Every Which Way But Dead
Kim Harrison
From New York Times best-selling author, Kim Harrison, comes the third book in her brilliant series, The Hollows; packed with vampires, werewolves and witches - don’t miss out on this sexy urban fantasy.If you make a deal with the devil, can you still save your soul?To avoid becoming the love-slave of a depraved criminal vampire, bounty-hunter and witch, Rachel Morgan, is cornered into a deal that could promise her an eternity of suffering.But eternal damnation is not Rachel's only worry. Her vampire roommate, Ivy, has rediscovered her taste for blood and is struggling to keep their relationship platonic, her boyfriend, Nick, has disappeared – perhaps indefinitely, and she's being stalked by an irate pack of werewolves.And then there's also the small matter of the turf war raging in Cincinnati's underworld; one that Rachel began and will have to finish before she has the smallest hope of preserving her own future.
EVERY WHICH
WAY BUT DEAD
KIM HARRISON
Copyright (#u501e15e7-86a2-5b87-8582-3daeb4ea34d7)
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
HarperVoyager An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First Published in Great Britain by Voyager 2006
Copyright © Kim Harrison 2005
Kim Harrison asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication
Source ISBN: 9780007236121
Ebook Edition © MARCH 2011 ISBN: 9780007301850
Version: 2016-12-16
Dedication (#u501e15e7-86a2-5b87-8582-3daeb4ea34d7)
To the guy who gave me my first pair of handcuffs. Thanks for being there.
Contents
Cover (#uab380a4b-39b9-5a7f-85c0-e872a4244eda)
Title Page (#u84902447-083c-51cd-8981-708f782ab01c)
Copyright
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements
Also by the Author
About the Author
About the Publisher
One (#u501e15e7-86a2-5b87-8582-3daeb4ea34d7)
I took a deep breath to settle myself, jerking the cuff of my gloves up to cover the bare patch of skin at my wrist. My fingers were numb through the fleece as I moved my next-to-largest spell pot to sit beside a small chipped tombstone, being careful to not let the transfer media spill. It was cold, and my breath steamed in the light of the cheap white candle I had bought on sale last week.
Spilling a bit of wax, I stuck the taper to the top of the grave marker. My stomach knotted as I fixed my attention on the growing haze at the horizon, scarcely discernable from the surrounding city lights. The moon would be up soon, being just past full and waning. Not a good time to be summoning demons, but it would be coming anyway if I didn’t call it. I’d rather meet Algaliarept on my own terms—before midnight.
I grimaced, glancing at the brightly lit church behind me where Ivy and I lived. Ivy was running errands, not even aware I had made a deal with a demon, much less that it was time to pay for its services. I suppose I could be doing this inside where it was warm, in my beautiful kitchen with my spelling supplies and all the modern comforts, but calling demons in the middle of a graveyard had a perverse right-ness to it, even with the snow and cold.
And I wanted to meet it here so Ivy wouldn’t have to spend tomorrow cleaning blood off the ceiling.
Whether it would be demon blood or my own was a question I hoped I wouldn’t have to answer. I wouldn’t allow myself to be pulled into the ever-after to be Algaliarept’s familiar. I couldn’t. I had cut it once and made it bleed. If it could bleed, it could die. God, help me survive this. Help me find a way to make something good here.
The fabric of my coat rasped as I clutched my arms about myself and used my boot to awkwardly scrape a circle of six inches of crusty snow off the clay-red cement slab where I had seen a large circle etched out. The room-sized rectangular block of stone was a substantial marker as to where God’s grace stopped and chaos took over. The previous clergy had laid it down over the adulterated spot of once hallowed ground, either to be sure no one else was put to rest there accidentally or to fix the elaborate, half-kneeling, battle-weary angel it encompassed into the ground. The name on the massive tombstone had been chiseled off, leaving only the dates. Whomever it was had died in 1852 at the age of twenty-four. I hoped it wasn’t an omen.
Cementing someone into the ground to keep him or her from rising again sometimes worked—and sometimes it didn’t—but in any case, the area wasn’t sanctified anymore. And since it was surrounded by ground that was still consecrated, it made a good spot to summon a demon. If worse came to worst, I could always duck onto sanctified ground and be safe until the sun rose and Algaliarept was pulled back into the ever-after.
My fingers were shaking as I took from my coat pocket a white silk pouch of salt that I had scraped out of my twenty-five-pound bag. The amount was excessive, but I wanted a solid circle, and some of the salt would be diluted as it melted the snow. I glanced at the sky to estimate where north was, finding a mark on the etched circle right where I thought it should be. That someone had used this circle to summon demons before didn’t instill me with any confidence. It wasn’t illegal or immoral to summon demons, just really, really stupid.
I made a slow clockwise path from north, my footprints paralleling the outside track of the salt as I laid it down, enclosing the angel monolith along with most of the blasphemed ground. The circle would be a good fifteen feet across, a rather large enclosure which generally took at least three witches to make and hold, but I was good enough to channel that much ley line force alone. Which, now that I thought about it, might be why the demon was so interested in snagging me as its newest familiar.
Tonight I’d find out if my carefully worded verbal contract made three months ago would keep me alive and on the right side of the ley lines. I had agreed to be Algaliarept’s familiar voluntarily if it testified against Piscary, the catch being that I got to keep my soul.
The trial had officially ended two hours after sunset tonight, sealing the demon’s end of the bargain and making my end enforceable. That the undead vampire who controlled most of Cincinnati’s underworld had been sentenced to five centuries for the murders of the city’s best ley line witches hardly seemed important now. Especially when I was betting his lawyers would get him out in a measly one.
Right now the question on everyone’s mind on both sides of the law was whether Kisten, his former scion, would be able to hold everything together until the undead vampire got out, because Ivy wasn’t going to do it, scion or no. If I managed to get through this night alive and with my soul intact, I’d start worrying about me a little less and my roommate a little more, but first I had to settle up with the demon.
Shoulders so tight they hurt, I took the milky green tapers from my coat pocket and placed them on the circle to represent the points of a pentagram I wouldn’t be drawing. I lit them from the white candle I used to make the transfer media. The tiny flames flickered, and I watched for a moment to be sure they weren’t going to go out before I stuck the white candle back on the broken grave marker outside the circle.
The hushed sound of a car pulled my attention to the high walls dividing the graveyard from our neighbors. Steadying myself to tap the nearby ley line, I tugged my knit cap down, stomped the snow from the hem of my jeans, and made one last check that I had everything. But there was nothing left to procrastinate with.
Another slow breath, and I touched my will to the tiny ley line running through the church’s graveyard. My breath hissed in through my nose and I stiffened, almost falling as my equilibrium shifted. The ley line seemed to have picked up the winter chill, slicing through me with an unusual coldness. Putting out a gloved hand, I steadied myself against the candlelit tombstone while the incoming energy continued to build.
Once the strengths equilibrated, the extra incoming force would flow back to the line. Until then I had to grit my teeth and bear it as tingling sensations backwashed at the theoretical extremities in my mind that mirrored my real fingers and toes. Each time it was worse. Each time it was faster. Each time it was more of an assault.
Though it seemed like forever, the force balanced in a heartbeat. My hands started to sweat and an uncomfortable sensation of being both hot and cold took me, like being in a fever. I took off my gloves and jammed them into a deep pocket. The charms on my bracelet jingled, clear in the winter-silenced air. They wouldn’t help me. Not even the cross.
I wanted to set my circle quickly. Somehow Algaliarept knew when I tapped a line, and I had to summon it before it showed up on its own and robbed me of the thread of power I might claim as its summoner. The copper spell pot with the transfer media was cold when I picked it up and did something no witch ever did and lived to tell of it; I stepped forward, putting myself into the same circle I was going to call Algaliarept into.
Standing across from the person-sized monument cemented to the ground, I exhaled. The monolith was covered in a black smut from bacteria and city pollution, making it look like a fallen angel. That the figure was bowed weeping over a sword held horizontally in his hands as an offering only added to the creepy feeling. There was a bird’s nest wedged into the fold of the wings as they curved around the body, and the face didn’t look right. The arms, too, were too long to be human or Inderlander. Even Jenks didn’t let his kids play around this one.
“Please let me be right,” I whispered to the statue as I mentally moved the white rill of salt from this reality to that of the ever-after. I staggered as most of the energy pooling in my center was yanked out to force the shift. The media in the pot sloshed, and still not having found my balance, I set it down in the snow before it spilled. My eyes went to the green candles. They had turned eerily transparent, having been moved to the ever-after with the salt. The flames, though, existed in both worlds, adding their glow to the night.
The power from the line began to build again, the slow increase as uncomfortable as the first quick influx of tapping a line, but the ribbon of salt had been replaced with an equal amount of ever-after reality arching high to close over my head. Nothing more substantial than air could pass the shifting bands of reality, and because I set the circle, only I could break it—providing I had made it properly to begin with.
“Algaliarept, I summon you,” I whispered, my heart pounding. Most people used all sorts of trappings to summon and contain a demon, but seeing as I already had an arrangement with it, simply saying its name and willing its presence would pull it across the lines. Lucky me.
My gut clenched when a small patch of snow melted between the warrior angel and me. The snow steamed, the cloud of reddish vapor billowing up to follow the confines of a body not yet taken shape. I waited, my tension growing. Algaliarept varied its shape, sifting through my mind without me even knowing to choose what scared me the most. Once it had been Ivy. Then Kisten—until I had pinned him in an elevator in a foolish moment of vampire-induced passion. It’s hard to be scared of someone after you’ve Frenchkissed him. Nick, my boyfriend, always got a slavering dog the size of a pony.
This time, though, the mist was definitely a human shape, and I guessed it was going to show up either as Piscary—the vampire I had just put in prison—or perhaps its more typical vision of a young British gentleman in a green velveteen coat with tails.
“Neither scares you anymore,” came a voice from the mist, jerking my head up.
It was my voice. “Aw, crap,” I swore, picking up my spell pot and backing away until I almost broke my circle. It was going to show up as me. I hated that. “I’m not afraid of myself!” I shouted, even before it finished coalescing.
“Oh, yes you are.”
It had the right sound, but the cadence and accent were wrong. I stared, riveted, as Algaliarept took on my outline, running its hands suggestively down itself, flattening its chest to my lame excuse of womanhood and giving me hips that were probably a little more curvaceous than I deserved. It dressed itself in black leather pants, a red halter top, and high-heeled black sandals that looked ridiculous out in the middle of a snowy graveyard.
Eyelids lightly closed and lips open, it shook its head to make my frizzy shoulder-length red curls take shape out of the lingering haze of ever-after. It gave me more freckles than I could possibly have, and my eyes weren’t the red orbs it showed when it opened them, but green. Mine weren’t slit-ted like a goat’s either.
“You got the eyes wrong,” I said, and I set my spell pot down at the edge of the circle. I gritted my teeth, hating that it heard my voice quaver.
Hip cocked, the demon put out a sandaled foot and snapped its fingers. A pair of black shades materialized in its grip, and it put them on, hiding its unnatural eyes. “Now they’re right,” it said, and I shuddered at how close it matched my voice.
“You don’t look anything like me,” I said, not realizing I had lost so much weight, and deciding I could go back to eating shakes and fries.
Algaliarept smiled. “Perhaps if I put my hair up?” it mocked coyly as it gathered the unruly mass and held it atop my, er, its head. Biting its lips to redden them, it moaned and shifted as if its hands were tied above it, looking like it was into bondage games. Falling back onto the sword the angel held, it posed like a whore.
I hunched deeper into my coat with the fake fur around the collar. From the distant street came the slow sound of a passing car. “Can we get on with this? My feet are getting cold.”
It pulled its head up and smiled. “You are such the party pooper, Rachel Mariana Morgan,” it said in my voice, but now with its customary highbrow British accent. “But a very good sport. Not making me drag you into the ever-after shows a fine strength of mind. I’m going to enjoy breaking you.”
I jerked when a smear of ever-after energy cascaded over it. It was shifting forms again, but my shoulders eased when it turned itself into its usual vision of lace and green velvet. Dark hair styled long and round smoked glasses twisted into existence. Pale skin and a strong-featured face appeared, matching its trim, narrow-waisted figure in elegance. High-heeled boots and an exquisitely tailored coat finished the outfit, turning the demon into a charismatic young businessman of the eighteenth century, possessing wealth and poised for greatness.
My thoughts touched on the horrific crime scene I had contaminated last fall while trying to pin the murders of Cincinnati’s best ley line witches on Trent Kalamack. Al had slaughtered them in Piscary’s name. Each of them had died in pain for its enjoyment. Al was a sadist, no matter how good the demon looked.
“Yes, let’s get on with it,” it said as it took a tin of a black dust that smelled like Brimstone and inhaled a pinch deeply. It rubbed its nose and moved to poke at my circle with a boot, making me wince. “Nice and tight. But it’s cold. Ceri likes it warm.”
Ceri? I wondered as all the snow within the circle melted in a flash of condensation. The scent of wet pavement rose strong, then vanished as the cement dried to a pale red.
“Ceri,” Algaliarept said, its voice shocking me in its soft tone, both coaxing and demanding. “Come.”
I stared when a woman stepped from behind Algaliarept, seemingly from nowhere. She was thin, her heart-shaped face sallow and her cheekbones showing too strongly. Standing substantially shorter than I, she had a diminutive, almost childlike mien. Her head was down, and her pale translucent hair hung straight to her mid-back. She was dressed in a beautiful gown that dropped to her bare feet. It was exquisite—lush silk dyed in rich purples, greens, and golds—and it fitted her curvaceous form like it had been painted on. Though she was small, she was well-proportioned, if perhaps a shade fragile looking.
“Ceri,” Algaliarept said, putting a white-gloved hand to tilt her head up. Her eyes were green, wide, and empty. “What did I tell you about going barefoot?”
A glimmer of annoyance crossed her face, far away and distant behind the numb state she was in. My attention dropped as a matching pair of embroidered slippers materialized about her feet.
“That’s better.” Algaliarept turned from her, and I was struck by the picture of the perfect couple they made in their finery. She was beautiful in her clothes, but her mind was as empty as she was lovely, insane from the raw magic the demon forced her to hold for it, filtering the ley line power through her mind to keep itself safe. Dread twisted in my gut.
“Don’t kill her,” I whispered, my mouth dry. “You’re done with her. Let her live.”
Algaliarept pulled its smoked glasses down to look over them, its red orbs fixing on me. “You like her?” it said. “She is pretty, isn’t she? Over a thousand years old, and aged not a moment since the day I took her soul. If I were honest, she’s the reason I was invited to most of the parties. She puts out without a fuss. Though, of course, for the first hundred years it was all tears and wailing. Fun in itself, but it does get old. You’ll fight me, won’t you?”
My jaw clenched. “Give her back her soul, now that you’re done with her.”
Algaliarept laughed. “Oh, you are a love!” it said, clapping its white-gloved hands once. “But I’m giving that back to her anyway. I’ve sullied it beyond redemption, leaving mine reasonably pure. And I will kill her before she has the chance to beg forgiveness from her god.” Its thick lips split in a nasty grin. “It’s all a lie, anyway, you know.”
I went cold as the woman slumped into a small spot of purple, green, and gold at its feet, broken. I would die before letting it drag me into the ever-after to become … become this. “Bastard,” I whispered.
Algaliarept gestured as if to say, “So what?” It turned to Ceri, finding her small hand in the mass of fabric and helping her rise. She was barefoot again. “Ceri,” the demon coaxed, then glanced at me. “I should have replaced her forty years ago, but the Turn made everything difficult. She doesn’t even hear anymore unless you say her name first.” It turned back to the woman. “Ceri, be a love and fetch the transfer media you made this sundown.”
My stomach hurt. “I made some,” I said, and Ceri blinked, the first sign of comprehension crossing her. Big eyes solemn and blank, she looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. Her attention went to the spell pot at my feet and the milky green candles about us. Panic stirred in the back of her eyes as she stood before the angel monument. I think she had just realized what was going on.
“Marvelous,” Algaliarept said. “You’re trying to be useful already, but I want Ceri’s.” It looked at Ceri, her mouth open to show tiny white teeth. “Yes, love. Time for your retirement. Bring me my cauldron and the transfer media.”
Tense and shirking, Ceri made a gesture and a child-sized cauldron made of copper thicker than my wrist appeared between us, already filled with amber liquid, the flecks of wild geranium suspended as if it were a gel.
The scent of ozone rose high as it grew warmer, and I unzipped my coat. Algaliarept was humming, clearly in a grand mood. It beckoned me closer, and I took a step, fingering the silver knife tucked in my sleeve. My pulse quickened, and I wondered if my contract would be enough to save me. A knife wasn’t going to be much help.
The demon grinned to show me flat, even teeth as it gestured to Ceri. “My mirror,” it prompted, and the delicate woman bent to retrieve a scrying mirror that hadn’t been there a moment ago. She held it before Algaliarept like a table.
I swallowed, remembering the foul sensation of pushing my aura off of me and into my scrying mirror last fall. The demon took off its gloves, one by one, and placed its ruddy, thick-knuckled hands atop the glass, long fingers spread wide. It shuddered and closed its eyes while its aura precipitated out into the mirror, falling from its hands like ink to swirl and pool in its reflection. “Into the medium, Ceri, love. Hurry now.”
She was almost panting as she carried the mirror holding Algaliarept’s aura to the cauldron. It wasn’t the weight of the glass; it was the weight of what was happening. I imagine she was reliving the night she had stood where I was now, watching her predecessor as I watched her. She must have known what was going to happen, but was so deadened inside that she could only do what was expected. And by her obvious, helpless panic, I knew that something was left in her worth saving.
“Free her,” I said, hunched in my ugly coat as my attention flicked from Ceri to the cauldron, and then to Algaliarept. “Free her first.”
“Why?” It looked idly at its nails before putting the gloves back on.
“I’ll kill you before I let you drag me into the ever-after, and I want her free first.”
Algaliarept laughed at that, long and deep. Putting a hand against the angel, the demon bent almost double. A muted thump reverberated up through my feet, and the stone base cracked with the sound of a gunshot. Ceri stared, her pale lips slack and her eyes moving rapidly over me. Things seemed to be starting to work in her, memories and thoughts long suppressed.
“You will struggle,” Algaliarept said, delighted. “Stupendous. I so hoped you would.” Its eyes met mine, and it smirked, touching the rim of its glasses. “Adsimulo calefacio.”
The knife in my sleeve burst into flame. Yelping, I shrugged out of my coat. It hit the edge of my bubble and slid down. The demon eyed me. “Rachel Mariana Morgan. Stop trying my patience. Get over here and recite the damned invocation.”
I had no choice. If I didn’t, it would call my deal breached, take my soul in forfeit, and drag me into the ever-after. My only chance was to play the agreement out. I glanced at Ceri, wishing she would move away from Algaliarept, but she was running her fingers over the dates engraved in the cracked tombstone, her sun-starved complexion now even paler.
“Do you remember the curse?” Algaliarept asked when I came even with the knee-high cauldron.
I snuck a glance in, not surprised to find the demon’s aura was black. I nodded, feeling faint as my thoughts went back to having accidentally made Nick my familiar. Was it only three months ago? “I can say it in English,” I whispered. Nick. Oh God. I hadn’t said good-bye. He had been so distant lately that I hadn’t found the courage to tell him. I hadn’t told anyone.
“Good enough.” Its glasses vanished and its damned, goat-slitted eyes fixed on me. My heart raced, but I had made this choice. I would live or die by it.
Deep and resonate, seeming to vibrate my very core, Al-galiarept’s voice slipped from between its lips. It was Latin, the words familiar, yet not, like a vision of a dream. “Pars tibi, totum mihi. Vinctus vinculis, prece factis.”
“Some to you,” I echoed in English, interpreting the words from memory, “but all to me. Bound by ties made so by plea.”
The demon’s smile widened, chilling me with its confidence. “Luna servata, lux sanata. Chaos statutum, pejus minutum.”
I swallowed hard. “Moon made safe, ancient light made sane,” I whispered. “Chaos decreed, taken tripped if bane.”
Algaliarept’s knuckles gripping the vat went white in anticipation. “Mentem tegens, malum ferens. Semper servus dum duret mundus,” it said, and Ceri sobbed, a small kitten sound, quickly stifled. “Go on,” Algaliarept prompted, excitement making its outline blur. “Say it and put your hands in.”
I hesitated, my eyes fixing on Ceri’s crumpled form before the gravestone, her gown a small puddle of color. “Absolve me of one of my debts I owe you, first.”
“You are a pushy bitch, Rachel Mariana Morgan.”
“Do it!” I demanded. “You said you would. Take off one of your marks as agreed.”
It leaned over the pot until I could see my reflection, wide-eyed and frightened, in its glasses. “It makes no difference. Finish the curse and be done with it.”
“Are you saying you aren’t going to hold to our bargain?” I goaded, and it laughed.
“No. Not at all, and if you were hoping to break our arrangement on that, then you’re sadly the fool. I’ll take off one of my marks, but you still owe me a favor.” It licked its lips. “And as my familiar, you belong—to me.”
A nauseating mix of dread and relief shook my knees, and I held my breath so I wouldn’t get sick. But I had to fulfill my end of the bargain completely before I would see if my beliefs were right and I could slip the demon’s snare by a small point called choice.
“Lee of mind,” I said, trembling, “bearer of pain. Slave until the worlds are slain.”
Algaliarept made a satisfied sound. Jaw gritted, I plunged my hands into the cauldron. Cold struck through me, burning them numb. I yanked my hands out. Horrified, I stared at them, seeing no change in my red-enameled fingertips.
And then Algaliarept’s aura seeped farther into me, touching my chi.
My eyes seemed to bulge in agony. I took a huge breath to scream but couldn’t let it out. I caught a glimpse of Ceri, her eyes pinched in memory. Across the cauldron, Algaliarept was grinning. Gagging, I struggled to breathe as the air seemed to turn to oil. I fell to my hands and knees, bruising them on the concrete. Hair falling to hide my face, I tried to keep from retching. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think!
The demon’s aura was a wet blanket, dripping with acid, smothering me. It coated me, inside and out, and my strength was surrounded by its power. It squeezed my will to nothing. I heard my heart beat once, then again. I took a shuddering breath, swallowing back the sharp tang of vomit. I was going to live. Its aura alone couldn’t kill me. I could do this. I could.
Shaking, I looked up while the shock lessened to something I could deal with. The cauldron was gone, and Ceri was huddled almost behind the huge grave marker beside Algaliarept. I took a breath, unable to taste the air through the demon’s aura. I moved, unable to feel the rough concrete scraping my fingertips. Everything was numb. Everything was muted, as if through cotton.
