Why?

  Because you definitely need therapy. And so do I, after all the crap you’ve put me through. Between you and Rodney, it’s a wonder I’m not locked up in an insane asylum by now.

  I am nothing like that lout of an ex-husband of yours, Indie said hotly. There’s attitude with a purpose and then there’s just idiocy. I’m firmly in the first camp and he’s firmly in the second.

  I can’t argue with you there.

  Right. I wish you’d just let me teach you how to hex his ass up around his ears and be done with him.

  It was a tempting thought, but not feasible. My gypsy traveler abilities weren’t anywhere near as potent as Poppy’s. When it came down to it, her son, Finn, might have had more magic in him than I did before Indie’s arrival. And that was saying something because magic didn’t usually favor males. As to my own abilities, I’d always been good at picking up on suffering, which meant that interacting with the world at large had been painful. I had to shop carefully, eat carefully, and limit my exposure to crowds. The restrictions had driven my ex crazy, and he never believed me about the reasons I was the way I was. Instead, he threw the book at me during court proceedings, trying to claim I was mentally ill or incompetent in order to get his way.

  I sighed. No, much though I might want to, we’re not hexing Rodney.

  Then let the incubus make good on his threat. The moron can’t sue if he can’t find legal counsel to represent him.

  No.

  The denial was more emphatic than it needed to be and it had everything to do with the fact that I didn’t want to imagine Angelo seducing anyone, let alone Rodney’s lawyer. Indie exuded an aura of smug amusement at my obvious interest in the incubus. She just loved pushing my buttons, twisting my wheels, and swinging from my every lever. She might not approve of Angelo on the whole, but my reaction to the thought of him becoming involved with someone else gave her a rush of malicious glee.

  A faded wooden sign hung just above the door of the Half Moon, etched with block letters and a shining crescent moon. Which hadn’t made much sense to me upon first viewing it. I mean honestly, who named their bar the ‘Half Moon’ and put a completely different lunar phase on all their marketing materials? I was still mulling it over as I climbed the creaking wooden stairs and banged through the screen door.

  Shelby Stomper, a chipper woman of middle years greeted me from the hostess podium and gestured for me to follow her.

  “Marty said he was expecting you.”

  “Oh, cool,” I answered and gave her a little smile, because I was more than sure that everyone believed the two of us were dating. And that was just fine. I mean—I wasn’t interested in Marty, even if he was pretty handsome for a fifty-year-old null. He was tall with a bit of a dad bod, his hair was pretty much silver, but he had the most boyish underbite of a smile and big, blue eyes.

  “He’s out on the patio,” Shelby continued. “He said you’d like it out here, even though it’s windy today.”

  I breathed out a little sigh of relief. It wasn’t that the Half Moon was hard on the eyes. The unvarnished woods, cozy lighting, and folk art on the walls were charming in a rustic way. It was the food that usually bothered me. No matter how ethically sourced, there was usually an element of pain to the death of most creatures Roy put on a plate. He hadn’t slaughtered the cow, pig, or chicken, but it was dead all the same, and it felt like a cheese grater pressed to my teeth. Buffalo wings might have tasted great, but the aftertaste of fear and pain wasn’t worth it. Needless to say, I was a vegan.

  “Thanks, Shelby,” I said. I didn’t even have to fake the smile, because she was a nice person. “You don’t have to lead the way, I know where I’m going by now.”

  She returned the smile with one of her own. “Of course, sweetie. Have a good time.”

  The tone, paired with a suggestive wiggle of her hips, told me exactly what she thought we’d be discussing. I had to wonder how awkward this pseudo-relationship between us could get if either one of us wanted to actually date someone someday.

  The mortal is awfully thoughtful for someone who’s only interacting with you in a professional setting, Indie said, implication thick in her tone.

  Oh, please not you too.

  I’m just saying.

  Marty doesn’t think about me that way. He’s just nice. From what I’ve heard, he’s a genuinely good person.

