Where Demons Dare

Where Demons Dare Kim Harrison The sixth book in Harrison’s New York Times bestselling urban fantasy series starring Rachel Morgan. A pacey and addictive novel of sexy bounty-hunting witches, cunning demons and menacing vampires.To save the lives of her friends, Rachel did the unthinkable: she willingly trafficked in forbidden demon magic. And now her sins are coming home to haunt her.As Rachel searches for the truth behind a terrifying murder, an even greater menace threatens, for the demon Algaliarept will stop at nothing to claim her, and the discovery of a shocking family secret throws Rachel’s entire life into question. If she is ever to live free, Rachel must walk willingly into the demonic ever-after in search of long-lost ancient knowledge.But when you dance with demons, you lay your soul on the line… and there are some lines that should never be crossed.Published as ‘The Outlaw Demon Wails’ in the US. WHERE DEMONS DARE KIM HARRISON Copyright (#u88fd9f3a-caa6-50ee-9b26-689f033b058e) HarperVoyager An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 77–85 Fulham Palace Road, Hammersmith, London W6 8JB www.voyager-books.co.uk (http://www.voyager-books.co.uk) Copyright © Kim Harrison 2008 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. 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. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book 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. Ebook Edition © September 2008 ISBN: 9780007283286 Version: 2014-08-30 Dedication (#u88fd9f3a-caa6-50ee-9b26-689f033b058e) To the guy who knows the more things change, the weirder it gets Contents Cover (#ua6916024-4ede-5fb6-b3bf-855e01ef420f) Title Page (#u33e3bcc7-e4b8-5039-b363-83e209153d1d) Copyright (#ube10d064-0126-50f1-8e66-7afe3070f3b3) Dedication (#u86cf6dc4-1c5d-5d78-bcbc-8e0509bcfab5) Chapter One (#u11a2f4b9-e43e-5d20-93cb-d40e1a4a62b6) Chapter Two (#u46cb8ca2-1eb0-58da-8a0f-56f89bbd9f63) Chapter Three (#u6c559e15-5f7a-543f-bbe4-ac4cbcd83b38) Chapter Four (#u0837c9a9-606c-59a5-92c7-75d0b7b351d9) Chapter Five (#uada60ff9-9faf-554f-b881-d04ecc738e22) Chapter Six (#u702ec3db-9e04-5bd7-93fb-5096bd32f34b) Chapter Seven (#u7e137c18-c0e0-5134-a186-77c667914c7e) Chapter Eight (#ufee1c7a5-ab96-546f-a9e2-dee579c9843a) Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo) About the Author (#litres_trial_promo) Also by Kim Harrison (#litres_trial_promo) About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo) One (#u88fd9f3a-caa6-50ee-9b26-689f033b058e) I leaned over the glass counter, squinting at the price of the high-grade redwood rods, safe in their airtight glass coffins like Snow White. The ends of my scarf slipped to block my view, and I tucked them behind my short leather jacket. I had no call to be looking at wands. I didn’t have the money, but more important, I wasn’t shopping for business today—I was shopping for pleasure. “Rachel?” my mom said from halfway across the store, smiling as she fingered a display of packaged organic herbs. “How about Dorothy? Make Jenks hairy, and he could be Toto.” “No friggin’ way!” Jenks exclaimed, and I started when the pixy took off from my shoulder where he’d been nestled in my scarf’s warmth. Gold dust sifted from him to make a temporary sunbeam on the counter and brighten the drab evening. “I’m not going to spend Halloween handing out candy as a dog! And no Wendy and Tinker Bell either. I’m going as a pirate!” His wings slowed as he settled atop the counter next to the stand of low-grade redwood dowels suitable for amulets. “Coordinating costumes is stupid.” Normally I’d agree, but, silent, I drew back from the counter. I’d never have enough disposable income for a wand. Besides, versatility was key in my profession, and wands were one-spell wonders. “I’m going as the female lead in the latest vampire flick,” I said to my mom. “The one where the vampire hunter falls in love with the vamp?” “You’re going as a vampire hunter?” my mother asked. Warming, I plucked an uninvoked amulet from a vanity rack to size my chest up. I was hippy enough to pass for the actress I was trying to mimic, but my excuse of a chest wouldn’t match her spell-enhanced bust. And it had to be spell enhanced. Naturally big-chested women don’t run like that. “No, the vampire,” I said, embarrassed. Ivy, my housemate, was going as the hunter, and despite my agreement that coordinating costumes was stupid, I knew Ivy and I would stop conversation when we walked into the party. And that was the point, wasn’t it? Halloween was the only time doppelg?nger charms were legal—and Inderland and the braver slice of humanity made the most of it. My mother’s face went serious, then cleared. “Oh! The black-haired one, right? In the slut outfit? Good God, I don’t know if my sewing machine can go through leather.” “Mom!” I protested, though used to her language and lack of tact. If it came into her head, it came out of her mouth. I glanced at the clerk with her, but she clearly knew my mother and wasn’t fazed. Seeing a woman in tasteful slacks and an angora sweater swearing like a sailor tended to throw people off. Besides, I already had the outfit in my closet. Frowning, my mother fingered the charms to change hair color. “Come over here, honey. Let’s see if they have anything that will touch your curls. Honestly, Rachel. You pick the hardest costumes. Why can’t you ever be anything easy, like a troll or fairy princess?” Jenks snickered. “’Cause that’s not slutty enough,” he said loud enough for me to hear, but not my mother. I gave him a look, and he simpered as he hovered backward to a rack of seeds. Though only about four inches tall, he cut an attractive figure with his soft-soled boots and the red scarf Matalina, his wife, had knitted him wrapped about his neck. Last spring, I’d used a demon curse to make him human-size, and the memory of his