Page 50 of Witches of Dubious Origin
“How did you end up working for the BODO?” I asked. “You’re not like the others.”
“I’m not?”
I stared at him, then tossed back my whiskey. I needed the ethanol to ride through my bloodstream to my brain and give me a dopamine release that would override my common sense and make me bold.
“You’re the field operative,” I said by way of explanation. I felt this was much better than admitting he was ridiculously hot.
“I am.” He downed his drink in one swallow, looking clear-eyed while I felt a bit woozy. Undoubtedly, he could handle the effects of alcohol much better than me.
“How did that come about?” I asked. “I don’t suppose you answered an online ad?”
He laughed. “No.”
I waited. He looked around my little house as he considered what to say. Finally his gaze met mine and he said, “I was recruited by Miles for the job after I graduated from Cambridge with a degree in mythology.”
“Mythology?” I asked. “That doesn’t seem like the sort of degree that would lead to an occupation that specializes in cleaning up messes.”
“Perhaps.” He shrugged. “But the alternatives, teaching or writing, had absolutely no appeal, so I took the job.”
“And now you’re here being chased around a Connecticut village by an undead Viking,” I said.
His mouth curved up on one side and his gaze lingered on mine. “I’ve had worse days.”
A rush of heat hit me low and deep as awareness thrummed between us. I glanced away.
I found it impossible to believe there was something worse than what we’d just been through, but when I remembered how calm he’d been while we were running for our lives, I had to admit he had skills. I sensed there was more, much more, to the story than he was telling me, but given that I hadlikely just released a centuries-old Viking on the neighborhood, I didn’t feel I had a right to badger.
“We’d better get that door fixed.” He pushed his empty glass across the counter to me. “I don’t suppose you have a random piece of plywood lying about?”
“In the detached garage,” I said. “Bought during our last hurricane.”
“Tools?”
“On the workbench, also in the garage.”
“Brilliant.” He left through the gaping hole that had once been my door and I watched him go. It was a moment or two before I realized I was staring stupidly after him. I stoppered the whiskey bottle and glanced around my living room.
The books the Viking had tossed from the bookcase were scattered all over the floor and I hurriedly collected them, relieved that none of them was the worse for wear because of the evening’s drama.
While I reshelved my books, Jasper returned with the plywood. He propped it up and paused to take a call. I suspected it was someone from the museum, as he surreptitiously glanced at me before answering. I knew if it was Claire, she was going to insist that I stay in one of their safe houses. I had no intention of doing any such thing.
“Right,” Jasper said. “I’ll tell her.”
He ended the call and looked at me. I met his gaze and went for a preemptive strike. “I’m not going to New York.”
“But you’re not safe here, love,” he protested.
He’d called me that several times now. It made my insides flutter, which I really resented because I suspected he knewfull well the endearment, spoken in that growly, sensuous accent, did that to any person with a pulse and it was a consciously deployed weapon in his arsenal. In fact, I knew it was, because I’d heard him call Freyalovewhen he’d rescued her from me. Well, I wasn’t that easily maneuvered.
“IfI’mthe one who brought the Viking forward, then I’m perfectly safe,” I said. “I just won’t meditate on the grimoire again—ever.”
“And if you’re not the one who brought him back, then your life is at risk, and given that Eloise is now dependent upon you to send her on, you really can’t stay here.”
I considered him for a moment. Usually when I stared at someone with no expression on my face, they got uncomfortable, shifted on their feet, and finally glanced away. Not Jasper. Then man leaned in.He. Leaned. In.
“Well, what’s it going to be, Zoe? You stay here and I keep watch over you, or you come back to New York and settle into one of the safe houses, which, for the record, are actually very-well-situated apartments.”
I tipped my chin up. I would not be cowed. “Neither.”