  Which begged the question of why he’d become a monster hunter when most of his friends and his previous girlfriend, Poppy, had some connection to the spooky side of the Hollow. Was Marty still hung up on his ex-girlfriend and looking for some kind of revenge? It didn’t seem like something he’d do, but what did I really know about him? I barely knew anyone here. I wasn’t even sure if I could forge lasting friendships. After all, you didn’t lie to your friends, especially not about something as huge as the other personality lurking in the back of your head. And that’s exactly what I was doing—lying to everyone by not admitting the truth. Lie by omission.

  Marty was seated at a wire table on the patio, swirling his lemonade idly with a straw, watching a gnome amble across the lawn. There were a few of them lurking nearby, taking surreptitious dips in the large stone fountain.

  He’d weighed down a stack of flyers with a binder on top of the table, but now that the wind had picked up, it threatened to send everything toppling off. He slapped a hand down on top of the stack as a particularly vehement breeze suddenly started up. It turned him just enough to bring me into his periphery.

  Marty twisted in his seat and broke into a wide smile once he saw me. And there was that ten-year-old boy inside him. It was a smile that always made you want to smile in response. He was like the favorite uncle at your family reunion, not a Van Helsing wannabe. I was pretty sure hunters weren’t supposed to have smile lines deep enough to get lost in. I could understand why Poppy had fallen for him—he was one of those men that it was probably hard not to fall for.

  I wouldn’t fall for him, Indie piped up. Way too vanilla for my tastes.

  Right. Your interests lie in the more psychotic types.

  Hey, at least they’re interesting.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I said, setting my journal and purse down on the table next to his flyers. “I was having trouble with my inventory, and I had to explain it to Angelo before I could close up shop.”

  “No problem,” Marty smiled back at me.

  “I’m just lucky that he wanted to help me out on his day off.”

  Luck has nothing to do with it, Indie snorted. Angelo wants to bang you against the counter.

  I kept my face carefully neutral, though every part of my being wanted to reach inside and strangle Indie. Not only was she inappropriate, but what she’d just said—well, it was too damned distracting. I didn’t need the mental image of Angelo ‘banging’ me against the counter seared into my brain while I tried to talk shop with Marty.

  I’d already missed whatever he’d said in reply, thanks to Indie’s never-ending gabbing.

  “Sorry, I spaced for a second. What were you saying?”

  If the lapse in attention offended Marty, he didn’t let it show. Instead, he smiled and patted the chair next to his and said, “It’s fine, Lydia. I was taking a call before you arrived, anyway.”

  “Oh.”

  “I would have felt like a jerk if you’d had to wait for me to get off the phone, so it all worked out.”

  I stared at him for a long moment while a server in plaid and blue jeans shimmed through the door and took my drink order. I just couldn’t understand this man. He seemed too... nice to be what I knew he was—a monster hunter. Was there any such thing as a cuddly monster killer?

  Marty caught me looking at him, probably with befuddlement written all over my face, and his smile dimmed just a few watts. “Is something wrong?”

  I shook my head. “No. It’s nothing.”

  Marty gave me a look over the rim of his glass, raising his eyebrows. “I have a lot of female friends, Lydia. I know what ‘nothing’ means.”

  “What does it mean?” I asked with an innocent smile.

  He returned it. “That there’s definitely something going on and you’re deflecting.” He paused and took a breath. “So, I’ll ask again: what’s wrong? Maybe I can help.”

  I waved a hand at him helplessly. “That. That’s what’s wrong.”

  He glanced down at himself, pinching his shirt between two fingers. “My shirt? You aren’t a fan of Star Wars, I take it?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m more of a Trek person, but that’s not the point. It’s not your shirt. It’s… well, it’s you.”

  His brows knit together. “I’m what’s wrong?”

  “Yes... no.” I shook my head as an embarrassed smile took over my mouth. “No, that’s not what I’m saying.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. Talking about this was going to give me a headache. “I’m just confused.”

  “About what?”

  “You!”

  “Me?” He seemed taken aback.