eighteen-year-old, athletic figure, with its trim waist and broad, muscular shoulders made strong from his dragonfly-like wings, was still very much in my memory. He was a very married pixy, but perfection deserved attention. Jenks made a darting path over my basket, and a package of fern seed for Matalina’s wing aches thumped in. Catching sight of the bust enhancer, his expression turned positively devilish. “Speaking of slutty …” he started. “Well-endowed doesn’t equal slutty, Jenks,” I said. “Grow up. It’s for the costume.” “Like that’ll do anything?” His grin was infuriating, and his hands were on his hips in his best Peter Pan pose. “You need two or three to even make an impression. Fried eggs.” “Shut up!” From across the store came my mother’s oblivious “Solid black, right?” I turned to see her hair color shifting as she touched the invoked sample amulets. Her hair was exactly like mine. Sort of. I kept mine long, the wild, frizzy red just past my shoulders, instead of in the close cut she used to tame hers. But our eyes were the same green, and I had her same skill in earth magic, fleshed out and given a professional stamp at one of the local colleges. She had more education than I did, actually, but had few opportunities to use it. Halloween had always been a chance for her to show off her considerable earth magic skills to the neighboring moms with a modest vengeance, and I think she appreciated me asking for her help this year. She had been doing great these last few months, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she was doing better because I was spending more time with her, or if she simply appeared more stable because I wasn’t seeing her just when she was having problems. Guilt slithered through me, and giving Jenks a glare at his song about big-busted ladies tying their shoes, I wove through the stands of herbs and racks sporting premade charms, each having a distinctive sticker identifying who had made it. Charm crafting was still a cottage industry despite the high level of technology available to smooth out the rough spots, but one tightly regulated and vigorously licensed. The owner of the store probably only crafted a few of the spells she sold. At my mother’s direction, I held each sample amulet in turn so she could evaluate my appearance. The clerk ooohed and ahhed, trying to push us into making a decision, but my mom hadn’t helped me with my costume in years, and we were going to make an evening out of it, ending with coffee and dessert at some overpriced coffeehouse. It wasn’t that I ignored my mom, but my life tended to interfere. A lot. I’d been making an effort over the last three months to spend more time with her, trying to ignore my own ghosts and hoping that she wouldn’t be so … fragile, and she hadn’t looked this good in a while. Which convinced me I was a crappy daughter. Finding the right hair color was easy, and I nodded when my red curls turned a black so deep they were almost gunmetal-blue. Satisfied, I dropped a packaged, uninvoked amulet into the basket to hide the bust enhancer. “I’ve a charm at home to straighten your hair,” my mother said brightly, and I turned wonderingly to her. I’d found out in fourth grade that over-the-counter charms wouldn’t touch my curls. Why on earth did she still have the difficult-to-make charms? I hadn’t straightened my hair in ages. The shop’s phone rang, and when the clerk excused herself, my mom sidled close, smiling as she touched the braid Jenks’s kids had put my hair in this morning. “That charm took me your entire high school career to perfect,” she said. “You think I’m not going to practice it?” Worried now, I glanced at the woman on the phone—the one who obviously knew my mother. “Mom!” I whispered. “You can’t sell those! You don’t have a license!” Lips pressed tightly, she took my basket to the counter in a huff to check out. Exhaling, my gaze went to Jenks sitting on the rack, and he shrugged. I slowly followed in my mother’s steps, wondering if I’d neglected her more than I thought. She did the damnedest things sometimes. I’d talk to her about it over coffee. Honestly, she should know better. Streetlights had come on while we had shopped, and the pavement glowed with gold and purple holiday lights in the evening rain. It looked cold, and as I went to the register, I adjusted my scarf for Jenks. “Thanks,” he muttered as he landed on my shoulder. His wings were shivering, and they brushed my neck as he settled in. October was too cold for him to be out, but with the garden dormant and Matalina in need of fern seeds, risking a trip in the rain to a charm shop had been his only recourse. He’d brave anything for his wife, I thought, as I rubbed my tickling nose. “How about the coffeehouse down two blocks?” my mom suggested as the dull beep, beep of barcodes being read clashed with the earthy smells of the shop. “Grab some air, Jenks. I’m going to sneeze,” I warned him, and muttering things I was just as glad not to hear, he flew to my mom’s shoulder. It was a marvelous sneeze, clearing out my lungs and earning a “bless you” from the clerk. But it was followed by another, and I hardly had time to straighten when a third hit me. Breathing shallowly to forestall the next, I looked at Jenks in dismay. There was only one reason why I would sneeze like this. “Damn,” I whispered, glancing out the huge front window—it was after sundown. “Double damn.” I spun to the clerk, who was now shoving things into a bag. I didn’t have my calling circle. I had cracked the first one, and the new one was sandwiched between spell books under my kitchen counter. Damn, damn, damn! I should have made one the size of a compact mirror. “Ma’am?” I warbled, then accepted the tissue my mom handed me from her purse. “Do you sell calling circles?” The woman stared, clearly affronted. “Absolutely not. Alice, you told me she