do with his lips. In fact, Carson Maguire—oh my God, Maguire—was twice as good at being kissed as other guys were at kissing.
The balance shifted, and he stopped resisting. I was able to slide my arms around him, skimming my hands over his back, which got an approving sound, to his waist, which got a small, warning growl, to the pocket of his jeans, which got no sound at all because he was too busy taking over the kiss, and it was all I could do to remember to grab the cell phone from his pocket.
Just as his arms started to close around me, I collected my brain from the puddle of mush it had become and stepped back. Carson nearly fell on his face, which would have been much more satisfying if I weren’t swaying on knees as weak as my resistance.
“Okay,” I said, pretending my voice wasn’t breathless. “Now I’m done.”
He just looked at me, and I couldn’t tell if I’d just rocked his world or pissed him off. Maybe a little of both.
Whichever it was, he had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Good. Now that you’ve got that off your chest.” He jerked his head toward the stairwell. “Let’s go see what time the train leaves for Chicago.”
“Why Chicago?” I asked, like that was the most important question of the moment.
“Because Michael Johnson had a return ticket there in his wallet. And if he was bringing this artifact back to Chicago, then that’s what we’re going to do.”
He’d already turned for the stairs before I connected the fact that McSlackerson was Johnson with my feeling that Carson had some personal beef with the guy. Which meant that my partner in crime was a lying liar at least twice over.
Carson Maguire had some explaining to do.
The train station was just a block away, and we reached the ticket window right before it closed. Carson paid for two business-class seats with cash and nudged me to show my fake ID, which worked just fine, though I didn’t think I looked like an Adelaide Schmidt.
The railway attendant pulled up the steps after us, and we found seats as the train chugged into motion. I dropped into the seat next to Carson and tried not to moan. Now that we’d stopped running, I had time to actually hurt.
As the train rolled past the Gateway Arch, the setting sun painted the landmark a vibrant orange, a picture-postcard vision in the middle of a craptastic day. “So how did you manage this?” I asked.
“The sunset? I’m good, but I’m not that good.”
I’d meant the timing with the train, but he was facing away from me and I was worried I’d give myself away by thinking about the stolen phone in my back pocket, so I didn’t say so. The sunset washed Carson in warmth, too. He’d have a Technicolor bruise on his cheek tomorrow. As he flexed the fingers of his right hand, I could see the knuckles were swelling. I was still mad enough to hope he ached in at least half as many places as I did.
The conductor came by and checked our tickets and our IDs. I watched her carefully to see if she gave us any particular attention, but she merely handed back our stubs and told us the snack car was open.
“I have to powder my nose,” I said when she’d moved on. Carson gestured for me to go, then leaned back and closed his eyes. He looked tired and vulnerable and I almost felt guilty for kissing him for the phone. Almost. I’d put off calling him a liar. But I hadn’t forgotten.
The restroom at the end of the train car was slightly bigger than an airplane lavatory, but not by much. I closed the door and latched it, pulled out McSlackerson’s phone—the one I had liberated from Carson’s pocket under amorous pretenses—and dialed a number from memory, not sure if I’d get an answer or not.
My cousin Phin picked up on the second ring and started talking without so much as a hello. “You would think a psychic would see trouble coming and know how to avoid it,” she said.
This was comforting, in its own infuriating way. If Phin didn’t rib me, I would know I was doomed. “Hey, Igor. I have zero time for pleasantries. I need to know if it would be possible to work magic with trace psychic energy. Like from spirits or remnants.”
“Oh, totally.” She jumped on the idea