Everything except the power of the nearby ley line. I could feel it humming thirty yards away as if it were a high-tension power line. Panting, I staggered to my feet, shocked to realize I could see it. I could see everything as if I was using my second sight—which I wasn’t. My stomach roiled as I saw that my circle, once tinged with a shading of cheerful gold from my aura, was now coated in black.
I turned to the demon, seeing the thick black aura surrounding it and knowing a good portion of it coated mine. Then I looked at Ceri, hardly able to see her features, so strong was Algaliarept’s aura on her. She didn’t have an aura to combat the demon’s, having lost her soul to it. And that was what I had pinned everything on.
If I retained my soul, I still had my aura, smothered as it was under Algaliarept’s. And with my soul came free will. Unlike Ceri, I could say no. Slowly I was remembering how.
“Free her,” I rasped. “I took your damned aura. Free her now.”
“Oh, why not?” the demon chortled, rubbing its gloved hands together. “Killing her will be a banger of a way to get your apprenticeship started. Ceri?”
The slight woman scrambled up, her head high and her heart-shaped face showing panic.
“Ceridwen Merriam Dulciate,” Algaliarept said. “I’m giving you your soul back before I kill you. You can thank Rachel for that.”
I started. Rachel? I had always been Rachel Mariana Morgan before. Apparently as a familiar, I wasn’t worth my full name anymore. That ticked me off.
She made a small sound, staggering. I watched with my new vision as Algaliarept’s bond fell from her. The barest, faintest glimmer of purest blue rimmed her—her returned soul already trying to bathe her in protection—then vanished under the thousand years of darkness the demon had fostered on her soul while it had been in his keeping. Her mouth worked, but she couldn’t speak. Her eyes glazed as she panted, hyperventilating, and I leapt forward to catch her as she fell. Struggling, I dragged her back to my end of the circle.
Algaliarept reached after her. Adrenaline surged. I dropped Ceri. Straightening, I drew on the line. “Rhombus!” I shouted, the word of invocation I had been practicing for three months to set a circle without drawing it first.
With a force that sent me lurching, my new circle exploded into existence, sealing Ceri and me in a second, smaller circle inside the first. My circle had lacked a physical object to focus on, so the excess energy went everywhere instead of back in the ley line where it was supposed to. The demon swore, blown backward until it slammed against the inside of my original circle, still up and running. With a ping that reverberated through me, my first circle broke and Algaliarept hit the ground.
Breathing heavily, I hunched with my hands on my knees. Algaliarept blinked at me from the concrete, then a wicked smile came over it. “We’re sharing an aura, love,” it said. “Your circle can’t stop me anymore.” Its grin widened. “Surprise,” it sang lightly, standing up and taking the time to meticulously brush its coat of crushed velvet.
Oh, God. If my first circle didn’t hold it now, neither would my second. I had thought that might happen. “Ceri?” I whispered. “Get up. We have to move.”
Algaliarept’s eyes tracked behind me to the hallowed ground that surrounded us. My muscles tensed.
The demon leapt. Shrieking, I jerked Ceri and myself backward. The surge of ever-after flowing into me from breaking the circle was almost unnoticed. My breath was knocked from me as we hit the ground, Ceri on top of me. Still not breathing, I sent my heels scrabbling against the snow and pushed us farther away. The gold-colored trim on Ceri’s ball gown was rough under my fingers, and I yanked her to me until I was sure we were both on holy ground.
“Damn you all to hell!” Algaliarept shouted from the edge of the cement, furious.
I got up, shaking. My breath caught, and I stared at the frustrated demon.
“Ceri!” the demon demanded, and the scent of burnt amber rose when it set its foot across the unseen barrier and jerked it back. “Push her at me! Or I’ll blacken your soul so badly that your precious god won’t let you in no matter how you beg it!”
Ceri moaned, clutching my leg as she huddled, hiding her face, trying to overcome a thousand years of conditioning. My face grew tight from anger. This would have been me. This still could be me. “I won’t let it hurt you anymore,” I said, one hand dropping to touch her shoulder. “If I can stop it from hurting you, I will.”
Her grip on me shook, and I thought she seemed like a beaten child.
“You’re my familiar!” the demon shouted, spittle flying from it. “Rachel, come here!”
I shook my head, colder than the snow warranted. “No,” I said simply. “I’m not going into the ever-after. You can’t make me.”
Algaliarept choked in disbelief. “You will!” it thundered, and Ceri clutched my leg tighter. “I own you! You’re my bloody familiar. I gave you my aura. Your will is mine!”
“No, it isn’t,” I said, shaking inside. It was working. God save me, it was working. My eyes warmed, and I realized I was almost crying from relief. It couldn’t take me. I might be its familiar, but it didn’t have my soul. I could say no.
“You’re my familiar!” it raged, and Ceri and I both cried out as it tried to cross into holy ground and yanked itself back again.
“I’m your familiar!” I yelled back, frightened. “And I say no! I said I’d be your familiar and I am, but I’m not going into the ever-after with you, and you can’t make me!”
Algaliarept’s goat-slitted eyes narrowed. It stepped back, and I stiffened as its anger chilled. “You agreed to be my familiar,” it said softly, smoke curling up from its shiny, buckled boots as they edged the circle of blasphemed ground. “Come here now, or I’ll call our agreement breached and your soul will be mine by default.”
Double jeopardy. I knew it would come to this. “I’ve got your stinking aura all over me,” I said as Ceri quivered. “I’m your familiar. If you think there’s been a breach in contract, then you get someone out here to judge what happened before the sun comes up. And take one of these damned demon marks off me!” I demanded, holding my wrist out.
My arm shook, and Algaliarept made an ugly noise, deep in its throat. The long exhalation set my insides to quiver, and Ceri ventured to peek at the demon. “I can’t use you as a familiar if you’re on the wrong side of the lines,” it said, clearly thinking aloud. “The binding isn’t strong enough—”
“That’s not my problem,” I interrupted, legs shaking.
“No,” Algaliarept agreed. It laced its white-gloved hands behind its back, its gaze dropping to Ceri. The deep fury in its eyes scared the crap out of me. “But I’m making it your problem. You stole my familiar and left me with nothing. You tricked me into letting you slip payment for a service. If I can’t drag you in, I’ll find a way to use you through the lines. And I will never let you die. Ask her. Ask her of her never-ending hell. It’s waiting for you, Rachel. And I’m not a patient demon. You can’t hide on holy ground forever.”
“Go away,” I said, my voice trembling. “I called you here. Now I’m telling you to leave. Take one of these marks off me and leave. Now.” I had summoned it, and therefore it was susceptible to the rules of summoning—even if I was its familiar.
It exhaled slowly, and I thought the ground moved. Its eyes went black. Black. Black, black, then blacker still. Oh, shit.
“I’ll find the way to make a strong enough bond with you through the lines,” it intoned. “And I’ll pull you through, soul intact. You walk this side of the lines on borrowed time.”
“I’ve been a dead witch walking before,” I said. “And my name is Rachel Mariana Morgan. Use it. And take one of these marks off of me or you forfeit everything.”
I’m going to get away with it. I outsmarted a demon. The knowledge was heady, but I was too frightened for it to mean much.
Algaliarept gave me a chilling look. Its gaze dropped to Ceri, then it vanished.
I cried out as my wrist flamed, but I welcomed the pain, hunched as I held my demon-marked wrist with my other hand. It hurt—it hurt as if the dogs of hell were chewing on it—but when my blurred vision cleared, there was one scared line crossing the welted circle, not two.
Panting through the last of the pain, I slumped, my entire body collapsing in on itself. I pulled my head up and took a clean breath, trying to unknot my stomach. It couldn’t use me if we were on opposite sides of the ley lines. I was still myself, though I was coated with Algaliarept’s aura. Slowly my second sight faded and the red smear of the ley line vanished. Algaliarept’s aura was getting easier to bear, slipping almost into an unnoticed sensation now that the demon was gone.
Ceri let go of me. Reminded of her, I bent to offer her a hand up. She looked at it in wonder, watching herself as she put a thin pale hand in mine. Still at my feet, she kissed the top of it in a formal gesture of thanks.
“No, don’t,” I said, turning my hand to grip hers and pull her upright and out of the snow.
Ceri’s eyes filled and spilled over as she silently wept for her freedom, the well-dressed, abused woman beautiful in her tearful, silent joy. I put my arm around her, giving her what comfort I could. Ceri hunched over and shook all the harder.
Leaving everything where it was and the candles to go out on their own, I stumbled to the church. My gaze was fixed to the snow, and as Ceri and I made two trails of footprints over the one leading out here, I wondered what on earth I was going to do with her.
Two (#u501e15e7-86a2-5b87-8582-3daeb4ea34d7)
We were halfway to the church before I realized Ceri was walking barefoot in the snow. “Ceri,” I said, appalled. “Where are your shoes?”
The crying woman made a rough hiccup. Wiping her eyes, she glanced down. A red blur of ever-after swirled about her toes, and a pair of burnt embroidered slippers appeared on her tiny feet. Surprise cascaded over her delicate features, clear in the porch light.
“They’re burned,” I said as she shook them off. Bits of char stuck to her, looking like black sores. “Maybe Big Al is having a tantrum and burning your things.”
Ceri silently nodded, a hint of a smile quirking her blueing lips at the insulting nickname I used so I wouldn’t say the demon’s name before those who didn’t already know it.
I pushed us back into motion. “Well, I’ve got a pair of slippers you can wear. And how about some coffee? I’m frozen through.” Coffee? We just escaped a demon, and I’m offering her coffee?
She said nothing, her eyes going to the wooden porch that led to the living quarters at the back of the church. Her eyes traveled to the sanctuary behind it and the steeple with its belfry. “Priest?” she whispered, her voice matching the iced-over garden, crystalline and pure. “No,” I said as I tried not to slip on the steps. “I just live here. It’s not a real church anymore.” Ceri blinked, and I added, “It’s kinda hard to explain. Come on in.”
I opened the back door, going in first since Ceri dropped her head and wouldn’t. The warmth of the living room was like a blessed wave on my cold cheeks. Ceri stopped dead in the threshold when a handful of pixy girls flew shrieking from the mantel above the empty fireplace, fleeing the cold. Two adolescent pixy boys gave Ceri a telling glance before following at a more sedate pace.
“Pixies?” I prompted, remembering she was over a thousand years old. If she wasn’t an Inderlander, she wouldn’t have ever seen them before, believing they were, ah, fairy tales. “You know about pixies?” I asked, stomping the snow from my boots.
She nodded, closing the door behind her, and I felt better. The adjustment to modern life would be easier if she didn’t have to come to grips with witches, Weres, pixies, vampires, and the like being real on top of TVs and cell phones, but as her eyes ranged over Ivy’s expensive electronic equipment with only a mild interest, I was willing to bet that things on the other side of the ley lines were as technologically advanced as they were here.
“Jenks!” I shouted to the front of the church where he and his family were living out the duration of the cold months. “Can I see you for a minute?”
There was the tight hum of dragonfly wings faint over the warm air. “Hey, Rache,” the small pixy said as he buzzed in. “What’s this my kids are saying about an angel?” He jerked to a hovering halt, his eyes wide and his short blond hair swinging as he looked behind me.
Angel, huh? I thought as I turned to Ceri to introduce her. “Oh God, no,” I said, pulling her back upright. She had been picking up the snow I had knocked off my boots, holding it in her hand. The sight of her diminutive form dressed in that exquisite gown cleaning my mess was too much. “Please, Ceri,” I said, taking the snow from her and dropping it on the carpet. “Don’t.”
A wash of self-annoyance crossed the small woman’s smooth brow. Sighing, she made an apologetic face. I don’t think she had even realized what she was doing until I stopped her.
I turned back to Jenks, seeing his wings had taken on a faint red tint as his circulation increased. “What the hell?” he muttered, gaze dropping to her feet. Pixy dust sifted from him in his surprise to make a glittering spot of sun on the gray carpet. He was dressed in his casual gardening clothes of tight-fitting green silk and looked like a miniature Peter Pan minus the hat.
“Jenks,” I said as I put a hand on Ceri’s shoulder and pulled her forward. “This is Ceri. She’s going to be staying with us for a while. Ceri, this is Jenks, my partner.”
Jenks zipped forward, then back in agitation. An amazed look came over Ceri, and she glanced from me to him. “Partner?” she said, her attention going to my left hand.
Understanding crashed over me and I warmed. “My business partner,” I reiterated, realizing she thought we were married. How on earth could you marry a pixy? Why on earth would you want to? “We work together as runners.” Taking my hat off, I tossed the red wool to the hearth where it could dry on the stone and fluffed the pressure marks from my hair. I had left my coat outside, but I wasn’t going out to get it now.
She bit her lip in confusion. The warmth of the room had turned them red, and color was starting to come back into her cheeks.
In a dry clatter, Jenks flitted close so that my curls shifted in the breeze from his wings. “Not too bright, is she,” he pointed out, and when I waved him away in bother, he put his hands on his hips. Hovering before Ceri, he said loudly and slowly as if she were hard of hearing, “We—are—good—guys. We—stop—bad—guys.”
“Warriors,” Ceri said, not looking at him as her eyes touched on Ivy’s leather curtains, plush suede chairs, and sofa. The room was a salute to comfort, all of it from Ivy’s pocketbook and not mine.
Jenks laughed, sounding like wind chimes. “Warriors,” he said, grinning. “Yeah. We’re warriors. I’ll be right back. I gotta tell that one to Matalina.”
He zipped out of the room at head height, and my shoulders eased. “Sorry about that,” I apologized. “I asked Jenks to move his family in for the winter after he admitted he usually lost two children to hibernation sickness every spring. They’re driving Ivy and me insane, but I’d rather have no privacy for four months than Jenks starting his spring with tiny coffins.”
Ceri nodded. “Ivy,” she said softly. “Is she your partner?”
“Yup. Just like Jenks,” I said casually to make sure she really understood. Her shifting eyes were cataloging everything, and I slowly moved to the hallway. “Um, Ceri?” I said, hesitating until she started to follow. “Do you want me to call you Ceridwen instead?”
She peeked down the dark corridor to the dimly lit sanctuary, her gaze following the sounds of pixy children. They were supposed to stay in the front of the church, but they got into everything, and their squeals and shrieks had become commonplace. “Ceri, please.”
Her personality was thundering back into her faster than I would have believed possible, going from silence to short sentences in a matter of moments. There was a curious mix of modern and old-world charm in her speech that probably came from living with demons so long. She stopped in the threshold of my kitchen, wide-eyed as she took it all in. I didn’t think it was culture shock. Most people had a similar reaction when seeing my kitchen.
It was huge, with both a gas and an electric stove so I could cook on one and stir spells on the other. The fridge was stainless steel and large enough to put a cow in. There was one sliding window overlooking the snowy garden and graveyard, and my beta, Mr. Fish, swam happily in a brandy snifter on the sill. Fluorescent lights illuminated shiny chrome and expansive counter space that wouldn’t be out of place before the cameras of a cooking show.
A center island counter overhung with a rack of my spelling equipment and drying herbs gathered by Jenks and his family took up much of the space. Ivy’s massive antique table took up the rest. Half of it was meticulously arranged as her office, with her computer—faster and more powerful than an industrial-sized package of laxative—color-coded files, maps, and the markers she used to organize her runs. The other half of the table was mine and empty. I wish I could say it was neatness, but when I had a run, I ran it. I didn’t analyze it to death.
“Have a seat,” I said casually. “How about some coffee?” Coffee? I thought as I went to the coffeemaker and threw out the old grounds. What was I going to do with her? It wasn’t as if she was a stray kitten. She needed help. Professional help.
Ceri stared at me, her face returning to its numb state. “I …” she stammered, looking frightened and small in her gorgeous outfit. I glanced at my jeans and red sweater. I still had on my snow boots, and I felt like a slob.
“Here,” I said as I pulled out a chair. “I’ll make some tea.” Three steps forward, one back, I thought when she shunned the chair I offered and took the one before Ivy’s computer instead. Tea might be more appropriate, seeing as she was over a thousand years old. Did they even have coffee in the Dark Ages?
I was staring at my cupboards, trying to remember if we had a teapot, when Jenks and about fifteen of his kids came rolling in, all talking at once. Their voices were so high-pitched and rapid they made my head hurt. “Jenks,” I pleaded, glancing at Ceri. She looked overwhelmed enough as it was. “Please?”
“They aren’t going to do anything,” he protested belligerently. “Besides, I want them to get a good sniff of her. I can’t tell what she is, she stinks of burnt amber so badly. Who is she, anyway, and what was she doing in our garden in her bare feet?”
“Um,” I said, suddenly wary. Pixies had excellent noses, able to tell what species someone was just by smelling them. I had a bad suspicion that I knew what Ceri was, and I really didn’t want Jenks to figure it out.
Ceri raised her hand as a perch, smiling beatifically at the two pixy girls who promptly landed on it, their green and pink silk dresses moving from the breeze stirred by their dragonfly wings. They were chattering happily the way pixy girls do, seemingly brainless but aware of everything down to the mouse hiding behind the fridge. Clearly Ceri had seen pixies before. That would make her an Inderlander if she was a thousand years old. The Turn, when we all came out of hiding to live openly with humans, had only been forty years ago.
“Hey!” Jenks exclaimed, seeing his kids monopolizing her, and they whirled up and out of the kitchen in a kaleidoscope of color and noise. Immediately he took their place, beckoning his oldest son, Jax, down to perch on the computer screen before her.
“You smell like Trent Kalamack,” he said bluntly. “What are you?”
A wash of angst took me and I turned my back on them. Damn, I was right. She was an elf. If Jenks knew, he would blab it all over Cincinnati the moment the temperature got above freezing and he could leave the church. Trent didn’t want the world to know that elves had survived the Turn, and he would drop Agent Orange on the entire block to shut Jenks up.
Turning, I frantically waved my fingers at Ceri, pantomiming zipping my mouth. Realizing she wouldn’t have a clue what that meant, I put my finger to my lips. The woman eyed me in question, then looked at Jenks. “Ceri,” she said seriously.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jenks said impatiently, hands on his hips. “I know. You Ceri. Me Jenks. But what are you? Are you a witch? Rachel’s a witch.”
Ceri glanced at me and away. “I’m Ceri.”
Jenks’s wings blurred to nothing, the shimmer going from blue to red. “Yeah,” he repeated. “But what species? See, I’m a pixy, and Rachel is a witch. You are …” “Ceri,” she insisted.
“Ah, Jenks?” I said as the woman’s eyes narrowed. The question as to what the Kalamacks were had eluded pixies for the entirety of the family’s existence. Figuring that out would give Jenks more prestige in the pixy world than if he took out an entire fairy clan by himself. I could tell he was on the edge of his patience when he flitted up to hover before her.
“Damn it!” Jenks swore, frustrated. “What the hell are you, woman?”
“Jenks!” I shouted in alarm as Ceri’s hand flashed out, snagging him. Jax, his son, let out a yelp, leaving a cloud of pixy dust as he darted to the ceiling. Jenks’s eldest daughter, Jih peeked around the archway from the hall ceiling, her wings a pink blur.
“Hey! Lego!” Jenks exclaimed. His wings made a furious clatter, but he wasn’t going anywhere. Ceri had his pant leg between her thumb and forefinger. Her reflexes were better than even Ivy’s if she had enough control to be that precise.
“I’m Ceri,” she said, her thin lips tight as Jenks hovered, snared. “And even my demon captor had enough respect that he didn’t curse at me, little warrior.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jenks said meekly. “Can I go now?”
She raised one pale eyebrow—a skill I envied—then glanced at me for direction. I nodded emphatically, still shocked at how quick it had been. Not smiling, Ceri let him go.
“Guess you aren’t as slow as I thought,” Jenks said sullenly.
The ruffled pixy brought the scent of store-bought dirt to me as he retreated to my shoulder, and my brow furrowed when I turned my back on her to poke around under the counter for a teapot. I heard the soft familiar clink of pens, recognizing the sound of Ceri tidying Ivy’s desk. Her centuries of slavery were showing again. The woman’s mix of meek servitude and quick pride had me at a loss for how to treat her.
“Who is she?” Jenks whispered in my ear.
I crouched to reach into the cupboard, pulling out a copper teapot so badly tarnished that it was almost maroon. “She was Big Al’s familiar.”
“Big Al!” the pixy squeaked, rising up to land upon the tap. “Is that what you were doing out there? Tink’s panties, Rachel, you’re getting as bad as Nick! You know that’s not safe!”
I could tell him now. Now that it was over. Very aware of Ceri listening behind us, I ran the water into the teapot and swirled it around to clean it. “Big Al didn’t agree to testify against Piscary out of the goodness of its heart. I had to pay for it.”
With a dry rasp of wings, Jenks moved to hover before me. Surprise, shock, and then anger cascaded over his face. “What did you promise him?” he said coldly.
“It’s an it, not a him,” I said. “And it’s done.” I couldn’t look at him. “I promised to be its familiar if I was allowed to keep my soul.”
“Rachel!” A burst of pixy dust lit the sink. “When? When is it coming to get you? We have to find a way out of this. There must be something!” He flew a bright path to my spell books under the center island counter and back. “Is there anything in your books? Call Nick. He’ll know!”
Not liking his fluster, I wiped the water off the bottom of the teapot. My boot heels made a dull thumping on the linoleum as I crossed the kitchen. The gas ignited with a whoosh, and my face warmed from embarrassment. “It’s too late,” I repeated. “I’m its familiar. But the bond isn’t strong enough for it to use me if I’m on this side of the ley lines, and as long as I can keep it from pulling me into the ever-after, I’ll be okay.” I turned from the stove, finding Ceri sitting before Ivy’s computer, staring at me with rapt admiration. “I can say no. It’s done.”
Jenks came to a sputtering halt before me. “Done?” he said, too close to focus on. “Rachel, why? Putting Piscary away isn’t worth that!”
“I didn’t have a choice!” Frustrated, I crossed my arms before me and leaned against the counter. “Piscary was trying to kill me, and if I survived, I wanted him in jail, not free to come after me again. It’s done. The demon can’t use me. I tricked it.”
“Him,” Ceri said softly, and Jenks spun. I had forgotten she was there, she was so quiet. “Al is male. Female demons won’t let themselves be pulled across the lines. That’s how you can tell. Mostly.”
