itself like thick cloth. Every inch of my skin that I freed up felt lighter, cleaner. I could not imagine living totally encased in this thing. It would be like going through your entire life faintly oxygen-deprived, shoved in a dark room, where the light never came.
I had freed my arm, my hand, and began to slowly pull my fingers away from her hand. She stayed utterly still against my skin like a rabbit hiding in the grass, hoping desperately that the fox will pass her by if only she can lie quiet enough. What I donât think Frances Norton realized yet was that she was halfway down the foxâs throat, with her little legs kicking in the air.
When I pulled my fingers away, the spell clung to them, and then fell back into place around her with an almost audible sound. I wiped my hand on my jacket. I was clear of the spell, but I had a terrible urge to wash my hand with very hot water and lots of soap. Ordinary water and soap wouldnât help, but some salt or holy water might.
She collapsed into the chair, hiding her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. I thought at first she was crying without making any noise. But when Naomi hugged her, she raised a face devoid of tears. Frances was shaking, just shaking, as if she couldnât cry anymore, not because she didnât want to, but because all the tears had been drained out of her. She sat there while her husbandâs mistress hugged her, rocked her. She was shaking so badly her teeth began to chatter, but she never cried. It seemed worse somehow because she didnât cry.
âExcuse us for a moment, ladies. Weâll be right outside,â I said. I looked at Jeremy and headed for the door, knowing heâd follow. In the hallway he closed the door behind us.
âIâm sorry, Merry. I shook her hand, and nothing happened. The spell didnât react to me.â
I nodded. I believed him. âMaybe I just taste better.â
He grinned at me. âWell, I donât know from experience, but Iâd almost bet on it.â
I smiled. âPhysically, maybe, but mystically, youâre as powerful in your own way as I am. Lord and Lady, youâre a better magician than Iâll ever be, yet it didnât react to you.â
He shook his head. âNo, it didnât. Maybe youâre right, Merry. Maybe itâs too dangerous for you.â
I frowned at him. âNow he gets cautious.â
He looked at me, fighting to make his face neutral. âWhy do I get the feeling that youâre not going to be the cold-hearted bitch I was hoping for?â
I leaned against the far wall and glared at him. âThis thing is so malignant that weâll be able to get some police help.â
âBringing in the police wonât save them. We donât have enough to prove itâs the husband. If we canât prove it in court, he doesnât do jail time, and that means heâd be free to work more magic on them. We need him locked away in a warded cell where he canât harm them.â
âTheyâd need magical protection until he was in custody. This isnât just a detective job. Itâs a baby-sitting job.â
âUther and Ringo are great babysitters,â he said.
âI guess.â
âStill not happy. Why?â
âWe should walk away from this one,â I said.
âBut you canât do it,â he said. He was smiling now.
âNo, I canât do it.â There were lots of detective agencies in the United States that said they specialized in supernatural cases. It was big business, the preternatural, but most agencies couldnât back up their advertising. We could. We were one of only a handful of agencies that could boast a staff made up entirely of magic practitioners and psychics. We were also the only one that could boast that all but two employees were fey. There arenât that many full-blooded fey who can stand to live in a big, crowded city. L.A. was better than