“Shut up, Jenks,” I said carefully so I wouldn’t slur. I wasn’t drunk, but the alcohol helped. I turned to Marshal. “I got a demon mark when my ex-boyfriend bought a trip through the lines when Al tore my throat open. I have another on my foot because some jackass pulled me through to the ever-after to give me to Al and I had to buy a trip home from another demon who is absolutely nuts and might show up at any time if she remembers me.”

“She?” Marshal said, sparse eyebrows high but accepting that.

“I also have a couple of unclaimed vampire scars that make me susceptible to vampire pheromones,” I said, not caring what he thought. “If it wasn’t for Ivy protecting me, I’d be dead or out of my mind by now because of it.”

Jenks leaned toward Marshal’s ear and whispered loud enough for me to hear, “I think she likes them, if you ask me.”

“I’m trouble, Marshal,” I said, ignoring Jenks. “If you were smart, you’d walk out of my church, get in your truck, and drive away. God! I don’t even know why you’re here.”

Marshal pushed his plate away and crossed his arms over his chest. His muscles bunched under his shirt, and I forced my attention from him. I wasn’t drunk, damn it, but my eyes warmed. “Are you done?” he asked.

“I suppose,” I said, depressed.

“Jenks, do you mind if I talk to Rachel alone?” Marshal asked.

The pixy’s expression darkened and he put his fists on his hips, but when he saw me glare at him, he sulkily flew to the door. Ten to one he was going to listen from the hall, but at least we had the illusion of privacy.

Seeing him gone, Marshal leaned across the table and took my hands in his. “Rachel, I met you on my boat, asking for my help to rescue your ex-boyfriend from a group of militant Weres. Don’t you think I know you leave a trail of bread crumbs for trouble to follow?”

I brought my eyes up. “Yes, but—”