
I pressed a finger against his chest. “Ah, ah, ah,” I tutted, letting my nail tease his throat and chin in turning toward the hall. “Business first. If you’d be so kind as to follow me into the basement, we’ve a sewing machine to haul.”
The white-tipped flag of Samson’s tail caught my eye. Under the blue-grey flicker of the television, both girl and cat slept sound. I paused against the door frame to observe them.
“She's a good kid, Caelan. Doesn't deserve what happened to her.”
“Neither do you.”
Caelan came behind me with a light brush of his hand to my hip. I glanced at him, inquiring, and his eyes warmed with affection. My heart swelled. I understood what we could be the way an artist realizes the picture in a fresh canvas. There had been a few light sketches, but the pencil had been put away in favor of paint’s permanence, and his touch marked the first stroke.
I crossed my arms and let my hand explore the back of his. Caelan took a deep breath, hesitated, then slid his hand over my stomach and drew me close.
Against my ear he whispered, “If you plan on pressing me for that favor, Miss Davins, I have a few suggestions.”
Giggling, I knocked my shoulder back against his chest, felt amusement tighten his grip, then we separated and the worry on his face smothered my mood in oiled quicksand.
“Run while you still can,” he said. “Please, Marcy.”
He stepped around into the light even as I shrank back across the dining room threshold to keep the conversation from reaching Mila.
“What about the necromancer?”
“We’ll deal with Mr. Hayes and whatever devil’s tugging his strings. Problem’s my brother. He’s got a capacity to love similar to a roundworm: no heart, but a couple soft spots. He believes you’re steering me into an early retirement and will do what he considers best for me.”
“Nice of him.”
“Death by lesser evil is still death.” Caelan strode into the darkened room after me. Storm clouds rolled through his voice, a warning rumble that set me on edge like a deer in a midnight fog. He rolled back the sleeve hiding a tattooed serpent. “If this department trial doesn’t work out, and if the Society has their way it most certainly will not, August informed me he’ll be the one following through on your invitation. The list of suggestions for what he’d do with you is abominable. It’s one thing to hear it; it’s another beast entirely to experience. If you felt even a fraction of the pain, you’d run. I know you’d run.”
I swallowed hard. “Do it.”
His gaze held a sharp intensity. “What?”
