Whatever, the water and warmth felt great. I eventually got around to washing with the mild soap that seemed to be helping the fingertip burn marks on my skin, left there by the bits of dead magic users, the Veiled. And even though I didn’t want to, I found myself drawing my fingers over my newest permanent scars. The thumb-sized circle beneath my collarbone-a bullet I did not remember taking. The thicker palm-sized scar beneath my left rib cage that was still numb to the touch. And the spread-hand scar on my thigh where I’d made a mess trying to cut out the blood magic Lon Trager had worked on me.
I wondered if the scars would bother Zayvion. Wondered if they would remind him that my life seemed to be one long series of screwing up and trying to fix it, with and without magic.
Not anymore
, I told myself. That was why I was going to learn from Maeve. So I could stop screwing up. So I could understand how to use magic. The right way. No matter what.
A chill snaked down my spine. That thought, those words, did not sound like me. They sounded like my father. They sounded like what he’d said in my dream.
Sweet hells, but I wanted to be rid of him.
I scrubbed a little harder, wishing I could wash free of him, and knowing I couldn’t.
One thing at a time
, I thought. First, find out why Stotts wanted to talk to me, and make sure he wasn’t gunning to break my best friend’s heart. I wondered if he had found out about the gargoyle statue. Technically, that was a magic problem-or crime, I guess. Criminal mischief? Tampering with other people’s property? Stealing? Well, no, not stealing, since I hadn’t actually taken the statue, I’d just sort of broken it or set it free or something.
I got out of the shower, toweled off, and brushed my hair, slicking it back, then messing it up with my fingertips so it dried halfway decently. No, I did not look in the mirror to see if my father was behind my eyes. I knew he was. But his occupying my brain was a limited-time offer, and it was about to expire.
I dressed in my bedroom, tugging on a pair of jeans, T-shirt, and heavy brown sweater that I’d picked up at a thrift store and loved down to holes. I took the time to put on my tennis shoes. Stotts might be here to ask me to Hound for him. I didn’t often contract out to the cops, but now that Pike was dead, I guessed his job had some need of filling.
Laughter rolled through the apartment-Nola and Stotts having a good ol’ time. That was my cue to lay on some wet-blanket action.
I strolled into the living room. They were still sitting at the table. I’d caught them just as they were both lifting their coffee cups to drink. I hated to admit it, but they looked pretty good together. Nola was shorter than me, compact, blond as summer, and freckled. She looked like the country, honey and wheat fields. Stotts was her opposite. Dark hair, wide shoulders, unconsciously intense and strong in that way cops always are, and he took after his Latino heritage, with a square face, heavy brows, and amazing eyes. When he smiled, or when he looked at Nola like
that
, the cop intensity melted away into something else. If she was sunlight and the country, he was sunset against the mountains, strong, vibrant, dangerous, and yet somehow sheltering, protective.
And married.
Picnic, meet rain.
“So,” I said as I pulled up an extra chair and sat down so close, both of them had to scoot back to make room for me. “What brings you by, Detective?”
If he was annoyed by my intrusion, he didn’t show it.
“There’s a job I’d like you to Hound.”
“Today?”
“While the trail’s fresh.”
I thought over what I had to do today. Go see Maeve, but that wasn’t until one o’clock. It was only ten thirty. I had time. Except I had promised to help Nola with the Cody situation. I didn’t know how I was going to fit both those things in, but I’d try.
“That works okay for me.” I took a drink of coffee, and put my fork to use to wolf down half my cake. I hoped there was more in the kitchen. “This is fantastic,” I said to Nola.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Do you mind if we catch up a little later today?” I asked her.
“That’s fine,” she said.
To Stotts, I said, “I was going to contact you about Nola anyway.” Wait, that didn’t sound good.
“Oh?” Stotts said.
“Nola has been working to get custody of Cody Miller.”
“The Hand?”
I frowned. “You know him?”
He took a drink of coffee before answering. “I know his case.” And his gaze said more than his words. He had probably been a part of that case. After all, Stotts dealt with all the magical crime in the city. And Cody, Nola had told me, had once been involved with some shady characters and forgery. But if Nola had made her mind up to look after him, nothing and no one would get in her way.
“She’s working to get him out on her farm,” I said.
Stotts looked over at Nola. “Isn’t he in the state hospital?”
“My farm is in Burns,” she said. “No magic for miles. We’re completely off the grid.”
Stotts grunted. “And you decided to put it upon yourself to do this because. .?”
“Because,” Nola said, “I do not give up on the people I care about. And I think Cody is a good young man who should have the chance to live a good life without the push and pull of magic, or the people who would use him for it.”
Oh, that did it. If Stotts had been looking at her with barely disguised interest before, he gave her a short but clear look of admiration.
“I don’t hear that every day,” he said, switching admiration for the more standard police skepticism. “Not in my line of work.”
Nola couldn’t hide it. She beamed. What was it with these two? They were getting along better than ice cream and spoons.
“What I was saying,” I said, “is Nola needs some help making sure she contacts the right people who can see that Cody can be released into her care.”
“Were you running into trouble with that?” he asked.
“Not at first. But about two weeks ago, I suddenly stopped hearing from anyone. I’ve mailed, called, e-mailed. I was told there was something about additional psychological testing needed. Is that something you could help me with?”
“I could at least look into it for you. Find out where they’re at in the process. How long are you going to be in town?”
“I could stay awhile. A few weeks, if I need to. I wasn’t sure how long this would take, so I have someone looking after the farm and animals for me.”
“Your husband?” he asked over the top of his coffee cup.
“No.” The light in her dimmed a little, like it always did when she spoke of John. “He’s been gone for several years now.” She tried to smile the light back up, but any fool could see the old pain in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Stotts said. “I lost my wife, Aryanna, just a year ago.”
Me? I felt like an idiot. And a jerk. A jerkiot. I didn’t know his wife was dead. Or maybe divorced? I glanced up at him. From the look in his eyes, it wasn’t divorce. Well, hells. I’d called that wrong.
“I’m sorry,” Nola said. Her gaze shifted to the ring on his left hand. She had noticed it, just like me, but unlike me, she had given him the benefit of the doubt.
“I would really appreciate any help you could offer to Cody and me,” she said. “I thought I’d go downtown today and see who I could talk to. Would you have time to meet with me?”
“I should. Well.” He stopped, like he suddenly remembered there was someone else in the room with them-me. “If you don’t think the job will take too long.”