didn’t deal in demons. Get her out of my store!” My mother let out a huff of annoyance, then her face turned coaxing. “Patricia,” she cajoled. “Rachel does not summon demons. The papers print what sells papers, that’s all.” I sneezed again, this time so hard it hurt. Crap. We had to get out of there. “Heads up, Rachel,” Jenks called out, and I looked up to catch a cellophane-wrapped stick of magnetic chalk as he dropped it. Fumbling with the wrapper, I tried to remember the complex pentagram Ceri had taught me. Minias was the only demon who knew I had a direct line to the ever-after, and if I didn’t answer him, he might cross the lines to find me. Searing pain came from nowhere. Doubled over, I gasped at the assault and fell back from the counter. What in hell? It isn’t supposed to hurt! Jenks hit the ceiling, leaving behind a cloud of silver dust like an octopus inking. My mother turned from her friend. “Rachel?” she questioned, her green eyes wide as I bent and clutched my wrist. The chalk slipped from me as my grip went numb. It felt like my wrist was on fire. “Get out!” I yelled, and the two women stared at me as if I had gone insane. We all jumped when the air pressure shifted violently. Ears ringing, I looked up, my heart pounding and my breath held. He was here. I didn’t see the demon, but he was here. Somewhere. I could smell the burnt amber. Spotting the chalk, I scooped it up and picked at the cellophane, but my nails couldn’t find the seam. I was torn between fear and anger. Minias had no business bothering me. I didn’t owe him, and he didn’t owe me. And why couldn’t I get the damned wrapper off the chalk! “Rachel Mariana Morgan?” came an elegant British accent I’d expect from a Shakespearean play, and my face went cold. “Where a-a-a-a-are you?” it drawled. “Shit,” I whispered. It wasn’t Minias. It was Al. Panicked, I looked across the store to my mother. She stood with her friend, neat and tidy in her autumn-colored outfit, her hair perfectly arranged, and the skin around her eyes just starting to show a few faint lines. She hadn’t a clue. “Mom,” I whispered, gesturing frantically as I put space between us. “Get into a circle. Both of you!” But they just stared. I didn’t have time to explain. Hell, I didn’t understand it myself. This had to be a joke. Some perverted, twisted joke. My eyes went to the darting clatter of Jenks as he came to hover beside me. “It’s Al!” the pixy whispered. “Rache, you said he was in demon prison!” “Rachel Mariana Mo-o-o-o-orga-a-a-a-an,” the demon sang, and I stiffened at the tap-thunk tap-thunk of his booted feet coming from behind a tall display of spelling books. “Damn fool moss-wipe of a pixy,” Jenks berated himself. “It’s too cold to take my sword,” he said in a mocking falsetto. “It’ll freeze to my ass. It’s a shopping trip, not a run.” His voice shifted, becoming angry. “Tink save you, Rachel. Can’t you even go shopping with your mom without calling up demons?” “I didn’t call him!” I protested, feeling my palms start to sweat. “Yeah, well, he’s here,” the pixy said, and I swallowed when the demon peeked from behind the display. He had known exactly where I was. Al was smiling with deep, taunting anger, his red eyes, their pupils horizontal slits like a goat’s, peering over a pair of round smoked glasses. Dressed in his usual frock coat of crushed green velvet, he was a picture of old European grace, the image of a young lord on the verge of greatness. Lace showed at his cuffs and collar. His aristocratically chiseled features, with a strong nose and chin, were tightened in bad humor, and his thick teeth showed in an expression that anticipated dealing out pain. I kept backing up, and he came out from behind the display. “Oh, I say. This is splendid!” he said in delight. “Two Morgans for the price of one.” Oh, God. My mother. Terror snapped me out of my shock. “You can’t touch me or my family,” I said while I tried to get the cellophane off the magnetic chalk. If I could make a circle, I might be able to trap him. “You promised!” The tapping of his boots stopped as he posed to show off his elegant grace. My eyes measured the distance between us. Eight feet. Not good. But if he was looking at me, he was ignoring my mom. “I did, didn’t I?” he said, and when he sent his gaze to the ceiling, my shoulders eased. “Rache!” Jenks shrilled. Al lunged. Panicking, I backpedaled. Fear hit hard when he found my throat. I dug at his fingers, my nails gouging him as he picked me up to dangle me from his grip. His sculptured face grimaced at the pain, but he only tightened his fingers. My pulse pounded in my head and I went limp, praying he wanted to gloat a little before he dragged me back to the ever-after to hopefully just kill me. “You can’t hurt me,” I squeaked out, not sure if the sparkles at the edge of my vision were from lack of oxygen or Jenks. I am dead. I am so dead. A soft sound of satisfaction emanated from Al, a long, low rumble of contentment. He effortlessly pulled me close until our breaths mingled. His eyes were red behind his glasses, and the scent of burnt amber coursed through me. “I asked nicely for your testimony. You refused. I’ve no incentive to play by the rules anymore. You can thank your own shortsightedness for that. Me sitting in a tiny little cell.” He gave me a shake to rattle my teeth. “Stripped of my curses and naked but for what I can say or spell. But someone summoned me out,” he said maliciously. “And we have a deal that’s going to leave you dead and me a free demon.” “It wasn’t my fault you went to jail,” I squeaked. The pulsing adrenaline hurt my head. He couldn’t take me to the ever-after unless I let him; he’d have to drag me to a ley line. Somewhere in my frazzled brain, something clicked. He couldn’t hold me and go misty at the same time. Grunting, I pulled my knee up, connecting right between his legs. Al