Death and Relaxation (Ordinary Magic #1)(32)

“I got this.”

She patted my shoulder. “If you need the Rossis, we’re here for you.”

“You might want to check with Old Rossi before you go promising a pact between me and your entire clan.”

“He likes you.”

“That’s not what he said last month when I told him jogging nude wasn’t allowed in the neighborhood.

“I didn’t say he always likes you.”

“How does he do that, by the way? All of you? The skin-in-sunlight thing?”

It was a well-kept secret even my dad hadn’t gotten out of the local vamps. Sunlight didn’t seem to give them much trouble.

“Ask Old Rossi.”

Myra ducked under the orange fence webbing.

“Anything?” she asked.

“Head wound. Page suspects drowning.”

“We’ll want to run full labs,” she said.

“Yep.” I straightened into the gusting wind to face my sister. “What did the city folk say?”

“Nothing new. Out walking. Thought he was sleeping at first. The woman has a flashlight app on her phone. She was worried he wasn’t breathing. The man checked for a pulse while she called it in.”

“Did he find one?”

“No. Cold to the touch.”

“Okay.” The wind chopped across the sand, cold and biting. My gaze wandered over Myra’s shoulder to where Ryder stood, one hip leaned against the front bumper of the ambulance.

He wasn’t watching the cliffs any more. He was watching me.

A warmth that had nothing to do with the thick jacket, wrapped around me.

“Delaney,” Myra said, “I think you should go home for the night. Take a nice hot bath. Get some sleep.”

Honestly, nothing sounded better right now. I hadn’t slept in a day, and the blast of god power had made me much too alert, and jittery tired.

But I was the chief of police and there was a dead god to deal with.

“I’ll come into the station,” I said. “Write up my report.”

“You’re beat.”

“Nothing a dozen cups of coffee won’t fix.”

She pressed her lips together and twisted to glance at Ryder.

“Nope,” I said. “Do not drag him into this. I’ll do my job, then go home after.” I picked up my coffee, which had gone cold. Swallowed some along with the grit of sand caught on the edge of the lid.

“Dad told me the power was exhausting,” she said. “That the first time nearly knocked him out for days.”

“Good thing I’m not Dad,” I said with false cheer. I tugged her arm as I walked past her. “You coming?”

It took a minute, but she finally caught up to me.

“What’s it like?” she asked.

I kept my head down against the wind, my boots sinking in the soft, wet sand. How could I put this in words? “It’s like a sound, a lot of sounds, all clashing together in my head. Voices, string, drum banging around under my skin. It’s loud and…uncomfortable. Like a crappy apartment neighbor who won’t keep the stereo down.”

She huffed, not quite a laugh, then was silent as we walked. I wondered how hard it was for her to resist checking my forehead for a fever and maybe shining one of those little stick lights in my eyes. She tried to keep a cool exterior, but Myra was more maternal than any of us Reed girls.

“What did Dad tell you it was like?” I asked.

“Hell.”

Great. Thanks, Dad.

By the time we made it back to the car, I was breathing too hard and shaking from the cold and sweat. I was also considering the benefits of throwing up.

Still debating that with my stomach, I leaned against the side of the cruiser and closed my eyes. I worked on breathing—in through the nose, out through the mouth—and tipped my face up, hoping the wind and dampness of the night would clear my head and ease my gut. I was used to pushing my body hard. I stayed in shape for just this sort of thing, but the impact of god power had taken more out of me than I’d expected.

Arms wrapped behind my back and under my knees. My eyes snapped open.

Ryder.

The man was quiet when he wanted to be.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked, searching his eyes. Was he going to kiss me? Because that might be a terrible idea, considering the state of my stomach.

He lifted me off my feet. “Following orders.”

“Wha— Put me down. This is not a good idea.”

“This is not a bad idea.”

“I’ll barf on you.”

“I’m washable.”

“I can make you put me down.”

He had been walking toward his truck this entire time, and despite myself, all my muscles were relaxing into him. The scent of his cologne—something with coconut in it—wrapped around me, and all I wanted to do was put my head on his shoulder and sleep for a year.

“I know you can make me,” he said calmly. Then he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Out of the two of you right now, I’m more afraid of your sister.”

“Don’t argue with him,” Myra called out as she opened the cruiser door. “He’ll take you home.”

“He’s not even our employee,” I said.