I blinked, taken aback. “Al is male? Why did he keep letting me call him an it?”
She lifted her shoulder in a very modern show of confusion.
My breath came out in a puff and I turned back to Jenks. I started as I found him hovering right before my nose, his wings red. “You’re an ass,” he said, his tiny, smooth features creased in anger. “You should have told us. What if it had gotten you? What about Ivy and me? Huh? We would have kept looking for you, not knowing what had happened. At least if you had told us, we might have been able to find a way to get you back. Ever think of that, Ms. Morgan? We’re a team, and you just stepped all over that!”
My next outburst died. “But there wasn’t anything you could have done,” I said lamely.
“How do you know?” Jenks snapped.
I sighed, embarrassed that a four-inch man was lecturing me—and had every right to. “Yeah, you’re right,” I said, slumping. Slowly my arms uncrossed. “I’m just … I’m just not used to having anyone I can depend on, Jenks. I’m sorry.”
Jenks dropped three feet he was so surprised. “You … you agree with me?”
Ceri’s head made a smooth turn to the open archway. Her empty expression went even more so. I followed her gaze to the dark hall, not surprised to find it holding Ivy’s lithe silhouette, her hip cocked, hand on her thin waist, looking sleek in her body-tight leather.
Suddenly wary, I pulled myself from the counter and straightened. I hated it when she just appeared like that. I hadn’t even felt the air pressure change when she opened the front door. “Hi, Ivy,” I said, my voice still carrying its chagrin from Jenks.
Ivy’s blank gaze matched Ceri’s perfectly as she ran her brown eyes over the small woman sitting in her chair. She pushed herself into motion, moving with a living vampire’s grace, her boots almost silent. Tucking her long, enviably straight black hair behind an ear, she went to the fridge and pulled out the orange juice. Dressed in her casual leather pants and black tuck-in shirt, she looked like a biker chick gone sophisticate. Her cheeks were red from the cold, and she looked chilled even though she still wore her short leather jacket.
Jenks hovered beside me, our argument forgotten in the more pressing problem of Ivy finding someone unexpected in her kitchen. My last guest she had pinned to the wall and threatened to bleed; Ivy didn’t like surprises. That she was drinking orange juice was a good sign. It meant she had succumbed to that damned blood lust of hers, and Jenks and I would only have to deal with a guilt-strewn vampire instead of an irritable, guilt-strewn, and hungry vampire. She was a lot easier to live with now that she was practicing again.
“Ah, Ivy, this is Ceridwen,” I offered. “She’s staying with us until she finds her feet.”
Ivy turned, leaning back against the counter to look predatory and sexy as she took the cap off the jug and drank right from the carton. Like I’d say anything? Ivy’s gaze ran over Ceri, then flicked to Jenks’s obvious agitation, and then to me. “So,” she said, her melodious voice reminding me of torn gray silk on snow. “You wiggled out of your agreement with that demon. Good job. Nicely done.”
My jaw dropped. “How did you know …?” I stammered as Jenks yelped in surprise.
A faint smile, unusual but honest, pulled the corners of her mouth up. A flash of fang showed, her canines the same size as mine but sharp, like a cat’s. She’d have to wait until she was dead to get the extended versions. “You talk in your sleep,” she said lightly.
“You knew?” I said, floored. “You never said anything!”
“Nicely done?” Jenks’s wings clattered like June bugs. “You think being a demon’s familiar is a good thing? What train hit you on the way home?”
Ivy went to get a glass from the cupboard. “If Piscary had been released, Rachel would be dead by sunup,” she said as she poured out juice. “So she’s a demon’s familiar? So what? She said the demon can’t use her unless he pulls her into the ever-after. And she’s alive. You can’t do anything if you’re dead.” She took a sip of her drink. “Unless you’re a vampire.”
Jenks made an ugly sound and flew to the corner of the room to sulk. Jih took the opportunity to flit in to hide in the ladle hanging over the center counter, the tips of her wings showing a brilliant red above the copper rim.
Ivy’s brown eyes met mine over her glass. Her perfect oval face was almost featureless as she hid her emotions behind the cool facade of indifference she maintained when there was someone in the room beside us two, Jenks included. “I’m glad it worked,” she said as she set the glass on the counter. “Are you all right?”
I nodded, seeing her relief in the slight trembling of her long pianist fingers. She would never tell me how worried she had been, and I wondered how long she had stood in the hallway listening and collecting herself. Her eyes blinked several times, and her jaw clenched in an effort to stifle her emotion. “I didn’t know it was tonight,” she said softly. “I wouldn’t have left.”
“Thanks,” I said, thinking Jenks was right. I had been an ass for not telling them. I just wasn’t used to having anyone but my mother care.
Ceri was watching Ivy with a puzzled, rapt attention. “Partner?” she hazarded, and Ivy flicked her attention to the small woman.
“Yeah,” Ivy said. “Partner. What’s it to you?”
“Ceri, this is Ivy,” I said as the small woman got to her feet.
Ivy frowned as she realized the precise order she kept her desk in had been altered.
“She was Big Al’s familiar,” I warned. “She needs a few days to find her feet is all.”
Jenks made an eye-hurting noise with his wings, and Ivy gave me a telling look, her expression shifting to an annoyed wariness when Ceri came to stand before her. The small woman was peering at Ivy in confusion. “You’re a vampire,” she said, reaching to touch Ivy’s crucifix.
Ivy sprang back with a startling quickness, her eyes flashing black.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I said as I stepped between them, ready for anything. “Ivy, take it easy. She’s been in the ever-after for a thousand years. She may not have seen a living vampire before. I think she’s an Inderlander, but she smells like the ever-after so Jenks can’t tell what she is.” I hesitated, telling her with my eyes and my last sentence that Ceri was an elf, and therefore a loose cannon as far as magic was concerned.
Ivy’s pupils had dilated to almost a full, vampire black. Her stance was domineering and sexually charged, but she had just slaked her blood lust and so was capable of listening. I shot a quick glance at Ceri, glad to see she wisely hadn’t moved. “We all okay here?” I asked, my voice demanding they both back down.
Thin lips pressed tight, Ivy turned her back on us. Jenks dropped to my shoulder. “Nicely done,” he said. “Got all your bitches in line, I see.”
“Jenks!” I hissed, knowing Ivy had heard when her knuckles on her glass turned white. I flicked him off me, and laughing, he rose up and then back down to my shoulder.
Ceri was standing with her arms confidently at her side, watching Ivy grow more and more tense. “Oh-h-h-h-h,” Jenks drawled. “Your new friend is gonna do something.”
“Uh, Ceri?” I questioned, heart pounding as the petite woman went to stand beside Ivy at the sink, clearly demanding her attention.
Pale face tight with a repressed anger, Ivy turned. “What,” she said flatly.
Ceri inclined her head regally, never taking her green eyes from Ivy’s slowly dilating brown ones. “I apologize,” she said in her high, clear voice, every syllable carefully pronounced. “I’ve slighted you.” Her attention dropped to Ivy’s elaborate crucifix on its silver chain about her neck. “You’re a vampire warrior, and yet you can wear the Cross?”
Ceri’s hand twitched, and I knew she wanted to touch it. Ivy knew it too. I watched, unable to interfere as Ivy turned to face her. Hip cocked, she gave Ceri a more in-depth onceover, taking in her dried tears, her exquisite ball gown, her bare feet, and her obvious pride and upright carriage. As I held my breath, Ivy took her crucifix off, the chain gathering her hair in front of her as she pulled it from around her neck.
“I’m a living vampire,” she said as she put the religious icon in the elf’s hand. “I was born with the vampire virus. You know what a virus is, don’t you?”
Ceri’s fingers traced the lines of the worked silver. “My demon let me read what I wished. A virus is killing my kin.” She looked up. “Not the vampire virus. Something else.”
Ivy’s gaze darted to me, then returned to the small woman standing just a shade too close to her. “The virus changed me as I was forming in my mother’s womb, making me some of both. I can walk under the sun and worship without pain,” Ivy said. “I’m stronger than you,” she added as she subtly put more space between them. “But not as strong as a true undead. And I have a soul.” She said the last as if she expected Ceri to deny it.
Ceri’s expression became empty. “You’re going to lose it.”
Ivy’s eye twitched. “I know.”
I held my breath, listening to the clock tick and the almost subliminal hum of pixy wings. Eyes solemn, the thin woman held the crucifix out to Ivy. “I’m sorry. That’s the hell from which Rachel Mariana Morgan saved me.”
Ivy looked at the cross in Ceri’s hand, no emotion showing. “I’m hoping she can do the same for me.”
I cringed. Ivy had pinned her sanity on the belief that there was a witch magic that might purge the vampire virus from her; that all it would take would be the right spell to let her walk away from the blood and violence. But there wasn’t. I waited for Ceri to tell Ivy that no one was beyond redemption, but all she did was nod, her wispy hair floating. “I hope she can.”
“Me, too.” Ivy glanced at the crucifix Ceri was extending to her. “Keep it. It doesn’t help anymore.”
My lips parted in surprise, and Jenks landed upon my big hoop earrings as Ceri placed it about her neck. The elaborately tooled silver looked right against the rich purple and green of her formal gown. “Ivy—” I started, jerking when Ivy narrowed her eyes at me.
“It doesn’t help anymore,” she said tightly. “She wants it. I’m giving it to her.”
Ceri reached up, clearly finding peace in the icon. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Ivy frowned. “Touch my desk again, and I’ll snap every one of your fingers.”
Ceri took the threat with a light understanding that surprised me. It was obvious she had dealt with vampires before. I wondered where—since vampires couldn’t manipulate ley lines and would therefore make lousy familiars.
“How about some tea?” I said, wanting something normal to do. Making tea wasn’t normal, but it was close. The pot was steaming, and as I rummaged in a cupboard for a mug good enough for a guest, Jenks snickered, swinging my earring like a tire swing. His kids were flitting into the kitchen in twos and threes—much to Ivy’s annoyance—pulled by the novelty of Ceri. They hovered over her, Jih taking the closest stance.
Ivy stood defensively before her computer, and after a moment’s hesitation, Ceri sat in the chair farthest from her. She looked lost and alone as she fingered the crucifix about her neck. As I searched the pantry for a tea bag, I wondered how I was going to make this work. Ivy wasn’t going to like another roommate. And where would we put her?
The accusing clatter of Ivy’s pens was loud as she rearranged her pencil cup. “Got one,” I said in relief as I finally found a tea bag. Jenks left me to bother Ivy, chased off my earring by the steam drifting up as I poured the boiling water into the mug.
“Here, Ceri,” I said, waving the pixies away from her and setting it on the table. “Do you want anything with it?”
She looked at the cup as if she’d never seen one before. Eyes widening, she shook her head. I hesitated, wondering what I had done wrong. She looked like she was ready to cry again. “Is it okay?” I asked, and she nodded, her thin hand shaking as she took the mug.
Jenks and Ivy were staring at her. “You sure you don’t want sugar or anything?” I asked, but she shook her head. Narrow chin trembling, she brought the cup to her lips.
Brow furrowed, I went to get the coffee grounds out of the fridge. Ivy rose to rinse the carafe. She leaned close to me, running the water to blur her words as she muttered, “What’s wrong with her? She’s crying over her tea.”
I spun. “Ceri!” I exclaimed. “If you want some sugar, it’s okay!”
She met my gaze, tears streaming down her pale face. “I haven’t had anything to eat for—a thousand years,” she choked out.
I felt as if I had been punched in the gut. “Do you want some sugar?”
Still crying, she shook her head.
Ivy was waiting for me when I turned back around. “She can’t stay here, Rachel,” the vampire said, her brow tight.
“She’ll be fine,” I whispered, appalled that Ivy was ready to kick her out. “I’ll bring my old cot down from the belfry and set it up in the living room. I’ve got some old T-shirts she can wear until I take her shopping.”
Jenks buzzed his wings for my attention. “Then what?” he said from the spigot.
I gestured my frustration. “I don’t know. She’s much better already. She wasn’t talking half an hour ago. Look at her now.”
We all turned, finding Ceri sobbing quietly and drinking her tea in small reverent sips as the pixy girls hovered over her. Three were plating her long, fair hair and another was singing to her.
“Okay,” I said as we turned back. “Bad example.”
Jenks shook his head. “Rache, I really feel bad for her, but Ivy’s right. She can’t stay here. She needs professional help.”
“Really?” I said belligerently, feeling myself warm. “I haven’t heard of any group therapy sessions for retired demon familiars, have you?”
“Rachel …” Ivy said.
A sudden shout from the pixy children brought Jenks up from the spigot. His eyes went past us to his kids as they descended upon the mouse, who had finally made a dash for the living room and found itself in its own personal hell. “Excuse me,” he said, flitting off to rescue it.
“No,” I said to Ivy. “I’m not going to dump her in some institution.”
“I’m not saying you should.” Ivy’s pale face had started to color, and the ring of brown about her eyes was shrinking as my body heat rose and my blood grew warm, triggering her instincts. “But she can’t stay here. The woman needs normal, and Rachel? We aren’t it.”
I took a breath to protest, then let it out. Frowning, I glanced at Ceri. She was wiping her eyes, the hand curled about her mug shaking to make rings on the surface of her tea. My eyes went to the pixy children arguing over who was going to get to ride the mouse first. It was little Jessie, and the tiny pixy screamed in delight when the rodent darted out of the kitchen with her on its back. In a blur of gold sparkles, all but Jih followed. Maybe Ivy was right.
“What do you want me to do, Ivy?” I said, calming. “I’d ask my mom to take her in, but she’s a step away from being in an institution herself.”
Jenks buzzed back. “What about Keasley?”
Surprised, I looked at Ivy.
“The old guy across the street?” Ivy said warily. “We don’t know anything about him.”
Jenks landed on the sill beside Mr. Fish and put his hands on his hips. “He’s old and on a fixed income. What more is there to know?”
As Ceri collected herself, I sifted the idea through my mind. I liked the old witch whose slow speech hid a sharp wit and high intelligence. He had stitched me up after Algaliarept had torn my neck. He had stitched up my will and confidence, too. The arthritic man was hiding something, and I didn’t think his real name was Keasley any more than I believed his story that he had more medical equipment than a small emergency room because he didn’t like doctors. But I trusted him.
“He doesn’t like the law and he knows how to keep his mouth shut,” I said, thinking it was perfect. Eyes pinched, I looked at Ceri talking to Jih in soft tones. Ivy’s eyes were doubtful, and peeved, I pushed into motion. “I’m calling him,” I added as I motioned to Ceri that I would be right back and went into the living room for the phone.
Three (#u501e15e7-86a2-5b87-8582-3daeb4ea34d7)
“Ceri,” Jenks said as I flipped the switch and got a pot of coffee going. “If tea makes you cry, you gotta try french fries. Come here, I’ll show you how to use the microwave.”
Keasley was on his way over. It might take him a while since he was racked by arthritis so badly that even most pain charms wouldn’t touch it. I felt bad for pulling him out into the snow, but it would have been even more rude to descend upon his house.
With an intentness I didn’t understand, Jenks perched himself on Ceri’s shoulder and talked her through the task of microwaving frozen french fries. She bent to watch the little carton spin, my pink slippers on her feet looking overly large and awkward. Pixy girls swirled around her in a whirl of pastel silk and chatter, mostly ignored. The unending noise had driven Ivy into the living room, where she was currently hiding with her earphones on.
My head came up when the air pressure shifted. “’Ello?” came a strong raspy voice from the front of the church. “Rachel? The pixies let me in. Where are you ladies?”
I glanced at Ceri, recognizing her sudden apprehension. “It’s Keasley, a neighbor,” I said. “He’s going to check you over. Make sure you’re healthy.”
“I’m fine,” she said pensively.
Thinking this might be harder than I thought, I padded in my sock feet into the hallway to talk to him before he met Ceri. “Hi, Keasley, we’re back here.”
His hunched, wizened figure limped down the hallway, eclipsing the light. More pixy children escorted him, wreathing him in circles of sifting pixy dust. Keasley had a brown paper grocery bag in his hand, and he brought the cold scent of snow in with him, mixing pleasantly with a witch’s characteristic redwood scent. “Rachel,” he said, his brown eyes squinting up at me as he got closer. “How’s my favorite redhead?”
“I’m good,” I said, giving him a quick hug and thinking that after outwitting Algaliarept, good was an understatement. His overalls were worn and smelling of soap. I thought of him as the neighborhood’s wise-old-man and a substitute grandfather figure all in one, and I didn’t mind that he had a past he wasn’t willing to share. He was a good person; that’s all I needed to know.
“Come on in. I have someone I want you to meet,” I said, and he slowed with a wary caution. “She needs your help,” I said softly.
His thick lips pressed together, and the brown wrinkles of his face deepened. Keasley took a slow breath, his arthritic hands making the grocery bag crackle. He nodded, showing me a thinning spot in his tightly curled, graying hair. Blowing in relief, I led him into the kitchen, holding myself back so I could see his reaction to Ceri.
The old witch rocked to a halt as he stared. But upon seeing the delicate woman standing in pink fuzzy slippers beside the microwave in her elegant ball gown with a folder of steaming fries, I could understand why.
“I don’t need a physician,” Ceri said.
Jenks rose from her shoulder. “Hi, Keasley. You gonna check Ceri out?”
Keasley nodded, limping as he went to pull out a chair. He gestured for Ceri to sit, then carefully lowered himself into the adjacent seat. Wheezing, he set his bag between his feet, opening it to pull out a blood pressure cuff. “I’m not a doctor,” he said. “My name is Keasley.”
Not sitting, Ceri looked at me, then him. “I’m Ceri,” she said, just above a whisper.
“Well, Ceri, it’s nice to meet you.” Setting the cuff on the table, he extended his arthritic-swollen hand. Looking unsure, Ceri awkwardly put her hand in his. Keasley shook it, smiling to show his coffee-stained teeth. The old man gestured to the chair, and Ceri arranged herself in it, reluctantly setting her fries down and warily eyeing the cuff.
“Rachel wants me to look you over,” he said while he pulled more doctor stuff out.
Ceri glanced at me, sighing as she nodded in surrender.
The coffee had finished, and as Keasley took her temperature, checked her reflexes, her blood pressure, and made her say “Ahhhh,” I took a cup into the living room for Ivy. She was sitting sideways in her cushy chair with her earphones on, head on one arm, feet draped over the other. Her eyes were shut, but she reached out without looking, taking the cup the instant I set it down. “Thank you,” she mouthed, and still not having seen her eyes, I walked out. Sometimes Ivy gave me the creeps.
“Coffee, Keasley?” I asked as I returned.
The old man peered at the thermometer and turned it off. “Yes, thank you.” He smiled at Ceri. “You’re fine.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ceri said. She had been eating her fries while Keasley worked, and she looked glumly at the bottom of the carton.
Immediately Jenks was with her. “More?” he prompted. “Try some ketchup on them.”
Suddenly Jenks’s zeal to get her to eat french fries became very clear. It wasn’t the fries he was interested in, it was the ketchup. “Jenks,” I said tiredly as I took Keasley his coffee and leaned against the center island counter. “She’s over a thousand years old. Even humans ate tomatoes then.” I hesitated. “They did have tomatoes back then, right?”
The hum of Jenks’s wings audibly dropped. “Crap,” he muttered, then brightened. “Go ahead,” he said to Ceri. “You try working the nuker this time without my help.”
“Nuker?” she questioned, carefully wiping her hands on a napkin as she stood.
“Yeah. Don’t they have microwaves in the ever-after?”
She shook her head, sending the tips of her fair hair floating. “No. I prepared Al’s food with ley line magic. This is … old.”
Keasley jerked, almost spilling his coffee. His eyes tracked Ceri’s grace as she went to the freezer and, with Jenks’s encouragement, pulled out a box of fries. She meticulously punched the buttons, her lip caught between her teeth. I thought it odd that the woman was over a thousand years old but thought the microwave was primitive.
“The ever-after?” Keasley said softly, and my attention returned to him.
I held my coffee before me with both hands, warming my fingers. “How is she?”
He shifted his shoulders. “She’s healthy enough. Maybe a little underweight. Mentally she’s been abused. I can’t tell what or how. She needs help.”
I took a deep breath, looking down into my cup. “I’ve got a big favor to ask.”
Keasley straightened. “No,” he said as he put his bag on his lap and started putting things in it. “I don’t know who—or even what—she is.”
“I stole her from the demon whose work you stitched up last fall,” I said, touching my neck. “She was its—I mean, his—familiar. I’ll pay for her room and board.”
“That isn’t it,” he protested. Bag in hand, his tired brown eyes went worried. “I don’t know anything about her, Rachel. I can’t risk taking her in. Don’t ask me to do this.”
I leaned over the space between us, almost angry. “She has been in the ever-after the last millennium. I don’t think she’s out to kill you,” I accused, and his leathery features shifted to a startled alarm. “All she needs,” I said, flustered that I had found one of his fears, “is a normal setting where she can regain her personality. And a witch, a vampire, and a pixy living in a church running down bad guys isn’t normal.”
Jenks looked at us from Ceri’s shoulder as the woman watched her fries warm. The pixy’s face was serious; he could hear the conversation as clearly as if he was standing on the table. Ceri asked him a soft question, and he turned away, answering her cheerfully. He had chased all but Jih out of the kitchen, and it was blessedly quiet.
“Please, Keasley?” I whispered.
Jih’s ethereal voice rose in song, and Ceri’s face lit up. She joined in, her voice clear as the pixy’s, managing only three notes before she started to cry. I stared as a cloud of pixies rolled into the kitchen, almost smothering her. From the living room came an irate shout as Ivy complained that the pixies were interfering with the stereo reception again.
Jenks yelled at his kids and all but Jih flitted out. Together they consoled Ceri, Jih soft and soothing, Jenks somewhat awkwardly. Keasley slumped, and I knew he’d do it. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll try it for a few days, but if it doesn’t work, she’s coming back.”
“Fair enough,” I said, feeling a huge weight slip off my chest.
Ceri looked up, her eyes still wet. “You didn’t ask me my opinion.”
My eyes widened and my face flamed. Her hearing was as good as Ivy’s. “Um …” I stammered. “I’m sorry, Ceri. It’s not that I don’t want you to stay here—”
Heart-shaped face solemn, she nodded. “I am a stumbling stone in a fortress of soldiers,” she interrupted. “I’d be honored to stay with the retired warrior and ease his hurts.”
Retired warrior? I thought, wondering what she saw in Keasley that I didn’t. In the corner came a high-pitched argument between Jenks and his eldest daughter. The young pixy was wringing the hem of her pale green dress, her tiny feet showing as she pleaded with him.
