My hour wasn’t up yet, so I parked at Meijer and went in. I spotted Johnny just starting down the cookie aisle. In response to the stares, he said a polite hello to the older ladies he passed and gave a friendly guy-nod to the men. He rolled his cart up beside a mother with two little ones strapped into an extra-long cart with a special seat built for containing them. The mother didn’t notice Johnny, as she was intently studying the labels on Keebler cookies. Her older son watched Johnny put four bags of Oreos into the cart and said, “Is your momma gonna be mad that you drew all over yourself?”

The mother turned around, stunned silent when she saw Johnny. “Naw,” Johnny said to the little boy. “I didn’t do it. One night when I was little, I didn’t put my markers away like my momma told me to. The bogeyman drew on me, and it’s never washed off. So you better listen to your momma.”

Cradling two packages of cookies in the crook of one arm, the mother shoved hard against the cart handles and hurried her little brood safely away around the corner of the aisle. I heard the younger boy say, “Wow! Look, Joshua! We get two kinds of cookies this time!”

I’d been easing up on Johnny’s position, and I was ready to stop and tap my foot and ask if he always scared young mothers, but he sniffed the air and turned suddenly to see me. “Red!”

“I wish I had a camera.”

“Why?”

“Seeing you pushing a cart full of Oreos”—I peered into the cart—“steaks, and…”—I raised a dubious brow at him—“every spice known to man.”

“No point in eating if you don’t make it taste good. Just wait till we hit the produce aisle. Some herbs are fine dried and bottled like this, but for some, fresh is the only way.”

“Well, if anyone knows all about fresh, it’s got to be you.”

After I followed him through the produce section and we went through the checkout, Johnny pushed the bag-laden cart across the bumpy parking lot and started putting the bags into the trunk of the Avalon. I watched him sort the bags to keep the cold stuff together and put the fresh vegetables, bread, and doughnuts in a squash-proof area with boxes of cereal acting like a fence to secure them. It scared me. Not because it was terribly obsessive/compulsive, but because it was an act of terrible domestication. And it was what I’d have done.

Goddess, how my life had changed. My home’s magical defenses were gone and my personal fences were eroding under the relentless influence of Johnny. Nothing was ever going to be the same again.

I was still standing there staring at him when he shut the trunk. I hadn’t helped him at all. “Red?”

“What?”

“Something wrong?”

“No.”

“Okay. You can get in the car. I’ll put the cart away.”

“Right.”

Johnny turned to the cart. I grabbed him and I kissed him there in the parking lot, under the glow of the lot lights. My fingers ran through his hair. He recovered from his surprise and slipped his hands to my waist, grip tightening. Parts of me tightened too. He held me close and his fingers strayed around to brush the skin over my spine and push just under the waistband of my jeans. I slipped him some tongue.

“Wow,” he breathed as our lips parted. “Apple cider.”

Chapter 29

We headed home.

Forcing my shoulders to loosen, a task made more difficult because I was driving, I was just finding a measure of success when Johnny said, “How’d it go with your friend?”

Those resistant muscles clenched back into their taut position. “It’s over.”

“Sounds like a couple thing. You two didn’t ever—”

“Stop it.”

“Well, some girlfriends do—”

“I said stop.” Damn it. How was I ever going to relax?

“Okay, okay. Just trying to lighten the mood.” Johnny turned on the radio and maneuvered the dial to the left for the classical station. He adjusted his seat to recline and went to sleep.

“Johnny, wake up. We’re…here.” I was not about to say, “We’re home.”

He stretched and said, “Okay.”

After hitting the trunk-opening button, I got out. The living room lights were off, which I thought was odd because I figured Nana and Beverley would be watching TV, but the upstairs and kitchen lights were on. Nana was probably still translating the copy of the book. I started to gather up the bags. The next thing I knew, Johnny was beside me taking the bags from my hands.

“I can get it,” I said, and closed my fingers around the plastic handles.

“I can help.” Ever so gently, he again tried to take the bags. His expression was playful as he watched my face while he touched my hands.

“Get your own bags,” I said, teasing, but soft and unsure. I’d snapped at him over the girlfriend remark, and he shouldn’t be acting like nothing had happened. Men let snippy words roll off of them more easily than women did.

“But I want those.”

“Why?”

“To lighten your load.”

“You’re not a servant.”

He stilled, searching my face slowly, making one big counterclockwise circuit, taking in everything. His hands, big and warm, touched either side of my neck. His thumbs rubbed along my jaw. It was nice, sensual, and if he had applied any pressure, it would have been dangerously close to strangling. But he just touched me and let me feel how warm and gentle he was. Cedar and sage filled the air.

Johnny put his lips against mine. Warm and soft and quivering deep down with adrenaline.

While the kiss was still chaste, he pulled away. “I will serve the Lustrata in all things.” He flashed a one-sided smile before walking away with the grocery bags that had been in my hands. I stood there beside the trunk for a minute, dumbfounded. I hadn’t registered when he had removed his hands from my neck or when he had taken the bags from me.

In all things echoed in my mind. Happy and thrilled and irritated all at once, I grabbed more bags from the trunk. In the garage, Ares was in his cage barking like mad. “Just a minute, boy,” I said. “I’ll let you out in a second.” I headed for the light falling from the open door. Johnny slipped past me to get the remaining bags, and I set the ones I’d brought in on the table beside the others. I put my coat on the back of a chair and began sorting through the bags. “Nana! Beverley! We’re back.”

Over my head, the floor creaked.

I found the milk and carried it to the refrigerator. But what I saw when I opened the door made the gallon jug slip from my grasp. Fear stilled me rigid, unable to move. A scream clawed at my throat like that of a caged animal desperate for freedom, but my throat had closed. My mind grappled for understanding.

As soon as I fully recognized what I was looking at, my throat opened. Air was sucked into my waiting lungs, and I screamed.

In an instant, Johnny was there, staring at the silver platter in my refrigerator where the head of Samson D. Kline sat, eyes open wide—as was his mouth, tongue thick and pushed to one side.

Johnny kicked the door shut, and I collapsed into his arms.

The squeak of a step brought me out of the shock. “Nana!” I pushed past Johnny, but he caught me again and restrained me. “No. I’ve got to go.” I pushed against him.

“No.” He sniffed. “It’s not Demeter.”

The footsteps came louder, nearing the bottom and no longer trying to hide anything. A shadow cast by light upstairs shone across my door, and I knew who it was before I saw him. I could feel it like heat inside my spine. “No,” I said.

Menessos came into view. “Yes.”

“Where are Nana and Beverley?”

He walked toward us, grinning wickedly.

“Bastard!” I tried to get around Johnny, and though I had nothing compared to wære strength, I had desperate strength and I was almost loose. “If you’ve done anything to them, anything at all, I’ll—”