grunted. Agony smacked into me as he flung me away and my back hit a display. I gasped for air, holding my bruised throat as packets of freeze-dried herbs sifted over me with light thumps. Sucking in the scent of amber as I coughed, I held up a hand to fend them off, angling my legs under me to stand. Where is the chalk? “You sorry bitch of a succubus whore!” Al groaned, holding himself as he hunched over, and I smiled. Minias had told me that as part of Al’s punishment for letting his old familiar go when she knew how to spindle line energy, he’d been purged of the accumulated charms, spells, and curses he had built up over the millennia. It left him, while not helpless, at least reduced to a limited spell vocabulary. Obviously he’d been in the kitchen recently, since his upper-crust Englishman persona was a disguise. I didn’t want to know what he really looked like. “What’s the matter, Al?” I mocked, wiping my mouth to find I’d bitten my lip. “Not used to anyone fighting back?” This was freaking great. Here I was in a charm shop, and nothing was invoked but vanity charms and bust enhancers. “Here, Rachel!” my mom cried out, and Al’s head swung around. “Mom!” I shouted when she threw something at me. “Get out!” Al’s eyes tracked it. I stiffened as a shimmer of black ever-after coursed over him, healing whatever I had damaged. But the magnetic chalk thumped safely into my hand. I took a breath to yell at her to get out again, and the shimmer of a blue-tinted ever-after circle rose up around her and the clerk behind the counter. They were safe. An odd, unexpected sensation of ice swept through me, and I stiffened. It felt like the chime of a bell ringing through my bones. Oblivious, Al let out a roar and lunged. Yelping, I dropped to the floor and out of his reach. From behind me came a crash as Al sailed over me and fell into the rack I’d knocked over. I had seconds. Arm extended, I sat on the floor and scribbled a circle, rolling back and away as a premonition honed by years of martial arts told me he was reaching for me. “Not this time, witch,” he snarled. Eyes wide, I spun on my butt. My foot came up to kick, but he moved with an inhuman quickness and my boot struck his palm. I froze, lying on my back with my ankle in his grip and my scarf in my face. One good twist, and he’d break it. Shit. Al had lost his glasses. His eyes glinted maliciously as he smiled, but before he could move, an explosion rocked through the store and blew out the windows. My hands jerked to my ears and I yanked my foot out of Al’s grip. The demon’s goatlike eyes were wide as he stumbled back, but his shock quickly became anger. Frightened, I scrabbled to knock over another display. Packaged amulets rained down. The shush of tires against wet pavement became obvious as my hearing returned, the sound coming in through the broken window along with the calls of people. What had my mom done? “Jenks!” I shouted, feeling the icy cool of a damp night. It was too cold. It might throw him into hibernation! “I’m fine!” he exclaimed as he hovered in a red haze of dust. “Let’s get the bastard.” I gathered myself to stand, then hesitated in a crouch when Jenks’s gaze fixed on something over my shoulder and the pixy went white. “Uh, bastards,” he amended shakily, and a new fear settled in when I realized Al wasn’t moving anymore either, but watching whatever Jenks was. In the hush of ambient street noise, a wave of burnt-amber, tainted ozone flowed over me. “There’s another demon behind me, isn’t there?” I whispered. Jenks’s eyes flicked to mine and away. “Two.” Terrific. Jenks darted away, and I moved. I tripped on my scarf, then kicked backward when someone grabbed my leg. Their hold faltered, and dropping back to the floor, I spun. A yellow-clad arm reached for me. Gripping someone’s shoulder, I swung my foot up as a fulcrum and flung him over me. There was no crash; whoever it was had gone misty. Three demons? What in hell is going on! Ticked, I got to my feet only to stumble when a blur of red darted in front of me. My eyes went to my mother. She was okay, fighting to get the clerk’s arms off her as the woman panicked, safe in the circle as the store was ripped apart. “You sent a rent-a-cop after me?” Al bellowed. “Nice try!” I covered my ears when a pressure shift pulsed against me and Al vanished. The demon in red that had been headed for him skidded to a stop. Cursing violently, he flung his scythe in rage. It sliced through a metallic rack like it was cotton candy, and the display toppled as the clerk began sobbing. Blinking, I stood and slowly backed away. Packets of amulets crunched under my feet. Holy crap, I thought; the monster looked like death having a temper tantrum, and I jumped when Jenks landed on my shoulder. The pixy had a straightened plastic-coated paper clip, and I found strength in that. So what if there were still two demons here? I could do anything with Jenks watching my back. “Follow him!” the last demon shouted, and I spun, fearing the worst. Please, not Newt. Anyone but Newt. “You!” I exclaimed, my breath exploding out of me in that one word. It was Minias. “Yes, me,” Minias snarled, and I jumped when the red demon with the scythe vanished. “Why, by the bloody new moon, didn’t you answer me?” “Because I don’t deal with demons!” I shouted, pointing to the shattered window as if I had any authority over him. “Get the hell out of here!” Minias’s smooth, ageless face creased in anger. “Look out!” Jenks cried as he took off from my shoulder, but I was way ahead of him. The demon was striding across the store in his yellow robe and funny hat, kicking charms and herbs out of the way. I backed up, the cries from the sidewalk telling me how close I was to the circle I’d scribed earlier. My pulse pounded and I felt myself sweat. This would be close. Murderously silent, he came on, his slitted