“Now wait a moment,” Keasley said, curling the top of his paper bag down. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need anyone ‘easing my hurts.’”
Ceri smiled. My slippers on her feet made a hush across the linoleum as she came to kneel before him. “Ceri,” I protested, right along with Keasley, but the young woman batted our hands away, the suddenly sharp look in her green eyes brooking no interference.
“Get up,” Keasley said gruffly as he sat before her. “I know you were a demon’s familiar and this might be how he made you act, but—”
“Be still, Keasley,” Ceri said, a faint glow of ever-after red blurring her pale hands. “I want to go with you, but only if you let me return your kindness.” She smiled up at him, her green eyes losing their focus. “It will give me a feeling of self-worth I truly need.”
My breath caught as I felt her tap the ley line out back. “Keasley?” I said, my voice high.
His brown eyes went wide and he froze where he sat as Ceri reached out and placed her hands upon the knees of his work-faded overalls. I watched his face go slack, the wrinkles sliding into themselves to make him look older. He took a deep breath, stiffening.
Kneeling before him, Ceri shivered. Her hands dropped from him. “Ceri,” Keasley said, his raspy voice cracking. He touched his knees. “It’s gone,” he whispered, his tired eyes going watery. “Oh, dear child,” he said, standing to help her rise. “I haven’t been without pain for so long. Thank you.”
Ceri smiled, tears leaking out as she nodded. “Neither have I. This helps.”
I turned away, my throat tight. “I have some T-shirts you can wear until I take you shopping,” I said. “Just keep my slippers. They’ll get you across the street at least.”
Keasley took her arm in one hand, his bag in the other. “I’ll take her shopping tomorrow,” he said as he headed for the hallway. “I haven’t felt good enough to go to the mall in three years. It will do me good to get out.” He turned to me, his old, wrinkled face transformed. “I’ll send the bill to you, though. I can tell everyone she is my sister’s niece. From Sweden.”
I laughed, finding it was very close to a cry. This was working out better than I had hoped, and I couldn’t stop smiling.
Jenks made a sharp noise, and his daughter slowly drooped to land upon the microwave. “All right, I’ll ask!” he shouted, and she rose three inches, her face hopeful and her hands clasped before her. “If it’s okay with your mother and it’s okay with Keasley, it’s okay with me,” Jenks said, his wings a dismal blue.
Jih rose and fell in obvious nervousness as Jenks hovered before Keasley. “Um, do you have any plants at your house that Jih might tend?” he asked, looking terribly embarrassed. Brushing his blond hair from his eyes, he made a wry face. “She wants to go with Ceri, but I’m not letting her leave unless she can be productive.”
My lips parted. I sent my eyes to Ceri, seeing by her held breath that she clearly wanted the company. “I’ve got a pot of basil,” Keasley said reluctantly. “If she wants to stay when the weather breaks, she can work the garden, such as it is.”
Jih squealed, pixy dust falling from her in a gold shimmer that turned to white.
“Ask your mother!” Jenks said, looking upset as the excited pixy girl zipped out. He landed on my shoulder, wings drooping. I thought I could smell autumn. Before I could ask Jenks, a shrill tide of pink and green flowed into the kitchen. Appalled, I wondered if there was a pixy in the church that wasn’t in that four-foot circle surrounding Ceri.
Keasley’s wrinkled face was filled with a stoic acceptance as he unrolled the bag of supplies and Jih dropped inside to make the trip safe from the cold. Above the crinkled top of the bag, the pixies all cried good-bye and waved.
Eyes rolling, Keasley handed the bag to Ceri. “Pixies,” I heard him mutter. Taking Ceri’s elbow, he nodded to me and headed into the hall, his pace faster and more upright than I’d ever seen it. “I have a second bedroom,” he said. “Do you sleep at night or during the day?”
“Both,” she said softly. “Is that all right?”
He grinned to show his coffee-stained teeth. “A napper, eh? Good. I won’t feel so old when I drop off.”
I felt happy as I watched them head to the sanctuary. This was going to be good in so many ways. “What’s the matter, Jenks?” I said as he remained on my shoulder while the rest of his family accompanied Ceri and Keasley to the front of the church.
He sniffed. “I thought Jax would be the first one to leave to start his own garden.”
My breath slipped from me in understanding. “I’m sorry, Jenks. She’ll be fine.”
“I know, I know.” His wings shifted into motion, sending the scent of fallen leaves over me. “One less pixy in the church,” he said softly. “It’s a good thing. But no one told me it was going to hurt.”
Four (#u501e15e7-86a2-5b87-8582-3daeb4ea34d7)
Squinting over my sunglasses, I leaned against my car and scanned the parking lot. My cherry red convertible looked out of place among the scattering of minivans and salt-rusted, late model cars. At the back, away from potential scratches and dings, was a low-to-the-ground, gray sports car. Probably the zoo’s p.r. person, as everyone else was either a part-time worker or a dedicated biologist who didn’t care what they drove.
The early hour made it cold despite the sun, and my breath steamed. I tried to relax, but I could feel my gut tightening as my annoyance grew. Nick was supposed to meet me here this morning for a quick run in the zoo. It looked like he was going to be a no-show. Again.
I uncrossed my arms from in front of me and shook my hands to loosen them before I bent at the waist and put my palms against the ice-cold, snow-dusted parking lot. Exhaling into the stretch, I felt my muscles pull. Around me were the soft, familiar sounds of the zoo preparing to open, mixing with the scent of exotic manure. If Nick didn’t show in the next five minutes, there wouldn’t be enough time for a decent run.
I had bought us both runner passes months ago so we could run anytime from midnight to noon when the park was closed. I had woken up two hours earlier than usual for this. I was trying to make this work; I was trying to find a way to mesh my witch’s noon-to-sunup schedule with Nick’s human sunrise-to-midnight clock. It had never seemed to be a problem before. Nick used to try. Lately, it had been all up to me.
A harsh scraping pulled me upright. The trash cans were being rolled out, and my pique grew. Where was he? He couldn’t have forgotten. Nick never forgot anything.
“Unless he wants to forget,” I whispered. Giving myself a mental shake, I swung my right leg up to put my lightweight running shoe atop the hood. “Ow,” I breathed as my muscles protested, but I leaned into it. I’d been slacking off on my workouts lately, as Ivy and I didn’t spar anymore since she had resumed succumbing to her blood lust. My eye started to twitch, and I closed both of them as I deepened the stretch, grabbing my ankle and pulling.
Nick hadn’t forgotten—he was too smart for that—he was avoiding me. I knew why, but it was still depressing. It had been three months, and he was still distant and hesitant. The worst thing was I didn’t think he was dumping me. The man called demons into his linen closet, and he was afraid to touch me.
Last fall, I had been trying to bind a fish to me to satisfy some inane ley line class requirement and accidentally made Nick my familiar instead. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I was an earth witch, my magic coming from growing things and quickened by heat and my blood. I didn’t know much about ley line magic—except I didn’t like it. I generally only used it to close protective circles when I was stirring a particularly sensitive spell. And to make the Howlers pay what they owed me. And occasionally to fend off my roommate when she lost control of her blood lust. And I had used it to knock Piscary flat on his can so I could beat him into submission with the leg of a chair. It had been this last one that tipped Nick from hot-and-heavy, maybe-this-is-the-one boyfriend, to phone conversations and cold kisses on my cheek.
Starting to feel sorry for myself, I pulled my right leg down and swung the left one up.
Ley line magic was heady in its rush of strength and could drive a witch insane, making it no accident that there were more black ley line witches than black earth witches. Using a familiar made it safer since the power of a ley line was filtered through the simpler minds of animals instead of through plants as earth magic did. For obvious reasons, only animals were used as familiars—at least on this side of the ley lines—and in truth, there were no witch-born spells to bind a human as a familiar. But being both fairly ignorant of ley line magic and rushed, I had used the first spell I found to bind a familiar.
So I had unknowingly made Nick my familiar—which we were trying to undo—but then I made things immeasurably worse by pulling a huge amount of ley line energy through him to subdue Piscary. He had hardly touched me since. But that had been months ago. I hadn’t done it again. He had to get over it. It wasn’t as if I was practicing ley line magic. Much.
Uneasy, I straightened, blowing out my angst and doing a few side twists to send my ponytail bouncing. After having learned it was possible to set a circle without drawing it first, I had spent three months learning how, knowing it might be my only chance to escape Algaliarept. I had kept my practice to three in the morning, when I knew Nick was asleep—and I always drew directly off the line so it wouldn’t go through Nick first—but maybe it was waking him up anyway. He hadn’t said anything, but knowing Nick, he wouldn’t.
The rattle of the gate opening brought me to a standstill and my shoulders slumped. The zoo was open, a few runners straggling out with red cheeks and exhausted, content expressions, still floating on a runner’s high. Damn it. He could have called.
Bothered, I unzipped my belt pack and pulled out my cell phone. Leaning against the car and looking down to avoid the eyes of the passing people, I scrolled through my short list. Nick’s was second, right after Ivy’s number and right before my mom’s. My fingers were cold, and I blew on them as the phone rang.
I took a breath when the connection clicked open, holding it when a recorded woman’s voice told me the line was no longer in service. Money? I thought. Maybe that was why we hadn’t been out for three weeks. Concerned, I tried his cell phone.
It was still ringing when the familiar choking rumble of Nick’s truck grew loud. Exhaling, I snapped the cover closed. Nick’s blue, beat-up Ford truck jostled off the main street and into the parking lot, maneuvering slowly, as the cars leaving were ignoring the lines and cutting across the expanse. I slipped the phone away and stood with my arms over my chest, legs crossed at my ankles.
At least he showed, I thought as I adjusted my sunglasses and tried not to frown. Maybe we could go out for coffee or something. I hadn’t seen him in days, and I didn’t want to ruin it with a bad temper. Besides, I had been worried sick the last three months about slipping my bargain with Al, and now that I had, I wanted to feel good for a while.
I hadn’t told Nick, and the chance to come clean would be another weight off me. I lied to myself that I had kept quiet because I was afraid he would try to take my burden—seeing as he had a chivalrous streak longer and wider than a six-lane highway—but in reality I was afraid he would call me a hypocrite since I was forever on him about the dangers of dealing with demons, and here I was, becoming one’s familiar. Nick had an unhealthy lack of fear when it came to demons, thinking that as long as you handled them properly, they were no more dangerous than say … a pit viper.
So I stood and fidgeted in the cold as he parked his salt-stained, ugly truck a few slots down from mine. His indistinct shadow moved inside as he shuffled about, finally getting out and slamming the door with an intensity that I knew wasn’t directed at me but necessary to get the worn latch to catch.
“Ray-ray,” he said as he held his phone up and strode around the front. His lean height looked good and his pace was quick. A smile was on his face, its once-gauntness muted into a pleasant, rugged severity. “Did you just call?”
I nodded, letting my arms fall to my sides. Obviously he wasn’t prepared to run, as he was dressed in faded jeans and boots. A thick fabric coat was unzipped to show a bland, flannel button-down shirt. It was neatly tucked in and his long face was clean-shaven, but he still managed to look mildly unkempt, with his short black hair a shade too long. He had a bookish mien instead of the hint of danger that I usually liked in my men. But maybe I found Nick’s danger to be his intelligence.
Nick was the smartest man I knew, his brilliant jumps of logic hidden behind an understated appearance and a deceptively mild temperament. In hindsight, it was probably this rare mix of wicked intellect and harmless human that attracted me to him. Or possibly that he had saved my life by binding Big Al when he tried to rip out my throat.
And despite Nick’s preoccupation with old books and new electronics, he wasn’t a geek: his shoulders were too broad and his butt was too tight. His long, lean legs could keep up with me when we ran, and there was a surprising amount of strength in his arms, as evidenced by our once frequent, now distressingly absent, mock wrestling, which more often than not had turned into a more, er, intimate activity. It was the memory of our once-closeness that kept the frown off my face when he came around the front of his truck, his brown eyes pinched in apology.
“I didn’t forget,” he said, his long face looking longer as he tossed his straight bangs out of his way. There was a flash of a demon mark high on his brow, gained the same night I had gotten my first and remaining one. “I got caught up in what I was doing and lost track of time. I’m sorry, Rachel. I know you were looking forward to it, but I haven’t even been to bed and I’m dead tired. Do you want to reschedule for tomorrow?”
I kept my reaction to a sigh, trying to stifle my disappointment.
“No,” I said around a long exhalation. He reached out, his arms going around me in a light hug. I leaned into the expected hesitancy of it, wanting more. The distance had been there so long that it almost felt normal. Pulling back, he shuffled his feet.
“Working hard?” I offered. This was the first time I had seen him in a week, not including the odd phone call, and I didn’t just want to walk away.
Nick, too, didn’t seem eager to leave. “Yes and no.” He squinted into the sun. “I was up sifting through old messages on a chat-room list after finding a mention of that book Al took.”
Immediately my attention sharpened. “Did you …” I stammered, pulse quickening.
My quick hope squished to nothing as he dropped his gaze and shook his head. “It was some freak wannabe. He doesn’t have a copy. It was all made-up nonsense.”
I reached out and briefly touched his arm, forgiving him for missing our morning run. “It’s okay. We’ll find something sooner or later.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “But I’d rather it be sooner.”
Misery hit me, and I froze. We had been so good together, and now all that was left was this awful distance. Seeing my depression, Nick took my hands, stepping forward to give me a loose embrace. His lips brushed my cheek as he whispered, “I’m sorry, Ray-ray. We’ll manage something. I’m trying. I want this to work.”
I didn’t move, breathing in the smell of musty books and clean aftershave, my hands hesitantly going about him as I looked for comfort—and finally found it.
My breath caught and I held it, refusing to cry. We had been months searching for the counter curse, but Al wrote the book on how to make humans into familiars, and he had a very short print run of one. And it wasn’t as if we could advertise in the papers for a ley line professor to help us, as he or she would likely turn me in for dealing in the black arts. And then I’d really be stuck. Or dead. Or worse.
Slowly Nick let go, and I stepped back. At least I knew it wasn’t another woman.
“Hey, uh, the zoo is open,” I said, my voice giving away my relief that the awkward distance he had been holding himself at finally seemed to be easing. “You want to go in and get a coffee instead? I hear their Monkey Mocha is to come back from the dead for.”
“No,” he said, but there was true regret in his voice, making me wonder if he had been picking up on my worry about Al all this time, thinking I was upset with him and drawing away. Maybe more of this was my fault than I had guessed. Maybe I could have forged a stronger union between us if I had told him instead of hiding it from him and driving him away.
The magnitude of what I might have done with my silence fell on me, and I felt my face go cold. “Nick, I’m sorry,” I breathed.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said, his brown eyes full of forgiveness, unaware of my thoughts. “I was the one that told him he could have the book.”
“No, you see—”
He took me in a hug, silencing me. A lump formed in my throat, and I couldn’t say anything as my forehead dropped to his shoulder. I should have told him. I should have told him right from the first night.
Nick felt the shift in me, and slowly, after a moment’s thought, he gave me a tentative kiss on the cheek, but it was a tentativeness born from his long absence, not his usual hesitancy.
“Nick?” I said, hearing the coming tears in my voice.
Immediately he pulled back. “Hey,” he said, smiling as his long hand rested on my shoulder. “I’ve got to go. I’ve been up since yesterday and I have to get some sleep.”
I took a reluctant step back, hoping he couldn’t tell how close to tears I was. It had been a long, lonely three months. At last something seemed to be mending. “Okay. You want to come over for dinner tonight?”
And finally, after weeks of quick refusals, he paused. “How about a movie and dinner instead? My treat. A real date … thing.”
I straightened, feeling myself grow taller. “A date thing,” I said, moving awkwardly foot-to-foot like a fool teenager asked to her first dance. “What do you have in mind?”
He smiled softly. “Something with lots of explosions, lots of guns …” He didn’t touch me, but I saw in his eyes his desire to do so. “… tight costumes …”
I nodded, smiling, and he checked his watch.
“Tonight,” he said, catching my eye as he headed back to his truck. “Seven o’clock?”
“Seven o’clock,” I called back, my good feeling growing. He got in, the truck shaking as he slammed the door. The engine rumbled to life, and with a happy wave, he drove away.
“Seven o’clock,” I said, watching the taillights flash before he jostled onto the street.
Five (#u501e15e7-86a2-5b87-8582-3daeb4ea34d7)
Plastic hangers clattering, I stacked the clothes on the counter beside the cash register. The bored, bottle-dyed blonde with ear-length hair never looked up as her fingers manipulated those nasty metal clips. Gum snapping, she pointed her gun at everything, adding up my purchases for Ceri. She had a phone to her ear, head cocked, and her mouth never stopped as she chatted to her boyfriend about getting her roommate fried on Brimstone last night.
I eyed her in speculation, breathing in the fading aroma of the street drug lingering on her. She was dumber than she looked if she was dabbling in Brimstone, especially now. It had been coming in cut with a little something extra lately, leaving a rash of deaths spanning all the socioeconomic brackets. Maybe it was Trent’s idea of a Christmas present.
The girl before me looked underage, so I could either sic Health and Inderland Services on her or haul her ass down to the I.S. lockup. The latter might be fun, but it would put a real crimp in my afternoon of solstice shopping. I still didn’t know what to get Ivy. The boots, jeans, socks, underwear, and two sweaters on the counter were for Ceri. She was not going out with Keasley dressed in one of my T-shirts and pink fuzzy slippers.
The girl folded the last sweater, her bloodred manicure garish. Amulets clanked about her neck, but the complexion charm hiding her acne needed to be replaced. She must have been a warlock because a witch wouldn’t be caught dead with a bass-ackward charm like that. I glanced at my wooden pinky ring. It might be small, but it was now potent enough to hide my freckles through a minor spell check. Hack, I thought, feeling vastly better.
A hum rose from nowhere, and I felt smug that I didn’t jump like the register girl when Jenks all but fell onto the counter. He was wearing two black body stockings, one atop the other, and had a red hat and boots on against the chill. It was really too cold for him to be out, but Jih’s leaving had depressed him, and he’d never been solstice shopping before. My eyes widened as I took in the doll he had lugged to the counter. It was three times his size.
“Rache!” he exclaimed, puffing as he pushed the black-haired, curvaceous plastic homage to adolescent boys’ dreams upright. “Look what I found! It was in the toy department.”
“Jenks …” I cajoled, hearing the couple behind me snicker.
“It’s a Bite-me-Betty doll!” he exclaimed, his wings moving furiously to keep himself upright, his hands on the doll’s thighs. “I want it. I want to get it for Ivy. It looks just like her.”
Eyeing the shiny plastic leather skirt and red vinyl bustier, I took a breath to protest.
“Look, see?” he said, his voice excited. “You push the lever in her back, and fake blood squirts out. Isn’t it great!”
I started when a gelatinous goo jumped from the blank-eyed doll’s mouth, arching a good foot before hitting the counter. A red smear dripped down her pointy chin. The register girl eyed it, then hung up on her boyfriend. He wanted to give this to Ivy?
Pushing Ceri’s jeans out of the way, I sighed. Jenks hit the lever again, watching in rapt attention as red squirted out with a rude sound. The couple behind me laughed, the woman hanging on his arm and whispering in his ear. Warming, I grabbed the doll. “I’ll buy it for you if you stop that,” I all but hissed.
Eyes bright, Jenks rose up to land on my shoulder, tucking in between my neck and my scarf to stay warm. “She’s gonna love it,” he said. “You watch.”
Pushing it at the girl behind the counter, I glanced behind me at the tittering couple. They were living vamps, well-dressed and unable to go thirty seconds without touching each other. Knowing I was watching, the woman straightened the collar of his leather jacket to show off his lightly scarred neck. The thought of Nick brought a smile to me, the first time in weeks.
As the girl recalculated my total, I dug in my bag for my checkbook. It was nice having money. Real nice.
“Rache,” Jenks questioned, “can you put a bag of M&M’s in there, too?” His wings sent a cold draft against my neck as he set them vibrating to generate some body heat. It wasn’t as if he could wear a coat—not with those wings of his—and anything heavy was too limiting.
I snatched up a bag of overpriced candy whose hand-lettered cardboard sign said the sale would go to help rebuild the fire-damaged city shelters. I already had my total, but she could add it on. And if the vamps behind me had a problem with that, they could curl up and die twice. It was for orphans, for God’s sake.
The girl reached for the candy and beeped it, giving me a snotty look. The register chirped to give me the new total, and as they all waited, I flipped to the check register. Freezing, I blinked. It had been balanced with neat tidy numbers. I hadn’t bothered to keep a running total as I knew there was tons of money in it, but someone had. Then I brought it closer, staring. “That’s it?” I exclaimed. “That’s all I have left?”
Jenks cleared his throat. “Surprise,” he said weakly. “It was just laying there in your desk, and I thought I’d balance it for you.” He hesitated. “Sorry.”
“It’s almost gone!” I stammered, my face probably as red as my hair. The eyes of the register girl were suddenly wary.
Embarrassed, I finished writing out the check. She took it, calling her supervisor to run it through their system to make sure it was good. Behind me, the vamp couple started in with a snarky commentary. Ignoring them, I flipped through the check register to see where it went.
Almost two grand for my new desk and bedroom set, four more for insulating the church, and $3,500 for a garage for my new car; I wasn’t about to let it sit out in the snow. Then there was the insurance and gas. A big chunk went to Ivy for my back rent. Another chunk went to my night in the emergency room for my broken arm as I hadn’t had insurance at the time. A third chunk to get insurance. And the rest … I swallowed hard. There was money still in there, but I had enjoyed myself down from twenty thousand to high four figures in only three months.
“Um, Rache?” Jenks said. “I was going to ask you later, but I know this accounting guy. You want me to have him set up an IRA for you? I was looking at your finances, and you might need a shelter this year, seeing as you haven’t been taking anything out for taxes.”
“A tax shelter?” I felt sick. “There’s nothing left to put into it.” Taking my bags from the girl, I headed for the door. “And what are you doing looking at my finances?”
“I’m living in your desk,” he said wryly. “It’s kind of all out there?”
I sighed. My desk. My beautiful solid-oak desk with nooks and crannies and a secret cubby at the bottom of the left-hand drawer. My desk that I had used for only three weeks before Jenks and his brood moved into it. My desk, which was now so thickly covered in potted plants that it looked like a prop for a horror movie about killer plants taking over the world. But it was either that or have them set up housekeeping in the kitchen cupboards. No. Not my kitchen. Having them stage daily mock battles among the hanging pots and utensils was bad enough.
