There was only the slightest of pauses, proof positive that Mrs. Mary was the right person to call. “Okay, Nate. First of all, are you two in a safe place? Do you want me to send someone to you?”

He pictured the likes of the Brother Vishous showing up. Qhuinn. Shit—Zsadist. “No, no, we’re perfectly safe. We’re just in the forest by Luchas House. Where the meteor landed.”

“Good. Can you put her on?”

“Here,” he said, holding out the phone toward the female. When she just stared in confusion at what was in his palm, he felt like further assurances were necessary. “Don’t worry. She’s a professional. You can trust her.”

Yeah, like any of that was going to help if she didn’t speak English.

Shit.

• • •

“So you were telling me about this Book thing.”

Over at Tallah’s kitchen counter, Mae closed her eyes and swore to herself that the coffee she was pouring was going to stay in its ceramic delivery device. She was not going to toss it across the table at the male who’d put in his order like he was at a 24-hour diner.

How they’d managed to make it downstairs in one piece was a miracle of sorts. And not because they were being chased by anything.

Oil and water. They were oil and water together.

“Well?” Sahvage prompted as he put his leather jacket over the weapons he’d taken off his torso. Leaning back in his chair, he regarded her with a steady stare.

“I wasn’t talking about the Book,” she said as she carried the mug across to him.

“Thanks for this.” He smiled as he palmed what she’d made for him. “It’s perfect.”

“You haven’t tried it yet.”

“You made it for me. That’s all perfection requires.”

With a frown, she sat on the other side of the table. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what.”

“Try to be charming.” She rubbed her aching eyes and wondered whether there was any Motrin in her purse. “It doesn’t work.”

“I’ve never been charming.”

“Well, what do you know. We’re going to put self-awareness on your short list of positive attributes.”

“Someday, you’re going to like me.” There was a siiiipping sound. Then an ahhhhhh. “See? I told you this is perfect. Now talk to me about the Book. And yes, I’ll stop being a smartass.”

“Not possible.”

“Give me a chance.” Sahvage grew serious. “I want to know whatever you do about it.”

As the fighter went silent and seemed prepared to wait, Mae felt herself recede into her mind—but it was not back to her brother, to that ice-cube-filled tub, to the terrible mission she’d set herself on. Instead, she was once again out on the front porch of this previously peaceful cottage, shooting a heavy gun that, Sahvage was right, she couldn’t have held steady on her own.

“I didn’t have two hands,” she muttered. “With two hands, I could have done it.”

“What?” he said. “Oh, you’re thinking about my Glock. Yeah, it’s a big one.”

Mae narrowed her eyes. “You can stop with the double entendres. Anytime.”

“You’re going there, not me.” He shifted to the side and put the gun on the table between them. “The name’s right there on the weapon.”

“What is it about males wanting to show off their guns.”

“You can’t give me an opening like that—”

“What did I say about the entendres—”

“You mean these guns?” he said as he curled up two huge biceps. “Oh, and now she shoots me the death glare. Like anyone wouldn’t flex on that stage.”

As Mae tried to not smile, she watched him tilt and reholster the weapon—and when she noticed how muscular his shoulders were under that skintight t-shirt of his, she couldn’t stay sitting. Up on her feet again, she took the two teacups with her and Tallah’s loads of cold Earl Grey to the sink. Then she came back for the sugar pot and the creamer pitcher. As well as the crushed lemon carcass.

“You take vinegar with your tea?” He picked up the bottle and inspected the label. “Strange palate.”

“I’ll take that.”

When she went to grab the stuff from him, he didn’t let go. “Talk to me, Mae. I know you don’t like me and you sure as hell don’t appreciate me barging in here. But that guy with the Mohawk is right. I owe you my life—and I may be a piece of shit, but I do have a code of honor. Besides, you’ve just seen how handy I am in a fight, haven’t you.”

Now he released his hold. He didn’t stop staring up at her, though.

So as she turned away and put the vinegar back in the cupboard, she could feel his eyes on her.

“I promise to be good,” he murmured. Then he chuckled. “Fine, I promise to be better. And make it last this time.”

Leaning back against the countertop, Mae considered her options. Which didn’t seem to include kicking him out of the house—and not just because she couldn’t possibly have carried him to the door.

With a sense of defeat, she returned to the chair she’d been in. Putting her hands on the table, she linked her fingers and took a deep breath.

“Whatever it is,” he said, “I’m going to believe you.”

“What an odd thing to say.”

She glanced at him. He was looming there in that seat, his huge body overflowing the chair, the table . . . the cottage. Yet he was still, and silent. Ready to hear her out.

“But this is all so crazy.” Mae shook her head. “Really nuts.”

“Life is crazy. The foolish thing is thinking it isn’t.”

“If you had to take a guess, what was that shadow thing outside?”

“Tell me about the Book. I have a feeling that’s going to answer your question—and it’s what you believe as well, don’t you.”

“Stop reading my mind.”

“I’m not mind-reading.” More with the sipping. “It’s intuition.”

“Isn’t that for females?”

“Traditional sex roles are sexist.”

Mae didn’t want to laugh. So she covered her mouth with her hand to muffle the sound, hide the expression.

“You should do that more often,” he said softly.

Flushing, Mae smoothed the flyaways from her face. Funny. Even though her clothes were on right and her hair still in a ponytail, she felt completely disheveled. Like someone had put her in a wind tunnel.

“I haven’t had much cause to laugh lately,” she heard herself say.

“Talk to me.”

Mae’s eyes went to the empty silver dish, nothing but the residue of her blood and the other ingredients of the spell left. “I’ve lost a lot of loved ones recently. And I’m not going to lose another.”

“Who died. Or is dying.” When she didn’t reply, he shrugged. “Let me guess. Prayers haven’t been working—or you don’t feel like they go far enough. So you’re taking things into your own hands.”

“Do you believe in magic?”

When he didn’t answer, she lifted her eyes to his. He was staring at her with a remote expression.