eyes a red so dark as to be almost brown. His robes unfurled as he moved, looking like a cross between a desert sheik’s cloak and a kimono. Pace stilted, he reached for me, the light glinting on his rings. “Now!” Jenks shouted, and I dropped out from under the demon’s reach and rolled past the chalk line. I was outside the circle; Minias was in it. “Rhombus!” I exclaimed, slapping my hand down on the chalk. My awareness reached out to touch the nearest ley line. Power surged through me and I held my breath, eyes watering as it flowed in unchecked, my desire for a quick circle letting the ley line energy fill me with an unusual force. It hurt, but I gritted my teeth and held on while the forces equalized in the time it takes for an electron to spin. Pulled by the trigger word, my will tapped the memory of hours of practice, consolidating a five-minute prep and invocation into an eyeblink. I wasn’t that good with most ley line magic, but this? This I could do. “Bloody hell and damn your dame!” Minias swore, and I couldn’t help but smile when the hem of his yellow robe swung to a stop. It was blurry from the molecule-thin sheet of ever-after that rose to trap him in my circle. My breath slipped from me, and I sat back on my butt, my palms behind me on the hardwood floor and my knees bent as I looked at the demon. I had him, and the fading adrenaline was starting to turn into the shakes. “Rachel!” my mother called, and I looked past Minias. She was frowning at the clerk. The woman refused to take down her protective circle, sobbing and crying. Finally my mother had enough, and with her lips pursed in the temper we shared, she shoved the woman into her own bubble, causing her to break it. Out of sight behind the counter, the frazzled woman hit the floor and wailed all the louder. I sat upright when the phone was dragged from the counter to thunk on the floor. Beaming, my mother stepped delicately around the scattered charms and spells, hands extended and pride flowing from her like a wave. “Are you okay?” I asked as I took her grip and she pulled me up. “Fantabulous!” she exclaimed, eyes bright. “Hot damn, I love to watch you work!” I had crushed herbs all over my jeans, and I slapped at them to get the flakes off. There was a crowd at the broken window, and traffic had stopped. Jenks dropped to hover behind my mom, making the “crazy” motion with his finger, and I frowned. My mom had been more than a little off since my dad had died, but I had to admit this nonchalance at a three-demon attack was much easier to take than the clerk’s noisy hysterics. “Get out!” the woman yelled as she pulled herself up. Her eyes were red and her face was swollen. “Alice, get out and don’t you ever come back! You hear me? Your daughter is a menace! She ought to be locked up and shunned!” My mother’s jaw clenched. “Shut your mouth,” she said hotly. “My daughter just saved your butt. She drove off two demons and bound a third while you hid like a prissy girlie-girl who wouldn’t know the right end of an amulet if it came out her ass.” Color high, she turned with a huff and looped her arm through mine. The plastic bag of charms was in her grip, and it thumped into me lightly. “Rachel, we’re leaving. This is the last time I shop in this pee-stained hole.” Jenks was grinning as he hovered before us. “Have I told you lately how much I like you, Mrs. Morgan?” “Mom … people can hear you,” I said, embarrassed. God! Her mouth was worse than Jenks’s. And we couldn’t leave. Minias was still standing in my circle. Heels crunching on the merchandise, my mom dragged me to the door, her head high and her red curls bobbing in the breeze from the busted window. A tired sigh lifted through me at the wail of sirens. Great. Just freaking great. They’d want to haul me down to the I.S. tower to fill out a report. Demon summoning wasn’t illegal, just really stupid, but they’d think of something, probably a bald-faced lie. The I.S., or Inderland Security, didn’t like me. Since having quit their lame-ass worldwide police force last year, Ivy, Jenks, and I had been showing up the Cincinnati division with a pleasant regularity. They weren’t idiots, but I attracted trouble that just begged me to beat it into submission. It didn’t help that the media loved printing stuff about me either, if only to feed people’s animosity and sell papers. Minias cleared his throat as we approached, and my mother halted in surprise. Clasping his hands innocently before him, the demon smiled. From outside came an increase in conversation at the approaching cruisers. The jitters started, and Jenks slipped between me and my scarf with that paper clip still in his grip. He was shivering, too, but I knew it was from the cold, not fear. “Banish your demon, Rachel, so we can get our coffee,” my mother said as if he was a nuisance like fairies in her garden. “It’s almost six. There will be a line if we don’t hurry.” The clerk steadied herself against a counter. “I called the I.S.! You can’t go. Don’t you let them go!” she screamed at the watching people, but thankfully none came in. “You belong in jail! All of you! Look at my shop. Look at my shop!” “Put a cork in it, Patricia!” my mother said. “You have insurance.” Coyly touching her hair, she turned to Minias. “You’re nice looking—for a demon.” Minias blinked, and I sighed at his contriving smile and the bow that made my mom titter like a schoolgirl. The conversations at the broken window shifted, and when I looked at the street and the sound of approaching cruisers, someone’s camera phone flashed. Oooooh, better and better. Licking my lips, I turned to Minias. “Demon, I demand that you depart—” I started. “Rachel Mariana Morgan,” Minias said, stepping so close to the edge of the barrier that smoke curled up where his robe touched it, “you’re in danger.” “Tell us something we don’t know, moss wipe,” Jenks