Distracted, I tugged my coat closer and squinted at the bright light reflecting off the snow as the sliding doors opened. “Whoa, wait up!” Jenks shrilled in my ear when the blast of cold air hit us. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, witch? Do I look like I’m made of fur?”
“Sorry.” I made a quick left turn to get out of the draft and opened my shoulder bag for him. Still swearing, he dropped down to hide inside. He hated it, but there was no alternative. A sustained temp lower than forty-five degrees would throw him into a hibernation that would be unsafe to break until spring, but he should be all right in my bag.
A Were dressed in a thick wool coat that went to his boot tops edged from me with an uncomfortable look. When I tried to make eye contact, he pulled his cowboy hat down and turned away. A frown crossed me; I hadn’t had a Were client since I made the Howlers pay me for trying to get their mascot back. Maybe I’d made a mistake there.
“Hey, give me those M&M’s, okay?” Jenks grumbled up at me, his short blond hair framing delicate features reddened by the cold. “I’m starving here.”
I obediently shuffled through the bags and dropped the candy in to him before pulling the ties to my shoulder bag shut. I didn’t like bringing him out like this, but I was his partner, not his mom. He enjoyed being the only adult male pixy in Cincinnati not in a stupor. In his eyes, the entire city was probably his garden, as cold and snowy as it was.
I took a moment to dig my zebra-striped car key out from the front pocket. The couple that had been behind me in line passed me on their way out, flirting comfortably and looking like sex in leather. He had bought her a Bite-me-Betty doll, too, and they were laughing. My thoughts went to Nick again, and a warm stir of anticipation took me.
Putting my shades on against the glare, I went out to the sidewalk, keys jingling and bag held tight to me. Even making the trip in my bag, Jenks was going to get cold. I told myself I should make cookies so he could bask in the heat of the cooling oven. It had been ages since I’d made solstice cookies. I was sure I had seen some flour-smeared cookie cutters in a nasty zippy bag at the back of a cupboard somewhere. All I needed was the colored sugar to do it right.
My mood brightened at the sight of my car ankle-deep in crusty slush at the curb. Yeah, it was as expensive as a vampire princess to maintain, but it was mine and I looked really good sitting behind the wheel with the top down and the wind pulling my long hair back… . Not springing for the garage hadn’t been an option.
It chirped happily at me as I unlocked it and dropped my bags in the unusable backseat. I folded myself into the front, setting Jenks carefully on my lap, where he might stay a little warmer. The heat went on full-bore as soon as I got the engine started. I tunked it into gear and was ready to pull out when a long white car slid up alongside in a slow hush of sound.
Affronted, I glared as it double-parked to block me in. “Hey!” I exclaimed when the driver got out in the middle of the freaking road to open the door for his employer. Ticked, I jammed it into neutral, got out of my car and jerked my bag farther up my shoulder. “Hey! I’m trying to leave here!” I shouted, wanting to bang on the roof of the car.
But my protests choked to nothing when the side door opened and an older man wearing scads of gold necklaces stuck his head out. His frizzed blond hair went out in all directions. Blue eyes glinting in suppressed excitement, he beckoned to me. “Ms. Morgan,” he exclaimed softly. “Can I talk to you?”
I took my sunglasses off, staring. “Takata?” I stammered.
The older rocker winced, his face sliding into faint wrinkles as he glanced over the few pedestrians. They had noticed the limo, and with my outburst, the jig, as they say, was up. Eyes pinched in exasperation, Takata stretched out a long skinny hand, jerking me off my feet and into the limo. I gasped, holding my bag so I didn’t squish Jenks as I fell into the plush seat across from him. “Go!” the musician cried, and the driver shut the door and jogged to the front.
“My car!” I protested. My door was open and my keys were in the ignition.
“Anon?” Takata said, gesturing to a man in a black T-shirt tucked into a corner of the expansive vehicle. He slipped past me in a tang of blood that pegged him as a vamp. There was a flush of cold air as he got out, quickly thumping the door shut behind him. I watched through the tinted window as he slipped into my leather seats to look predatory with his shaved head and dark shades. I only hoped I looked half that good. The muffled sound of my engine revved twice, then we jerked into motion as the first of the groupies started patting the windows.
Heart pounding, I spun to look out the back window while we pulled away. My car was edging carefully past the people standing in the road shouting at us to come back. It worked its way into the clear, quickly catching up and running a red light to stay with us.
Stunned at how fast it had been, I turned.
The aging pop star was wearing outlandish orange slacks. He had a matching vest over a soothing earth-toned shirt. Everything was silk, which I thought was his only saving grace. God help him, even his shoes were orange. And socks. I winced. It kind of went with the gold chains and blond hair, which had been teased out until it was so big it could frighten small children. His complexion was whiter than mine, and I dearly wanted to pull out the wood-framed glasses that I had spelled to see through earth charms to know if he had hidden freckles.
“Uh, hi?” I stammered, and the man grinned, showing his impulsive, wickedly intelligent demeanor, and his tendency to find the fun in everything even if the world was falling apart around him. Actually, the innovated artist had done just that, his garage band making the jump to stardom during the Turn, capitalizing on the opportunity to be the first openly Inderland band. He was a Cincy hometown boy who had made good, and he returned the favor by donating the proceeds of his winter solstice concerts to the city’s charities. It was particularly important this year, as a series of arson fires had decimated many of the homeless shelters and orphanages.
“Ms. Morgan,” the man said, touching the side of his big nose. His attention went over my shoulder and out the back window. “Hope I didn’t startle you.”
His voice was deep and carefully schooled. Beautiful. I was a sucker for beautiful voices. “Um, no.” Setting my shades aside, I unwound my scarf. “How are you doing? Your hair looks … great.”
He laughed, easing my nervousness. We had met five years ago and had coffee over a conversation centering on the trials of curly hair. That he not only remembered me but also wanted to talk was flattering. “It looks like hell,” he said, touching the long frizz that had been in dreadlocks when we last met. “But my p.r. woman says it ups my sales by two percent.” He stretched his long legs out to take up almost the entirety of one side of the limo.
I smiled. “You need another charm to tame it?” I said, reaching for my bag.
My breath caught in alarm. “Jenks!” I exclaimed, jerking the bag open.
Jenks came boiling out. “About time you remembered me!” he snarled. “What the Turn is going on? I nearly snapped my wing falling onto your phone. You got M&M’s all over your purse, and I’ll be dammed before I pick them up. Where in Tink’s garden are we?”
I smiled weakly at Takata. “Ah, Takata,” I started, “this is—”
Jenks caught sight of him. A burst of pixy dust exploded, lighting the car for an instant and making me jump. “Holy crap!” the pixy exclaimed. “You’re Takata! I thought Rachel was pissing on my daisies about knowing you. Sweet mother of Tink! Wait until I tell Matalina! It’s really you. Damn, it’s really you!”
Takata reached over and adjusted a knob on an elaborate console, and heat poured out of the vents. “Yeah, it’s really me. Do you want an autograph?”
“Hell, yes!” the pixy said. “No one will believe me.”
I smiled, settling myself farther into the seat, my fluster vanishing at Jenks’s star fawning. Takata tugged a picture of him and his band standing before the Great Wall of China from a dog-eared folder. “Who do I make it out to?” he said, and Jenks froze.
“Uh …” he stammered, his hovering wings going still. I shot my hand out to catch him, and his featherlight weight hit my palm. “Um …” he stuttered, panicking.
“Make it out to Jenks,” I said, and Jenks made a tiny sound of relief.
“Yeah, Jenks,” the pixy said, finding the presence of mind to flit over to stand on the photo as Takata signed it with an illegible signature. “My name is Jenks.”
Takata handed me the picture to carry home for him. “Pleasure to meet you, Jenks.”
“Yeah,” Jenks squeaked. “Nice to meet you, too.” Making another impossibly high noise to get my eyelids aching, he darted from me to Takata like an insane firefly.
“Park it, Jenks,” I breathed, knowing the pixy could hear me even if Takata couldn’t.
“My name is Jenks,” he said as he lit atop my shoulder, quivering when I carefully put the photo in my bag. His wings couldn’t stay still, and the come-and-go draft felt good in the stifling air of the limo.
I returned my gaze to Takata, taken aback at the empty look on his face. “What?” I asked, thinking something was wrong.
Immediately he straightened. “Nothing,” he said. “I heard you quit the I.S. to go out on your own.” He blew his air out in a long exhalation. “That took guts.”
“It was stupid,” I admitted, thinking of the death threat my past employer had set on me in retaliation. “Though I wouldn’t change a thing.”
He smiled, looking satisfied. “You like being on your own?”
“It’s hard without a corporation backing you,” I said, “but I’ve got people to catch me if I fall. I trust them over the I.S. any day.”
Takata’s head bobbed to make his long hair shift. “I’m with you on that.” His feet were spread wide against the car’s motion, and I was starting to wonder why I was sitting in Takata’s limo. Not that I was complaining. We were on the expressway, looping about the city, my convertible trailing three car lengths behind.
“As long as you’re here,” he said suddenly, “I want your opinion on something.”
“Sure,” I said, thinking his mind jumped from topic to topic worse than Nick’s. I loosened the tie on my coat. It was starting to get warm in there.
“Capital,” he said, flipping open the guitar case beside him and pulling a beautiful instrument from the crushed green velvet. My eyes widened. “I’m going to release a new track at the solstice concert.” He hesitated. “You did know I was playing at the Coliseum?”
“I’ve got tickets,” I said, my flash of excitement growing. Nick had bought them. I had been worried he was going to cancel on me and I’d end up going to Fountain Square for the solstice as I usually did, putting my name in the lottery to close the ceremonial circle there. The large, inlaid circle had a “permit only” use status except for the solstices and Halloween. But now I had a feeling we would be spending our solstice together.
“Great!” Takata said. “I was hoping you would. Well, I have this piece about a vampire pining after someone he can’t have, and I don’t know which chorus works the best. Ripley likes the darker one, but Arron says the other fits better.”
He sighed, showing an unusual bother. Ripley was his Were drummer, the only band member to have been with Takata for most of his career. It was said she was the reason everyone else only lasted a year or two before striking out on their own.
“I had planned on singing it live the first time on the solstice,” Takata said. “But I want to release it to WVMP tonight to give Cincinnati a chance to hear it first.” He grinned, to look years younger. “It’s more of a high when they sing along.”
He glanced at the guitar in his lap and strummed a chord. The vibration filled the car. My shoulders slumped, and Jenks made a choking gurgle. Takata looked up, his eyes wide in question. “You’ll tell me which one you like better?” he asked, and I nodded. My own personal concert? Yeah, I could go for that. Jenks made that choking gurgle again.
“Okay. It’s called ‘Red Ribbons.’” Taking a breath, Takata slumped. Eyes vacant, he modified the chord he had been playing. His thin fingers shifted elegantly, and with his head bent over his music, he sang.
“Hear you sing through the curtain, see you smile through the glass. Wipe your tears in my thoughts, no amends for the past. Didn’t know it would consume me, no one said the hurt would last.” His voice dropped and took on the tortured sound that had made him famous. “No one told me. No one told me,” he finished, almost whispering.
“Ooooh, nice,” I said, wondering if he really thought I was capable of making a judgment.
He flashed me a smile, throwing off his stage presence that quickly. “Okay,” he said, hunching over his guitar again. “This is the other one.” He played a darker chord, sounding almost wrong. A shudder rippled its way up my spine, and I stifled it. Takata’s posture shifted, becoming fraught with pain. The vibrating strings seemed to echo through me, and I sank back into the leather seats, the humming of the engine carrying the music right to my core.
“You’re mine,” he almost breathed, “in some small fashion. You’re mine, though you know it not. You’re mine, bond born of passion. You’re mine, yet wholly you. By way of your will, by way of your will, by way of your will.”
His eyes were closed, and I didn’t think he remembered I was sitting across from him. “Um …” I stammered, and his blue eyes flashed open, looking almost panicked. “I think the first one?” I offered as he regained his composure. The man was more flighty than a drawer full of geckos. “I like the second better, but the first fits with the vampire watching what she can’t have.” I blinked. “What he can’t have,” I amended, flushing.
God help me, I must look like a fool. He probably knew I roomed with a vampire. That she and I weren’t sharing blood probably hadn’t made it into his report. The scar on my neck wasn’t from her but from Big Al, and I tugged my scarf up to hide it.
He looked almost shaky as he put his guitar aside. “The first?” he questioned, seeming to want to say something else, and I nodded. “Okay,” he said, forcing a smile. “The first it is.”
There was another choked gurgle from Jenks. I wondered if he would recover enough to make more than that ugly sound.
Takata snapped the latches on his instrument case, and I knew the chitchat was over. “Ms. Morgan,” he said, the rich confines of the limo seeming sterile now that it was empty of his music. “I wish I could say I looked you up for your opinion on which chorus I should release, but I find myself in a tight spot, and you were recommended to me by a trusted associate. Mr. Felps said he has worked with you before and that you had the utmost discretion.”
“Call me Rachel,” I said. The man was twice my age. Making him call me Ms. Morgan was ridiculous.
“Rachel,” he said as Jenks choked again. Takata gave me an uncertain smile, and I returned it, not sure what was going on. It sounded like he had a run for me. Something that required the anonymity that the I.S. or the FIB couldn’t provide.
As Jenks gurgled and pinched the rim of my ear, I straightened, crossed my knees, and pulled my little date-book out of my bag to try to look professional. Ivy had bought it for me two months ago in one of her attempts to bring order to my chaotic life. I only carried it to appease her, but setting up a run for a nationally renowned pop star might be the time to start using it. “A Mr. Felps recommended me to you?” I said, searching my memory and coming up blank.
Takata’s thick expressive eyebrows were high in confusion. “He said he knew you. He seemed quite enamored, actually.”
A sound of understanding slipped past me. “Oh, is he a living vamp, by chance? Blond hair. Thinks he’s God’s gift to the living and the dead?” I asked, hoping I was wrong.
He grinned. “You do know him.” He glanced at Jenks, quivering and unable to open his mouth. “I thought he was pissing in my daisies.”
My eyes closed as I gathered my strength. Kisten. Why didn’t that surprise me? “Yeah, I know him,” I muttered as I opened my eyes, not sure if I should be angry or flattered that the living vampire had recommended me to Takata. “I didn’t know his last name was Felps.”
Disgusted, I gave up on my attempt at being professional. Throwing my datebook back into my bag, I slouched in the corner, my movement less graceful than I hoped, as it was pushed along by the car’s motion as we shifted lanes. “So what can I do for you?” I asked.
The older warlock straightened, tugging the soft orange of his slacks straight. I’d never known anyone who could look good in orange, but Takata managed it. “It’s about the upcoming concert,” he said. “I wanted to see if your firm was available for security.”
“Oh.” I licked my lips, puzzled. “Sure. That’s no problem, but don’t you have people for that already?” I asked, remembering the tight security at the concert I’d met him at. Vamps had to cap their teeth, and no one got in with more than a makeup spell. ‘Course, once past security, the caps came off and the amulets hidden in shoes were invoked… .
He nodded. “Yes, and therein lies the problem.”
I waited as he leaned forward, sending the scent of redwood to me. Long musician hands laced, he eyed the floor. “I arranged security with Mr. Felps as usual before I got into town,” he said when his attention came back to me. “But a Mr. Saladan came to see me, claiming he’s handling security in Cincinnati and that all monies owed to Piscary should be directed to him instead.”
My breath came out in understanding. Protection. Oh. I got it. Kisten was acting as Piscary’s scion since very few people knew that Ivy had displaced him and now held the coveted title. Kisten continued to handle the undead vampire’s affairs while Ivy refused to. Thank God.
“You’re paying for protection?” I said. “You want me to talk to Kisten and Mr. Saladan to get them to stop blackmailing you?”
Takata tilted his head back, his beautiful, tragic voice ringing out in laugher that was soaked up by the thick carpet and leather seats. “No,” he said. “Piscary does a damned-fine job of keeping the Inderlanders in line. My concern is with Mr. Saladan.”
Appalled, but not surprised, I tucked my red curls behind my ear, wishing I had done something with them that afternoon. Yeah, I used blackmail, but it was to keep myself alive, not make money. There was a difference. “It’s blackmail,” I said, disgusted.
He went solemn. “It’s a service, and I don’t begrudge a dime of it.” Seeing my frown, Takata leaned forward to send his gold chains swinging, his blue eyes fixing on mine. “My show has an MPL, just like a traveling circus or fair. I wouldn’t keep it one night if it wasn’t for arranging protection at every city we play in. It’s the cost of doing business.”
MPL was short for Mixed Population License. It guaranteed that there was security in place to prevent bloodletting on the premises, a necessity when Inderlanders and humans mixed. If too many vampires gathered and one succumbed to his or her blood lust, the rest were hard-pressed to not follow suit. I was never sure how a slip of paper was enough to keep hunger-driven vampires’ mouths to themselves, but establishments worked hard to keep an A rating on their MPLs since humans and living Inderlanders would boycott any place that didn’t have one. It was too easy to end up dead or mentally bound to a vampire you didn’t even know. And personally, I’d rather be dead than be a vampire’s toy, my living with a vampire aside.
“It’s blackmail,” I said. We had just passed the bridge to cross the Ohio River. I wondered where we were going if it wasn’t the Hollows.
Takata’s thin shoulders moved. “When I’m touring, I’m at any one place for one night, maybe two. If someone starts trouble, we won’t be around long enough to track them down, and every goth out there knows it. Where’s the incentive for an excited vamp or Were to behave him-or herself? Piscary puts the word out that anyone causing trouble will answer to him.”
I looked up, not liking that it made beautiful, simplistic sense.
“I have an incident-free show,” Takata said, smiling, “and Piscary gets seven percent of the ticket sales. Everyone wins. Up to now, I’ve been very satisfied with Piscary’s services. I didn’t even mind he upped his cost to pay for his lawyer.”
Snorting, I dropped my eyes. “My fault,” I said.
“So I hear,” the lanky man said dryly. “Mr. Felps was very impressed. But Saladan?” Takata grew concerned, his expressive fingers drumming out a complicated rhythm as his gaze went to the passing buildings. “I can’t afford to pay both of them. There would be nothing left to rebuild the city’s shelters, and that’s the entire point to the concert.”
“You want me to make sure nothing happens,” I said, and he nodded. My eyes tracked the Jim Beam bottler just off the expressway while I took that in. Saladan was trying to muscle in on Piscary’s turf now that the undead master vampire was put away for murder. Murders that I staked to him.
I tilted my head in a vain attempt to see Jenks on my shoulder. “I have to talk to my other partner, but I don’t see a problem,” I said. “There will be three of us. Me, a living vamp, and a human.” I wanted Nick to go, even if he wasn’t officially part of our firm.
“Me,” Jenks squeaked. “Me too. Me too.” “I didn’t want to speak for you, Jenks,” I said. “It might be cold.”
Takata chuckled. “With all that body heat and under those lights? No way.”
“Then it’s settled,” I said, terribly pleased. “I’m assuming we get special passes?”
“Yes.” Takata twisted to reach under the folder that held his band’s pictures. “These will get you past Clifford. From there it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Super,” I said, delighted as I dug in my bag for one of my cards. “Here’s my card in case you have to get in touch with me between then and now.”
Things were starting to happen fast, and I took the wad of thick cardboard he gave me in return for my black business card. He smiled as he looked at it, and tucked it away in a front shirt pocket. Turning with that same soft look, he tapped a thick knuckle on the glass between the driver and us. I clutched my bag to me when we swerved to the shoulder.
“Thank you, Rachel,” he said as the car stopped right there on the freeway. “I’ll see you on the twenty-second about noon at the Coliseum so you can go over our security with my staff.”
“Sounds good,” I stammered as Jenks swore and dove for my bag when the door opened. Cold air blew in, and I squinted in the afternoon glare. Behind us was my car. He was going to leave me right here?
“Rachel? I mean it. Thank you.” Takata extended his hand. I took, giving it a firm shake. His grip was tight, feeling thin and bony in mine. Professional. “I really appreciate it,” he said as he released my hand. “You did good by quitting the I.S. You look great.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you,” I said, letting the driver help me out of the limo. The vamp driving my car slipped past me and vanished into the darkest corner of the limo as I tightened the tie of my coat and draped my scarf about my neck again. Takata waved his good-bye as the driver shut the door. The small, tidy man nodded to me before turning around. I stood with my feet in the snow as the limo eased into the fast traffic and disappeared.
Bag in hand, I timed the traffic and slipped into my car. The heater was on full, and I breathed the scent of the vamp who had been driving it, pulling it deep into me.
My head hummed with the music Takata had shared with me. I was going to be working security at his solstice concert. It didn’t get any better than that.
Six (#u501e15e7-86a2-5b87-8582-3daeb4ea34d7)
I had gotten myself turned around and back over the Ohio River and into the Hollows, and still Jenks hadn’t said anything. The starstruck pixy had parked himself on his usual spot atop the rearview mirror, watching the encroaching snow clouds turn the bright afternoon dark and depressive. I didn’t think it was the cold that had turned his wings blue, as I had the heater cranked. It was embarrassment. “Jenks?” I questioned, and his wings blurred to nothing. “Don’t say anything,” he muttered, barely audible. “Jenks, it wasn’t that bad.”
He turned, a look of self-disgust on him. “I forgot my name, Rache.”
I couldn’t help my smile. “I won’t tell anyone.”
The pink returned to his wings. “Really?” he asked, and I nodded. It didn’t take a genius to realize it was important to the ego-driven pixy to be self-assured and in control. I was sure that’s where his bad mouth and short temper came from.
“Don’t tell Ivy,” I said, “but the first time I met him, I fawned all over him. He could have taken advantage of me; used me like a tissue and thrown me away. He didn’t. He made me feel interesting and important, even though I was working peon runs at the I.S. at the time. He’s cool, you know? A real person. I bet he didn’t think twice about you forgetting your name.”
Jenks sighed, his entire body moving as he exhaled. “You missed your turn.”
I shook my head, breaking at a red light behind an obnoxious SUV I couldn’t see around. The salt-stained bumper sticker read, some of my best friends are humans, yum, and I smiled. Only in the Hollows. “I want to see if Nick is awake yet, as long as we’re out,” I explained. My eyes went to Jenks. “You’ll be all right for a little longer?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m okay, but you’re making a mistake.”
