Traveler by Melanie Jackson Page B

this high-handedness. Usually she would be angry and very inquisitive about his plans. Put some whiskers on her and she could pass for a cat in that regard. Therefore he knew she had to be feeling really wretched when all she asked was, “What shall we drink to? Confusion of the enemy?”
    “That’s a damn fine start, don’t you think?” Jack stopped in front of the ladder. “I’m going up to open the cover. Wipe your shoes off as best you can—we don’t want to leave tracks all over the street.”
    He thought he heard her mutter, “So much for Little Bo Peep and her sheep.” He wondered what she meant.
    Maybe he deserved a set of whiskers, too, for curiosity where Io was concerned.

Chapter Ten
    It started to rain once they were back inside Jack’s gothic retreat. Watery dawnlight pressed its way past the dirty-paned windows, edging through the bit of glass scrubbed clean by the cloudburst and sending phantom rivulets of green running down the far wall.
    Amazingly, Io was feeling sleepy. Somewhere along the long walk back to Jack’s she had gotten comfortable with him.
    “Would you like a shower?” Jack asked. “There’s water here.”
    Io hesitated. “Without clean clothes—”
    “Use one of my shirts for now. One of us can go out tomorrow and pack some things up for you.” One, but not both. Someone had to stay in the city and hold the spells they’d collected. Without someone to keep them, they would probably melt back into the earth from which they’d come.
    “Okay. That sounds good.” Getting clean beforebed suddenly seemed immensely appealing.
    “There’s a shirt hanging on the back of the door, and soap in the shower. Ignore the markings on the tap—I’m afraid the water only comes in lukewarm no matter where you set the dial.”
    “Would you mind if I gave your spells back now?” Io asked, turning toward Jack. The rain on the glass sent ghostly tears trekking down his cheeks, making him suddenly appear more the death fey that he was.
    “No.”
    But she could see that he did mind. Feeling bad for rejecting him yet again she explained, “It’s just that I still feel a little odd and I’m afraid of what might happen when I sleep. I’ve been dreaming lately. What if I accidentally morphed them into something stupid or dangerous?”
    Jack’s face softened. When he spoke, he sounded thoughtful. “It has been one hell of a night, hasn’t it? And you’re out of the practice of using your magic this way. Come here.”
    Prepared for the transference, Io approached, turning her face up so Jack could take her chin. She had herself schooled not to flinch when their flesh made contact, but this time he barely touched her.
    “Close your eyes,” he ordered. “There’s no need to watch. I won’t bite.”
    Io let her eyelids drift shut. There was a small tingling when his lips brushed her forehead and his fingers traced her jaw. There was an up-rush, like abreath of air, and then suddenly the magic and headache were gone, leaving her empty and feeling a little naked.
    Io slumped, almost leaning against him.
    “You’re beat, little fey. Have your shower,” Jack said gently. “I’ll put out some cordial for you.”
    Io looked up. Staring into his eyes, she could feel something almost painful stir inside them. Genuine loneliness? Latent lust masquerading as lonesome-ness? She was too tired to figure it out. Probably she should ignore it until she could think more clearly.
    Sighing, she turned toward the bathroom door.
    “Jack?” she asked, before stepping into the giant tiled room.
    “Yes?”
    “Where do you live when you aren’t here?”
    When he didn’t answer, she recalled his injunction to secretiveness because it was safer for both of them, and added hastily “Never mind. I—”
    “I live anywhere and everywhere that the job takes me. But no place is home. You know what I do. I can’t take the risk of having a known base.”
    “I see.” And sadly, she did. She hadn’t had