Not exactly fatherly advice, but good advice just the same, because not long after I dumped the sage, hid the candles, and wiped the table, the door opened. Bobby sniffed a few times, but I gave him a hug before he could ask any questions. He seemed like he needed one.
He kept his arms around me, and I didn’t mind. I laid my head on his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart.
“Did I wake you when I left?” he asked.
“No. I just … woke.”
He kissed the top of my head and released me, which was good because if I’d still been pressed against him he would have felt the jolt his next words caused. “The officer said you’d been talking to yourself.”
“That’s only a problem if I answer.”
“Ba-dump-bump,” he said, making a motion like a drummer in a vaudeville act. Then he tilted his head and waited for me to go on.
This was the problem with cops. They couldn’t be distracted by hokey humor like any garden-variety kindergartner.
“Maybe I was on the phone.”
“Were you?”
I discovered I could only lie so much. Especially when all he had to do was glance at my cell phone, or use his powers of cop-hood to check my landline, and discover the truth. Though why he would, why he’d care …
“No.”
He lifted his eyebrows, still waiting.
“I was practicing my lesson for tomorrow.”
And the lies returned with ease. Though I should have been practicing, or at least preparing, rather than messing with magic. Maybe I could use what I’d learned so far as a Halloween lesson for my class.
How was that for a horrible, no-good, very bad idea?
“There is no tomorrow.”
My gaze cut back to Bobby. I must have looked as panicked as his words had made me feel because he muttered, “Sorry. I meant that you’re not going to work.”
“We’ve had this argument. I am.”
“We didn’t finish it. You’re not.”
He seemed more upset about that than he should have been.
“Did you hear something at the police station?”
He glanced toward the door. “Not really.”
“Liar.” I ignored the voice in my head that taunted: Takes one to know one!
I did spend most of my time with five-year-olds.
He let out a long breath. “There’ve been other deaths, in other places. All of the victims were associated with witchcraft in some way.”
“We suspected that.”
He inclined his head. “The maniac was obsessed with witches. Had altercations with several. There was a restraining order against him from one.”
“Probably the reason he came here. No one knew him well enough to hide.”
“How did he know you?”
“I … what?”
“He killed a witch, then he tried to kill you. Twice.”
“I was there. I remember.”
“Why you?” I spread my hands and he continued. “Witches are dying. Why you?”
“Not dead.”
“Not for their lack of trying.”
“I’m not sure what to tell you.”
Actually, I just didn’t want to tell him. I hadn’t gotten my own mind around my heritage, how was I going to get his around it? Especially since he’d made his opinion on the subject quite clear. Those who said they had supernatural abilities were liars, cheats, and charlatans.
“They could have made a mistake,” I continued.
“Or they know something about your parents that you don’t.”
He was right. Again, I couldn’t tell him. Unless I figured out how to explain that my real parents were a four-hundred-year-old witch and his wolf-wife.
“Unfortunately, no one’s owned up to dumping me on the side of the road in the last twenty-seven years; I doubt they’re going to come forward now. Especially if they’re a witch and witches are dying.”
He made a sound of aggravation. “This is so nuts.”
“I know.”
“Thank you.” He collapsed on the couch. “I’m glad someone can see reason.”
“Meaning?”
“Witches. Psychics. Auras. Supernatural powers. Magic. Ghosts. It’s all bullshit.”
If I’d had any question about his views—and I didn’t—they’d have been thoroughly answered now.
I joined him on the couch and took his hand. “You seem pretty adamant.”
“Shouldn’t I be?”
“Usually there’s a reason behind such strong opinions.”
“Sanity?”
“Sanity’s more of an excuse than a reason.”
He gave a short sharp laugh. “I’ve never heard sanity used as an excuse. Crazy is another story. Not guilty by reason of nutso.”
“That’s the legal term?”
“Should be.”
I tightened my fingers. “In my experience those who have the deepest feelings against something are the ones who have the greatest fear of it. And that comes from some experience with it.”
He pulled away. “I don’t know what you mean.”
My eyes met those of Genevieve as she materialized in the corner. A tear slid down her cheek.
“Don’t you?” I asked.
Chapter 21
Bobby’s stomach churned. He was so cold, he wanted to take Raye into his arms and hold her until the ache went away.
Except the ache never went away. Not since Genevieve had.
He couldn’t talk about her. He just couldn’t. So why did he want to?
“You can tell me.”
Sometimes he felt as if Raye could read his mind. Which was as crazy as all the rest of it.