Free Wrath and Bones by A.J. Aalto Page B

invasion. I'm some kind of orcish war goddess or something.”
    He looked me up and down, and shot me a two-fingered salute as he started back up the driveway. “You’ve got a weird life, Mars.”
    I shouted at his retreating form, “Says the cop who attacked me on my own front porch. How long have you been freezing your gingersnaps off out here, anyways?”
    “Harry told me when your flight was due in.”
    “You need to get a life, Hood. You know what kind of people hang around their self-defense students' houses for hours around the holidays? Stalkers and psychopaths.”
    I watched him go, admiring his lithe physicality in a purely clinical fashion. The complete lack of sexual appetite I had for Rob Hood made little sense to me; my badge-bunny instincts lusted for cops, and he was physically and emotionally solid.  Maybe it was the hair? I’d never been into redheads or blondes. Just as well. Hood treated me like the little sister he’d never had, clay to mold, an ass to boot into shape. That was something I was quite content to have continue. Despite tonight’s failure, I felt way more competent since Chapel had asked Hood to train me. Each run made me faster and increased my endurance, every trip to the gun range made me sharper, every training class taught me new defensive tactics. Batten didn’t give me any credit for improvements, and Harry liked to roll his eyes, but I didn’t need their approval. I approved.
    There was a big fire crackling in the sitting room when I got inside, but neither of my coldblooded housemates were huddled near it. I felt Harry’s presence downstairs in his chambers, and Wesley was already lurking in my office. It bugged me that someone had vandalized my front door while I was gone without Harry eating them, or at least making whoever it was unload some crap in their own pants. I didn't want to have to ask Chapel or Heather or Elian to check on the house while I was in Norway, lest I come home to an orgy of garden gnomes and a mailbox full of bat dicks. Wes would only be so much use, which is to say, minimal at night and none whatsofuckingever during the day.
    Wesley came out to see me in the hall. “You’re going to Norway? Is that where the portal is, like BugBelly said? The invitation didn’t mention me? Aw, come on. I’m staying here? Who’s gonna help me learn the spell stuff? This blows.”
    Halfway to a tantrum and I haven’t said a word. “Can I get my coat off before you go blasting through my brain cells, Captain Dude-witch?”
    “Sorry,” Wes said, wilting.
    A jingle told me that Bob the Cat was playing with a catnip toy in the sitting room, and his claws made grabbing, tearing noises on the rag rug in there. He’d be fine for a while without me, but he loved the revenants, and would miss Harry terribly.
    Wes said, “Yeah, but I’ll watch him. I'll even do the bat thing so we can wrestle.”
    “I didn’t say anything out loud. Again.”
    “I’m getting better, though, right?” My baby brother showed me his one hopeful eye and wrung his hands. It was mostly playful, but there was a desire for approval under his mocking. He was two steps ahead of me again, but I couldn’t tell if he was reading my mind or predicting my worries. “I’ll be good. I’ll feed the cat and water the plants and bring in the mail every night.”
    I sighed. “Where’s Harry?”
    “The minute he got your text, he flew into a fit of packing, prancing around like a diva, trying on hats and cloaks,” Wes said. “Dude has more than one cloak. Were you aware?”
    I smirked. “That’s hardly a crime.”
    “He’s got an actual walking stick.”
    “He’s from another time,” I said mildly. “If you’re expecting Harry to change, you’d better brace yourself for disappointment. He still owns lace cravats.”
    Wes considered this as he followed me into my home office, where I’d moved Harry’s portrait onto the wall above the herb cabinets.
    “He’s not bad looking, for