muttered from my shoulder. “I’m in danger?” I said snidely, feeling better now that the demon was behind a circle. “Gee, you think? Why is Al out of jail? You told me he was in custody! He attacked me!” I shouted, pointing to the destroyed shop. “He broke our agreement! What are you going to do about it?” Minias’s eye twitched and the barest rasp gave away his slippers scuffing the floor. “Someone is summoning him out of confinement. It’s in your best interest to help us.” “Rache,” Jenks complained, “it’s cold and the I.S. is almost here. Get rid of him before they make us fill out paperwork until the sun goes nova.” I rocked back on my heels. Yeah. Like I was going to help a demon? My reputation was bad enough. Seeing me ready to banish him, Minias shook his head. “We can’t contain him without your help. He will kill you, and with no one alive to file a complaint, he’ll get away with it.” A chill ran through me at the certainty in his voice. Worried, I glanced at the people at the window, then looked over the store. Not much was standing. Outside, traffic began to move as the amber and blue lights of an I.S. car started playing over the buildings. My gaze fell on my mom and I cringed. I could usually keep the more lethal aspects of my job from her, but this time … “Better listen,” she said, shocking the hell out of me, then clacked her heels smartly as she went to intercept the clerk’s dash to the street. A bad feeling knotted my stomach. If Al wasn’t playing by the rules anymore, he’d kill me. Probably after making me watch him murder everyone I loved. It was that simple. I’d been living on instinct for the first twenty-five years of my life, and though it had gotten me out of a lot of trouble, it had also gotten me into just as much. And killed my boyfriend. So though every fiber of my body said to banish him, I took a slow breath, listened to my mother, and said, “Okay. Talk.” Minias pulled his attention from my mother. A sheet of ever-after cascaded over him, melting the formal yellow robe into a pair of faded jeans, leather belt, boots, and a red silk shirt. My face went cold. It was Kisten’s favorite outfit, and Minias had probably picked it out of my thoughts like a cookie out of a jar. Damn him. Kisten. The memory of his body propped up against his bed flashed through me. My jaw trembled, and I clenched my teeth. I knew I had tried to save him. Or maybe he had tried to save me. I just didn’t remember it, and guilt slithered across my soul. I had failed him, and Minias was using it. Son of a bitch demon. “Free me,” Minias said mockingly as if he knew he was hurting me. “Then we’ll talk.” I held my right arm as it throbbed with a phantom pain, remembering. “That’s likely,” I said bitterly, and the clerk jerked from my mother, her shrill voice hurting my ears. Minias wasn’t fazed, and he looked over his new attire with interest. A pair of modern, mirrored sunglasses misted into existence in his grip, and he placed them on the bridge of his narrow nose with a meticulous care to hide his alien eyes. He sniffed, and I felt sick at how much he looked like any guy on the street. An attractive, university kind of guy, who’d fit in on any campus as a grad student, or maybe a teacher still working for tenure. But his bearing was uncaring and slightly supercilious. “The coffee your mother mentioned sounds equitable. I give my word I’ll be … good.” My mother flicked her attention to the noisy street, and seeing her eyes glinting in approval, I wondered if this was where I got my need to live for the thrill. But I was smarter now, and putting a hand on my hip, I shook my head. My mother was nuts. He was a freaking demon. The demon glanced over my shoulder at the sound of a car door shutting and a police radio. “Have I ever lied to you?” he murmured so only I could hear. “Do I look like a demon? Tell them I’m a witch that was helping you catch Al and I got in the circle by mistake.” My eyes narrowed. He wanted me to lie for him? Minias leaned so close to the barrier of ever-after that it buzzed a harsh warning. “If you don’t, I’ll give the public what they expect.” His eyes went to the people clustered at the window. “Proof that you deal in demons ought to do wonders for your … sterling reputation.” Mmmm. There is that. The door jingled open. With a cry of relief, the clerk shoved my mother away and ran to the two officers. Sobbing, she draped herself over them, effectively preventing them from coming in any farther. I had thirty seconds, tops, and then it would be the I.S.’ s decision as to what happened with Minias, not mine. No freaking way. Minias saw my decision and smiled with an infuriating confidence. Demons never lied, but they never seemed to tell the truth either. I’d dealt with Minias before, finding that for all his considerable power, he was a novice when dealing with people. He had been babysitting the ever-after’s most powerful, insane denizen for the last millennium. But clearly something had changed. And someone was summoning Al out of containment and setting him free to kill me. Damn. Is it Nick? Stomach caving in, I put a fist to my middle. I knew he had the skill, and we had parted on very bad terms. “Let me out,” Minias whispered. “I’ll hold myself to your definition of right and wrong.” I glanced across the demolished shop. One of the officers managed to disentangle himself when the clerk pointed at us, almost gibbering. Other people in uniform were filing in, and it was getting crowded. I’d never get a better verbal contract from Minias than that. “Done,” I said, rubbing my foot across the chalk line to break the circle. “Hey!” an incoming suit shouted as my bubble went down. The spare young man whipped a thin wand from his belt and pointed it at us. “Everybody down!” The clerk screamed and collapsed. From outside came the sound of panic. I jumped in front of Minias, hands up and spread wide. