"No, but I want your help this afternoon with one of these banshee women," Edden said without preamble, his gravelly voice a mix of preoccupied gratefulness, sounding odd with the original line still open in the living room. "This one's name is Ms. Walker. She's the iciest woman I've talked to since my mother-in-law, and that was just from our phone conversation."

I glanced at Marshal, then turned my back on him. Jenks was sitting on his shoulder, his kid probably in the desk where he belonged.

"She called the department this morning," Edden was saying, drawing my attention back. "And she's flying in this afternoon from San Diego to help me find Ms. Harbor. Can you be here when I talk to her? Banshees police themselves, same as vampires, and she wants to help—seeing as the I.S. won't do anything."

The last was said rather sourly, and I nodded though he couldn't see it. This was making sense, but I wasn't sure I wanted to meet this woman if a freaking baby of her species had almost killed me. "Uh," I hedged, uneasy, "I'd really like to help and all, but my aura is still thin. I don't think talking to another banshee is a good idea." Besides, I've got to come up with a way to make Al behave today.

Jenks buzzed his wings in approval, but Edden wasn't happy.

"She wants to meet you," he said. "Asked for you. Rachel, she made you being there a stipulation for talking to me. I need you."

I sighed, wondering if Edden was above stretching the truth to reach an ending he wanted. Putting a hand to my head, I thought for a moment. "Jenks?" I asked, not sure about this, "can you tell if she starts sucking on me?"

The pixy's wings brightened. "You bet, Rache," he said, clearly glad he could help.

I bit my bottom lip and listened to the echo of the open line as I weighed the risks. I'd like to see Mia get her own for letting her kid try to kill me, and Ms. Walker could help. "Okay," I said slowly, and Edden made a pleased rumble. "Where and when?"

"Her plane comes in at three, but she's on West Coast time, so how about a late lunch," Edden said confidently. "On the FIB."

"You mean my lunch, or your lunch?" I asked, rolling my eyes.

"Uh, say four at Carew Tower?"

Carew Tower? This has to be some woman.

"I'll send someone to pick you up," Edden was saying. "Oh, and good job on the AMA. How did you get one so fast?"

I glanced at Jenks, sitting on Marshal's shoulder. "Rynn Cormel," I said, hoping Marshal was starting to understand how risky it was to be around me.

"Damn!" Edden exclaimed. "You do have pull. See you this afternoon."

"Hey, how's Glenn?" I asked, but the phone had clicked off. Four at Carew Tower, I thought, mentally going through my closet for something to wear as I hung up the phone. I can do that. How am I going to do that? I was exhausted, and I'd just gotten up.

My gaze darted to the island counter where I'd once kept my spell books. Ivy had moved them all back into the belfry when I'd been in the hospital, and the thought of bringing them all down again made me sigh. Al had said there wasn't a spell to supplement a person's aura, but maybe there was something to protect a person from a banshee.

I stood to go check, and from the living room came the beeping of the open line. Jenks buzzed out to take care of it, and I froze, remembering I had company. "Uh, I'm sorry," I said, staring at Marshal's amused expression as he sat comfortably in his chair and ate a doughnut. "I have to go up to the attic and get some books. To look for a, uh, spell."

"Want some help bringing them down?" he asked, already stretching into a stand.

"It's just a couple of books," I hedged, thinking about the demon texts in with the others.

"Not a problem." He headed to the sanctuary, pace casual and confident, and I scrambled to follow. Crap, how am I going to explain why I have demon texts?

The sanctuary was silent, warm from the space heater cranked up for the pixies. Jenks had hung up the phone, and he was sitting with his two eldest kids in the rafters on sentry duty. "I can do this by myself," I said when I caught up with Marshal, and he gave me a sideways look.

"It's just a couple of books," he said, then took a bite of the doughnut he had brought with him. "I'll bring them down, and then if you want me to leave, I will," he added around his full mouth. "I know you've got work to do. I just wanted to check on you was all."

His tone had held a measure of hurt in it, and I felt bad as I followed him through the cold foyer and into the unheated circular stairway that led into the belfry. I had spelled up there once before, when I'd been hiding from demons last Halloween. Marshal had just come into town and was looking for an apartment. Cripes, had it been two months that we'd been doing stuff? It seemed longer.

"Marshal," I said as we found the top and I clenched my arms around me in the chill of the unheated belfry. Dang, it was cold up here, and my breath steamed. I searched the open rafters above the huge bell that made a false roof over the space, but Bis was elsewhere. He'd probably put himself on the eaves last night, where the sun would hit him all day. The adolescent gargoyle didn't come in apart from inclement weather, and when he got older, he probably wouldn't come in even then.

"Hey, this is nice!" Marshal said, and I dropped back, pleased as he looked the hexagonal room over. The rough floor was the color of dust, and the walls had never been finished, still showing the two-by-fours and the back of the siding. It was the same temperature as the outside, about fifty something, refreshing after the steamy warmth downstairs.

The slatted windows let in slices of light and sound, making it a nice hidey-hole where one could sit and watch the day happen. I wasn't surprised when Marshal bent one of the slats to look out. Next to him was the folding chair I'd left up here for when I had to get away. The middle of the ten-by-ten space held an antique dresser with a green marble top and an age-spotted mirror. My library was on the mahogany shelf propped up in one of the spaces between the windows. Beside it, next to the door, was a faded fainting couch. Other than that, the space was empty of everything except the almost subliminal hum of the bell resonating faintly.

Tired, I sat on the couch and pulled one of the books onto my lap, content to sit while Marshal satisfied his curiosity. My thoughts sifted back downstairs to the useless charms in my cupboard. "Um, Marshal, about those locator charms," I said softly.

Marshal turned, smiling. "My lips are sealed," he said, crossing the room. "I know the stuff you do for the FIB is confidential. Don't worry about it."

Okay, that's weird, I thought when Marshal sat beside me, taking the book out of my hand and opening it. How could he not know the charms were bad?

"What are we looking for?" he asked cheerfully, then looked at his hand when it probably started to tingle. Demon books were like that.

"A spell to protect my aura," I offered. "Um, that's a demon text you've got there."

Marshal blinked, stiffening as he realized what he'd opened. "That's why you keep them up here," he said, looking at it, and I nodded.

Much to my surprise, he didn't give the book back, but turned the page, curiosity getting the better of him. "You don't need a charm to help your aura," he said. "What you need to do is get a massage."

My shoulders eased, and glad he wasn't running screaming into the afternoon, I murmured, "A massage?"

"Full body, head to toe," he said, starting when he turned the page and found a curse to destroy an army with a single note of music. "You really think this works?"

"If you do it right, sure." Reaching, I picked up a university textbook and turned to the index. My fingers were cold, and I blew on them. "A massage will make it all better, huh?"