I start pulling things from hangers, rolling them up and stuffing them in my bag.
“Did you take these?” Rogan asks, as though I can see what he’s talking about.
“Take what?” I answer, confused, as I pull my underwear drawer open and pretty much dump its contents into the bag. One can never have too many undergarments on a mystery trip to who knows where to hunt god knows what. It’s also possible that I might be a bit of an over packer on my best day. If asked, I would deny that emphatically, but as I shove a couple sundresses into the duffel, as well as some shoe and bootie options, there’s no hiding the truth from myself.
“These pictures in your living room, did you take them?” Rogan clarifies.
“Uh, yeah, why?” I answer distractedly as I continue to pack.
“No, reason, just wondering,” he replies dismissively, and I hear his carpet-muffled footsteps as he walks from the living room into my room.
I grab the leather-bound instruction manual that I dug out of my cedar hope chest last night. The manual I forgot I had until I was off hunting for a familiar. I found it buried under movie ticket stubs, old diaries, picture albums, and folded middle school letters that would impress an origami pro. I read through it, and I don’t think there’s anything that I need, but just in case, better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it.
I walk out of my closet to find Rogan studying my bedroom. It suddenly feels weird to have him in my space, judging my soft cream bedding and the number of throw pillows I make my bed with. I’m reminded that I don’t know crap about him, and yet the peek he’s now gotten into my life today is a little unsettling.
“So what’s the plan now?” I ask, reaching over and plucking a picture of me and my dad from Rogan’s hands and setting it back down on my bedside table where it belongs. He gives me a curious look, but I ignore it and go stock up on toiletries in the bathroom.
“We’ll get back to my place a little too late to do much tonight, but tomorrow I’ll take you to Elon’s house and some other places to see if you pick up on anything as an Osteomancer that I can’t. Hopefully, there will be a lead, and we’ll go from there. If you don’t pick up on anything, I have a contact in the Order who’s been working on these cases, so I’ll reach out to him to see if he has anything new to go on.”
“I thought you didn’t trust the Order?” I question as I pack some toys I bought for Hoot.
“I don’t, but I trust Marx, and you know what they say about keeping your enemies close.”
I file away his use of the word enemies but don’t question him about it. I have a feeling that, when it comes to him, I’ll learn more from keen observation than trying to grill him, which could inadvertently clue him in on the little things I’m picking up on.
I turn the bathroom light off and find Rogan running a hand down an oversized scarf I left hanging on the back of my door. He jerks his hand away and shoves it in his pocket just as soon as I enter the room, and it feels like I just caught him rifling through my panty drawer. Why is he touching my stuff?
He reaches for the ever growing duffel bag when I try to walk by him, and before I can so much as object, the strap is firmly on his shoulder. I wait for him to comment about the weight of it and demand to know what I have in there, but he says nothing.
I shrug and head to the kitchen to grab Hoot’s food. I was going to leave the little stink bomb with Tad, but after seeing his magic seeing-eye-dog skills, I think I’ll be better off keeping him close by. I just hope he doesn’t get us kicked off the plane on our way to deal with the clusterfuck I find myself caught in the middle of.
“All set?” Rogan asks.
“I think so. What airport are we headed for? I have a pet carrier for Hoot, but will they let him on the plane?”
“We’re not flying,” Rogan announces as though I’m crazy for even suggesting it.
“Driving will take forever,” I counter. “And