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I cried out. “I’m Rachel Morgan from Vampiric Charms, Independent Runner Service. I’ve got the situation under control. We’re cool! We’re all cool! Point the wand up!” The tension eased, and in the new calm, my mouth dropped open when I recognized the I.S. officer. “You!” I accused, then started when Jenks catapulted himself from my shoulder. “Jenks, no!” I shouted, and the room reacted. A unified protest rose, and ignoring the calls to halt, I lunged to get in front of the man with the wand before Jenks could pix him and somehow land me with an assault charge. “You sorry-ass hunk of putrid fairy crap!” Jenks shouted, darting erratically as I tried to stay between them. “Nobody sucker punches me and gets away with it! Nobody!” “Easy, Jenks,” I soothed, all the while trying to watch both him and Minias. “He’s not worth it. He’s not worth it!” My words penetrated and, with his wings clattering aggressively, Jenks accepted my shoulder when I fluffed my scarf and turned to the I.S. officer. I knew my face was as ugly as Jenks’s. I hadn’t expected to ever see Tom again—though who else would they send out on a call concerning demons but someone from the Arcane Division? The witch was a mole in the I.S., working one of their most sensitive, highest-paying jobs while simultaneously laboring away as a peon in some fanatical black-arts cult. I knew because he had played messenger boy last year and asked me to join them. Right after he stunned Jenks into unconsciousness and left him to fry on my car’s dashboard. What an ass. “Hi, Tom,” I said dryly. “How’s the wand hanging?” The I.S. officer backed up with his eyes on Jenks. His face reddened when someone laughed at him for being afraid of a four-inch pixy. The truth of it was, he should be. Something that small and winged could be lethal. And Tom knew it. “Morgan,” Tom said, nose wrinkled as he breathed in the burnt-amber-tainted air. “I am not surprised. Summoning demons in public?” His gaze traveled over the trashed store, and a mocking tsk-tsk came from him. “This is going to cost you.” My breath quickened when I remembered Minias, and I spun. True to his word, the demon was behaving himself, standing still as every incoming I.S. officer pointed their weapons, both conventional and magic, at him. My mother made a puff of noise, her high heels clacking as she strode to him. “A demon? Are you insane?” she said as she tucked our purchases under an arm to take Minias’s hand and pat it. I froze in shock. Minias looked even more surprised. “Do you honestly think my daughter is so stupid she’d let a demon out of a circle?” she continued, her smile bright. “In the middle of Cincinnati? Three days before Halloween? It’s a costume. This kind man helped my daughter repel the demons and got caught in the crossfire.” She beamed up at him, and Minias delicately removed his hand from hers, curling his fingers into a tight fist. “Isn’t that so, dear?” Minias silently sidestepped away from my mother. I felt a tug on my awareness as something was drawn from the ever-after to this side of the lines, and Minias pulled a wallet from his back pocket. “My papers … gentlemen,” the demon said, giving me a smirk before he passed Tom what looked like one of those ID holders you see on cop shows. The clerk slumped against the first officer, wailing. “There were two of them in robes and one in a green costume! I think that’s the green one there. They trashed the store! They knew her name. That woman is a black witch and everyone knows it! It’s been in the papers and the news. She’s a menace! A freak and a menace!” Jenks bristled, but it was my mother who said, “Get a grip, Pat. She didn’t call them.” “But the store!” Patricia insisted, her fear turning to anger now that I.S. officers surrounded her. “Who’s going to pay for this?” “Look,” I said, feeling Jenks shivering between me and the scarf. “My partner is cold sensitive. Can we wrap this up? I haven’t broken the law as far as I can see.” Tom looked up from reading Minias’s ID. He squinted from the picture to Minias, then handed it to someone far older standing behind him with a curt, “Pull it.” Unease trickled through me, but Minias didn’t seem to be troubled. Jenks pinched my ear when Tom moved to stand before me, and I jerked out of my reverie. “You shouldn’t have turned us down, Morgan,” the witch said, so close I could smell a witch’s characteristic redwood smell rolling off of him. The more magic you practiced, the stronger you smelled, and Tom reeked. I thought of Minias and felt a moment of worry. He might look like a witch, but he would smell like a demon, and they’d seen me let him out. Crap. Think, Rachel. Don’t react, think! “Somehow,” Tom said softly, threateningly, “I don’t think your friend Minias is going to have a record. Any record at all. Sort of like a demon?” My thoughts scrambled, and I felt more than saw Minias ease up behind me. “I’m sure Mr. Bansen will find my papers are in order,” he said, and I shivered when a chill ran through me, pulled into existence from the draft of Jenks’s wings. “Holy crap! Minias smells like a witch!” the pixy whispered. I took a deep breath, my shoulders relaxing when I found Minias did indeed lack the characteristic burnt-amber scent that clung to all demons. I turned to him in surprise, and the demon shrugged, twisting his hand. It was still in a fist, and my lips parted when I realized he hadn’t opened his fingers since my mother had taken his hand. Eyes widening, I spun to my mother to find her beaming. She’d given him an amulet? My mother was crazy, but she was crazy like a fox. “Can we go?” I said, knowing Tom was trying to get a good sniff of him as well. Tom’s eyes narrowed. Taking my elbow, he pulled me from Minias. “That is a demon.” “Prove it. And as you once told me, it’s