With my eyes closed I could hear the busy hum of bugs and birds going about their business, and water burbling somewhere relatively nearby. A branch cracked a few steps away from me, a burst of wings sounded, and I opened my eyes again to find an amused, broad-shouldered man standing above me. He wore an olive green army uniform, a black tag with bright yellow letters on it above his left breast pocket. He looked at ease and confident, hands in his pockets as he slouched over me.

He was on the good side of ageless, laugh lines starting to crinkle around gray eyes. His hair was dark, cut military short to go with the uniform, but his eyebrows were already starting to get away from him. His nose had been broken at least once, taking away any chance at beauty but leaving behind a sort of cheerful ruggedness that made me forget how to breathe. He stuck a big hand out, encompassing mine entirely as I put it in his. My hands weren’t small, but his made me feel delicate as he pulled me to my feet with an easy surge.

“Don’t look so surprised, Jo. How many times do I gotta tell you, old dogs learn a trick or two along the way?” His voice was a delicious rumble, not quite what I was used to hearing, but then, I’d never heard someone’s voice from inside his own head before.

“Gary?”

He glanced down at himself, then spread his hands in a wide-shouldered shrug. “Guess how we see ourselves never really changes. What, it’s that bad?” His grin was familiar, self-deprecating and crooked.

“Bad? No, jeez, bad? You’regorgeous.” He wasn’t exactly gorgeous, not in a movie-star sense, but he was a whole lot better than “not bad.” The Hemingway look hadn’t settled in yet; that was more an effect of age than his own bone structure. I gazed up at him, completely besotted.

“And you’re tall,” I added faintly. He was taller than me back in the real world, too, but the internal Gary was still young, and age hadn’t taken any height from him yet. And maybe, just maybe, he was a little bit better than the reality had ever been. I grinned at him dippily. He grinned back, pleased as the cat who stole the cream. I was suddenly terribly, terribly envious of his wife, Annie, who would’ve known him when he was the handsome cock of the walk I saw now. It was easy to see them dancing together, him in uniform and her in one of the full-skirted party dresses worn during the war. For a moment I tried putting myself in her place, then let it go in another little wash of envy.

“You sayin’ I wasn’t always?” he teased.

I actually blushed. “Which, gorgeous, or tall?” That didn’t help any. Gary laughed out loud, and I blushed harder. “This is your garden?” I blurted, gesturing around before stepping away to take a look. I hoped investigating would keep me from fluttering at the old man.

It wasn’t a measly garden. It was an entire inner landscape, forests that went on farther than I’d ever be able to explore. It was lush and startlingly healthy, given that the man had just had a heart attack. It was like the attack had come out of nowhere: there was nothing hinting at it in his garden. No dead trees thinned the forest, and everywhere I looked the earth was soft and rich and mossy. I could hear water running, and I felt envy all over again.

“I thought I was going to bring you to my garden.” I folded my arms around myself, looking through the trees until the distance became a green blur. “This is…a better place.”

“Jo.” Gary put his hands on my shoulders, standing just a few inches behind me. His hands were warm and big enough to make me feel small. “Different don’t mean better. I’m an old man, and this place has taken a lotta years of living to build. You gotta let the sunshine in, sweetheart. Nothing can grow in the fog.”

“I thought I was supposed to be here to help you.” My voice was tight, though I tried to put a smile in it. It must’ve worked: Gary chuckled and stepped a little closer, putting his arms around my waist. I held my breath until he poked me in the ribs and I let out a laugh that verged on tears.

“Maybe it’s all one and the same, darlin’. We got some time.”

I turned around in his arms to hug him, and maybe to hide the tendency for tears against his chest. “Plenty of time,” I promised in a hoarse voice. My tortoise passenger had already left me, making its own slow way through the mossy forest toward the river. “Lots of time,” I repeated, and Gary tightened his arms around my shoulders like a promise in return.

CHAPTER 17

I left the hospital feeling a bit lighter of heart, Gary’s semi-outraged protest at being protected by a tortoise still ringing in my ears. I’d pointed out tortoises lived a hundred and fifty years, which had silenced him into a slow grin that reminded me of the garden Gary. It was almost as if I was a competent human being.

Of course, a competent human being would have already told Morrison that Cassandra Tucker had apparently died of a heart defect aggravated by the use of magic, but I hadn’t found it in myself to try. I didn’t know which was worse: him believing me, or not. Either way, I could put it off a little longer, because I still had an afternoon beat to walk.

The heat was making people either crabby or listless. I busted up more than one burgeoning fight on the Ave, glad I wasn’t working someplace more dangerous. My vision behaved itself all afternoon, and between that and Gary, I genuinely felt up to attending the coven event that evening. I went back to the precinct building to clock out and to shower, too disgusting with sweat to wait until I went home. My equipment bag had shorts and a tank top, far more suited to the weather than wool pants and a cotton shirt. I jogged out of the building with my duffel slung over my shoulder, thinking about running home to start laundry before I met up with the coven.

“Walker!”

I turned warily. Morrison shouting for me wasn’t usually a good sign. Especially since he should’ve gone home by now.Especially since I’d been avoiding him all day, and the sound of his voice was a sharp reminder I’d been expecting him to show up and rescue me from the desert.

He looked tired, not much like a desert-searching hero, and not much like he wanted to talk to me. Neither of those was unusual, but I was oddly disappointed. After all, if he was going to feature heavily in my subconscious fantasies, the least he could do was be pleased about seeing me. Not that I had the slightest intention of telling him he was apparently my own personal champion. And not that he’d arrived on the scene to rescue me, which sort of annoyed me when I thought about it.

I slung my duffel over my back, holding on to the strap with two fingers, as if the oversized action would force my internal nattering out of mind. Morrison really did look tired, or maybe angry, his mouth a thin line and blue eyes squinted against the sun. I should’ve been used to him looking irritated, but the underlying weariness sent a pang of compassion through me. “Everything okay, Captain?”

He cut off whatever he was about to say and eyed me suspiciously for a few seconds. I tried to keep my expression neutral:no, boss, I really mean it. Is everything okay? He’d never believe it.

“Yeah,” he said after enough time that I wondered if he was going to answer at all. “Tomorrow—”

I got ready to blow up. Tomorrow was my day off. “—is Cassandra Tucker’s funeral,” he said. I choked on my own indignation and stared at him as he concluded, “I thought you might want to go.”

I wet my lips and looked around, anywhere but at my captain, so that I could work off being embarrassed over my near blowup. “Thank you,” I finally said, awkwardly. “I really appreciate that. Look, does that mean they know what happened to her? Because—”