Marshal chuckled and turned a yellowed page. "If you do it right, sure," he said, mimicking me, and I looked up to find him smiling. "Scout's honor. Massage triggers the digestive and sleep rhythms. That's when your aura replenishes itself. You get a massage, and your aura will be better."

I eyed him, trying to figure out if he was joking or not. "Really?"

"Yup." His confident assurance faltered when he saw the next curse to blow up a wind strong enough to topple buildings. He looked at me, then the curse. "Uh, Rachel?" he stammered.

"What?" I said as my warning flags started going up. I wasn't a black witch, damn it.

"This is some creepy-ass shit," he said, brow furrowed, and I laughed, sliding the demon book back onto my lap and the university text onto the floor.

"That's why I don't do it," I said, grateful that he didn't think I was bad just because I had a book that told me how to twist a curse to cause the black plague.

He made a small sound and scooted down to read over my shoulder. "So, running the risk of opening a wound, what did Robbie think about you being in the hospital?"

I turned a page and blanched. HOW TO CREATE WOLF PREGNANCY IN HUMANS. Damn, I didn't know I had that one in my library. "Uh," I stammered, quickly turning the page. "Robbie said it was par for the course and told me to stop doing dangerous things because it might upset Mom. He's the one upset, though. Not her."

"That's about what I thought he'd say." Marshal leaned into my space and turned the page for me. I breathed deep, enjoying both the extra body heat in the cold belfry and the rich scent of redwood. He'd been spelling recently, and I wondered if he had a modified warmth amulet keeping him from shivering.

"I like your brother," he said, unaware that I was breathing him in. "It irks me, though, seeing him treat you like you're the same kid you were when he left. My older brother does that to me. Makes me want to pound him."

"Mmmm." I let the weight of our bodies slide us together a little bit more, thinking it suspicious that he was saying all the right things. "Robbie moved out when I was thirteen. He hasn't had the chance to see me as a grown-up." Our arms touched as I turned the page, but he didn't seem to notice. "And then I go and put myself in the hospital the week he comes for a visit. Really good, huh?"

Marshal laughed, then peered more closely at the text describing how to make bubbles last till sunrise, and I felt better as he saw that not all curses were bad. I suppose you could make them appear in someone's lungs and suffocate them, but you could also entertain children.

"Thanks for coming with me to my mom's," I said softly, watching him, not the curses he was flipping through. "I don't think I could have taken sitting there all night and listening to Cindy this, Cindy that, followed by the inevitable, ‘And when are you going to get a steady boyfriend, Rachel?'"

"Moms are like that," he said in a preoccupied tone. "She just wants you to be happy."

"I am happy," I said sourly, and Marshal chuckled, probably trying to memorize the curse to turn water into wine. Good for parties, but he wouldn't be able to invoke it, lacking the right enzymes in his blood. I could, though.

Sighing, I pushed the book entirely onto his lap and dragged a new one onto mine. It was cold up here, but I didn't want to go downstairs and risk waking up four dozen pixies. Am I jealous that Robbie seems to have everything? Has it so easy?

"You know," Marshal said, not looking up from the book he was searching for me, "we don't have to keep things the way they are…with us, I mean."

I stiffened. Marshal must have felt it, seeing as our shoulders were touching. I didn't say anything, and emboldened by my lack of a negative response, he added, "I mean, last October, I wasn't ready for anyone new in my life, but now—"

My breath caught, and Marshal cut his thought short. "Okay," he said, sliding to put space between us. "Sorry. Forget I said anything. I'm lousy at body language. My bad."

My bad? When did anyone ever say my bad anymore? But letting this go without saying anything was easier said than done, especially when I'd been thinking the same thing off and on in stupid-Rachel moments for weeks. So licking my lips, I said carefully to the book on my lap, "I've had fun with you, these last couple of months."

"It's okay, Rachel," he interrupted, edging farther down the long fainting couch. "Forget I said anything. Hey, I'll just go, okay?"

My pulse quickened. "I'm not asking you to leave. I'm saying I've had fun with you. I was hurting then. I still am, but I've laughed a lot, and I like you." He looked up, slightly red-faced and with his brown eyes holding a new vulnerability. My mind went back to me sitting on the kitchen floor with no one to pick me up. I took a deep breath, scared. "I've been thinking, too."

Marshal exhaled, as if a knot had untwisted in him. "When you were in the hospital," he said quickly, "God help me, but I suddenly saw what we'd been doing the last couple of months, and something hurt me."

"It didn't feel that good to be there," I quipped.

"And then Jenks told me you collapsed in your kitchen," he added with a worried sincerity. "I know you can take care of yourself and that you've got Ivy and Jenks—"

"The line ripped through my aura," I explained. "It hurt." My mind jerked back to my jealousy when I sat all night beside Marshal and listened to Robbie go on about Cindy, almost glowing. Why couldn't I have some stability like that?

Marshal shifted to take my hand, the space between us looking larger for it. "I like you, Rachel. I mean, I really like you," he said, almost scaring me. "Not because you've got sexy legs and know how to laugh, or because you get excited in chase scenes, and take the time to help get a puppy out of a tree."

"That was really weird, wasn't it?"

His fingers tightened on mine, drawing my gaze down. "Jenks said you thought you were alone and you might do something stupid trying to rescue that ghost."

At that, I gave up on all pretense of levity. "I'm not alone." Maybe Mia was right, but I didn't want her to be. Even if I was, I could still stand alone. I'd done it all my life and I could do it well. But I didn't want to. I shivered, from the cold or the conversation, and Marshal frowned.

"I don't want to ruin what we have," Marshal said, his voice soft in the absolute stillness of a winter's afternoon. He slowly slid closer, and I set the book on my lap on the floor to lean up against his side, testing the feeling though I was stiff and uncertain, trying it on. It felt like it fit, which worried me. "Maybe friends is enough," he added, as if really considering it. "I've never had as good a relationship with a woman as I've got with you, and I'm just smart enough, and old enough, and tired enough to let it ride as it is."

"Me, too," I said, almost disappointed. I shouldn't be resting against him, leading him on. I was a danger to everyone I liked, but the Weres had backed off, and the vamps. I'd get Al to see reason. I didn't want Jenks to be right about me chasing the unattainable as an excuse to be alone. I had a great relationship with Marshal right now. Just because it wasn't physical didn't make it any less real. Or did it? I wanted to care about someone. I wanted to love someone, and I didn't want to be afraid to. I didn't want to let Mia win.

"Marshal, I still don't know if I'm ready for a boyfriend." Reaching out, I touched the short hair behind his ear, heart pounding. I'd spent so much effort trying to convince myself that he was off limits, that just that small motion seemed erotic. He didn't move, and my hand drifted down until my fingers brushed his collar, a whisper from touching his skin. A small spot of feeling grew, and I drew my gaze back to his. "But I'd like to see if I am. If you do…"