pertained to undergarments. As in wear them. Lecture eighteen: Always wear clean panties and a bra in case you get in a wreck. And lecture eight—or was it seven?— always wear panties and a bra . Period.
The Rule of Proper Coverage was high on the Bitsy List, definitely in the top ten. And Evie was in flagrant violation.
“This way,” the sheriff said, recalling her from her thoughts.
He marched her deeper into the bowels of the old building. The strong odor of Pine-Sol assaulted her nose, and beneath that she detected the smells of damp stone, sweat, vomit, and urine. Chanel Number 5 it was not. On the positive side, crime in Behr County must be down, because most of the holding units were empty.
“Been a slow week so far,” he said, as if reading her mind. “Burglary, car theft, public drunkenness. Nothing exciting. Until you, that is. You’ve caused quite a stir.”
“Gee, glad to liven things up for you.”
“Yep, the whole courthouse is buzzing about the Peterson case. Sex and violence always make tongues wag.”
Reading between the lines, people were saying she was a husband-stealing ’ho and a murderess. Wonderful. Another milestone for her memory book.
Several male inmates made catcalls and lewd gestures as Evie passed their cells. She slid them a nervous glance and walked faster.
A man with thinning slicked-back hair and stained teeth, compliments of Skoal, pushed his face against the bars and waggled his tongue at Evie. “Hey, sweet tits, come to Papa.”
She scurried down the hall, looking back when she heard a startled grunt. The man was lifted by unseen hands and flung across the cell. He smashed into the wall and slid to the floor in a groaning heap.
Sheriff Whitsun observed this bit of strangeness without expression. “Your invisible friend has quite the temper on him, doesn’t he?”
Evie did not respond. What could she say? Thanks to the little stunt Ansgar had pulled earlier this afternoon, the sheriff knew firsthand that demon hunters existed in Behr County. One moment she’d been standing at her front door, her shocked gaze glued to the arrest warrant in Sheriff Whitsun’s hand. The next moment she was standing in the woods beside the river with Ansgar’s arms wrapped around her.
It had been very peaceful there. The wind sighed through the leaves in gentle accompaniment to the rush and burble of a nearby waterfall. She’d been tempted to stay—oh, so tempted—or to run and never stop.
She’d convinced him to take her back, though she had a dickens of a time doing it. She had an even harder time explaining her little disappearing act to the sheriff.
Who was she kidding? She hadn’t explained it at all. Who could explain a thing like that? Sheriff Whitsun was still standing on the porch when she’d popped back into view, looking remarkably unruffled for an officer whose suspect had just vanished before his eyes.
“Let me take a wild guess,” he’d said when she reappeared. “This Ansgar fellow is the demon hunter you told me about.”
“Yes,” Evie said, taking a lesson in brevity from a certain warrior.
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Uh huh,” the sheriff said, disbelief evident on his face.
Whitsun was no fool. He bundled her into his patrol car without another word and drove her to the station in Paulsberg. He kept checking his rearview mirror every so often, though, like he knew he’d picked up an invisible hitchhiker.
Knowing Ansgar was in the backseat with her had kept Evie from dissolving into hysterics during the long drive from Hannah to Paulsberg, even though she couldn’t see him.
He was here with her now, in the jailhouse, walking behind her. She couldn’t see him, but she could smell him—the guy smelled like four kinds of wonderful—and she could feel the heat radiating from his big body.
Judging from the way the sheriff acted, he knew Ansgar was there, too. Whitsun didn’t say anything, but his nostrils flared, and
The Rule of Proper Coverage was high on the Bitsy List, definitely in the top ten. And Evie was in flagrant violation.
“This way,” the sheriff said, recalling her from her thoughts.
He marched her deeper into the bowels of the old building. The strong odor of Pine-Sol assaulted her nose, and beneath that she detected the smells of damp stone, sweat, vomit, and urine. Chanel Number 5 it was not. On the positive side, crime in Behr County must be down, because most of the holding units were empty.
“Been a slow week so far,” he said, as if reading her mind. “Burglary, car theft, public drunkenness. Nothing exciting. Until you, that is. You’ve caused quite a stir.”
“Gee, glad to liven things up for you.”
“Yep, the whole courthouse is buzzing about the Peterson case. Sex and violence always make tongues wag.”
Reading between the lines, people were saying she was a husband-stealing ’ho and a murderess. Wonderful. Another milestone for her memory book.
Several male inmates made catcalls and lewd gestures as Evie passed their cells. She slid them a nervous glance and walked faster.
A man with thinning slicked-back hair and stained teeth, compliments of Skoal, pushed his face against the bars and waggled his tongue at Evie. “Hey, sweet tits, come to Papa.”
She scurried down the hall, looking back when she heard a startled grunt. The man was lifted by unseen hands and flung across the cell. He smashed into the wall and slid to the floor in a groaning heap.
Sheriff Whitsun observed this bit of strangeness without expression. “Your invisible friend has quite the temper on him, doesn’t he?”
Evie did not respond. What could she say? Thanks to the little stunt Ansgar had pulled earlier this afternoon, the sheriff knew firsthand that demon hunters existed in Behr County. One moment she’d been standing at her front door, her shocked gaze glued to the arrest warrant in Sheriff Whitsun’s hand. The next moment she was standing in the woods beside the river with Ansgar’s arms wrapped around her.
It had been very peaceful there. The wind sighed through the leaves in gentle accompaniment to the rush and burble of a nearby waterfall. She’d been tempted to stay—oh, so tempted—or to run and never stop.
She’d convinced him to take her back, though she had a dickens of a time doing it. She had an even harder time explaining her little disappearing act to the sheriff.
Who was she kidding? She hadn’t explained it at all. Who could explain a thing like that? Sheriff Whitsun was still standing on the porch when she’d popped back into view, looking remarkably unruffled for an officer whose suspect had just vanished before his eyes.
“Let me take a wild guess,” he’d said when she reappeared. “This Ansgar fellow is the demon hunter you told me about.”
“Yes,” Evie said, taking a lesson in brevity from a certain warrior.
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Uh huh,” the sheriff said, disbelief evident on his face.
Whitsun was no fool. He bundled her into his patrol car without another word and drove her to the station in Paulsberg. He kept checking his rearview mirror every so often, though, like he knew he’d picked up an invisible hitchhiker.
Knowing Ansgar was in the backseat with her had kept Evie from dissolving into hysterics during the long drive from Hannah to Paulsberg, even though she couldn’t see him.
He was here with her now, in the jailhouse, walking behind her. She couldn’t see him, but she could smell him—the guy smelled like four kinds of wonderful—and she could feel the heat radiating from his big body.
Judging from the way the sheriff acted, he knew Ansgar was there, too. Whitsun didn’t say anything, but his nostrils flared, and
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