The light changed, and I almost stalled my car. We lurched through the intersection, slipping on the slush when I gunned it. “We talked today at the zoo,” I said, feeling warm inside. “I think we’re going to be okay. And-I want to show him the backstage passes.”
His wings made an audible hum. “You sure, Rachel? I mean, that was a big scare when you pulled that ley line through him. Maybe you shouldn’t push it. Give him some space.”
“I’ve given him three months,” I muttered, not caring that the guy in the car behind me thought I was flirting with him as my eyes were on the rearview mirror. “Any more space and he’d be on the moon. I’m not going to rearrange his furniture, just show him the passes.”
Jenks said nothing, his silence making me nervous. My worry shifted to puzzlement when I turned into Nick’s parking lot and stopped beside his beat-up blue truck. There was a suitcase in the passenger seat. It hadn’t been there this morning.
Lips parted, I glanced at Jenks, and he shrugged, looking unhappy. A cold feeling slipped into me. My thoughts flitted over our conversation at the zoo. We were going to the movies tonight. And he was packed? He was going somewhere?
“Get in my bag,” I said softly, refusing to believe the worst. This wasn’t the first time I had come over to find Nick gone or leaving. He had been in and out of Cincinnati a lot the last three months, me usually being unaware of it until he returned. And now his phone was disconnected and there was a packed bag in his truck? Had I misread him? If tonight was supposed to be a dump date, I was going to just die. “Rachel …”
“I’m opening the door,” I said as I stiffly put my keys into my bag. “You want to stay here and wait and hope it doesn’t get too cold?”
Jenks flitted to hover before me. He looked worried despite his hands being on his hips. “Let me out as soon as we’re inside,” he demanded.
My throat tightened as I nodded, and he dropped down with a reluctant slowness. I carefully snugged the ties shut on my bag and got out, but a swelling feeling of hurt made me slam the door, and my little red car shook. Glancing into the bed of the truck, I realized it was dry and empty of snow. It seemed likely that Nick hadn’t been in Cincinnati the last few days, either. No wonder I hadn’t seen him last week.
Thoughts spinning, I paced up the slippery walk to the common door, yanking it open and taking the stairs, to leave successively smaller chunks of snow on the gray carpet. I remembered to let Jenks out at the top of the third-floor landing, and he hovered silently as he took in my anger.
“We were going out tonight,” I said as I pulled my gloves off and jammed them in a pocket. “It’s been staring at me in the face for weeks, Jenks. The hurried phone calls, the trips out of town without telling me, the lack of any intimate contact for God knows how long.”
“Ten weeks,” Jenks said, easily keeping up with me.
“Oh, really,” I said bitterly, “thank you so much for that update.”
“Easy, Rache,” he said, spilling a trace of pixy dust in his wake from worry. “It might not be what you think.”
I’d been dumped before. I wasn’t stupid. But it hurt. Damn it, it still hurt.
There was nowhere for Jenks to land in the barren hallway, and he reluctantly lighted on my shoulder. Jaw clenched so hard it hurt, I made a fist to hammer on Nick’s door. He had to be home—he didn’t go anywhere without his truck—but before I could, the door swung open.
My arm dropped and I stared at Nick, my surprise mirrored on his long face. His coat was unzipped and a homemade hat of soft blue yarn was pulled tight to his ears. He took it off as I watched, shifting it and the keys in his grip to his other hand, which held a slick-looking briefcase at odds with his otherwise ragtag attire. His hair was tousled, and he smoothed it with a deft hand while he regained his composure. There was snow on his boots. Unlike his truck.
Keys jingling, he set the briefcase down. He took a breath, then let it slowly out. The guilt in his eyes told me I was right. “Hi, Ray-ray.”
“Hi, Nick,” I said, hitting the k with an excessive force. “I guess our date is off.”
Jenks buzzed a greeting, and I hated the apologetic look he gave Nick. Four inches or six-foot-four, they were all in the same club. Nick didn’t move to invite me in.
“Was tonight a dump dinner?” I asked abruptly, just wanting to be done with it.
His eyes widened. “No!” he protested, but his gaze flicked to the briefcase.
“Is it someone else, Nick? ‘Cause I’m a big girl. I can take it.”
“No,” he repeated, his voice softer. He shifted, looking frustrated. He reached out, stopping just shy of my shoulder. His hand fell. “No.”
I wanted to believe him. I really did. “Then what?” I demanded. Why didn’t he invite me in? Why did we have to do this in the freaking hallway?
“Ray-ray,” he whispered, his brow furrowed. “It’s not you.”
My eyes closed as I gathered my strength. How many times had I heard that?
His foot shoved the expensive briefcase into the hall, and my eyes flew open at the scraping sound. I stepped aside as he came out, shutting the door behind him. “It’s not you,” he said, his voice suddenly hard. “And it wasn’t a dump dinner. I don’t want to call it quits between us. But something came up, and frankly it’s none of your business.”
Surprised, my lips parted. Jenks’s words flashed through me. “You’re still afraid of me,” I said, pissed that he didn’t trust me to not pull a line through him again.
“I am not,” he offered angrily. Motions stiff, he locked his door from the outside, turning to hold the key up between us. “Here,” he said belligerently. “Take my key. I’ll be out of town for a while. I was going to give it to you tonight, but since you’re here, it will save me the trouble. I’ve stopped my mail, and the rent is paid up through August.”
“August!” I stammered, suddenly afraid.
He glanced at Jenks. “Jenks, can Jax come over and watch my plants for me until I get back? He did a good job last time. It might only be a week, but the heat and electricity are on automatic draw in case it’s longer.”
“Nick …” I protested, my voice sounding small. How had this turned around so fast?
“Sure,” Jenks said meekly. “You know, I think I’ll go wait downstairs.”
“No, I’m done.” Nick picked up the briefcase. “I’m going to be busy tonight, but I’ll swing by later to pick him up before I leave town.”
“Nick, wait!” I said. My stomach clenched and I felt lightheaded. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I should’ve ignored the packed bag and played the stupid girlfriend. I should’ve gone to dinner and ordered lobster. My first real boyfriend in five years, and finally when things were starting to get back to normal, here I was, scaring him off. Just like all the others.
Jenks made an embarrassed sound. “Uh, I’ll be by the front door,” he said, vanishing down the stairwell to leave a trail of glowing pixy dust all the way to the next landing.
Long face tight in unhappiness, Nick pushed the key into my hand. His fingers were cold. “I can’t—” He took a breath, meeting and holding my eyes. I waited, frightened at what he was going to say. Suddenly, I didn’t want to hear it.
“Rachel, I was going to tell you this over dinner, but … I tried. I really did. I just can’t do this right now,” he said softly. “I’m not leaving you,” he rushed to add before I could open my mouth. “I love you, and I want to be with you. Maybe for the rest of my life. I don’t know. But every time you tap a line, I feel it, and it’s as if I’m back in that FIB cruiser having an epileptic seizure from the line you pulled through me. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t do anything. When I’m farther away, it’s easier. I need to be away for a while. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to feel bad.”
Face cold, I could say nothing. He never told me I had made him seize. God help me, I hadn’t known. Jenks had been with him. Why hadn’t he told me?
“I have to catch my breath,” he whispered, giving my hands a squeeze. “To go a few days without remembering that.”
“I’ll stop,” I said, panicking. “I won’t tap a line again. Nick, you don’t have to leave!”
“Yes, I do.” Dropping my hands, he touched my jawline. His smile was pained. “I want you to pull on a line. I want you to practice. Ley line magic is going to save your life someday, and I want you to become the best damned ley line witch Cincinnati has.” He took a breath. “But I have to put some distance between us. Just for a while. And I have some business of out of state. It has nothing to do with you. I’ll be back.”
But he had said August. “You’re not coming back,” I said, my throat closing. “You’ll come for your books, and then you’ll be gone.”
“Rachel—”
“No.” I turned away. The key was cold in my hand, cutting into my palm. Breathe, I reminded myself. “Just go. I’ll bring Jax over tomorrow. Just go.”
I shut my eyes when he put a hand on my shoulder, but I wouldn’t turn. They flashed open when he leaned closer and the scent of musty books and new electronics filled me. “Thank you, Rachel,” he whispered, and there was the lightest touch of lips on mine. “I’m not leaving you. I’ll be back.”
I held my breath and stared at the ugly gray carpet. I wouldn’t cry, damn it. I wouldn’t.
I heard him hesitate, then the soft thumps of his boots on the stairs. My head started to hurt as the muted rumble of his truck vibrated the window at the end of the hall. I waited until I couldn’t hear it anymore before I turned to follow him out, my steps slow and unseeing.
I’d done it again.
Seven (#u501e15e7-86a2-5b87-8582-3daeb4ea34d7)
I pulled my car carefully into the tiny garage, turning off the lights and then the engine. Depressed, I stared at the spackled wall two feet in front of the grille. Silence soaked in, broken by the ticking of the engine cooling off. Ivy’s bike rested quietly against the side wall, covered in a canvas tarp and stored for the winter. It was going to be dark soon. I knew I should get Jenks inside, but it was hard to find the will to unbuckle my belt and get out of the car.
Jenks dropped to the steering wheel with an attention-getting hum. My hands fell into my lap, shoulders slumping. “Well, at least you know where you stand now,” he offered.
My frustration flared, then died, overwhelmed by a wave of apathy. “He said he’s coming back,” I said glumly, needing to believe the lie until I hardened myself to the truth.
Jenks wrapped his arms about himself, dragonfly wings still. “Rache,” he cajoled. “I like Nick, but you’re going to get two calls. One where he says he misses you and is feeling better, and the last when he says he’s sorry and asks you to give his key to his landlord for him.”
I looked at the wall. “Just let me be stupid and believe him for a while, okay?”
The pixy made a sound of wry agreement. He looked positively chilled, his wings almost black as he hunched, shivering. I’d pushed him past his limits by detouring to Nick’s. I was definitely going to make cookies tonight. He shouldn’t go to sleep cold like that. He might not wake up until spring.
“Ready?” I asked as I opened my bag, and he awkwardly jumped down into it instead of flying. Worried, I debated if I should tuck my bag inside my coat. I settled on putting it in the department store bag and rolling the edges down as far as I could.
Only now did I open the door, being careful not to hit the edge of the garage. Bag in hand, I made my way on the shoveled path to the front door. A sleek black Corvette was parked at the curb, looking out of place and unsafe in the snowy streets. I recognized it as Kisten’s, and my face tightened. I’d been seeing too much of him lately for my liking.
The wind bit at my exposed skin, and I glanced up at the steeple, sharp against the graying clouds. Mincing on the ice, I passed Kisten’s mobile icon of masculinity and rose up the stone steps to the thick wooden double doors. There was no conventional lock, though there was an oak crossbar inside which I set every sunrise before I went to bed. Bending awkwardly, I scooped out a cup of pelletized de-icer from the open bag sitting beside the door and sprinkled it on the steps before the afternoon’s snowmelt had a chance to freeze.
I pushed open the door, my hair drifting in the warm draft that billowed out. Soft jazz came with it, and I slipped inside to latch it softly behind me. I didn’t particularly want to see Kisten—no matter how nice he was on the eyes—though I thought I should probably thank him for recommending me to Takata.
It was dark in the small foyer, the glow of dusk slipping in from the sanctuary beyond doing little to light it. The air smelled like coffee and growing things, sort of a mix between a plant nursery and coffeehouse. Nice. Ceri’s things went atop the small antique table Ivy had swiped from her folks, and I opened up my bag, peering down to see Jenks looking up.
“Thank God,” he muttered as he slowly lifted into the air. Then he hesitated, head cocked as he listened. “Where is everyone?”
I shrugged out of my coat and hung it up on a peg. “Maybe Ivy yelled at your kids again and they’re hiding. Are you complaining?”
He shook his head. He was right, though. It was really quiet. Too quiet. Usually there were head-splitting shrills of pixy children playing tag, an occasional crash from a hanging utensil hitting the kitchen floor, or the snarls of Ivy chasing them out of the living room. The only peace we got were the four hours they slept at noon, and four hours again after midnight.
The warmth of the church was soaking into Jenks, and already his wings were translucent and moving well. I decided to leave Ceri’s things where they were until I could get them across the street to her, and after stomping the snow off my boots beside the melting puddles Kisten had left, I followed Jenks out of the dark foyer and into the quiet sanctuary.
My shoulders eased as I took in the subdued lighting coming in through the knee-to-ceiling-high stained-glass windows. Ivy’s stately baby grand took up one corner in the front, dusted and cared for but played only when I was out. My plant-strewn, rolltop desk was kitty-corner to it, way up in the front on the ankle-high stage where the altar once sat. The huge image of a cross still shadowed the wall above it, soothing and protective. The pews had been removed long before I moved in, leaving an echoing wooden and glass space redolent of peace, solitude, grace, and security. I was safe here.
Jenks stiffened, sending my instincts flaming.
“Now!” shrilled a piercing voice.
Jenks shot straight up, leaving a cloud of pixy dust hanging where he had been like an octopus inking. Heart pounding, I hit the hardwood floor, rolling.
Sharp patters of impacts hit the planks beside me. Fear kept me spinning until I found a corner. Heady, the strength of the graveyard’s ley line surged through me as I tapped it.
“Rachel! It’s my kids!” Jenks cried as a hail of tiny snowballs struck me.
Gagging, I choked on the word to invoke my circle, yanking back the cresting power. It crashed into me, and I groaned as twofold the ley line energy suddenly took up the same space. Staggering, I fell to a knee and struggled to breathe until the excess found its way back to the line. Oh God. It felt like I was on fire. I should have just made the circle.
“What in Tink’s knickers do you think you’re doing!” Jenks yelled, hovering over me as I tried to focus on the floor. “You should know better than to jump a runner like that! She’s a professional! You’re going to end up dead! And I’m going to let you rot where you fall. We’re guests here! Get to the desk. All of you! Jax, I am really disappointed.”
I took a breath. Damn. That really hurt. Mental note: never stop a ley line spell midcast.
“Matalina!” Jenks shouted. “Do you know what our kids are doing?”
I licked my lips. “It’s okay,” I said, looking up to find absolutely no one in the sanctuary. Even Jenks was gone. “I love my life,” I muttered, and I worked myself carefully up from the floor in stages. The flaming tingle in my skin had subsided, and pulse hammering, I let go of the line completely, feeling the remaining energy flow out of my chi to leave me shaking.
With the sound of an angry bee, Jenks flew in from the back rooms. “Rachel,” he said as he came to a halt before me. “I’m sorry. They found the snow that Kist brought in on his shoes, and he told them about snowball fights when he was a kid. Oh, look. They got you all wet.”
Matalina, Jenks’s wife, zipped into the sanctuary in a billow of gray and blue silk. Giving me an apologetic wince, she slipped under the crack in my rolltop desk. My head started to hurt and my eyes watered. Her scolding was so high-pitched that I couldn’t hear it.
Tired, I straightened to my full height and tugged my sweater straight. Small spots of water showed where I’d been hit. If they had been fairy assassins with spells instead of pixies with snowballs, I’d be dead. My heart slowed, and I snatched up my bag from the floor. “It’s okay,” I said, embarrassed and wanting Jenks to shut up. “No biggie. Kids will be kids.”
Jenks hovered in apparent indecision. “Yeah, but they’re my kids, and we’re guests. They’ll be apologizing to you, among a few other things.”
Gesturing it was okay, I stumbled down the dark hallway, following the smell of coffee. At least no one had seen me rolling on the floor evading pixy snowballs, I thought. But such commotions had become commonplace since the first hard frost and Jenks’s family moved in. There was no way I could pretend I wasn’t here now, though. Besides, they had probably smelled the flush of fresh air when I opened the door.
I passed the opposing his-and-her bathrooms that had been converted into a conventional bathroom and a combination bathroom/laundry room. The latter was mine. My room was on the right side of the hallway, Ivy’s was directly across from it. The kitchen was next, and I made a left turn into it, hoping to grab some coffee and go hide in my room to avoid Kisten entirely.
I had made the mistake of kissing him in an elevator, and he never missed an opportunity to remind me of it. Thinking at the time I wouldn’t live to see the sunrise, I had let my guard down and enjoyed myself, all but giving in to the lure of vampiric passion. Even worse? Kisten knew he had tipped me over the edge and that I had been a breath away from saying yes.
Exhausted, I elbowed the light switch and dropped my shoulder bag on the counter. Fluorescent lights flickered on, sending Mr. Fish into a frenzy of motion. Soft jazz and the rise and fall of conversation filtered in from the unseen living room. Kisten’s leather coat was draped over Ivy’s chair before her computer. There was a half-full pot of coffee, and after a moment’s thought, I poured it into my gigantic mug. Trying to be quiet, I started a new batch. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but Kisten’s voice was as smooth and warm as a bubble bath.
“Ivy, love,” he pleaded as I got the grounds out of the fridge. “It’s only one night. An hour, maybe. In and out.” “No.”
Ivy’s voice was cold, the warning obvious. Kisten was pushing her past where I would, but they’d grown up together, the children of wealthy parents who expected them to join their families and have little vamp brats to continue Piscary’s living-vampire line before they died and became true undead. It wouldn’t happen—the marriage, not the dead part. They had already tried the cohabitation route, and while neither would say what happened, their relationship had cooled until all that was left was more of a warped sibling fondness.
“You don’t have to do anything,” Kisten persuaded, laying his fake British accent on heavy. “Just be there. I’ll say everything.”
“No.”
Someone snapped off the music, and I silently pulled the silverware drawer open for the coffee scoop. Three pixy girls darted out, shrieking. I bit back my yelp, heart pounding as they vanished down the dark hallway. Motions quick from adrenaline, I poked around to find the scoop missing. I finally spotted it in the sink. Kisten must have made the coffee. If it had been Ivy, her asinine need for order would have had it washed, dried, and put away.
“Why not?” Kisten’s voice had taken a petulant tone. “He’s not asking for much.”
Tight and controlled, Ivy’s voice was seething. “I don’t want that bastard in my head at all. Why would I let him see through my eyes? Feel my thoughts?”
The carafe hung from my fingers as I stood over the sink. I wished I wasn’t hearing this.
“But he loves you,” Kisten whispered, sounding hurt and jealous. “You’re his scion.”
“He doesn’t love me. He loves me fighting him.” It was bitter, and I could almost see her perfect, slightly Oriental features tighten in anger.
“Ivy,” Kisten cajoled. “It feels good, intoxicating. The power he shares with you—”
“It’s a lie!” she shouted, and I started. “You want the prestige? The power? You want to keep running Piscary’s interests? Pretend you’re still his scion? I don’t care! But I’m not letting him in my head even to cover for you!”
I noisily ran the water into the carafe to remind them I was listening. I didn’t want to hear more, and I wished they’d stop.
Kisten’s sigh was long and heavy. “It doesn’t work that way. If he really wants in, you won’t be able to stop him, Ivy love.”
“Shut. Up.”
The words were so full of bound anger that I stifled a shudder. The carafe overflowed, and I jumped as water hit my hand. Grimacing, I shut the tap off and tipped the excess out.
There was a creak of wood from the living room. My stomach clenched. Someone had just pinned someone else to a chair. “Go ahead,” Kisten murmured over the tinkling of the water pouring into the coffeemaker. “Sink those teeth. You know you want to. Just like old times. Piscary feels everything you do, whether you want him to or not. Why do you think you haven’t been able to abstain from blood lately? Three years of denial, and now you can’t go three days? Give it up, Ivy. He’d love to feel us enjoying ourselves again. And maybe your roommate might finally understand. She almost said yes,” he goaded. “Not to you. To me.”
I stiffened. That had been directed at me. I wasn’t in the room, but I might as well have been.
There was another creak of wood. “Touch her blood and I’ll kill you, Kist. I swear it.”
I looked around the kitchen for a way to escape but it was too late as Ivy halted in the archway, with a scuff of boots. She hesitated, looking unusually ruffled as she gauged my unease in an instant with her uncanny ability to read body language. It made keeping secrets around her chancy at best. Anger at Kist had pinched her brow, and the aggressive frustration didn’t bode well, even if it wasn’t aimed at me. Her pale skin glowed a faint pink as she tried to calm herself, bringing the faint whisper of scar tissue on her neck into stark relief. She had tried surgery to minimize Piscary’s physical sign of his claim on her, but it showed when she was upset. And she wouldn’t accept any of my complexion charms. I had yet to figure that one out.
Seeing me unmoving by the sink, her brown eyes flicked from my steaming mug of coffee to the empty pot. I shrugged and flicked the switch to get it brewing. What could I say?
Ivy pushed herself into motion, setting an empty mug on the counter. She smoothed her severely straight black hair, bringing herself back to at least looking calm and collected. “You’re upset,” she said, her anger at Kisten making her voice rough. “What’s up?”
I pulled my backstage passes out and clipped them to the fridge with a tomato magnet. My thought went to Nick, then to rolling on the floor evading pixy snowballs. And mustn’t forget the joy of hearing her threaten Kisten over my blood that she wasn’t ever going to taste. Golly, so much to choose from. “Nothing,” I said softly.
Long and sleek in her blue jeans and shirt, she crossed her arms and leaned against the counter beside the coffeemaker to wait for it to finish. Her thin lips pressed together and she breathed deeply. “You’ve been crying. What is it?”
Surprise stopped me cold. She knew I had been crying? Damn. It had only been three tears. At the stoplight. And I had wiped them away before they even dribbled out. I glanced at the empty hallway, not wanting Kisten to know. “I’ll tell you later, okay?”
Ivy followed my gaze to the archway. Puzzlement crinkled the skin about her brown eyes. Then understanding crashed over her; she knew I’d been dumped. She blinked, and I watched her, relieved when the first flicker of blood lust at my new, available status quickly died.
Living vampires didn’t need blood to remain sane, as undead vampires did. They still craved it, though, choosing whom they took it from with care, usually following their sexual preferences on the happy chance that sex might be included in the mix. But the taking of blood could range in importance from confirming a deep platonic friendship to the shallowness of a one-night stand. Like most living vamps, Ivy said she didn’t equate blood with sex, but I did. The sensations a vampire could pull from me were too close to sexual ecstasy to think otherwise.
After twice being slammed into the wall by ley line energy, Ivy got the message that though I was her friend, I would never, ever, say yes to her. It had been easier after she resumed practicing, too, with her slacking her needs somewhere else and coming home satiated, relaxed, and quietly self-loathing for having given in again.