  “Yeah, you’re just so… so nice. And being so nice seems in total contradiction to the fact that you’re also a hunter.”

  “Oh,” he answered and wore the expression of understanding.

  “How did you become a hunter anyway?”

  His expression closed off then and he looked down. The straw began another speedy revolution of his glass, sending the ice spinning.

  He looked up at me. “You’re wondering why or how I got involved in this line of work?”

  “Both. I know it’s probably none of my business but...”

  “No,” Marty interrupted. “You’re right. If we’re going to work together, we should trust each other and trust is built on letting one another in. I’ll tell you my reasons if you tell me yours.”

  I frowned. “My reasons for what?”

  He shrugged. “For a question I’m going to ask you in a second.”

  “That sounds ominous,” I laughed.

  “It’s not,” he responded with that big smile of his that had a way of calming any anxiety I might have had. Maybe that was why he’d become a hunter—because his natural personality was so disarming. It seemed a good characteristic to have, actually—no one would ever see him coming. “So, do you want my answer or not?”

  I weighed the choice and finally nodded. “Deal. Why are you a hunter?”

  “Because I’m tired of being useless,” he answered with a simple shrug. “So much crap goes on in this town and I’ve never been able to help with any of it. It’s always Wanda, Roy, Taliyah, Maverick, and Poppy who handle the catastrophes whenever they occur.”

  “I get it.”

  He nodded at me. “Except, the last time there was a big monster in town, none of them could stand up to it. Only I was immune.”

  “Oh,” I started, finding this bit of information interesting.

  Oh, come on, Indie piped up. He couldn’t stop a baby from crying.

  “My ability to shrug off magic was the only thing that kept Poppy and Finn safe,” Marty continued as I opted to ignore my irritating other voice. “If I hadn’t been there, that Fury might have...”

  Marty trailed off then, his face pale. His swallow sounded painful. I then felt like a total heel for thinking he’d joined the hunters to get revenge on his ex. Because it actually appeared like he’d joined them in order to protect her and her son.

  And that was when I realized that Marty was a far better person than I was. I mean, I wouldn’t have gone through rigorous training to save Rodney. I might cross the street to spit on him if he were on fire, but that was about it.

  I’d let him burn.

  Marty shook himself a second later and gave me a lopsided grin that didn’t touch his eyes. “So yeah, I called Jonathan Moses about his job offer to become a hunter after that. I decided that I needed to become better, more skilled, faster… if I wanted to protect my friends and that’s exactly what I want to do.”

  “But it doesn’t seem like anyone knows anything about this?”

  “Right.” He nodded and then grew quiet.

  “So, I imagine there’s a story there somewhere?”

  “There is.”

  “And?”

  He took a deep breath. “I haven’t told anyone because I know they’ll take it badly.”

  “They’ll take it badly that you want to protect them?”

  He shrugged. “Well, ‘monster hunter’ doesn’t exactly have a great ring to it if you’re a monster, does it?”

  “Well, I’m sure they’ll understand.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “I’m not so sure. Which is why I haven’t broken the news to anyone yet.”

  “Just tell them exactly how you told me,” I said. “I mean—I got it. You want to be more capable—that makes sense. I want to be more capable too. If I’d had a better skill set, maybe I wouldn’t have been kidnapped by Simon.”

  Not too long ago, I’d been abducted by a Reeper demon and sold on the magical black market. If not for Angelo and his sister, Fifi, I would have fallen into the hands of a very bad man named Murrain. I wasn’t sure how long it would have taken Murrain to kill me, but I knew one thing for sure: they’d never have found all the pieces of me when it was all said and done.

  Marty reached across the table and took my hand in his much larger one, giving it a gentle squeeze. “That wasn’t your fault.”

  “Feels like it,” I grumbled. “I mean… I let him in.”

  “And if you hadn’t, he would have waited until you were outside your threshold to do what he did. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” He squeezed my hand harder.

  “Thanks,” I said, and really meant it.

