Page 26 of Sore Throat, Slight Fever

For a second, he’s afraid he’s offended her, but then she smirks. “Well, hex me, he does know how to laugh.” The smirk slides away and she adds, still with genuine warmth, “No need to be sorry. You didn’t do it. And I offered to help him. Which was stupid, I realized very quickly after. All he wanted was my magic. And well…other things.” Her cheeks flush with the implication, and she turns back toward the lake.

Rory looks out at the lake again, as a stilted silence falls between them.I’m not any better than her good-for-nothing husband for Hades’ sake,he thinks,running a hand through his hair. No wonder she had been so adamant about removing the cuffs. No wonder she saw this as imprisonment from the start.

“Two weeks,” he says suddenly, wincing from the loudness of his own voice. She turns back to him, face upturned as he stands and makes his way down. She rises to meet him and when they are on the same step, he repeats himself. “Two weeks and not a second longer. After that, we’ll take the manacles off and you’re free to do—go—wherever you want. You have my word.”

She holds her glass, now empty, against her chest with both hands, and nods. She bites her lower lip, her eyes calculating, and then she holds out her hand. “Thank you.”

Her hand is uncomfortably warm when he clasps it in his own, shaking it as if this is an everyday sort of business deal. A small spark of something crackles underneath his skin with the touch. The handshake is fleeting, however, and she steps back quickly, once again clutching her empty glass to her chest.

He points to it, if only to have something to do with his hands which suddenly feel too large and too warm. “Are you done?”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” She hands him the empty glass, but when he turns to head back inside, she trails after him.

He glances at her as he holds the kitchen door open. “I have to pick up that order, so I’ll be gone foran hour or so. Will you be okay by yourself?”

“Of course. And anyway, I won’t be by myself. Kane is here…” She glances out the window, where the blue sky is so bright, it’s almost blinding. “Somewhere.”

“If something happens, the number for the Clayton Farm is here.” He pushes back the door that leads to the hallway, pointing to the phone sitting on a small side table. There’s a notepad next to it, the edges of the paper curling with humidity. “I’ll be back before I head to work, though.”

She nods. “Clayton Farm. Got it. Do you—”

Suddenly, Rory freezes, holding up a hand to Calliope in a silent warning as he listens to the quickly approaching crunch of tires against dirt.

Someone is coming.

15

A Cup of Tea

Rory

In the past three years, the only car Rory has ever heard approach the house is the mailman. But the mailbox is at the entrance to the driveway, and this car continues down the drive, acorns popping as the wheels turn, maneuvering around the large oak tree that’s been encroaching upon the dirt path for a few years now. The soft rumble of an engine continues to approach and when the brakes squeal, he gently ushers Calliope back into the kitchen.

As the door swings shut, the visitor knocks. Rory pauses for a handful of agonizingly long seconds, before taking a few loud steps, opening the front door and feigning breathlessness as much as he can. He is confronted with the view of a uniformed police officer, bearing the shield of Glenn County PoliceDepartment. He doesn’t bother to hide his alarm; it’s perfectly reasonable to be on edge if law enforcement shows up on your doorstep without previous warning, after all.

The officer smiles disinterestedly, flicking a badge in Rory’s direction as he says, “Good morning, I’m Officer Burton. Do you have a few minutes to answer some questions?”

Officer Burton is the same height as Rory, although his body is slimmer. He has a runner’s build, lean muscle acclimated to physical exertion. There’s a gun holstered at his side, and he rests his hand lightly against it, as if to subtly highlight its presence. His close-set eyes dart around the entrance to the house, landing on everything in sight except for Rory himself.

He desperately wants to close the door, cutting off Burton’s wandering gaze, and only the certainty that doing so would make Burton suspicious stops him. For the moment, Burton is dutifully aware of his surroundings, yet presumptuous in that notion that whatever he is looking for, he won’t find it here.

Instead, Rory tilts his head to the side, brow furrowed in general concern. “Is everything alright, officer?”

Burton’s eyes finally cut back to Rory, and he smiles, though the movement is so quick, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just doing some door-to-door inquiries regarding a missing woman.” He pulls a flyer from his back pocket and hands it to Rory. That skillthat Calliope mentioned earlier—about switching emotions—comes in handy as he registers the smiling face surrounded by frizzy curls. It’s the same photo from the newspaper. Rory’s frown deepens.

“Now, you might have seen the headlines, but she’s not in trouble,” Burton continues. “We’re worried about her welfare and are asking locals to keep an eye out.” Burton smiles, head turned just enough so that he can continue his inspection of the house behind Rory. The movement is just as stiff, just as noncommittal as before, except Rory can hear the man’s heartbeat increase in speed as his eyes land on something just inside the door.

Shit, he thinks.Is there more to this? Did Calliope lie? Is she a wanted killer?

“I’ll definitely keep an eye out, officer,” he says, a small wave of relief when Burton’s eyes reconnect with his own as he hands the poster back. “Thank you for stopping by.”

Burton shifts his weight to the side in a casual stance, hand still resting lightly on his holstered gun. “You work at the gas station, right?” The smile widens and Rory can see a glint of something behind his eyes.

Again, that finely honed ability to shove emotions to the side to be examined and organized later—like pushing everything in a closet to clear a room—keeps his voice light. Respectful, even. “Yes, sir. The night shift.”

“Thought I recognized you.” He shifts his weightagain, taking a step closer. “You know, the last known sighting of her was near the hotel down the way. Maybe she stopped into the store at some point?” He shoves the poster back toward Rory. “Maybe you want to take another look?”

Rory looks down at the photo again and shakes his head. “We get a lot of people coming through the Go-Go, but not a lot of people overnight, when I work. I think I would recognize her.”

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