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My mind throws up a dozen excuses as the front door clicks shut and her hands continue digging into my back.

At last, just as I think I’m going to take her on a guided tour to find the bedroom, Therese breaks off the kiss with a gasp. “I’m sorry!”

“I’msorry. Why are we sorry? Just so I’m sure we’re on the same page,” I pant, winded more from wanting her than from the effort of kissing. That, and the confusion. I’ve never... I know what sexual lust is, and there have been times in the past when I’ve felt twinges of it. But with me, it’s always faded as fast as it came, leaving me feeling hollow.

This is filling me. Building in me. I tell myself to stop and focus on protecting Teri, and I realize I can’t separate the two feelings. Taking her in my arms to slide into her kisses feels like it’s as important as sweeping her into my arms to shield her from a blast of gunfire.

“I’m craving some comfort, I guess. I didn’t mean to pull you into something that’s ‘above and beyond the call of duty.’” Therese blushes and smooths her hair away from her face, eyes wide and apologetic.

Honesty. It’s vital; the only time I break the code of laws and morals fused into me is for the greater good, the greatest good—to protect innocents. I’m never going to see her again, not after the Feds give her a new identity. When will I tell her the truth if not now?

Don’t I owe Artie’s kin that much?

With a gravelly cough, I admit, “I don’t want you to think I’m the same kind of fast-mover as your ex, but I don’t usually behave like that. I’ve... I’ve never kissed any woman like that. Not as part of an assignment, a masquerade past enemies, or even just in my own free time. I’m no prude or saint, but... Well.” I shrug and keep my voice low and close to her ear, aware that I need to get back outside and search the perimeter more thoroughly. “Look, let me tell you something about me. Reginald Gray is supposed to be Mr. Steady and Reliable. I can be that—but I’ve never been that in terms of—a relationship. I’ve never been steady as anything more than a stable defense. Maybe as a friend.”

The instant sadness in her eyes stabs me, even though it shouldn’t. She shouldn’t have any power over me, nothing beyond a client that needs protecting.

“It’s not because I don’t want to. It’s because I don’t know how to.”

“But you’re so—”

“I have no soul. No spark of life that belongs to me. Golems aren’t made with one. A safeguard so we don’t become too powerful, too terrible. A spark that can create something real, something like love—that has to be given to us by someone first. Sort of like that fairy tale? Where the girl has to love the beast back? This time, she has to love the beast first. That’s too much to ask and too much to do—especially for someone I’ll only see for a few days and then never again,” I reassure with a gentle pat to her hand, speaking softly.

“I understand,” Teri whispers, squeezing my hand, her forehead close to mine. “You don’t have to say anything more. I understand why you wouldn’t want to get involved. I do, honest.”

Honest. Why did she have to use that word? I try to pull back. “I have to go outside. Get the bags. But you should know— it’s not that I don’t want to. Idowant to. When I saw you today? When you first ran to my arms like you were so happy to see me, like I was really the person you were about to start your new life with? Whatever I have instead of a soul, some instincts, some essence and semblance of life screamed at me. It screamed that you were warmth and life and would wake up the dormant pieces I carry, the pieces I’ve let slowly fade away. It was instant, and I didn’t—don’t understand it. To be truthful, I’m not sure I like it.”

“Oh.” Therese backs away.

I snatch her back, pressing my mouth back to hers and kissing her more thoroughly than I did before. When I jerk my head back, I keep hold of her waist. “I don’t like what I don’t understand. Orders are simple. Emotions are not. But you? You, I like. Very much.”

REGGIE BRINGS IN OURbags and puts his finger to his lips. He does something with his cell phone, walking from room to room. Next, he does something with his hands, murmuring in ancient Hebrew, words I can only understand bits of. I see blue and gold mist flood from his palms.

I know about magic. Never seen it like this. Knowing my husband had dark connections to it makes my knees weak in the bad way.

Ex-husband, I remind myself and try not to think about how he got his powers. I follow Reggie like a lost puppy, feeling more vulnerable than before.

He likes me in a way that’s alien to him, a way that has literally never existed for him before.

I like him in a way that I don’t understand—that I shouldn’t want to understand. If I give him some “spark” that makes him have a soul, I don’t worry that he’ll become all-powerful and dangerous. I worry that my leaving him will somehow unmake him—and break my own heart in the process. In two weeks, I won’t even be able to text him a smiley face and tell him I miss him. All we have is this week and maybe the next.

So...ShouldI act on the sudden onslaught of feelings and seize the moment with someone I trust just because it could be the last time I can do that?

Or do I keep a lid on the emotions I’m developing because it will hurt me more in the long run, and it won’t be fair to him to have a taste of happiness and then rip it away?

“You can talk,” Reggie announces. The place is clean. And look. Jakob Minegold... he remembers every little thing.” He pulls something from the bag he unzipped.

I smile at the familiar object, a small oblong piece of gold, a little case. Inside, there is a scroll with verses from the Torah. “Amezuzah,” I whisper reverently.

Reggie places it on the wall by the front door. His thumb smears a dab of gray, clay-like substance and then affixes the golden case to it. “Golems. Better than sticky tack.”

“You’re so handy,” I laugh, tension leaving me in small, warm waves. “The house is okay?”

“No listening or recording devices, no dark magical hexes or curses that I could pick up. And while it needs a lot of work to theexterior, it does seem to be a pretty nice place.” He looks around the room we’ve ended in, the room at the back of the house.

This place should be a three-bedroom home, but I noticed that only one bedroom in the rancher’s small hallway is furnished. There is a living room with two recliners and two loveseats around an entertainment center next to a dining room with a table for six. The kitchen and bathrooms look functional. Basic. Still, if this were my starter home as a newlywed, I wouldn’t have complained.

If I had a man like Reginald Gray, a handy, hardworking man, a good man, a simple, honest man—and he’d come home to me every night, and we made this place ours...