Page 21 of Marcus-stiltskin

“Are you sure?” I ask, doubtful.

“Ramona got you into this mess. The least I can do is get you out of it.”

To his credit, he utters not a peep the entire way back to the station, past the makeshift pen and to the far side of the bays. My shoes leave dark brown footprints across the concrete floor and I seriously want to gag at the smell, but I keep it to myself. He opens a door and leads me into a locker room, dragging a trash can behind him.

“Give me a minute and I’ll find you something to change into.”

He disappears, leaving me standing alone in the old locker room. It still has that faint locker room smell, mixed with floor cleaner. When he reappears, Marcus has a bottle of shampoo and body wash. “Sorry, they smell kinda manly,” he apologizes and I manage to huff a laugh.

“It’s better than I smell now.”

He drops a clean towel, a comb, and sweats onto the benches and then steps into the showers to turn on the shower for me. “I don’t think we can save your clothes, so you can just dump them in the trash. If you give me your shoes, I’ll try to hose them off for you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s that or let me fireman carry you home.”

At that, I can’t help but snort. “You have fireman carried me before. Remember when I was twelve? There was some organization day at the unit. You and Lugh threw me and David over your shoulders and raced for something?”

He laughs. “I haven’t thought about that in a long time.”

“Well, I weigh a lot more now, so I’ll take you up on washing my shoes. I don’t want to hurt your back.”

“Hey now, I’m not that old. I just turned forty last year.”

“We’re all old now, Marcus. I’ll be thirty in a few years. Everything has changed.”

His eyes meet mine. I smell horrid and have crap all over me, but even in that moment, the look he gives me sends shivers down my spine. “Things have changed,” is all he says.

I don’t know what to do with that look, how to respond. If I wasn’t standing here covered in crap, would I be brave enough to make a move? Maybe? Maybe not?

He shakes his head and looks away first. “I’ll let you get to your shower. Come find me when you’re done. I’ll be upstairs.”

He leaves me alone in the showers to think. I dump the clothes in the trash can and walk as direct a path as I can to the showers.The water pressure here is far better than it is at the house. I take as hot a shower as I can, for as long as I can, until I decide I’m probably being rude and change into the sweats Marcus left for me.

They’re a little too big and way too long, but I roll the waistband down a few times to make it more snug against my belly before sidestepping the poopy footprints I left behind. When I finally step out of the locker room, the footprints in the bay are gone, and the donkeys are back in the pen. Freddie K. is sitting outside the door, waiting for me. His tail starts to wag and I get the distinct feeling he’s hungry.

“Are you hungry?” I ask Freddie K. Almost immediately, I get the mental image of a food bowl. Fire magic and dog telepathy? I guess there could be worse things. I pick him up and smooth down his fur. “Thanks for having my back out there,” I whisper to him.

Willow comes to the edge of the pen and brays in my direction. I stick my tongue out at her and head upstairs.

Marcus is sitting at the little table this time, drinking a cup of coffee and scrolling on a tablet. He smiles when he sees me. “Coffee?”

“Sure, but first, can you tell me where the dog food is? Freddie K. is hungry.”

He chuckles. “Freddie K. is always hungry.”

“Yeah, but this time he told me.”

Marcus tilts his head. “Hetoldyou? Like he speaks to you?” The look on Marcus’s face is priceless.

I laugh and shake my head. “No, not exactly. I asked him if he was hungry and I immediately got an image in my mind of a food bowl. I guess it’s a witch thing?”

“Well, see, that’s the problem. You don’t go asking Freddie K. if he’s hungry. The answer’s always going to be yes.” He pushes up from his chair.

“You don’t have to get up for me. I can get it, if you point me in the right direction.”

“I don’t mind.” He gets up and pours me a cup of coffee, then pushes a bottle of creamer and glass jar with sugar in it towards me. I sit carefully down next to him, trying not to wince as my weight rests on my backside.

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