It’s probably my imagination, but the faster I move, the surer I feel that someone’s watching me. I mean, there’s a night watchman on the security cameras. Maybe that’s what I’m sensing. Goose bumps rise on my arms. I feel…hunted. Darkness flashes to my right, but when I turn, there’s nothing, just a residual chill.
Bullshit to this. I take off toward the western exit, easier in my Pretzel Pirate shoes than it would be in combat boots. To my astonishment, Jesse comes tearing at me, his strides ringing on the tile floor. He stops when he sees nobody’s chasing me. That’s when I realize he’s drawn his weapon.
“What happened?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” he snaps.
“But…” I don’t even know what to ask. He was running like he thought my life was actively in danger. Now, I figure I probably overreacted. I’ve got a vivid imagination.
“You were scared to death,” he says softly.
My eyes widen. “You could tell?”
He ignores the implicit question. “Did you see the guy again?”
“No, I just…” It sounds dumb. “I felt like I wasn’t alone, as if somebody was watching me.”
“It’s possible. Show me where.”
“Why?”
“Humor me.”
So I lead him back to the spot where the impression was strongest, just past the dark water in the silent fountain. Jesse pulls a pewter keychain out of his pocket, but there are no keys attached. He cradles it between his palms and walks a slow circuit around the area. Finally he stops, his gaze level and somber.
“You didn’t imagine it. Scrying magick’s been used here recently. The water is a natural conductor for those kinds of spells.”
“Maybe it was the weirdo from yesterday. He did say I won’t see him again until it’s too late.” I sound calmer than I feel.
This makes no sense. Why would the Gifted hunt me? If they need me to contact a dead relative, I’ll do it for twenty bucks, a six-pack, and a pizza.
Jesse pulls out his phone. “You see the odd shadings on his skin?”
It’s the photo I sent him. “Yeah, I figured it was my crappy camera.”
Absently, he shakes his head, reaching for me. Speechless, I let him lace our fingers together. It’s a protective gesture, not a romantic one, but I’m f**king holding hands with Jesse Saldana, so I’d be crazy to complain. His fingers are lean and long, callused in the right places, and his palm is hard against mine.
“Let’s walk and talk. I showed this to someone on my lunch hour today.”
“Oh?”
“She said the discolorations are consistent with long-term demonic possession.”
“What?” I know demons are real…and they usually don’t have enough power to traverse the gate between our worlds physically. It requires less juice to send mental energy, which results in a person being driven like a meat wagon. That’s not news, but I’m startled to hear my stalker is most likely extra-dimensional.
Mustering some presence of mind, I add, “So can your thingie tell if witch or demon magick was used to spy on me?”
“Unfortunately, no. But I’ll feel better once we get out of here.”
“They might still be watching? Why?”
“I wish I knew, Shan. Let’s go.” He tugs gently on my hand, and we hurry back toward the exit.
The air’s still cold inside the mall, a chill deeper and more disturbing than what comes from good air conditioning. There’s a faint smell too, sickly sweet, like death drizzled in honey. I don’t look back as Jesse shoves the door open. He’s left his Forester parked at the yellow curb, and the engine is running. In fact, the driver-side door’s open, too.
“You were pretty worried about me, huh?” I imagine him getting a wash of my emotional state and coming at a dead run.
Oh, Jesse. So many ways I’d love you, if you’d let me.
“For good reason, as it turns out.” He opens my door and waits until I’m settled to shut it behind me.
I could get used to being treated like a princess, as long as he brings the dirty cowboy to bed. Of course, I’m still working on that development, but it’s a good sign that the idea of me in danger scared the shit out of him. He starts the SUV and pulls out of the mall parking lot. For a few seconds, I watch as he eyes his rearview mirror, but nobody seems to be following. They don’t have to; they can use standing water to watch me. Note to self—showers only until we resolve this shit.
Jesse drives to my place, but he doesn’t drop me off. Instead he escorts me to the door. “I’ll wait here. Pack a few things.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not leaving you here alone when we have no idea what’s going on.”
“I have a roommate and I know how to dial 911.”
“So you’re willing to endanger Maria?”
“That’s a low blow, but I’m not going home with you, Jesse. Not unless you’re taking me there for better reasons.”
“Shan—”
“G’night. Thanks for the ride.”
