kicked in because of me,” I clarify.
Rogan studies me for a moment, but I see the answer in his eyes before he voices it.
“Yes. Marx and I thought it was the best and fastest way to gain control over the situation.”
I shake my head and turn away from him. “You’re lucky it was me that day. She would have ripped you apart,” I tell him quietly, hating how alone I suddenly feel.
“Very lucky,” he repeats just as softly, but I don’t bother trying to interpret what that could mean.
With squealing tires, Rogan slides us into a parking spot dead center in front of a diner. “Seven minutes and counting,” he announces with a small hesitant smile.
I unbuckle my seat belt and reach for the door handle. “Impressive,” I admit as I climb out of the SUV. “Now I’ll daydream about breaking two hundred five of your bones and not the full two hundred six that you actually have,” I tell him as I stride for the front door.
He beats me to it and pulls it open, sleigh bells tinkling and announcing our arrival to a waitress. I shake my head at him. “I’m still not buying it,” I censure.
“Buying what?” he queries.
“That you’re a gentleman. So no need to keep up the act on my account.”
He doesn’t say anything as we’re led to a booth and handed menus. I slide into my seat, and I’m reminded of doing the same thing just yesterday, when I sat down to talk to Paul. His face flashes in my mind, and I wonder how he and Jackson are doing today. I close my eyes for a moment and send them warm, hopeful thoughts.
“What can I get you to drink?” the waitress with short salt-and-pepper hair and amiable blue eyes asks.
“May I please have some coffee? And do you have tomato soup here?”
“Yes and yes,” she tells me warmly.
“Two hundred and four bones now,” I correct, looking over at Rogan.
I order my wish list, completely over the moon when they have everything I’ve been craving. Rogan gets some kind of melt and blueberry crumble for dessert, and as soon as he orders it, I start debating if I can be pissed at him but still ask for a bite? I’m thinking yes.
“So how did you and Marx become such good friends?” I ask as the waitress brings over two bowl-sized mugs and pours almost a full carafe of coffee into them.
I start doctoring mine up, waiting for Rogan to answer the question. I can feel his hesitancy, like I can feel the waitress’s sore bones as she moves gingerly from table to table, refilling the other patrons’ drinks.
“We used to work together,” Rogan finally tells me as he shakes a few packets of sugar, tearing them all open at once and dumping them into his mug.
I ponder that answer for a moment, mostly because I practically chug my cup of coffee down, but surprise zings through me when I put things together. “You used to work for the Order?”
He nods solemnly and then demurely samples his brew. “We were on a team together. We were who the Order called when they needed elite magic to deal with something.”
“Oh, the best of the best,” I mock, and he sighs and fixes me with an unamused stare.
“Anyway, I know about the Order and the rampant corruption firsthand. Elon and I almost didn’t make it out of their ranks alive.”
A chill runs up my spine at that revelation, and I randomly have the urge to reach out and offer a comforting touch. I look down at my hands—which are cradling my coffee—and glare at them as though they’ve betrayed me.
“What’s wrong?” Rogan asks, studying me.
“Nothing,” I answer a little too quickly. With a swift shake of my head, I dispel the uninvited urge and focus back on what we were discussing. “So that’s what’s up with all the protective measures?” I ask, placing another vital piece of understanding in the puzzle that is Rogan Kendrick.
“It’s good to have protections in place with any home, but yes, Elon and I are overly cautious. We have good reason to be.”
“So all the blood protecting your house, is that yours?”
“No, I’d never be able to build up the quantities I needed if I used only my own. Certain wards or blessings required my blood, but the rest was from the blood bank. I take the units that are not transfusion quality and use them for what I need.”
“That’s smart,” I