Dog with a Bone (2 page)

“No,” Shaw drawled from his chair at the foot of my bed, “but not for lack of trying.”

I grinned though it hurt. Shaw was a looker even incubused-out. When he was playing human?
Rawr
.

His thumbs slid past the balls of my feet, massaging my arches until a moan eased past my lips.

Shaw tensed at the sound, his hands falling away. The metal legs of his chair scraped again.

Familiar distance spread between us. I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to see it. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the medical ward,” he answered tightly, “on conclave grounds.”

I figured I either had to be there or the fae clinic on Myer Lane. Human hospitals were a no-no. Fae were in the closet, and the fastest way to fling open the doors would be to watch one regenerate in a public hospital.

“Here.” Shaw cleared his throat. “I almost forgot.”

My eyes popped open and zeroed in on the small box in his hands. He must have fished it out of the ever-ready messenger bag of tricks he kept slung across his shoulder at all times.

He leaned over the bedrail so I didn’t have to stretch. The wrapping paper I shredded into confetti on my lap, but his clumsy bow I twisted into a ring for my finger. After cursing my way through multiple layers of tape, I opened the box with a gasp.

My gaze swung up to meet his. “Shaw.”

His cheeks went ruddy, and he rolled his shoulder, which was his answer to most every situation. I traced the tiny enamel seal inset into a black leather wallet.
Southwestern Conclave Marshal.
“You didn’t have to do this.” The room went fuzzy at the edges while I blinked back a rush of giddy tears.

He dropped back into his chair. “Look inside.” 

I flipped it open and sucked in a sharp breath that fizzled into chuckles. Pinned in the center was a plastic sheriff’s badge that looked like it had gone missing from a kid’s cowboy-themed birthday party.

“Huh.” I tapped the center. “They sure don’t make these like they used to.”

“It’s a placeholder,” he said solemnly, “to tide you over until graduation. The magistrates are out of town and can’t officiate for two weeks.”

The full meaning of the gift bypassed the drugs and slammed into me. “I passed?”

His lips quirked at the corners.

I tossed the gift box at his head. “Is that a yes?”

He set his hand back on my toes. “Yes, that’s a yes.”

“
Yes
.” My arm shot up, fist pump thwarted when I tangled my IV line in the strands of a balloon arrangement I hadn’t noticed. I swatted at their goofy latex grins until Shaw took pity and wrangled them for me.

He passed me a small white card. “They’re from Mable.”

I fingered the rectangle of paper, chuckling when I recognized her looping scrawl. “
You lack the sense God gave chickens,
” I read aloud. “
Even they have the sense to know they can’t fly. See you soon. Love, Mable.
”

I passed it back to him, and he leaned the card against the weighted base of the arrangement.

“If it makes you feel any better—” he retreated to his chair, “—Mable whacked me with that hot-pink monstrosity of hers for orchestrating your
near-death event
. I heard and saw actual tweeting birds.”

I winced. Mable’s purse was the neon-pink love child of shag carpeting and a carry-on suitcase as near as I could tell. I leaned back to inspect the bandage on my forearm. “So...what’s the damage?”

He ticked off my injuries on his fingertips. “Shattered hip, broken ankles, snapped—”

“Okay, okay, you can stop.” I dragged a hand down my face. “Maybe I don’t want to know.”

“Dr. Row said you’ll be tender for a few days,” he continued, “but all the bones have mended.”

All mended? All that damage healed? I faked like his response hadn’t stunned me. My powers had manifested at puberty. I hit the big one-eight last week. Cuts and bruises, yeah, they vanished in minutes, but broken bones?

Picking at the front of my gown, I kept my voice level. “How long have I been here?” 

He checked his watch. “Thirty-six hours, give or take.”

When he poured me a glass of water over chipped ice and passed it up to me, I figured my voice sounded rougher than I meant it to. I was grateful for the prop to keep my hands occupied. “Thanks.”

The doorknob to my room rattled. Two loud knocks followed.

Shaw cracked a smile. “Someone must have locked the door.”

“If you wanted to be alone with me,” I teased, “all you had to do was ask.”

His grin slipped, his bright eyes eclipsed by the white void of his hunger.

I swallowed hard, suddenly nervous about the locked-door situation. “I didn’t mean to...”

