No. Of course not. “You see any bats?”
“Bats!” Don sounded incredulous. He set a beefy hand under Rafe’s elbow and boosted. “On a sunny day? In Denver?”
“No, I didn’t think so,” Rafe said. Blinking, he looked around. There were pigeons on the phone lines, but not even one crow. Damn.
“Geez.” Don, a stocky man a decade older than Rafe, manhandled him into the back of the car. “I’d’a never heard the end of it if I’d hit you. You need a doc? Should I take you to an emergency room?”
“No.” Rafe rubbed his temples. Liquid trickled along his left arm from his wrist. Tears in his shirt, scuffs on his jacket that he couldn’t determine came from sliding along gravel or a claw or two.
He used Don’s word. “Hell.”
Don pulled over to the curb, looked at Rafe over the seat. “A walk-in clinic’s close.”
Rafe worked his jaw, then smiled. That hurt. “No, I’m good. Had worse problems from a fall or two.”
Don grunted. “Better you than me. You still want to eat at O’Hearn’s or go to Conrad’s?”
“Conrad’s first. I want a hot shower.”
“Heard his divorce went through.”
“Yes.”
“Damn shame.”
“Yes.”
“Strap in, buddy,” Don ordered and kept his gaze in the rearview until Rafe did, then he checked for traffic—none—and pulled back into the street.
“You know any good hotels in the area?” The words were out of Rafe’s mouth before he knew he was going to say them. He didn’t know why. Except he liked the looks of Mystic Circle. And maybe he wanted to keep an eye on Sarga.
“There’s a good bed-and-breakfast a few blocks away. Big old Victorian place.”
“Girly?” Rafe asked.
“Nah, not so much. Also, an apartment place that might have something open.”
“I’ll take the B and B,” Rafe decided.
“Not staying at Conrad’s?”
“No. He’s going out of town, and I like the looks of this area. We can pick up my duffel, then come back to O’Hearn’s.”
“Sounds good. Steak is good at O’Hearn’s,” Don said.
“Right.” Rafe leaned back against the leather seat. The morning was catching up with him. He felt more battered than he should have, weaker. A glance at his left wrist showed blood crusting his blue cuff. He pushed the cuff back and saw bruising around the puncture.
Unaccustomed to being attacked from the air, he’d landed poorly. The left side of his face was scraped, and the fact that he’d gotten it from pavement when he wasn’t riding a bike and having fun pissed him off. His head ached and he figured he had a nice lump coming up above his temple. His left knee throbbed.
He talked basketball teams with Don and wondered about bats and crows and headaches and gypsy curses.
Rafe and Don never made it to O’Hearn’s. Instead Rafe showered and changed at Conrad’s and they ate food that had been prepared for Conrad and Rafe. He found a quick text from Conrad that he’d gotten Rafe’s message about Marta being used, and would be wary. Conrad had hired a plane to fly to Bakir Zagora. That reminded Rafe to call a car leasing company and rent a car. He settled for a Jag.
After lunch, Rafe informed the dour housekeeper he’d be staying at a bed-and-breakfast and saw relief in her eyes. He left her the number in case of any emergency.
When the Jag arrived, Don insisted on following Rafe to Juno’s Inn. The limo owner kept a shrewd gaze on him as Rafe took the steps. He ached, he didn’t deny that. At the porch, he turned and jerked his thumb for Don to go away. The BMW drove slowly, and Rafe figured he’d be hearing from Don the next day—just in case he was in worse shape than he admitted.
The middle-age woman who admitted him also noted his scraped face and limp and assured him that his room had a spa tub. Rafe nodded. He gritted his teeth up another flight of stairs. The place was too fussy for him, and he wondered how Amber Sarga decorated her Victorian.
Then he made it to the bed and decided to lie down for a couple of minutes. As sleep swirled around him, he saw shadows dive-bomb him again, felt the peck and stab of beaks…and the thing’s bone crack as its neck broke.
It took longer for Amber to wrap up Cissy Smart Gortel’s family tree and report than anticipated. But by the time Amber had, she was feeling better.
After she’d finished the family tree, she’d spread it out on her large worktable. Even before she touched the large chart, pink-purple magic swirled from her fingers. Surely it was a good sign that her minor magic came quicker now?
She knew, then, that she’d be able to include a story. Darkness had swirled around her and she’d observed a scene in the Smarts’ past. A wonderful, hopeful scene. Cissy’s forebears had been part of the underground railroad and helped slaves escape. A couple of hours later, Amber had found documentation of the event from several stories of ex-slaves compiled after the Civil War.
Smiling, Amber rolled up the chart and the report and put them in a tube and attached the proper postage. Before she left the room, her gaze was drawn to the tube that Conrad had given her.
No, it should wait for another day. Or at least after chocolate pie.
At the bottom of the stairs Tiro stood, scowling and with his arms crossed. For an instant he looked like an odd garden statue and she had to choke back a laugh.
“I’m ready for my pie,” he grumbled. He glanced at the mantel clock in the living room. “It’s almost tea time.”
“Chocolate pie takes twenty minutes to make at the most.” She had some frozen crusts.
He grunted. Amber shrugged and headed into the kitchen.
Time with the other brownies mellowed Tiro slightly. He was downright gleeful when he learned another brownie at Jenni’s place was indentured to a cat. And Tiro was pleased to be asked to help with Pred’s excavation projects.
Pred finished his piece quickly and said, “I will extend the tunnel from the common meeting area under the center of the cul-de-sac to your basement.” He glanced at Tiro. “You can help.”
Tiro’s eyes gleamed. “Digging!”
“See what you miss when you live by yourself?” Hartha said.
Pred tilted his head. “Open the tunnel from Jenni’s basement to yours. Put in a door.”
Amber stared, thought of the sunroom that had appeared nearly overnight on the back of Jenni’s house. “Where’s Jenni? She’s been gone a month.”
