Marshal made a soft noise and stretched where he sat, looking comfortable and content. “Sure. Mind if I bring my paper in for the classifieds? I’m still looking for an apartment.”

“Sounds great,” I said. “That sounds really great.”

Twelve

It was the softest sound of fabric sliding against leather that woke me. In a pulse of adrenaline, my eyes flashed open and my breath came fast. The scratchy softness of an afghan brushed against my face, and I sat up with a smooth, fast motion.

I was on the couch in the sanctuary, not my bed, and the light coming in the tall stained-glass windows was bright with the sunrise. Across the coffee table, Marshal was frozen halfway to a stand from his chair. His expression was one of shock.

“Wow,” he said as he straightened to his full height. “I was trying to be quiet. You’re a really light sleeper.”

I blinked at him, realizing what had happened. “I fell asleep,” I said stupidly. “What time is it?”

With a soft exhalation, Marshal sat back down on the chair where he had spent most of last night. A bowl holding leftover popcorn sat on the table with three bottles of pop and an empty bag of gingersnaps. His stocking feet spread wide, he squinted at his watch. It was analog, which didn’t surprise me. Most witches shunned digital. “A little after seven,” he said, his gaze rising to the muted TV and the puppets that were dancing there.

“Oh, God!” I moaned, falling back into the warmth of where I had been sleeping. “I’m so sorry.”

Marshal had his head down as he adjusted his socks. “For what?”

I gestured to the stained-glass windows past the gently swaying bats. “It’s seven.”

“I don’t have to be anywhere. Do you?”

Uh, not until later. My swirling thoughts slowed. I didn’t feel that good, seeing as I still had a chunk of sleep waiting for me somewhere, and I scooted myself up a bit so I wasn’t so…schlumpy looking.

“Hey, you, ah, want to crash here for the rest of the morning?” I asked, staring at the happy puppets on the TV. Must be a human thing to watch puppets at this hour, because it sure as hell wasn’t appealing to a witch. “We have a couch in the back living room. It’s darker in there.”

Marshal pressed his lips together and shook his head. “No, thanks. I didn’t mean to wake you. I was going to leave you a note and slip out. I’ve been on a human clock for three years. I’m usually up by now.”

My face twisted as I imagined that. “I’m not,” I complained. “I’ve got to get to bed.”