He pushed to his feet and started pacing the length of the room. “Do you feel up to visitors?”

“I—I guess.” I set the water aside and pushed up higher on the bed. “Where are you going?”

Regret thickened his voice. “Out.”

Out
, the place he went to feed.

Out
, the destination always the farthest he could get from me.

T
he sound of raised voices brought my head up and reminded me Shaw had asked if I felt up to having company. I wasn’t sure I did, now, but he admitted my visitors before leaving.

A short woman swept into the room looking every bit like Mrs. Claus’s twin sister gone country. The tips of her magenta cowgirl boots peeked out from under a flowing bohemian skirt made from patchwork bandanas in shades from white to blush to
holy Moses pass me some sunglasses
. A dainty pink bee pendant provided the accent for her white blouse, last year’s birthday gift from yours truly.

Mable was a bean-tighe, a gentle spirit bound to a building for the duration of its existence. Her home was the marshal’s office. She was also the receptionist there, and the pusher of my papers, which is how we met.

“Oh, Thierry.” She dabbed at her eyes with a coordinating hankie. “What have you done now?”

I held up the gift from Shaw. “I made conclave marshal.”

“For real?” a familiar voice squealed from the hall.

Mai burst into the room and planted herself at the foot of my bed. Her chestnut hair was pulled into a stringy ponytail, and her academy issued T-shirt was drenched in sweat. She leaned over, swiped the cup of water Shaw had poured me and downed the contents before she noticed me staring at her.

She rattled the ice chips together. “Were you not done with this?”

“I don’t know what that man was thinking.” Mable came to the bed and poured me a fresh drink in a clean cup before pressing it into my hand. “I’m just amazed that no one else was seriously injured.”

“The class voted. The conditions were our choice.” I took a sip. “It’s not Shaw’s fault.”

Mable’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s not
Mr
. Shaw’s fault,” I corrected.

Mai’s snickering earned her a kick in the hip.
Ow
. They weren’t kidding about my ankles.

“You could be a vampire and him a stake through your heart, and you would still defend him.”

I rolled my eyes at Mai. “Someone has read one too many vampire romance novels.”

“I’ll forgive that remark this once.” She curled her lip. “You do have a head injury after all.”

“I do?” I reached up to touch my scalp. “You know what, I don’t need the details.”

Mable pulled the chair Shaw had occupied to my bedside and sat. “Where is Shaw by the way?”

“He stepped out.” I hadn’t realized I was still clutching the wallet until something snapped. One of the points from the sheriff badge fell onto my sheet. “I don’t expect him back anytime soon.”

The topic of Shaw was dropped so hard it made a sound. There was a definite ringing in my ears.

Mable cleared her throat. “Have you spoken to your mother?”

“She doesn’t know I got hurt.” I exhaled. “Now that it’s over, I don’t know if I should tell her.”

“Surely her number is in your file...” Her voice trailed into silence.

I picked at the broken plastic triangle. “I had her contact information removed.”

“
Thierry
.” Mable made it sound like I had drowned a bagful of kittens. “She’s your mother.”

“Tee doesn’t want her mom to worry.” Mai stuck up for me. “You know how her mom gets.”

I flinched when Mable didn’t disagree.

My mom loved me. I never doubted that for a minute. But when her baby girl’s thirteenth birthday party morphed into a teenage horror show, it broke some fundamental thing between us neither of us knew how to fix. So we faked it, pretended I hadn’t killed five of my best friends with a touch of my left hand the night my fae magic kindled, acted like she hadn’t given up her home, her job, her life to move us from Galveston, Texas to a speck of a town named Wink so the conclave could protect me.

Her fling with my father, Macsen Sullivan, the Black Dog of the Faerie High Court, had left her saddled with a daughter whose gifts terrified her. It wasn’t like she could turn to Mac for help, either. He ditched his human lover the instant a second blue line formed on her pregnancy test. At least Mac scrawled the conclave’s address on an envelope on his way out the door.
Nice foresight there, Dad
.

Next time, use a condom.

“Here.” Mable hefted her bag onto her lap and tugged a package wrapped in festive pink paper from its depths. “This is for you.”

