Holidays are Hell(17)

A grin came over my face. "Sorry. We came clean… uh… we told them we existed after a virus hiding in tomatoes—a sort of a plague—started killing humans. It dropped their numbers by about a quarter. They were going to find out about us anyway because we weren't dying."

Pierce watched my moving foot and smiled with half his face. "I've always been of the mind that tomatoes were the fruit of the devil," he said. Then he brought his gaze to mine and gestured to take in the entire building. "This happened in four decades?"

I shrugged, twisting my boot toe into the tight-looped carpet. "I didn't say it was easy."

Crossing his knees, he rubbed his beard as if noticing not many men had them. Though very quiet since our shopping trip, he had clearly been taking everything in, processing it. Even his words, few as they had been, were starting to sound… less odd.

"Your brother," he said, gesturing at him with his chin, "said you want to devote your life to this?"

I smiled somewhat sheepishly. "The I.S. Yes." A sudden worry pulled my brows together. "Why? You think I shouldn't?"

"No," he rushed. "A daughter's wish to follow in her parent's occupation is proper."

Startled he knew my dad had worked for the I.S., I caught my breath until I remembered our conversation in the bus, "Oh. You heard that."

He ducked his head. "Yes, mistress witch. And who am I to tell you the profession of protecting the helpless is too dangerous? I live for it."

I felt a quiver of connection, that he might really understand. Pierce, though, gave me a wry look. "Lived for it," he amended sourly.

Used to arguing about my chosen profession, I lifted my chin. "I'm stronger every year," I said as if he had protested. "I mean, markedly stronger."

"You suffered an illness?" Pierce asked, seemingly genuinely concerned.

I nodded, and then feeling some honesty was due, added, "I still am sick, sort of. But I'm doing much better. Everyone says so. I have more stamina all the time. I attend classes to keep from slipping back, and I haven't been in the hospital for about four years. I should have died, so I really don't have any cause to complain, but I want to do this, damn it. They can't keep me out because of my health. I got a black belt and everything."

I stopped, realizing not only was I babbling to the first understanding person I'd found, but I was swearing, too. "Sorry," I said, twisting my foot again. "That's probably gutter talk for you."

Pierce made a soft sound, neither accusing nor affirming. He was looking at my middle in a soft puzzlement. "You're passionate," he finally said, and I smiled in relief. I knew he would be gone by sunrise, but I didn't want to alienate him. I liked him, even if he was a ghost. Oh God, I was not crushing on him.

"I'm in the medical books, you know," I said, trying to get his mind off my bad mouth. "The only survivor of Rosewood syndrome."

He started, turning from where he had been watching Robbie argue with his interviewer. "You… Rosewood? You survived? I lost two sisters and a brother to that, passed before they were three months. Are you sure that's what ailed you?"

I smiled because there was no pain in him. The hurt, apparently, was old. "That's what it was. Is. Modern medicine I suppose, or all the herbal remedies they gave me at that Make-A-Wish camp for dying kids. I was there for three years until they kicked me out when I quit dying so fast."

The wonder was stark in his gaze as he settled back as if not believing it. "You're a wonder, mistress witch."

I scoffed and ran my fingernails to bump over the chair's fabric. "I'm not really a witch yet. I haven't gotten my license. You can call me Rachel."

Pierce's subtle fidgeting ceased and I looked up to find him staring. In sudden understanding, I warmed. Crap, giving him my first name might be extremely intimate. He certainly didn't seem to know how to react.

Embarrassed, I focused on Robbie. "I, uh, am sorry for bringing you from your rest," I said. "I was trying to call my dad. See, I had this bet with Robbie. I said Dad, my father, would want me to put my application into the I.S., and Robbie said if he were still alive, he'd want me to get a higher degree in my earth witch studies. So Robbie challenged me to call him and ask. If I could do it, I promised I'd do what Dad said, if not, I'd go with Robbie and go to school for four more years. I didn't figure on him being at peace. I suppose I should be glad," I said, feeling guilty. "But I really wanted to talk to him."

"Miss Rachel," Pierce said, and my head came up when he took my hand. "Don't weep for your father. I expect he's at rest, watching you and wishing you happiness."