A Fistfull of Charms(35)

I nudged Jenks, and he reluctantly handed his over too. While he and I prepared to move, Marshal’s expression slowly turned from puzzlement to alarm. It was a lot colder without the amulets, and I felt the wind keenly through the wet spandex. Tension had me stiff when I rolled up the wet suit as best I could and handed it to him.
“This isn’t good,” Marshal said as he took it and I sat on the rocks and looked up at him.
“No, it isn’t,” I said, cold, wet, and tired. “But here I am.”
Feet shifting on the rocks, his glaze drifted to the splat gun, and while he fidgeted, I handed Jenks his share of the splat balls, which he dropped into a mesh bag hanging from his waist. I had offered to get him his own gun at the shop where I picked up the paint balls to fill with the sleepy-time potions, but he’d wanted the impressive-looking slingshot instead. It fastened to his arm and looked as effective as a crossbow. I was willing to bet he was as accurate with it too.
Ready to go, Jenks stood in a clatter of sliding stones, taking a stick of driftwood and swinging it as if it was a sword. He was gracefully controlled, and Marshal watched for a moment before he extended a hand to help me up. “You’re a good witch, right?”
I took it, feeling the warmth and strength behind it. “Despite how it looks? Yes,” I said, then tugged the cuff back down over my demon scar. My fingers slipped from his, and he dropped a step away. I was a white witch, damn it. Behind me, Jenks thrust and parried, silent but for his feet in the stones. We had to get going, but Marshal stood in front of me, looking sleek in his wet suit, warmth amulets dangling from his fingers.
He looked behind him at his boat and our gear piled on the shore. Lips tight in decision, he bowed his head and peeled the sticker off an amulet. “Here,” he said, handing me the charm.
I blinked, the cold vanishing as my fingers touched it again. “Marshal…”
But he was moving, lean muscles bunching as he gathered a handful of equipment and strode to the edge of the vegetation. “Keep them,” he said as he dropped the gear in the scrub, then went back for another, second load. “I changed my mind. I thought you were joking about this rescue thing. I can’t leave you here without a way off. Your boyfriend can use my gear. I’m going to tell my boys you panicked and made me radio the water taxi to get you back to land. If you have to swim for it, hug Round Island to get to Mackinac Island and take the ferry. You can leave everything in a locker at one of the docks and mail me the key. If you don’t swim off, leave everything here, and I’ll pick it up the next time we get a good fog.” 
My heart seemed to swell and my eyes warmed from gratitude. “What about your driver?”
Marshal shrugged, his rubber-clad shoulders looking good as the sun glinted on him. “He’ll go along with it. We go way back.” His eyes went narrow with worry. “Promise me you won’t trying to cross the straits. It’s too far.”
I nodded, and he handed Jenks his amulet back. “Watch the ferries coming in to Mackinac Island. Especially the ones that hydroplane. They come in fast. There’s a second warmth amulet in my gear for your boyfriend. I have it for emergencies.” He winced, his hairless eyebrows rising. “This sounds like one.”
I didn’t know what to say. From beside me, Jenks peeled the sticker from his amulet and fed it to one of the gulls ringing us. It flew squawking away, three more in hot pursuit. “Marshal,” I stammered. “You might lose your license.” Best-case scenario.
“No, I won’t. I trust you. You aren’t a professional diver, but you’re a professional something, and you need a little help. If you have any problem, just dump the gear and swim at the surface. I’d, uh, rather you didn’t, though.” His brown eyes seemed to flit among the trees. “Something weird has been going on over here, and I don’t like it.” He smiled, though he still looked worried. “I hope you get your boyfriend back okay.”
Relief slipped into me. God, what a nice guy. “Thank you, Marshal,” I said, leaning forward and pulling myself up to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Can you reach your boat okay?”
He nodded, discomfited. “I do a lot of free swimming. Piece of cake.”
I remembered my stint of swimming in the frozen Ohio River, hoping he would be okay. “Soon as I can, I’ll call you to let you know we made it okay and where your stuff is.”
“Thanks,” he said, head swinging back up to me. “I’d appreciate that. Someday I’m going to track you down, and you’re going to tell me what this was all about.”
