Page 32 of Dead Heat

“His presence isn’t ideal.”

“Because if he can find you, then so can Lucifer?”

Kane leaned across the counter and planted a kiss on my lips. “It won’t come to that. If there’s unrest as Canto claims, Lucifer will be far too preoccupied to concern himself with my whereabouts. I’m nothing but an unpleasant memory to him.”

I didn’t push the issue, but it made me uneasy to see Kane rattled. Given his history with Lucifer, however, I understood. I’d glimpsed the nightmares with my own eyes, and I wouldn’t want him to reignite a battle he’d barely survived the last time—not just for his sake, but for mine.

I rose early the next morning to purchase Nana Pratt’s proposed supplies from Hewitt’s, as well as those needed for Ray’s library project. Afterwards I planted myself at the ancient computer that took up a generous section of my kitchen counter. Despite infrequent use, the computer hummed like an overworked air conditioning unit. I grew frustrated with the intermittent internet service andabandoned my research on runes and curses. Like Ray, I’d have to go old school and hit up the Fairhaven Public Library.

I dropped my keys in my purse and stopped to check on Ray’s progress on my way out. I found he and Claude surrounded by planks of wood.

“You look like you’re building a tiny house inside a bigger one,” I said.

“You could fit a couple normal-size houses inside yours,” Ray pointed out. “Would you mind handing me that plank?”

As I attempted to pass it to him, I felt a tickle in my armpit. I dropped the plank on the floor, narrowly missing my foot. “Sorry about that.” I stooped to pick up the plank and handed it to him.

“The ward?” Ray asked, sliding the piece of wood between two brackets.

I nodded.

He peered outside. “Hmm. There seems to be a blanket with legs running this way.”

I hurried to the front door and opened it just in time for the blanket to bolt past me straight into the house.

“Please,” the blanket said. “I need your help. It’s an emergency.”

I recognized the blanket’s voice. “Alessandro? What’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry. Normally, I wouldn’t enter without an invitation, but the situation is dire.”

“Are you suddenly allergic to sunlight?”

“Worse. So much worse.” He ripped away the blanket, quickly followed by a Yankees cap, and let them fall to the floor. It was easy to identify the problem. His lustrous dark hair had lost a good three inches—from the front of his head.

“A receding hairline? That’s your emergency?”

His head snapped up. “You don’t understand. We don’tdoreceding hairlines in my family. My genes reject them, andeven if they didn’t, hair doesn’t disappear like this overnight. It takes years, along with unfortunate DNA that I don’t possess.”

His misfortune was starting to seem more like a vindictive hex. “I take your point.”

His arms flailed. “How am I supposed to attract anybody in this condition? This hairline is going to be the death of me.” He started to drag his hand through his hair but quickly abandoned the gesture. “It’s like a runway forming on my head. Small planes will request access for emergency landings.”

I suppressed a laugh.

“It isn’t funny,” he wailed. “And you need to work on your poker face.”

“How can I help you, Alessandro? I’m not a hair surgeon.”

“No, but you’re a goddess. Don’t you have special powers that can make this go away?” He waved a hand at his hair.

“I thought the fact that it’s going away is the problem.”

He scowled at me. “You know what I mean. Make the problem go poof! This isn’t me. I looked in the mirror and thought there was an intruder. I could’ve hurt myself.”

“Your cracked mirror?”

“When you look like me, you have more than one strategically placed mirror.”

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