Over the summer she seemed to have turned her energies from trying to convince me that her biting me wasn’t sex to ensuring that no other vampire would hit on me. If she couldn’t have my blood, then no one could, and she had devoted herself in a disturbing, yet flattering, drive to keep other vampires from taking advantage of my demon scar and luring me into becoming their shadow. Living with her gave me protection from them—protection I wasn’t ashamed to accept—and in return I was her unconditional friend. And whereas that might seem one-sided, it wasn’t.
Ivy was a high-maintenance friend, jealous of anyone who attracted my attention, though she hid it well. She barely tolerated Nick. Kisten, though, seemed exempt, which made me oh-so-warm and fuzzy inside. And as I took up my coffee, I found myself hoping she would go out tonight and satisfy that damned blood lust of hers so she wouldn’t be looking at me like a hungry panther the rest of the week.
Feeling the tension shift from anger to speculation, I looked at the unfinished pot brewing, thinking only of escaping the room. “You want mine?” I said. “I haven’t drunk any.”
My head turned at Kisten’s masculine chuckle. He had appeared without warning in the doorway. “I haven’t drunk any either,” he said suggestively. “I’d like some if you’re offering.”
A flush of memory took me, of Kisten and me in that elevator: my fingers playing with the silky strands of his blond-dyed hair at the nape of his neck, the day-old stubble he cultivated to give his delicate features a rugged cast harsh against my skin, his lips both soft and aggressive as he tasted the salt on me, the feel of his hands at the small of my back pressing me into him. Damn.
I pulled my eyes from him, forcing my hand down from my neck where I had been unconsciously touching my demon scar to feel it tingle, stimulated by the vamp pheromones he was unconsciously putting out. Double damn.
Pleased with himself, he sat in Ivy’s chair, clearly guessing where my thoughts were. But looking ‘at his well-put-together body, it was hard to think of anything else.
Kisten was a living vamp, too, his bloodline going back as far as Ivy’s. He had once been Piscary’s scion, and the glow of sharing blood with the undead vampire showed in him still. Though he often acted the playboy by dressing in biker leather and affecting a bad British accent, he used it to hide his business savvy. He was smart. And fast. And while not as powerful as an undead vampire, he was stronger than his compact build and slim waistline suggested.
Today he was dressed conservatively in a silk shirt tucked into dark slacks, clearly trying to be the professional as he took on more of Piscary’s business interests now that the vampire languished in prison. The only hints to Kisten’s bad-boy side were the gunmetal gray chain he wore about his neck—twin to the pair Ivy wore about her ankle—and the two diamond studs he had in each ear. At least there were supposed to be two in each ear. Someone had torn one out to leave a nasty tear.
Kisten lounged in Ivy’s chair with his immaculate shoes provocatively spread, leaning back as he took in the moods drifting about the room. I found my hand creeping up to my neck again, and I scowled. He was trying to bespell me, get in my head and shift my thoughts and decisions. It wouldn’t work. Only the undead could bespell the unwilling, and he couldn’t lean on Piscary’s strength any longer to give him the increased abilities of an undead vampire.
Ivy pulled the brewed coffee out from under the funnel. “Leave Rachel alone,” she said, clearly the dominant of the two. “Nick just dumped her.”
My breath caught and I stared at her, aghast. I hadn’t wanted him to know!
“Well …” Kisten murmured, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees. “He was no good for you anyway, love.”
Bothered, I put the island counter between us. “It’s Rachel. Not love.”
“Rachel,” he said softly, and my heart pounded at the compulsion he put in it. I glanced out the window to the snowy gray garden and the tombstones beyond. What the Turn was I doing standing in my kitchen with two hungry vamps when the sun was going down? Didn’t they have somewhere to go? People to bite, that weren’t me?
“He didn’t dump me,” I said as I grabbed the fish food and fed Mr. Fish. I could see Kisten’s reflection watching me in the dark window. “He’s out of town for a few days. Gave me his key to check on everything and pick up his mail.”
“Oh.” Kisten glanced sidelong at Ivy. “A long excursion?”
Flustered, I set the fish food down and turned. “He said he was coming back,” I protested, my face tightening as I heard the ugly truth behind my words. Why would Nick say he’d be coming back unless it had occurred to him not to?
As the two vamps exchanged more silent looks, I pulled a mundane cookbook out from my spell library and set it thumping onto the island counter. I’d promised Jenks the oven tonight. “Don’t even try to pick me up on the rebound, Kisten,” I warned.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” The slow, soft tone of his voice said otherwise.
“’Cause you’re not capable of being half the man Nick is,” I stupidly said.
“High standards, eh?” Kisten mocked.
Ivy perched herself on the counter by my ten-gallon dissolution vat of saltwater, wrapping her arms about her knees yet still managing to look predatory while she sipped her coffee and watched Kisten play with my emotions.
Kisten glanced at her as if for permission, and I frowned. Then he stood in a sliding sound of fabric, coming to lean on the island counter across from me. His necklace swung, pulling my attention to his neck, marked with soft, almost unseen, scars. “I like action movies,” he said, and my breath came fast. I could smell the lingering aroma of leather on him under the dry scent of silk.
“So?” I said belligerently, peeved that Ivy had probably told him about Nick’s and my weekend-long stints in front of the Adrenaline channel.
“So, I can make you laugh.”
I flipped to the most tattered, stain-splattered recipe in the book I’d swiped from my mom, knowing it was for sugar cookies. “So does Bozo the Clown, but I wouldn’t date him.”
Ivy licked her finger and made a tally mark in the air.
Kisten smiled to show the barest hint of fang, leaning back and clearly feeling the hit. “Let me take you out,” he said. “A platonic first date to prove Nick wasn’t anything special.”
“Oh, please,” I simpered, not believing he was stooping this low.
Grinning, Kisten turned himself into a spoiled rich boy. “If you enjoy yourself, then you admit to me that Nick was nothing special.”
I crouched to get the flour. “No,” I said when I rose to set it thumping on top of the counter.
A hurt look creased his stubbled face, put-on but still effective. “Why not?”
I glanced behind me at Ivy, silently watching. “You have money,” I said. “Anyone can show a girl a good time with enough money.”
Ivy made another tally mark. “That’s two,” she said, and he frowned.
“Nick was a cheap ass, huh,” Kisten offered, trying to hide his ire.
“Watch your mouth,” I shot back. “Yes, Ms. Morgan.”
The sultry submissiveness in his voice yanked my thoughts back to the elevator. Ivy once told me Kisten got off on playing the submissive. What I had found out was that a submissive vampire was still more aggressive than most people could handle. But I wasn’t most people. I was a witch.
I put my eyes on his, seeing that they were a nice steady blue. Unlike Ivy, Kisten freely indulged his blood lust until it wasn’t the overriding factor governing his life. “One hundred seventy-five dollars?” he offered, and I bent to get the sugar.
The man thought a cheap date was almost two hundred dollars?
“One hundred?” he said, and I looked at him, reading his genuine surprise.
“Our average date was sixty,” I said.
“Damn!” he swore, then hesitated. “I can say damn, can’t I?”
“Hell, yes.”
From her perch on the counter, Ivy snickered. Kisten’s brow pinched in what looked like real worry. “Okay,” he said, deep in thought. “A sixty-dollar date.”
I gave him a telling look. “I haven’t said yes yet.” He inhaled long and slow, tasting my mood on the air. “You haven’t said no, either.” “No.”
He slumped dramatically, pulling a smile from me despite myself. “I won’t bite you,” he protested, his blue eyes roguishly innocent.
From under the island counter I pulled out my largest copper spell pot to use as a mixing bowl. It wasn’t reliable any longer for spelling, as it had a dent from hitting Ivy’s head. The palm-sized paint ball gun I stored in it made a comforting sound against the metal as I took it out to put back under the counter at ankle height. “And I should believe you because …”
Kisten’s eyes flicked to Ivy. “She’ll kill me twice if I do.”
I went to get the eggs, milk, and butter out of the fridge, hoping neither of them sensed my pulse quickening. But I knew my temptation didn’t stem from the subliminal pheromones they were unconsciously emitting. I missed feeling desired, needed. And Kisten had a Ph.D. in wooing women, even if his motives were one-sided and false. From the looks of it, he indulged in casual blood taking like some men indulged in casual sex. And I didn’t want to become one of his shadows that he strung along, caught by the binding saliva in his bite to crave his touch, to feel his teeth sinking into me to fill me with euphoria. Crap, I was doing it again.
“Why should I?” I said, feeling myself warm. “I don’t even like you.”
Kisten leaned over the counter as I returned. The faultless blue of his eyes caught and held mine. It was obvious by his rakish grin that he knew I was weakening. “All the better reason to go out with me,” he said. “If I can show you a good time for a lousy sixty bucks, think what someone you like could do. All I need is one promise.”
The egg was cold in my hands, and I set it down. “What?” I asked, and Ivy stirred.
His smile widened. “No shirking.”
“Beg pardon?”
He opened the tub of butter and dipped his finger into it, licking it slowly clean. “I can’t make you feel attractive if you stiffen up every time I touch you.”
“I didn’t before,” I said, my thoughts returning to the elevator. God help me, I had almost done him right there against the wall.
“This is different,” he said. “It’s a date, and I would give my eyeteeth to know why women expect men to behave differently on a date than any other time.”
“Because you do,” I said.
He gave a raised-eyebrow look to Ivy. Straightening, he reached across the counter to cup my jaw. I jerked back, brow furrowed.
“Nope,” he said as he drew away. “I won’t ruin my reputation by taking you out on a sixty-dollar date for nothing. If I can’t touch you, it’s a no-go.”
I stared at him, feeling my heart pound. “Good.”
Shocked, Kisten blinked. “Good?” he questioned as Ivy smirked.
“Yeah,” I said, pulling the butter to me and scooping out about a half cup with a wooden spoon. “I didn’t want to go out with you anyway. You’re too full of yourself. Think you can manipulate anyone into doing anything. Your ego-testicle attitude makes me sick.”
Ivy laughed as she unfolded herself and jumped lightly to the floor without a sound. “I told you,” she said. “Pay up.”
Shoulders shifting in a sigh, he twisted to reach his wallet in a back pocket, pulling out a fifty and shoving it into her hand. She raised a thin eyebrow and made another tally mark in the air. An unusual smile was on her as she stretched to drop it into the cookie jar atop the fridge.
“Typical,” Kisten said, his eyes dramatically sad. “Try to do something nice for a person, cheer her up, and what do I get? Abused and robbed.”
Ivy took three long steps to come up behind him. Curling an arm across his chest, she leaned close and whispered in his torn ear, “Poor baby.” They looked good together, her silky sultriness and his confident masculinity.
He didn’t react at all as her fingers slipped between the buttons of his shirt. “You would have enjoyed yourself,” he said to me.
Feeling as if I’d passed some test, I pushed the butter off the spoon and licked my finger clean. “How would you know?”
“Because you enjoyed yourself just now,” he answered. “You forgot all about that shallow, self-centered human who doesn’t know a good thing when she bites him on his—” He looked at Ivy. “Where did you say she bit him, Ivy love?”
“His wrist.” Ivy straightened and turned her back on me to retrieve her coffee.
“Who doesn’t know a good thing when she bites him on his … wrist,” Kisten finished.
My face was burning. “That’s the last time I tell you anything!” I exclaimed to Ivy. And it wasn’t as if I had drawn blood. Good God!
“Admit it,” Kisten said. “You enjoyed talking with me, pitting your will against mine. It would have been fun,” he said as he looked at me through his bangs. “You look like you could use some fun. Cooped up in this church for God knows how long. When was the last time you got dressed up? Felt pretty? Felt desirable?”
I stood very still, feeling my breath move in and out of me, balanced. My thoughts went to Nick leaving to go out of town without telling me, our cuddling and closeness that had ended with a shocking abruptness. It had been so long. I missed his touch making me feel wanted, stirring my passions and bringing me alive. I wanted that feeling back—even if it was a lie. Just for a night, so I wouldn’t forget how it felt until I found it again.
“No biting,” I said, thinking I was making a mistake.
Ivy jerked her head up, her face expressionless.
Kisten didn’t seem surprised. A heady understanding was in his gaze. “No shirking,” he said softly, his eyes alive and glinting. I was like glass to him.
“Sixty-dollar maximum,” I countered.
Kisten stood, taking his coat from the back of the chair. “I’ll pick you up at one a.m., night after tomorrow. Wear something nice.”
“No playing on my scar,” I said breathlessly, unable to find enough air for some reason. What in hell was I doing?
With a predatory grace, he shrugged into his coat. He hesitated, thinking. “Not one breath on it,” he agreed. His thoughtful expression shifted to sly anticipation as he stood in the archway to the hall and held out his hand to Ivy.
Motions stiff, Ivy pulled the fifty back out of the cookie jar and gave it to him. He stood and waited, and she took another and slapped it into his hand.
“Thanks, Ivy love,” he said. “Now I have enough for my date and a haircut, too.” He met my eyes, holding them until I couldn’t breathe. “See you later, Rachel.”
The sound of his dress shoes seemed loud in the darkening church. I heard him say something to Jenks followed by the faint boom of the front door closing.
Ivy wasn’t pleased. “That was a stupid thing to do,” she said.
“I know.” I wouldn’t look at her, mixing the sugar and butter with a rough quickness. “Then why did you do it?”
I kept stirring. “Maybe because unlike you, I like being touched,” I said wearily. “Maybe because I miss Nick. Maybe because he’s been gone the last three months and I’ve been too stupid to notice. Back off, Ivy. I’m not your shadow.”
“No,” she agreed, less angry than I expected. “I’m your roommate, and Kist is more dangerous than he lets on. I’ve seen him do this before. He wants to hunt you. Hunt you slow.”
I stilled my motions and looked at her. “Slower than you?” I questioned bitterly.
She stared at me. “I’m not hunting you,” she said, sounding hurt. “You won’t let me.”
Letting go of the spoon, I put my hands to either side of the bowl and bowed my head over it. We were the pair. One too afraid to feel anything lest she lose control of her ironclad hold on her emotions, and the other so hungry to feel anything that she’d risk her free will for one night of fun. How I had kept from being a vampire’s flunky this long was a miracle.
“He’s waiting for you,” I said as I heard Kisten’s car revving through the insulated walls of the church. “Go satiate yourself. I don’t like it when you don’t.”
Ivy swung into motion. Not saying a word, she stiffly walked out, boots thumping on the hardwood floor. The sound of the church’s door shutting was quiet. Slowly the ticking of the clock above the sink became obvious. Taking a slow breath, I pulled my head up, wondering how in hell I had become her keeper.
Eight (#u501e15e7-86a2-5b87-8582-3daeb4ea34d7)
The rhythmic thumps of my running feet jolting up my spine were a pleasant distraction from my thoughts of Nick. It was bright, the sun glittering off the piles of snow to make me squint through my new sunglasses. I had left my old pair in Takata’s limo, and the new ones didn’t fit as well. This was the second day in a row that I had gotten up at an ungodly ten in the morning to come out and run, and by the Turn, I was going to run this time. Jogging after midnight wasn’t as fun—too many weirdos. Besides, I had a date tonight with Kisten.
The thought zinged through me, and my pace increased. Each puffed breath was timed with my steps to make a hypnotic tempo luring me into a runner’s high. I picked up the pace even more, reveling in it. An old witch couple was ahead of me doing a fast walk/run as I passed the bear exhibit. They were watching with a hungry interest. The bears, not the witches. I think that’s why management let us runners in. We gave the large predators something to watch besides kids in strollers and tired parents.
Actually, our collective group of runners had taken it upon ourselves to adopt the Indochina tiger exhibit with just that in mind. The funds for their upkeep and health care came entirely from our special-pass fees. They ate very well.
“Track!” I exclaimed breathily in time with my steps, and the two witches slid aside, making a spot for me. “Thanks,” I said as I passed them, catching their heavy redwood scent in the crisp, painfully dry air.
The sound of their companionable conversation quickly retreated. I spared a confused, angry thought for Nick. I didn’t need him to run; I could run by myself. He hadn’t run with me much lately anyway, not since I got my car and didn’t need to bum a ride from him.
Yeah, right, I thought, my jaw clenching. It wasn’t the car. It was something else. Something he wouldn’t tell me about. Something that “frankly wasn’t my business.”
“Track!” I heard faintly from someone not far behind.
It was low and controlled. Whoever it was, they were keeping up with me with no trouble. All my warning flags went up. Let’s see if you can run, I thought, taking a deep breath.
Different muscles eased into play like gears shifting as I pushed into a faster pace, my heart pounding and the cold air slicing in and out of me. I was already going at a good clip, my natural pace somewhere between a long distance run and a sprint. It had made me a favorite in the eight hundred meter in high school and had stood me in good stead when I worked for the I.S. and needed to run down the occasional tag. Now, my calves protested at the increased speed and my lungs began to burn. As I passed the rhinos and cut a left, I vowed to get out here more; I was going soft.
No one was ahead of me. Even the keepers were absent. I listened, hearing his pace increase to match mine. I snuck a quick look back as I made a sharp left.
It was a Were, somewhat short and lanky, sleek in matching gray running pants and long-sleeve shirt. His long black hair was held back with an exercise band, and there was no strain on his placid face as he kept up with me.
Crap. My heart gave an extra hard thump. Even without the cowboy hat and wool duster, I recognized him. Crap, crap, crap.
My pace quickened with a surge of adrenaline. It was the same Were. Why was he following me? My thoughts drifted back further than yesterday. I’d seen him before. Lots of be-fores. He was at the watch counter last week when Ivy and I were picking out a new perfume, to overpower my natural scent mixing with hers. He had been putting air into his tires three weeks ago when I was pumping gas and locked myself out of my car. And three months ago I’d seen him leaning against a tree when Trent and I talked at Eden Park.
My jaw clenched. Maybe it’s time we chatted? I thought as I ran past the cat house.
There was a drop-off ahead by the eagles. I cut a right, leaning back as I went downhill. Mr. Were followed. As I thumped along behind the eagle exhibit, I took stock of what I had. In my belt pack were my keys, my phone, a mild pain amulet already invoked, and my minisplat gun loaded with sleepy time potions. No help there; I wanted to talk to him, not knock him out.
The path opened up into a wide deserted section. No one ran down here because the hill was such a killer to get back up. Perfect. Heart pounding, I went left to take the slope instead of heading for the Vine Street entrance. A smile curved over me as his pace faltered. He hadn’t expected that. Leaning into the hill, I ran up it full tilt, seeming to be in slow motion. The path was narrow and snow-covered. He followed.
Here, I thought as I reached the top. Panting, I snuck a quick look behind me and jerked off the path and into the thick shrubbery. My lungs burned as I held my breath.
He passed me with the sound of feet and heavy breathing, intent on his steps. Reaching the top, he hesitated, looking to see which way I had gone. His dark eyes were pinched and the first signs of physical distress furrowed his brow.
Taking a breath, I leapt.
He heard me, but it was too late. I landed against him as he spun, pinning him against an old oak. His breath whooshed out as his back hit, his eyes going wide and surprised. My fingers went chokingly under his chin to hold him there, and my fist hit his solar plexus.
Gasping, he bent forward. I let go, and he fell to sit at the base of the tree, holding his stomach. A thin backpack slid up almost over his head.
“Who in hell are you and why have you been tailing me the last three months!” I shouted, trusting the odd hour and the closed status of the zoo to keep our conversation private.
Head bowed over his chest, the Were put a hand in the air. It was small for a man, and thick, with short powerful-looking fingers. Sweat had turned his spandex shirt a darker gray, and he slowly moved his well-muscled legs into a less awkward position.
I took a step back, my hand on my hip, lungs heaving as I recovered from the climb. Angry, I took off my sunglasses and hung them from my waistband and waited.
“David,” he rasped as he looked up at me, immediately dropping his head while he struggled to take another breath. Pain and a hint of embarrassment had laced his brown eyes. Sweat marred his rugged face, thick with a black stubble that matched his long hair. “God bless it,” he said to the ground. “Why did you have to hit me? What is it with you redheads, anyway, always having to hit things?”
“Why are you following me?” I shot at him.
Head still bowed, he put up a hand again, telling me to wait. I shifted nervously as he took a clean breath, then another. His hand dropped and he looked up. “My name is David Hue,” he said. “I’m an insurance adjuster. Mind if I get up? I’m getting wet.”
My mouth dropped open and I took several steps back onto the path as he rose and wiped the snow from his backside. “An insurance adjuster?” I stammered. Surprise washed the remnants of adrenaline from me. I put my arms about myself and wished I had my coat as the air suddenly seemed colder now that I wasn’t moving. “I paid my bill,” I said, starting to get angry. “I haven’t missed one payment. You’d think for six hundred dollars a month—”
“Six hundred a month!” he said, his features shocked. “Oh, honey, we have to talk.”
Affronted, I backed up farther. He was in his mid-thirties, I guessed from the maturity in his jaw and the barest hint of thickening about his middle that his spandex shirt couldn’t hide. His narrow shoulders were hard with muscle that his shirt couldn’t hide, either. And his legs were fabulous. Some people shouldn’t wear spandex. Despite being older than I liked my men, David wasn’t one of them.
“Is that what this is about?” I said, both ticked and relieved. “Is this how you get your clients? Stalking them?” I frowned and turned away. “That’s pathetic. Even for a Were.”
“Wait up,” he said, lurching out onto the path after me in a snapping of twigs. “No. Actually, I’m here about the fish.”
I jerked to a stop, my feet again in the sun. My thoughts zinged back to the fish I had stolen from Mr. Ray’s office last September. Shit.
“Um,” I stammered, my knees suddenly weak from more than the run. “What fish?” Fingers fumbling, I snapped my sunglasses open. Putting them on, I started walking for the exit.
David felt his middle for damage as he followed me, meeting my fast pace with his own. “See,” he said almost to himself. “This is exactly why I’ve been following you. Now I’ll never get a straight answer, I’ll never settle the claim.”
My stomach hurt, and I forced myself into a faster pace. “It was a mistake,” I said, my face warming. “I thought it was the Howlers’ fish.”
David took off his sweatband, slicked his hair back, and replaced it. “Word is that the fish has been destroyed. I find that extremely unlikely. If you could verify that, I can write my report, send a check to the party Mr. Ray stole the fish from, and you’ll never see me again.”
I gave him a sidelong glance, my relief that he wasn’t going to serve me with a writ or something very real. I had surmised that Mr. Ray had stolen it from someone when no one came after me for it. But this was unexpected. “Someone insured their fish?” I scoffed, not believing it, then realized he was serious. “You’re kidding.”
The man shook his head. “I’ve been following you trying to decide if you have it or not.”