I felt a sloppy smile come over me. “It’s a date. But then I’ll have to kill you.”
Laughing, he turned to go, then hesitated, the sun glinting on his suit. “Burn your card?”
Brushing my wet hair back, I nodded.
“Okay.” This time he didn’t stop. As I watched, he waded into the surf, diving into a wave and starting for his boat with clean, smooth strokes.
“Now I feel like James Bond,” I said, and Jenks laughed.
“Into the woods,” Jenks said, and with a last backward look at Marshal, I headed for the scrub. The smooth rocks were hard to walk on, and I felt like an idiot wobbling after him. It was warmer without the wind, and after only a few steps the beach turned into a thick brush.
The first of the spring-green leaves closed over us, and as I picked my way through the vegetation, Jenks asked, “Do you like him?”
“No,” I said immediately, feeling the tension of a lie. How could I not? He was risking his livelihood, and maybe his life.
“He’s a witch,” Jenks offered, as if that was all it took.
Toying with the idea of letting the stick I was holding fling back to slap him, I said, “Jenks, stop being my mother.”The brush thinned as we forced our way into the interior and the trees grew larger.
“I think you like him,” Jenks persisted. “He’s got a nice body.”
My breath came quick. “Okay, I like him,” I admitted. “But it takes more than a nice body, Jenks. Jeez, I do have a little depth. You’ve got a great body, and you don’t see me trying to get into your Fruit of the Looms.”
He reddened at that, and finally breaking through into a clearing, I stopped, trying to find my sense of direction. “Which way do you think the compound is, anyway?”
Jenks was better than a compass, and he pointed. “Want to run until we get close?”
I nodded. Jenks was wearing Marshal’s warmth amulet and looked toasty, but it was too much for me. Without it I felt sluggish, and I hoped I didn’t hurt myself until I warmed up. Between Jax and the old plot map in the local museum, we had a good layout of the island.
Jenks ran a finger between his heel and his shoe before taking a deep breath and breaking into a slow lope that wouldn’t stress us too much and would give us time to dodge obstacles instead of running into them. Jax had said most of the buildings in use were by the island’s lakes; that’s where we were headed. I thought of Marshal swimming for his boat and hoped he was okay.
As usual, Jenks took point, leaping over decaying logs and dodging boulders the size of a small car, which had been dumped by the last glacier. He looked good running ahead of me, and I wondered if he would run a few laps with me at the zoo before I switched him back. I could use the morale boost of being seen with him. It was quiet, with only birds and animals disturbing the morning. A jay saw us, screaming as it followed until losing interest. A plane droned overhead, and the wind kept the tops of the trees moving. I could smell spring everywhere, and I felt as if we had slipped back in time with the clear air, the bright sun, and the spooked deer.
The island had been privately owned since forever, never developed from its original temperate-zone mix of softwood forest and meadow. Officially it was now a private hunters’ retreat, patterned after Isle Royale farther north, but instead of real wolves tracking down moose, it was Weres sporting with white-tailed deer.
During a careful questioning, Jenks and I had found that the locals didn’t think highly of either the year-round residents or the visitors who passed through their town on the way to the island, never taking the time for a meal or to fill up their gas tank. One man told Jenks they had to restock the deer every year since the animals could and did swim for the mainland—which made me all warm and fuzzy inside.
According to the records and what little Jax told us, a primitive road circled the island. I was breathing hard but moving well when we found it, and Jenks cut a hard right as soon as we crossed it. He slowed too, but we still ran right into the deer carcass. 
Jenks jerked to a stop, and I plowed into him, pinwheeling to keep from falling into the hollowed-out body, its head flung over its back and its eyes cloudy.
“Holy crap,” he swore, panting as he backed up, white-faced. “It’s a deer, isn’t it?”
I nodded, transfixed and breathing heavily. There was surprisingly little smell since the temperatures had been keeping the decomposition slow. But what worried me was that it had been gutted, the entrails eaten first and the rest remaining as a slow smorgasbord.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said, thinking that even though the Weres were on a private island, they were doing their entire species a great disservice. Remembering and honoring your heritage was one thing. Going wild was another.