The skin tightened across my face. “Really?” I blurted. “Why?”
Mimsey used the arms on the desk chair to push herself upright, as if she didn’t have enough strength to stand otherwise. “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask him that. And please don’t say…Oh, never mind.” She sighed. “He’ll know I told you.”
I leaped to my feet and deposited Mungo unceremoniously back on the chair seat. “Mimsey, you’re not afraid of Steve, are you?” The thought made me cringe. “Because I don’t have to ask him anything.”
She waved away my concern. “No, no. Go. Talk to him. Learn what you must.” She patted Mungo on the head, then put a hand on my shoulder, snagging my gaze with her own. “I’m glad to see that you’re wearing your protective talisman. Have you charged it lately?”
I nodded, fingering the silver O hanging from the chain around my neck. I could feel the embossed dragonflies chasing each other around the metal circle. “At the last full moon.”
“Good.” She squeezed, hard. “Don’t take it off. Not when you sleep, not when you shower, not when you go for a run.”
She let go of me, winked at Mungo, opened the door, and made her way through the kitchen and out to the front of the bakery. I stood in the doorway feeling stunned and confused—and oddly, utterly inappropriately, thrilled.
Cookie’s eyes narrowed in question, first at Mimsey’s retreating back and then at me. I smiled, nodded my approval at the tray of molasses scones she’d just removed from the oven, and went back into the office, closing the door behind me.
“Well, what do you think?” I asked my familiar. “Should I see if Steve is available to grab a bite?”
The little dog panted his approval.
“Maybe at Soho South Cafe? I’ll bring you a side order of shrimp-and-andouille-sausage soup.”
Now he grinned. He loved to lap up the spicy soup, which would have been downright disgusting if he weren’t indeed a dog. Though after Declan’s delectable breakfast spread, I didn’t know how Mungo could even think about more food. I almost groaned at the thought myself, but it was too early for a drink, and I didn’t want to invite Steve over for dinner later because, well, because every time he was in my house I seemed to barely escape the encounter without ending up in, shall we say, a compromising position?
Maybe I needed to set some Steve-specific wards to protect myself from his charms. Jaida was good at protection spells. Perhaps she could help me. Besides, from the way Mimsey had acted, I could use all the help I could get on the protection front.
Steve answered his cell on the second ring. “Hey, you.”
Two words. That’s all it took to make my scalp sweat. My suggestion of a late lunch was met with quiet enthusiasm. As I hung up, I realized that ever since the powerful night when we’d linked our magic together in order to save a man’s life, I’d not once initiated an encounter with Steve. It was always him pushing and cajoling, and sometimes even tricking me into spending time with him. But I really wanted to know more about the tattooed sigil.
* * *
I paused inside the entrance to the Soho Cafe. From the outside it looked rather small, but it opened into a large space with a hip warehouse feel. Metal support beams and exposed pipes arched overhead. An enticing selection of cookbooks was on sale near the front register, and a plenitude of savory scents greeted my nose. Even though I was still full from breakfast, the smell of sautéing garlic and onions made my mouth water. The high ceilings and cement floor created a cavernous acoustic while swallowing up individual words so that the contents of conversations were more private than one might expect.
A waitress approached. “One?” She beamed at me with a freckled grin. She was tall, but not as tall as me, and wore a many-layered pastel dress with gossamer cap sleeves. A Celtic knot barrette held the frizzy orange hair piled up on her head.
I imagined a stranger looking at the two of us—me with my short auburn locks, lanky runner’s physique, and almost dowdy clothing. No way would that stranger pick my unremarkable self as the witch.
Searching the room, I said, “I’m meeting someone.”
Steve’s waving hand at the back of the restaurant caught my attention.
I waved back. “There he is.”
Always the gentleman, he rose when I approached. He wore khaki shorts and a chocolate-colored T-shirt that seemed to make his intelligent brown eyes even darker. The usual length of braided leather held his smooth blond hair in a ponytail.
“Here you go,” the waitress said, now beaming at both of us.
Steve never took his eyes off me. He held out his hand, and without thinking I took it. “Katie. You look wonderful.” He led me to the other side of the small table and pulled out the chair for me.
“Thanks,” I said. The waitress winked conspiratorially and moved away.
Dang it. People always seemed to be doing that when I was around Steve, apparently sensing something that wasn’t even there.
Really. It wasn’t. Never mind that tingle in my hand where he’d touched me. Or the buzzing beneath my scalp. I shook my head to clear it and smiled at him. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He settled in across the table and handed me a menu. “Though I am curious to hear what you want from me this time.”
“Hey, that’s not—”
“Fair?”
I sighed.
“It’s completely fair, and you know it. The only time you’ve ever called me is if you need my help. I can’t imagine that’s suddenly changed.” He leaned toward me. “Or has it?”
His breath caressed my neck, and I swallowed. Hard.
“Has it?”
My shoulders slumped. “No. I’m sorry.”
He straightened and opened his menu. “No need. Just making sure I know where I stand.”
“Steve, it’s just that, well, that you…I don’t know.”
“I scare you. I know that. But we have a connection, and you know that, so one of these days you’re just going to have to get over being a fraidy cat and deal with it.”
I glared at him.
