Glenn shifted his feet in those slipper socks they give you. His were blue. "The baby put me out, not Remus," he said. "Once I fell down, I kept falling. I think he beat me slowly so they could suck it all up. If it hadn't been for the badge, I think they would have killed me and tried to hide the body." Seeing the horror in my eyes, he attempted to smile. "But you look great," he said, gesturing. "Maybe witches have thicker auras."
"Maybe," I said, unable to look at anyone. Of course I looked better. I hadn't had a psychopath maul me for the feeding pleasure of his family.
Standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed, Marshal seemed to gather himself. "Rachel, I have to go," he said, not unexpectedly. "I've got some stuff to do this afternoon, and I just stopped by to make sure you were okay." His feet shuffled, and he added, "I'll, um, see you later."
Glenn leaned back, cutting short his motion to cross his legs when he remembered the hospital gown. "Don't leave because of me," he said, his body language not matching his words. "I have to get back to my room before I'm missed. They don't like it when us rough men go past the nurses' desk and into the women's area."
Marshal shifted back and forth; then, as if making a decision, he leaned close and gave me an awkward hug. Uneasy, I returned it, hoping he wasn't trying to shift our relationship simply because I was vulnerable and he had helped me with Tom. Tom was small potatoes to what could come crashing into my kitchen. But the scent of redwood was comforting, plucking a need to go back to my roots, and I breathed it in deep.
"I'll see you later," he said earnestly. "I'm still checking into your classes, but if there's anything I can do, shopping, errands, just call me."
I smiled, touched by his concern. My mom's warning that he was a good diversion, not a good decision, echoed through me, but so did the entire comfortable evening spent with her, my brother, and Marshal. Marshal was a nice guy, and I didn't often have the chance to do stuff with nice guys. I didn't want to endanger him by close association, but what came out of my mouth was "I will. 'Bye, Marshal. Thanks for the flowers."
He nodded, waving before going with his head lowered, leaving the door open a crack.
Glenn took in Ivy and Jenks eyeing me as if in disapproval. Clearing his throat, he said, "You're taking classes? That's great. Crime scene etiquette, perhaps?"
I rubbed my eyebrow, feeling a headache coming on. "Ley lines," I said. "There was a mix-up at the registrar's office. Marshal is trying to work it out."
"That's not all he's trying to work out," Jenks muttered, and I scowled at him when he shifted to the mums. The scent of a summer meadow grew heavy, and pollen streaked his green shirt. "He's going to want to change things," the pixy said, and Glenn leaned back, mouth shut, to listen. "You being in the hospital is going to jerk him into rescue mode. Just like on that boat of his. I saw it in him right after he yanked Tom out from under our kitchen. I'm a pixy, Rachel. I may look all tough and stuff, but I got wings, and I know infatuation when I see it."
I sighed, not surprised he was warning me off Marshal. And what do wings have to do with it? "Well, he's not helpless," I said defensively. "Tagging a ley line witch is hard."
Jenks crossed his arms and frowned. Ivy put the giraffe down and eyed me, too.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I muttered, but my thoughts went zinging to Mia standing in the dark with her wailing child clutched to her, telling me that I'd never love anyone without killing them. "He deserves someone better than me. I know the drill."
Ivy moved uneasily, and shoving my unhappy feeling away, I turned to Glenn. The detective was very adept at reading people, and this was embarrassing. "So, how's the pudding?" I asked, reaching out and tossing the tomato to him.
Humans normally abhor tomatoes, seeing as it was a tomato that killed a good slice of their population a mere forty years ago. Glenn, however, had been shown the joys of the red fruit at fang point, and was now hooked. After his first panicked juggling to keep the tomato from hitting the ground, he cradled the fruit like a baby, in the crook of his arm.
"The pudding is nasty," he said, glad for the shift in conversation. "It's sugar free. And thank you. I don't get many of these."
"Inderland tradition," I said, wondering if I'd missed breakfast and would have to wait another six hours. I had yet to see a menu, but they'd still feed me.
Ivy sat on the foot of the bed, more comfortable now that there was one less person in here. "Flowers from Trent?" she said, her eyebrows high as she handed me the card.
Surprised, I looked at the daisies as I took it. "Ceri sent them," I said when I saw her absolutely tiny handwriting. "Trent probably doesn't even know she put his name on the card."
