Page 133 of The Bones in the Yard

“Look,” I said, trying to diffuse the simmering rage of the warlock because clearly I have no self-preservation instincts. “We’re far enough away that nobody is going to accidentally wander into Carytown from the State House, and we’ll be done before they are. There are also a lot of us. It’ll be fine.”

Yeah, I know. Famous last words.

* * *

Except it actually was mostly fine.Dan got called out about a half-hour intoThe Wolf Man, but even though he checked his phone every five seconds, nobody called Mays. Nobody calling the CSI guys had to be a good thing. I texted Dan to see if he was okay, though. Just in case.

Everybody headed back to their cars afterwards, the tension having been eased considerably during the movie, even if Ward was probably still miffed with Doc and I.

As Taavi and I headed back through the neighborhoods, Taavi leaned into my right side, the fingers of his left hand threaded in mine. “Do you think we’re okay walking home?” he asked softly, his gaze pointed down at the pavement between our feet.

The sun was low in the sky, but we were still at least an hour from sunset. Early diners were starting to filter their way into Carytown to sample its restaurants, but most of them parked nearby, not in the neighborhoods Taavi and I would walk through to get back to my place. “We’ll be fine,” I answered him, the squeezed his fingers gently.

“Okay.”

We kept walking in silence, and that niggling feeling that something wasoffstarted to come back. I didn’t think we’d have any trouble with the protestors—they had no reason to be wandering through the residential streets of the Museum District—but I was starting to worry that there was something wrong.

“Val?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you—” He cut himself off, and I looked down to see him sucking on his lower lip.

“Do I what?” I asked softly.

“Do you think Dan’s okay?”

“Dan’s tough, he’s human, and he’s not an Arc,” I answered. “He’s got a lot going for him.”

“Reasons why nobody would go after him, you mean.”

I sighed. “Yeah.”

“What’s bothering you, then?” he asked. Because he can read me like a fucking book.

“Honestly,” I admitted. “I don’t know. I just have this… feeling.”

“Feeling?”

“Yeah. Like… you know the phrase ‘walking over your grave’?” He nodded. “Like that. Like something’s just fuckingoff.”

“Can I do anything?”

I stopped us so I could bend and kiss his forehead. “No, but thanks.”

He flashed me a smile. “Dinner and football?”

“We’re going to do that anyway,” I pointed out. I had the makings for about four different dips, two of which were hot, a ton of tortilla chips, pizza dough that I’d made up and put in the fridge yesterday, toppings, and a tray of red-and-white cupcakes that I’d baked last night while fending off Taavi’s attempts to eat one before the game.

My alma mater—Wisconsin—was playing Michigan State, and you don’t go to the UW without walking away a Badger football fan. And yes, I’m also a Packer fan. I have to be—I’m from Wisconsin.

Taavi didn’t really understand, either my insistence that one does not eat game food until the game starts or the game itself. I’d been trying to teach him the rules, but he mostly just wanted to periodically comment on the relative quality of different players’ butts.

The fact that I found this endearing should tell you a lot more about how head-over-heels I was for Taavi, because I take my football seriously.

The reminder that I had lots of snacky food, pizza makings, and cupcakes did help to settle my nerves, which made it about ten times worse when a car peeled around the corner right as we were about to cross the street, its horn blaring.

Instinctively, I pulled Taavi into my body, putting myself between him and whatever was about to happen.

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