“You’re suggesting the cupcake lady beat up Tristan?” he asked in a sardonic tone.
“No, of course not. But she has people working for her.”
“What motive would she have?”
“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “Tristan shouted about the beag again, and I still don’t know what he was after, much less why. But... when I asked him who killed him, he was very clear. He said it was you.”
“He and everyone else at the hotel, apparently.”
“Why would they think that?”
He shrugged.
“Sailor, remember the other day, when Maya said she saw you, or someone who looked just like you, in an herb shop in Chinatown...?”
He held my gaze but didn’t help me to finish the phrase.
“I had the sense you weren’t being entirely forthright.”
“Forthright?” The corner of his mouth kicked up in a slight smile.
“All right, let’s put our cards on the table,” I said, annoyed. I’d been up all night worrying about Sailor and trying to figure out how to prove his innocence—and here he was, being Mr. Cranky Pants? “I had the sense you were... lying.” When he still didn’t respond, I asked: “Were you?”
He glanced around, then leaned forward slightly. “I’ve been working on projection.”
“I’m going to assume you don’t mean in a psychological sense, accusing others of the things you are guilty of?”
He shook his head. “No. Actual projection. Psychic projection, which is sometimes called astral projection.”
“What does that entail, exactly?”
“It’s hard to explain.” He glanced at a sheriff’s deputy standing, attentive, nearby. “Essentially it means I can project my thoughts to wander elsewhere. I can pick up sensory data: I can see, hear, smell someplace even though my body’s not present.”
“Could your thoughts go rogue and kill someone?”
“Of course not. It’s a spirit projection. It has no impact on the world around it. It’s sort of like being a fly on the wall, but it makes even less of a physical impact than a fly would. And even if it did, I wouldn’t have. I didn’t like Dupree bothering you, and I wouldn’t have pulled a punch if he showed up at the shop again. I’m no saint, but to kill a man? I’d need a damn good reason. You seriously think I could have done this?”
Our eyes held for a long moment. I shook my head. He seemed to relax, ever so slightly.
I sneezed. I felt bone tired. I hadn’t slept much last night, but usually that wasn’t a problem for me. Maybe I was just getting older and finding it hard to bounce back from things like casting all night.
“Are you okay?” Sailor asked. “You look tired.”
“Thanks.”
“Beautiful, of course. Have I mentioned that? But are you feeling all right?”
His deep voice relaxed me, and I could feel his aura wrapping around me like a psychic hug. I missed him, my Sailor. Cranky pants and all. I wanted nothing more than to throw myself into his arms, have him tell me that everything was going to be all right.
But it was up tometo find a way to make it right.
“I’m okay.”
“You were probably up all night trying to find a way to get me out.”
I smiled. “You promised not to try to read my mind.”
“I’m not. I just know you.”