He grinned back. “I’m going to have the turkey Reuben. You?”
With reluctance, I turned my attention to the lunch offerings. This was exactly the kind of thing Steve was good at. It would have been a lot more infuriating if it wasn’t true.
He ordered his Reuben and I ordered a Greek salad. After the waitress left, we sat back and looked at each other. Steve took a sip of iced tea and raised his eyebrows a fraction. Waiting.
Reaching into the tote bag on the chair beside me, I withdrew the smudged drawing of the wreath tattoo and laid it on the table between us. Eyebrows still raised, he glanced down. “What’s this?”
Then he really looked, and his whole body stilled. The blood drained from his face, leaving it pale under his smooth tanned skin. The muscles in his neck worked, and then he looked up at me. “Where did you find this?” He sounded almost angry.
Mimsey had acted frightened when she saw the drawing, and now Steve was angry.
“I drew it.”
“But you must have seen it someplace. Where? When?”
Taking a deep breath, I said, “This morning. In Johnson Square. On a man’s arm. A…a dead man.”
He stared at me, his face expressionless. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head. “Oh, Katie-girl. What have you gotten yourself into?”
He hadn’t called me Katie-girl for months. Of course, I’d asked him to stop, but he seemed to rarely do what I asked, so it was notable. Now I found I didn’t hate it as much as I’d thought. Something about the way he said it.
The waitress brought our food, and I ordered a side of soup to go for Mungo. She topped off our glasses of tea and left, shooting a look over her shoulder at Steve as she sashayed away.
But he wasn’t paying attention. He took a bite from the corner of his sandwich, put his other elbow on the table in defiance of Emily Post’s dictum, and said, “You’d better tell me everything.”
I shrugged. “Not much to tell, really. We happened to see a man lying under a rhododendron bush in Johnson Square this morning. I could tell something was wrong, so I took a closer look. Sure enough, it turned out he was dead. That’s when I saw the tattoo. De—the police came then, and Peter Quinn interviewed us. Him and his new partner.” I made a moue, remembering Detective Taite.
Steve’s eyes narrowed. “We? Us?”
Of course Steve had caught my verbal slip.
I raised my chin in defiance. “Declan.”
If I’d thought he looked mad when he saw the tattoo, then the expression on his face now was downright fury.
“I know you dislike him. We were just having a bite.”
“In Johnson Square.”
“Yes.”
“A picnic.” Somehow he made the notion of eating outdoors sound sordid. And I could see the hurt under all that anger—long-held anger toward Declan for his part in a tragic accident that had killed Steve’s brother. Now it had been augmented by his feelings for me. One of those feelings was lust. It was sometimes hard to tell what else accompanied it.
He forked a bite of side salad into his mouth and chewed slowly. Swallowed. “What else?”
“Besides a picnic?”
“No,” he said with great patience. “What else did you notice about the man you found? What did he look like?”
“Oh. He was older. Thick white hair, old clothes with dirt on them, muddy boots, nice watch.”
Steve put down his fork and took a gulp of tea, blinking rapidly. Were those tears?
I put my hand over his. “You seem to recognize the description.”
“Not at all.”
I didn’t believe him. I pushed the drawing of the tattoo toward him. “You know what this is, don’t you?”
Composed again, he asked, “Now, why would you even think that?”
“A little witch told me.” After all, Mimsey had given me permission to tell him.
He sighed. “A little white-haired witch, I bet. With blue eyes and a parrot.”
“You know Heckle?”
Steve grimaced.
I pushed harder. “You know about the druids who wear this. I know you do.”
“Keep your voice down.”
“I’m practically whispering. No one can hear us. And I bet you know the identity of the man who had this on his arm.”
After not being able to take his eyes off me, now he couldn’t look at me at all.
“Tell me,” I urged. Without meaning to, I felt a little of my Voice infuse the words. I barely managed not to clap my hand over my mouth.
His eyes flared. “Knock it off! That crap doesn’t work on me.”
“Sorry. I just thought—”
“You just wanted to get your way.”
“Not my way! To know whose body I found today. And…why. Mimsey implied it might have something to do with my being a—a, you know.”
“What?”
“A catalyst.”
“Oh. Right. That.”
The tension rode there in the air between us for a long moment before he looked at me again. “I need to talk to someone before I tell you any more.”
“But you haven’t told me anything,” I protested. “At least you could…” Something in his expression made my words trail off. “Well, okay. I guess. Not that I have any choice.”
“No. You don’t.” He rose and took a few steps away from the table. Then he took out his wallet, extracted a bill, and threw it on the table.
“But I asked you to lunch,” I said.
“Under false pretenses.” He turned and walked away.
I watched him go. A knot of guilt twisted in my stomach. Why was he so upset? Who did he need to talk to?
Katie-girl, what have you gotten yourself into?
Indeed.
The blowsy waitress returned, frowning at all the uneaten food on the table. She held a bag with Mungo’s treat. “Is there something wrong with your order?” she asked.
“It’s fine. Good. My friend had to leave, though.” I felt my face redden.
“Well, I hope everything’s all right. Would you like boxes to take home?”
“Yes, please.” I couldn’t bear to waste such excellent fare. Maybe I’d be hungry later.
At least Mungo would appreciate the leftovers.