I don’t think he expects me to close the door in his face. When I turn, I spot Maria in the hall, just stepping out of the bathroom. “Did I hear voices?”
I squelch the urge to reply, I dunno, but if so, you should check your medication. “Yeah, I bummed a lift from a friend.”
“The hot cop? Are you guys a thing?” She skims me up and down, not meant to be insulting, but I suspect she can’t picture Jesse and me together.
Dammit. Neither can he.
“Nope. He’s just overprotective. Apparently the public transportation system is fraught with many and myriad dangers.”
“You should go for it,” she advises.
“I’m trying,” I mumble.
“I’d offer to lend you some sexy undies, but I don’t think they would fit.”
That’s not a slam. Maria’s butt is bigger than mine, plus who wants to borrow sexy panties? Pass.
“Thanks. I appreciate the thought, though.”
Maria heads to her room after that. We don’t talk extensively, but she’s a decent roomie, here enough that I don’t feel totally alone, but she’s not always in my business, either.
First I wash the Pretzel Pirate smell off, then I make a salad. Along with some tuna and buttered noodles, this is dinner. I’m not much of a cook, but I’ve gotten good at putting healthy meals together from fairly little. Maria goes to bed while I’m still eating, so I turn on the TV for company.
I’m almost ready to turn in when my phone vibrates with a text from Jesse. You drive me crazy. Why won’t you let me protect you?
I reply, That’s not your job. You’re my friend, not my lover or my bodyguard.
There’s a pause between messages. I picture him on the couch, like I am, frowning at his phone. If we WERE together, would you fight me this much?
Elation surges through me. He might not realize it, but that reveals how much his thinking has changed in a relatively short time. Even if it’s a hypothetical question born of aggravation, it also means he’s wondering what we’d be like as a couple. So obviously, I flirt with him.
That depends, I answer. How much do you like it?
A whole lot…and not at all.
Look, J, I’m never gonna sit on a pedestal and wait. I’m not that kind of princess. I’ll insist you take me with you to storm the castle and I’ll carry my own sword.
You won’t let me slay your dragons? I imagine him saying it in a soft, teasing tone.
Without hesitation, I type, there’s only one circumstance where I would.
What’s that? He responds so fast; there’s no way he’s doing anything but talking to me. That makes me ridiculously happy. His dinner might be cooling on the table beside him, the TV playing unnoticed.
If you want me to say yes to you, you have to say yes to me.
Blackmail’s illegal. But damned if you don’t make it tempting.
That’s the idea. Night, cowboy.
Six
All through the week, Jesse sends me texts and emails.
Those messages are the high point of my day, no matter what he says. Sometimes he writes about how work’s going, though nothing specific about his cases. Other times, he talks about his partner, and then rarely, his family. I wonder if he realizes how much he’s sharing, how much he’s opening up. I keep teasing him, and soon he’s flirting back. It’s easier to get him to respond this way, possibly because he’s not looking at me and thinking how young I am.
Wednesday, Maria and I have a Chris Pine movie marathon by connecting my laptop to the TV; she has a Netflix account—or rather, she knows a cousin’s password. So we’re all set. As we’re watching Mr. Pine use psychic powers, I try not to think about the weirdo who was watching me. I haven’t sensed anything out of place since then, but that doesn’t mean I’m clear. It’s hard to feel safe when somebody could be staring up at you from your dishwater.
A text comes in from Jesse as the last movie ends. What’re you doing?
Admiring Chris Pine’s hotness.
He’s older than I am!
Like I care. Or as if age would stop me. What’s your point?
Mentally, I hear him sighing. Never mind. I wish you were here. Texts and emails are fine, but I want to talk.
About what?
I just miss you, that’s all.
This feels like a huge admission. So I stand up and say to Maria, who’s been watching me text, “I’m gonna call it a night.”
“Sure. It was fun. We should do it again.”
“Chris Evans next time?” I suggest.
“Deal.”
Once I’m in my room with the door shut behind me, I dial Jesse’s number. I’m not a phone talker, you understand, but I’ll make an exception to capitalize on this emotional confession. It rings twice before he answers. I’m already snuggled down on my futon. Low-level arousal percolates through me as I picture him doing the same. In my head, he’s in bed and shirtless, listening to my voice.