Chapter 7

Aidan Callahan could find him again. Especially now, having met him. Having felt magic brush up against magic. A more traditional banshee, with those senses—that precognition, that knowing, that sense of time and space—could find people tied to the family by blood or vows. Aidan, being more, could do more.

The pooka thought, with some humor, about Aidan and that case-solving reputation and unfair advantages; and then he thought about the fact that he’d not run again, not even tried.

He wanted to talk to Aidan Callahan again.

He wanted, in fact, more.

He folded magic around himself, let his shape blur and shift. He leaned against a tree, and ran human fingers through his hair, making it fluff upward, dark and hopefully seductive. And he pondered the best possible pose as far apple orchards went, for irritating—and enticing—an attractive MED agent who also needed some care.3