  He leaned back with a smile and a quick nod. “Now, it’s your turn.”

  “My turn?”

  He nodded again, but this time the smile melted away. “I want to know your secret.”

  “I’m not sure which secret you’re referencing?” I answered and frowned, but I did have a good idea of what secret he wanted out in the open. I just wasn’t sure how he could have figured it out. “What, uh, do you want to know?”

  Marty sucked in a breath, let it out slowly, and then gave me solid, unbreaking eye contact. Who knew that the blue of his eyes could be so intense?

  “I know Indigo isn’t dead and that you didn’t simply absorb her magic when she passed,” he started as my stomach about dropped to my toes. “How long has she been in your head, Lydia?”

  Chapter Three

  Lydia

  I froze.

  I hoped my ears were playing tricks on me, but a quick glance confirmed that I hadn’t misheard him. Marty was staring at me expectantly, hands folded in his lap, prepared to wait for an answer even if it took all day to get one.

  How in the hell did he know?

  How the hell does he know? Indie echoed.

  Marty shifted in his chair just enough to let one of his long legs flop onto the patio. I got the message loud and clear. If I tried to bolt, he was more than capable of keeping me exactly where I was. Damn it.

  I was tempted to try, anyway. He wasn’t a trained assassin... yet. Magic wouldn’t work on him, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be useful in a fight. Nulls like Marty could repel enchantments placed on him directly, but if I were to, say, make his chair buckle, he’d still fall flat on his ass. The problem was, I wasn’t sure how to go about doing that just yet. The gulf between book knowledge and practical magic was vast and I was still just a student. In fact, over the last few months, I’d found myself learning magical theory alongside a girl named Sybil Weeks, the daughter of the resident warlock, Maverick. And being at the same magical level as a ditzy junior high witch really put my lack of talent into perspective.

  “You don’t have to look so freaked out, Lydia,” Marty said, that boyish smile capturing his handsome face once more. He reminded me of a golden retriever, so ready to please that it made your teeth ache.

  “Says you,” I answered.

  “So, what gives?”

  I breathed in deeply. Then leaned forward and said underneath my breath, “you have no clue how dangerous the answer to that question might be.”

  “Maybe you’re right, but I still want to know,” he answered on a shrug. “If I’m your bodyguard, I need to know just what I’m dealing with.” He paused. “How about I promise to keep the answer to myself unless it puts people in danger?”

  Indie was still staunchly opposed to my telling him anything about her. In fact, even though she wasn’t saying anything (probably because she was too angry to form coherent words), I could feel that she wanted to crook my fingers and singe Marty’s eyebrows off with a well-placed hex. I’d probably turn them blue if I tried, so I didn’t. Instead, I leaned across the table, darting a glance around. There wasn’t anyone within earshot, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

  “You can’t tell Anthony anything, even if things go sideways.”

  “Anthony?” Marty repeated, frowning, because he clearly didn’t understand the importance Anthony had played in Indie’s life. I was fairly sure she’d been in love with him, even if she refused to admit as much.

  I nodded. “Indie doesn’t want Anthony to know that… well, that she’s… still here.”

  Marty’s grin broadened. I hadn’t said the exact words aloud, but I was pretty sure I’d just confirmed his suspicions, all the same. Indie was still here alright—in my body, and now Marty was probably cottoning on to that exact fact. He might have said more, but Roy interrupted when he arrived with our food. We’d been here often enough that I now had a usual—pan-roasted cremini mushrooms, sauteed onions, and baked potato with plenty of butter. As usual, Marty eyed the dish before him with distaste, but dutifully ate his salad. He was good about respecting my many, many limitations. And I just couldn’t sit across from him and watch him eat a burger.

  Roy refilled both of our glasses and then disappeared back into the bar’s interior. Marty settled comfortably into his chair once more, spearing a crouton on the tongs of his fork. He brandished it at me with a triumphant smile.

  “So, she is still in touch with you and you didn’t simply absorb her power. I knew it!”