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“You don’t want her hanging around here, do you?”
I snorted, and his head tilted, making the eagle feather swing free.
“You don’t believe spirits can come back from Tsusgina’i?
“Hard to say when I don’t know what Tsusgina’i is.”
“The ghost country.”
Something in my expression must have revealed my skepticism.
“You don’t believe in Heaven? No Hell below us, above us only sky?”
“A John Lennon fan,” I murmured. “Imagine. You have a lot of strange beliefs for a man of science.”
“And you have a strange lack of belief for a descendant of Rose Scott.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t believe in Heaven, even though I’ve seen no evidence of it.”
“Belief in something for which there’s no evidence is called faith, Sheriff.”
“So I hear.”
I did believe in things I had no proof of. Werewolves, for instance.
Chapter 8
I finally made it to the Cartwrights’ around noon. The day, as usual, got away from me.
I tapped on the front door, unwilling to ring the bell for fear I’d wake Noah from his nap. Then I heard voices in the backyard, so I skirted the wide veranda and found Malachi pushing Noah in his red plastic baby swing. For a minute I just stood at the corner of the house and watched.
Mal had the dark hair, dark eyes, and bronzed skin of his Gypsy heritage. Combined with the brogue of Ireland, a place he’d once called home, he’d been a lethal combination of looks, charm, and danger. Claire hadn’t stood a chance.
He’d come to town searching for a way to break a curse of immortality and found it in her. He’d also found love and a family.
Since last summer, Mal had cut his hair and removed the earring from his ear, but he still stood out as a stranger in Lake Bluff,
though folks had accepted him for Claire’s sake.
My gaze turned to Noah. The kid was only two months old; I don’t know why I had such an incredible crush on him. Could be because he was too young to run out on me.
Today a tiny Braves baseball cap covered his bright red hair. His blue eyes were scrunched up as he did his best to keep his gaze focused on his father’s face.
“Will ye be fallin’ asleep soon, son? You’ve worn me out, and the day’s not half yet gone.”
The light shone so brightly it hurt my eyes, typical of the day after a horrific storm. It was almost as if the sun had to prove itself stronger than the wind and the rain and the moon.
“I can take over,” I said.
Noah kicked his bare feet at the sound of my voice and gurgled. Mal didn’t even turn around. He’d been aware I was there from the moment I’d set foot on their front walk. In truth, he’d probably known I was coming for a visit before I did.
In the Gypsy tradition only the women had the gift of sight; however, Mal had a few gifts of his own. According to him, those who possessed the pure blood of the Rom—the name the Gypsies called themselves— were magic.
I’d witnessed a few parlor tricks—appearing and disappearing coins—as well as a near-supernatural ability with animals and, according to Claire, a very convincing knowledge of things yet to come.
I took Mal’s place behind the swing. Noah’s eyes followed me, and he kicked harder as I got closer. His father sat in the grass and stretched out with his hands behind his head.
Mal and I hadn’t gotten on at first; I’d known he was up to something. But in the end, he’d sacrificed everything for Claire, earning not only my thanks but also my friendship.