We had reached the entrance and I stopped, not wanting him to follow me to my car. Not that he didn’t already know which one it was. “Why not just ask me, Mr. Insurance Agent?”
Looking bothered, he planted his feet widely with an aggressive stance. He was my height exactly—making him somewhat short for a man—but most Weres weren’t big people on the outside. “You really expect me to believe you don’t know?”
I gave him a blank look. “Know what?”
Running a hand across his thick bristles, he looked at the sky. “Most people will lie like the devil when they get ahold of a wishing fish. If you have it, just tell me. I don’t care. All I want is to get this claim off my desk.”
My jaw dropped. “A—A wishing …”
He nodded. “A wishing fish, yes.” His thick eyebrows rose. “You really didn’t know? Do you still have it?”
I sat down on one of the cold benches. “Jenks ate it.”
The Were started. “Excuse me?”
I couldn’t look up. My thoughts went back to last fall and my gaze drifted past the gate to my shiny red convertible waiting for me in the parking lot. I had wished for a car. Damn, I had wished for a car and gotten it. Jenks ate a wishing fish?
His shadow fell over me and I looked up, squinting at David’s silhouette, black against the faultless blue of noon. “My partner and his family ate it.”
David stared. “You’re joking.”
Feeling ill, I dropped my gaze. “We didn’t know. He cooked it over an open fire and his family ate it.”
His small feet moved in a quick motion. Shifting, he pulled a folded piece of paper and a pen from his backpack. As I sat with my elbows on my knees and stared at nothing, David crouched beside me and scribbled, using the smooth concrete bench as a desk. “If you would sign here, Ms. Morgan,” he said as he extended the pen to me.
A deep breath sifted through me. I took the pen, then the paper. His handwriting had a stiff preciseness that told me he was meticulous and well-organized. Ivy would love him. Scanning it, I realized it was a legal document, David’s handwritten addition stating that I had witnessed the destruction of the fish, unaware of its abilities. Frowning, I scrawled my name and pushed it back.
His eyes were full of an amused disbelief as he took the pen from me and signed it as well. I bit back a snort when he brought out a notarizing kit from his backpack and made it legal. He didn’t ask for my identification, but hell, he’d been following me for three months. “You’re a notary, too?” I said, and he nodded, returning everything to his backpack and zipping it up.
“It’s a necessity in my line of work.” Standing, he smiled. “Thank you, Ms. Morgan.”
“No sweat.” My thoughts were jumbled. I couldn’t decide if I was going to tell Jenks or not. My gaze returned to David as I realized he was holding out his card. I took it, wondering.
“Since I’ve got you here,” he said, moving so I wasn’t looking into the sun to see him, “if you’re interested in getting a better rate on your insurance—”
I sighed and let the card fall. What a weenie.
He chuckled, gracefully swooping to pick it up. “I get my health and hospitalization insurance for two fifty a month through my union.”
Suddenly, I was interested. “Runners are almost uninsurable.”
“True.” He pulled a black nylon jacket out of his backpack and put it on. “So are field insurance adjusters. But since there are so few of us compared to the pencil pushers that make up the bulk of the company, we get a good rate. Union dues are one fifty a year. It gets you a discount on your insurance needs, car rentals, and all the steak you can eat at the yearly picnic.”
That was too good to believe. “Why?” I asked, taking the card back.
He lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “My partner retired last year. I need someone.”
My mouth opened in understanding. He thought I wanted to be an insurance adjuster? Oh, ple-e-e-e-ease. “Sorry. I’ve already got a job,” I said, snickering.
David made an exasperated noise. “No. You misunderstand. I don’t want a partner. I’ve driven off all the interns they’ve saddled me with, and everyone else knows better than to try. I’ve got two months to find someone, or they’re going to shave my tail. I like my job, and I’m good at it, but I don’t want a partner.” He hesitated, his sharp gaze scanning the area behind me with professional intentness. “I work alone. You sign the paper, you belong to the union, you get a discount on your insurance, you never see me but for the yearly picnic, where we act chummy and do the three-legged race. I help you; you help me.”
I couldn’t stop my eyebrows from rising, and I shifted my attention from him to the card in my grip. Four hundred dollars less a month sounded great. And I’d be willing to bet they could beat what I was paying for my car insurance, too. Tempted, I asked, “What kind of hospitalization do you have?”
His thin lips curled up in a smile to show a hint of small teeth. “Silver Cross.”
My head bobbed. It was designed for Weres, but it was flexible enough to work. A broken bone is a broken bone. “So,” I drawled, leaning back, “what’s the catch?”
His grin widened. “Your salary is deferred to me, as I’m the one doing all the work.”
Ahhhh, I thought. He would get two salaries. This was a scam if I ever heard one. Smirking, I handed him his card back. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
David made a disappointed sound, backing up with his card. “You can’t blame me for trying. It was my old partner’s suggestion, actually. I should have known you wouldn’t go for it.” He hesitated. “Your backup really ate that fish?”
I nodded, going depressed thinking about it. ‘Least I got a car out of it first.
“Well …” He set the card down beside me, snapping it into the concrete. “Give me a call if you change your mind. The extension on the card will get you past my secretary. When I’m not in the field, I’m in the office from three to midnight. I might consider taking you on as an apprentice for real. My last partner was a witch, and you look like you have some chutzpah.”
“Thanks,” I said snidely.
“It’s not as boring as it looks. And safer than what you’re doing now. Maybe after you get beat up a few more times you’ll change your mind.”
I wondered if this guy was for real. “I don’t work for people. I work for myself.”
Nodding, he casually touched his head in a loose salute before he turned and walked away. I pulled myself straight as his trim figure slipped past the gate. He got in a gray two-seater across the lot from my little red car and drove off. I cringed, recognizing it and realizing he had watched Nick and me yesterday.
My butt was frozen from sitting on the concrete when I stood. I picked up his card, tearing it in half and going to a trash can, but as I held the ripped pieces over the hole, I hesitated. Slowly, I put them in my pocket.
An insurance adjuster? a small voice in my head mocked. Grimacing, I took the pieces out and dropped them in the can. Work for someone else again? No. Never.
Nine (#u501e15e7-86a2-5b87-8582-3daeb4ea34d7)
Peace sat warm in me as I sprinkled the yellow sugar on the iced cookie shaped like the sun. Okay, so it was a circle, but with the sparkling sugar it could be the sun. I was tired of the long nights, and the physical affirmation of the turning seasons had always filled me with a quiet strength. Especially the winter solstice.
I set the finished cookie aside on the paper towel and took another. It was quiet but for music filtering in from the living room. Takata had released “Red Ribbons” to WVMP, and the station was playing it into the ground. I didn’t care. The refrain was the one I had told him fitted with the theme of the song, and it pleased me I had played some small part in its creation.
All the pixies were sleeping in my desk for at least two more hours. Ivy probably wouldn’t be up stumbling about in search of coffee for even longer. She had come in before sunrise looking calm and relaxed, self-consciously seeking my approval for having slacked her blood lust on some poor sap before falling into bed like a Brimstone addict. I had the church to myself, and I was going to squeeze every drop of solitude out of it that I could.
Swaying to the heavy beat of drums in a way I wouldn’t if anyone were watching, I smiled. It was nice to be alone once in a while.
Jenks had made his kids do more than apologize to me, and I had woken this afternoon to a hot pot of coffee in a sparkling clean kitchen. Everything shone, everything was polished. They had even scoured the accumulated dirt out of the circle I had etched into the linoleum around the center island counter. Not a breath of dust or cobweb marred the walls or ceiling, and as I dipped my knife into the green icing, I vowed to try to keep it this clean all the time.
Yeah, right, I thought as I layered frosting on the wreath. I’d put it off until I was back to the same level of chaos that the pixies had dragged me out of. I’d give it two weeks, tops.
Timing my movements with the beat of the music, I placed three little hot candies to look like berries. A sigh shifted my shoulders, and I set it aside and took up the candle cookie, trying to decide whether to make it purple for aged wisdom or green for change.
I was reaching for the purple when the phone rang from the living room. I froze for an instant, then set the butter tub of frosting down and hustled after it before it could wake the pixies. They were worse than having a baby in the house. Snatching the remote from the couch, I pointed it at the disc player to mute it. “Vampiric Charms,” I said as I picked up the phone and hoped I wasn’t breathing hard. “This is Rachel.”
“How much for an escort on the twenty-third?” a young voice asked, cracking.
“That depends on the situation.” I frantically looked for the calendar and a pen. They weren’t where I’d left them, and I finally dug through my bag for my datebook. I thought the twenty-third was a Saturday. “Is there a death threat involved or is it general protection?”
“Death threat!” the voice exclaimed. “All I want is a good-looking girl so my friends won’t think I’m a dweeb.”
My eyes closed as I gathered my strength. Too late, I thought, clicking the pen closed. “This is an independent runner service,” I said tiredly, “not a bloodhouse. And kid? Do yourself a favor and take the shy girl. She’s cooler than you think, and she won’t own your soul in the morning.”
The phone clicked off, and I frowned. This was the third such call this month. Maybe I should take a look at the yellow pages ad that Ivy bought.
I wiped my hands free of the last sugar and shuffled in the narrow cabinet that the message machine sat on, pulling out the phone book and dropping it on the coffee table. The red message light was blinking, and I tapped it, leafing through the heavy book to Private Investigators. I froze when Nick’s voice came rolling out, guilty and awkward, telling me he had stopped by about six this morning and picked up Jax and that he would call me in a few days.
“Coward,” I breathed, thinking it was one more crucifix tied to the coffin. He knew no one but the pixies would be up then. I vowed to enjoy myself on my date with Kisten, whether Ivy would have to kill him afterward or not. I jabbed the button to clear his message, then went back to the phone book.
We were one of the last listings, and as I found Vampiric Charms in a friendly font, my eyebrows rose. It was a nice ad, more attractive than the full-page ads around it, with a line drawing of a mysterious-looking woman in a hat and duster ghosted into the background.
“’Fast. Discreet. No questions asked,’” I said, reading it. “’Sliding scale. Payment options. Insured. Week, day, and hourly rates.’” Under it all were our three names, address, and phone number. I didn’t get it. There was nothing here that would lead anyone to think bloodhouse or even a dating service. Then I saw the tiny print at the bottom saying to see the secondary entries.
I flipped through the thin sheets to the first one listed, finding the same ad. Then I looked closer; not at our ad, but the ones around it. Holy crap, that woman was hardly clothed, having the perky body of an animé cartoon. My eyes flicked to the heading. “Escort Service?” I said, flushing at the steamy, suggestive ads.
My gaze jerked to our advertisement again, the words taking on an entirely new meaning. No questions asked? Week, day, or hourly rates? Payment options? Lips pressed together, I shut the book, leaving it out to talk to Ivy about. No wonder we were getting calls.
More than a little irate, I unmuted the stereo and headed back into the kitchen, Steppenwolf’s “Magic Carpet Ride” trying its best to lighten my mood.
It was the hint of a draft, the barest scent of wet pavement, that made my step hesitate and the palm streaking out at me past the archway to the kitchen miss my jaw.
“God bless it!” I swore as I dove past it into the kitchen instead of falling back into the cramped hall. Remembering Jenks’s kids, I tapped the ley line out back but did nothing else as I fell into a defensive crouch between the sink and the island counter. I almost choked when I saw whom it was standing by the archway.
“Quen?” I stammered, not getting out of my stance as the lightly wrinkled, athletic man stared at me with no expression. The head of Trent’s security was dressed entirely in black, his tight-fitting body stocking looking vaguely like a uniform. “What in hell are you doing?” I said. “I ought to call the I.S., you know that? And have them haul your ass out of my kitchen for illegal entry! If Trent wants to see me, he can come down here just like anyone else. I’ll tell him he can suck dishwater, but he ought to have the decency to let me do it in person!”
Quen shook his head. “I have a problem, but I don’t think you can handle it.”
I made an ugly face at him. “Don’t test me, Quen,” I all but snarled. “You’ll fail.”
“We’ll see.”
That was all the warning I got as the man pushed off the wall, headed right for me.
Gasping, I dove past him instead of backward the way I wanted. Quen lived and breathed security. Backing away would only get me caught. Heart pounding, I grabbed my dented copper spell pot with white frosting in it and swung.
Quen caught it, yanking me forward. Adrenaline hurt my head as I let it go, and he tossed it aside. It made a harsh bong and spun into the hallway.
I snatched the coffeemaker and threw it. The appliance jerked back at its cord, and the carafe fell to shatter on the floor. He dodged, his green eyes peeved when they met mine, as if wondering what in hell I was doing. But if he got a grip on me, I was a goner. I had a cupboard of charms in arm’s reach, but no time to invoke even one.
He gathered himself to jump, and remembering how he had evaded Piscary with incredible leaps, I went for my dissolution vat. Teeth gritted in effort, I tipped it over.
Quen cried out in disgust as ten gallons of saltwater cascaded over the floor to mix with the coffee and glass shards. Arms pinwheeling, he slipped.
I levered myself onto the island counter, stepping on frosted cookies and knocking over vials of colored sugar. Crouched to avoid the hanging utensils, I jumped feet first as he rose.
My feet hit him squarely in the chest and we both went down.
Where was everyone? I thought as my hip took the fall and I grunted in pain. I was making enough noise to wake the undead. But as such commotion was more common than silence these days, Ivy and Jenks would probably ignore it and hope it went away.
Slipping, I skittered from Quen. Hands reaching unseeing, I scrabbled for my paint ball gun kept purposely at crawling height. I yanked it out. Nested copper pots rolled noisily.
“Enough!” I shouted, arms stiff as I sat on my butt in saltwater, aiming at him. It was loaded with water-filled splat balls for practice, but he didn’t know that. “What do you want?”
Quen hesitated, water making darker smears on his black pants. His eye twitched. Adrenaline surged. He was going to risk it.
Instinct and practice with Ivy made me squeeze the trigger as he leapt onto the table to land like a cat. I tracked him, squeezing out every last splat ball.
His expression went affronted as he pulled himself to a crouching halt, his attention jerking from me to the six new splatters on his skintight shirt. Crap. I’d missed him once. Jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed in anger. “Water?” he said. “You load your spell gun with water?”
“Ain’t you just lucky for that?” I snapped. “What do you want?” He shook his head, and my breath hissed in as I felt a dropping sensation in me. He was tapping the line out back.
Panic jerked me to my feet, and I flung my hair out of my eyes. From his vantage point on the table, Quen straightened to his full height, his hands moving as he whispered Latin.
“Like hell you will!” I shouted, throwing my splat gun at him. He ducked, and I snatched up whatever I could to throw it at him, desperate to keep him from finishing the charm.
Quen dodged the butter tub of frosting. It thunked into the wall to. make a green smear. Grabbing the cookie tin, I ran around the counter, swinging it like a board. He dove off the table to avoid it, cursing at me. Cookies and red-hot candies went everywhere.
I followed him, grabbing him about the knees to bring us both down in a sodden splat. He twisted in my grip until his livid green eyes met mine. Hands scrabbling, I shoved saltwater soggy cookies into his mouth so he couldn’t verbally invoke a charm.
He spit them at me, his deeply tanned, pockmarked face vehement. “You little canicula—” he managed, and I jammed some more into him.
His teeth closed on my finger, and I shrieked, jerking back. “You bit me!” I shouted, incensed. My fist swung, but he rolled to his feet, crashing into the chairs.
Panting, he stood. He was soaked, covered in water and sparkles of colored sugar. Growling an unheard word, he leapt.
I lurched upright to flee. Pain lanced through my scalp as he grabbed my hair and spun me around into an embrace, my back to his chest. One arm went chokingly around my neck. The other slipped between my legs, yanking me up onto one foot.
Furious, I elbowed him in the gut with my free arm. “Get your hands …” I grunted, hopping backward on one foot, “off my hair!” I reached the wall, and smashed him into it. His breath exploded out as I jabbed his ribs, and his grip around my neck fell away.
I spun to stiff-arm his jaw, but he was gone. I was staring at the yellow wall. Shrieking, I went down, my legs pulled out from under me. His weight landed on me, pinning me to the wet floor with my arms over my head.
“I win,” he panted as he straddled me, his green eyes from under his short hair wild.
I struggled to no effect, ticked that it was going to be something as stupid as body mass that decided this. “You forgot something, Quen,” I snarled. “I have fifty-seven roommates.”
His lightly wrinkled brow furrowed.
Taking a huge breath, I whistled. Quen’s eyes widened. Grunting in effort, I jerked my right hand free and slammed the heel of my hand at his nose.
He jerked back out of the way and I pushed him off me, rolling. Still on my hands and knees, I flipped my wet stringy hair out of the way.
Quen had gained his feet, but he wasn’t moving. He was standing stock-still, cookie-smeared palms raised above his head in a gesture of acquiescence. Jenks was hovering before him, the sword he kept to fight off encroaching fairies aimed at Quen’s right eye. The pixy looked pissed, dust spilling from him to make a steady sunbeam from him to the floor.
“Breathe,” Jenks threatened. “Blink. Just give me a reason, you bloody freak of nature.”
I stumbled upright as Ivy dove into the room, moving faster than I would have believed possible. Robe loose and flowing, she grabbed Quen by the throat.
The lights flickered and the hanging utensils swung as she slammed him into the wall beside the doorway. “What are you doing here?” she snarled, her knuckles white with pressure. Jenks had moved with Quen, his sword still touching the man’s eye.
“Wait!” I exclaimed, worried they might kill him. Not that I’d mind, but then there’d be I.S. personnel in my kitchen, and paperwork. Lots of paperwork. “Slow down,” I soothed.
My eyes flicked to Ivy, still holding Quen. There was frosting on my hand, and I wiped it off on my damp jeans as I caught my breath. Saltwater marked me and I had cookie crumbs and sugar in my hair. The kitchen looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy had exploded. I squinted at the purple frosting on the ceiling. When had that happened?
“Ms. Morgan,” Quen said, then gurgled as Ivy tightened her grip. The music from the living room softened to talk.
I felt my ribs, wincing. Angry, I paced to where he hung in Ivy’s hold. “Ms. Morgan?” I shouted, six inches from his reddening face. “Ms. Morgan? I’m Ms. Morgan now? What in hell is wrong with you!” I yelled. “Coming into my house. Ruining my cookies. Do you know how long it’s going to take to clean this up?”
He gurgled again, and my anger started to slow. Ivy was staring at him with a shocking intensity. The scent of his fear had tripped her past her limits. She was vamping out at noon. This wasn’t good, and I took a step back, suddenly sobered. “Um, Ivy?” I said.
“I’m okay,” she said huskily, her eyes saying different. “Want me to bleed him quiet?”
“No!” I exclaimed, and I felt another drop in me. Quen was tapping a line. I took an alarmed breath. Things were spiraling out of control. Someone was going to get hurt. I could set a circle, but it would be around me, not him. “Drop him!” I demanded. “Jenks, you too!” Neither of them moved. “Now!”
Shoving him up the wall, Ivy dropped him and stepped away. He hit the floor in a slump, his hand at his neck as he coughed violently. Slowly he moved his legs into a normal position. Flipping his very black hair from his eyes, he looked up, sitting cross-legged and barefoot. “Morgan,” he said roughly, his hand hiding his throat, “I need your help.”
I glanced at Ivy, who was tightening her black silk robe about herself again. He needed my help? Ri-i-i-i-ight. “You okay?” I asked Ivy, and she nodded. The ring of brown left to her eyes was too thin for my comfort, but the sun was high, and the tension in the room was easing. Seeing my concern, she pressed her lips together.
“I’m fine,” she reiterated. “You want me to call the I.S. now or after I kill him?”
My gaze ran over the kitchen. My cookies were ruined, sitting in soggy clumps. The globs of frosting on the walls were starting to run. Saltwater was venturing out of the kitchen, threatening to reach the living room rug. Letting Ivy kill him was looking really good.
“I want to hear what he has to say,” I said as I slid open a drawer and put three dish towels in the threshold as a dike. Jenks’s kids were peeking around the corner at us. The angry pixy rubbed his wings together to make a piercing whistle, and they vanished in a trill of sound.
Taking a fourth towel, I wiped the frosting off my elbow and went to stand before Quen. Feet spread wide and my fists on my hips, I waited. It must have been big if he was willing to risk Jenks figuring out he was an elf. My thoughts went to Ceri across the street, and my worry grew. I wasn’t going to let Trent know she existed. He would use her some way—some very ugly way.
The elf felt his ribs through his black shirt. “I think you cracked them,” he said.
“Did I pass?” I said snidely.
“No. But you’re the best I’ve got.”
Ivy made a sound of disbelief, and Jenks dropped down before him, staying carefully out of his reach. “You ass,” the four-inch man swore. “We could have killed you three times over.”
Quen frowned at him. “We. It was her I was interested in. Not we. She failed.”
“So I guess that means you’ll be leaving,” I said, knowing I wouldn’t be that lucky. I took in his subdued attire and sighed. It was just after noon. Elves slept when the sun was high and in the middle of the night, just like pixies. Quen was here without Trent’s knowledge.
Feeling more sure of myself, I pulled out a chair and sat down before Quen could see my legs trembling. “Trent doesn’t know you’re here,” I said, and he nodded solemnly.
“It’s my problem, not his,” Quen said. “I’m paying you, not him.”
I blinked, trying to disguise my unease. Trent didn’t know. Interesting. “You have a job for me that he doesn’t know about,” I said. “What is it?”
Quen’s gaze went to Ivy and Jenks.
Peeved, I crossed my legs and shook my head. “We’re a team. I’m not asking them to leave so you can tell me of whatever piss-poor problem you’ve landed yourself in.”
The older elf’s brow wrinkled. He took an angry breath.
“Look,” I said, my finger jabbing out to point at him. “I don’t like you. Jenks doesn’t like you. And Ivy wants to eat you. Start talking.”
He went motionless. It was then I saw his desperation, shimmering behind his eyes like light on water. “I have a problem,” he said, fear the thinnest ribbon in his low, controlled voice.
I glanced at Ivy. Her breath had quickened and she stood with her arms wrapped about herself, holding her robe closed. She looked upset, her pale face even more white than usual.
“Mr. Kalamack is going to a social gathering and—” My lips pursed. “I already turned down one whoring offer today.”
Quen’s eyes flashed. “Shut up,” he said coldly. “Someone is interfering in Mr. Kalamack’s secondary business ventures. The meeting is to try to come to a mutual understanding. I want you to be there to be sure that’s all it is.”
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