Bracing for a pinksplosion, I gingerly unwrapped a white gift box.
So far, so good
. “Wow.” I lifted a brown leather messenger bag from its tissue paper bed and traced the delicate swoops and swirls stamped into the flap. “It’s beautiful.”

She shook a finger at me. “A marshal must be prepared for any situation.”

Lifting the bag to my nose, I inhaled the fresh leather scent.

Mable delved into her purse again and presented me with an envelope. “This is also for you.” She took my gift and hooked it on the bathroom doorknob.

“What is it?” The conclave seal was printed on the front. So was my name. Very official-like.

“Open it.” Mai grabbed for it.

I stopped her with a palm to her forehead. “Get back.”

“Girls,” Mable sighed.

“She started it,” we said together.

Smothering a grin, Mable folded her arms. “Open the letter.”

I tore into it, read it once, read it twice and then my jaw dropped. “You’re kidding me.”

Tiny bubbles of excitement fizzled in my chest until I couldn’t breathe.

Mai snatched the paper, leaving me holding the torn corners mashed between my fingertips.

“Marshal Thackeray is to report to Marshal Shaw at the Southwestern Conclave Main Office on Monday at eight a.m. to start on-the-job training.” Mai hummed the opening bars of “Don’t Stand So Close to Me” by The Police. “That’s hot. Six weeks just you, him and a set of restraining Words...”

Heat licked up my neck to sizzle in my cheeks. “This is serious, Mai.”

The magistrates would tear a strip off my hide if I got kinky with the spelled Words we used for restraining suspects. Most fae had iron allergies, but their metal sensitivities ran the gamut. Better to detain them with magic now than risk a lawsuit later.

“This is your career,” Mable agreed. “I respect Shaw as a marshal. I respect him as an instructor, and I believe his years of experience in the field can help you to become the marshal you want to be. But there are reasons why you two are paired so often...” she hesitated, “...despite concerns about the appropriateness of your relationship raised last year, and you should keep those reasons in mind.”

Reasons like he was the only marshal in the state of Texas resistant to my brand of magic, which volunteered him for all things Thierry. There had been talk of bringing in a transfer to alleviate some of the concerns over how much time we spent together, but the whispers never amounted to anything.

I’m sure the shortage of willing victims had nothing to do with it.

My father was the Black Dog, a death omen, like me, and like me he was bound into service to both the Seelie and Unseelie houses. Macsen was a devoted servant of Faerie, a true neutral who bowed to neither house and granted neither the light nor the dark fae exception. He was a renowned hunter who never lost his quarry, an executioner whose mercy could not be bought, begged or borrowed.

His were big shoes to fill. If he had bothered to stick around, I might have tried them on for size.

“I’m not going to mess this up. I can’t.” Conclave auspices were conditional, after all. They may have solved my legal problems with mortal authorities, but they expected a return on their investment.

I told myself becoming a marshal was my idea, my dream. Most days I even believed it.

“This job means everything to Tee,” Mai said. “She won’t mess it up, even for a hot piece of—”

“
Mai
,” Mable snapped.

Mai dissolved into chuckles, flopping backward across the foot of the bed and crushing my toes.

Yowch
.

Mable fanned her face as she stood. “On that note, I believe I will leave you girls to it.” Heaving her purse onto her shoulder, she dropped a kiss onto the crown of my head. “See you Monday, dear.”

Mai wiggled her fingers but didn’t sit up again. Sensing her preoccupation, I waited until Mable left then settled against my pillows and waited for her to speak. When she didn’t, I nudged her thigh.

“I’m not cut out for this.” She twisted onto her side to face me. “Marshaling is hardcore.”

Unsure where this conversation was headed, I shrugged. “I guess.”

“Eight cadets were trapped in a scrapyard—can you say tetanus?—with a hulked-out incubus on a white handkerchief killing spree.” She widened her chocolate eyes. “Only one made it out alive.”

I snorted. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Says the girl with the badge on her lap,” Mai quipped.

“Yes, five year olds everywhere envy me.” I flung the broken corner at her. “What will you do if you drop out?”

“Hayashis and the conclave go way back.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll think of something.”

A cold knot congealed in my gut. No more academy meant no more roomie. Mai would have to clear out of our quarters, maybe before I was released. “Does this mean you’re moving back home?”