In a surge of anger, I kicked the dresser with the ball of my foot. The shock went all the way up my leg, and the furniture thumped into the wall. It was stupid, but it felt good.

"Uh, Rachel?" Ford said, and I kicked it again, grunting.

"I'm fine!" I shouted, sniffing back the tears. "I'm freaking fine!" But my lip was throbbing where someone had bitten me; my body was trying to get my mind to remember, but I simply wouldn't let it. Had it been Kisten who had bitten me? His attacker? I hadn't been bound, thank God. Ivy said so, and she would know.

"Yeah, you look fine," Ford said dryly, and I pulled my coat closed and tugged my shoulder bag up. He was smiling at my lost temper, and it made me even madder.

"Stop laughing at me," I said, and he smiled wider, taking off his amulet and tucking it away as if we were finished. "And I'm not done with those," I added as he gathered the pictures.

"Yes, you are," he said, and I frowned at his unusual confidence. "You're angry. That's better than confused or grieving. I hate using clichés, but we can move forward now."

"Psychobabble bull," I scoffed, grabbing the evidence bags before he could take them, too, but he was right. I did feel better. I had remembered something. Maybe human science was as strong as witch magic. Maybe.

Ford took the bags from me. "Talk to me," he said, standing in front of me like a rock.

My good mood vanished, replaced by the urge to flee. Grabbing the shirt box from the dresser, I pushed past him. I had to get out. I had to put some distance between me and the scratch marks on the walls. I couldn't wear the teddy Kisten had given me, but I couldn't leave it here either. Ford could gripe all he wanted about removing evidence from the crime scene. Evidence of what? That Kisten had loved me?