not against the law to summon demons.” His face went ugly. “Maybe not, but you’re responsible for the damage they do.” A groan slipped from Jenks, and I felt my face go stiff. “She destroyed my store!” the woman wailed. “Who’s going to pay for this! Who?” An I.S. officer approached with Minias’s ID, and while Tom held up a finger for me to wait, he talked to him. My mother joined me, and the people outside complained as an officer started to make them move on. Tom was frowning when the man left, and bolstered by his show of bad temper, I smiled cattily. I was going to walk out of here. I knew it. “Ms. Morgan,” he said as he slid his wand away. “I have to let you go—” “What about the store?” the woman wailed. “Can it, Patricia!” my mother said, and Tom grimaced as if he’d eaten a spider. “As long as you agree that demons were here because of you,” he added, “and you agree to pay for damages,” he finished, handing Minias his ID back. “But it wasn’t my fault.” My gaze scanned the broken shelves and scattered amulets as I tried to add up the potential cost. “Why should I have to pay for it because someone sicced them on me? I didn’t summon them!” Tom smiled, and my mother squeezed my elbow. “You’re welcome to come down to the I.S. and file a counter-complaint.” Nice. “I’ll accept the damages.” So much for the air conditioner fund. “Come on,” I said, reaching for Minias. “Let’s get out of here.” My hand passed right through him. I froze, but I didn’t think anyone had noticed. Glancing at his irate face, I gestured sourly for him to go before me. “After you,” I said, then hesitated. I wasn’t going to do this at the coffeehouse two blocks away. Not with the I.S. buzzing like fairies around a sparrow nest. “My car is about five spots down. It’s the red convertible, and you’re riding in back.” Minias’s eyebrows rose. “As you say …,” he murmured, rocking into motion. Looking proud and satisfied, my mother snatched my purchases up, linked her arm in mine, and like magic the crowd parted to show us the door. “You okay, Jenks?” I questioned when the cool of the night hit us. “Just get me in the car,” he said, and I carefully wrapped my scarf about my neck once more to snuggle him in. Coffee with my mom and a demon. Yeah, that was a good idea. Two (#u88fd9f3a-caa6-50ee-9b26-689f033b058e) The coffeehouse was warm, smelling of biscotti and brewing beans. Jenks went to my mom’s shoulder when I loosened my scarf, but I didn’t take it off, not knowing if my neck showed Al’s fingerprints or not. It sure hurt enough to. Al is out? How am I going to shut this down? Gently rubbing my neck, I lingered at the door to watch Minias, Jenks, and my mother find their place in line. The heavy-charm detection alarm was glaring a harsh red—responding to Minias most likely—but no one in the crowded place was paying it any mind. It was three days before Halloween, and everyone was trying out their spells. The demon looked tall beside my mother as she fidgeted. Her cream-colored leather clutch purse matched her shoes to perfection; I must have gotten my fashion sense from my dad. I knew I had gotten my height from him, putting me several inches taller than my mom and a shade shorter than Minias, even in my boots. And my athletic build had certainly come from my dad. Not that my mom was a slouch, but memories of afternoons at Eden Park and pictures from before he had died reassured me that I was as much my father’s daughter as my mother’s. It made me feel good, thinking that a part of him lived on though he’d been gone twelve years. He’d been a great dad, and I still missed him when my life got out of control. Which was more often than I liked to admit. Behind me, the irritating heavy-charm detector gave a final pulse and went dark. Relieved, I eased up behind Minias, making his shoulders stiffen. He’d been markedly quiet in the car, giving me the creeps as he sat rigidly behind me while my mother sat sideways in her seat to watch him. She had disguised the scrutiny by trying to engage him in conversation while I called Ivy and left a message for her to run across the street and warn Ceri that Al was on the loose again. The demon’s ex-familiar didn’t have a phone, which was getting tiresome. I was hoping my mother’s light banter had been a ploy to ease the tension and not her usual out-of-touch-with-reality mentality. She and Minias were on a first-name basis now, which I thought was swell. Still, if he had wanted to cause problems, he could have done it half a dozen times between the charm shop and here. He was biding his time, and I felt like a bug on a pin. My mother and Jenks edged out of line to ogle the pastries, and when the Were trio ahead of us finished ordering and moved off, Minias stepped forward, glancing indolently at the hanging menu. A man in a business suit behind us huffed impatiently, then went pale and backed up when the demon eyed him through his dark glasses. Minias turned back to the counter attendant and smiled. “Latte grande, double espresso, Italian blend. Light on the froth, extra cinnamon. Use whole milk. Not two percent or half-and-half. Whole milk. Put it in porcelain.” “We can do that!” the kid behind the counter said enthusiastically, and I looked up. His voice sounded familiar. “And for you, ma’am?” “Uh,” I stumbled, “coffee. Black. That’s it.” Minias looked askance at me, his surprise clear even through his dark glasses, and the kid behind the counter blinked. “What kind?” he asked. “Doesn’t matter.” I shifted from foot to foot. “Mom, what do you want?” My mother cheerfully hustled back to the counter with Jenks on her shoulder. “I’ll have a Turkish espresso and a slice of that cheesecake if someone will share it with me.” “I will,” Jenks sang out, startling the guy behind the register. He still had that paper clip sword with him, and it made me feel better. My mom glanced at me, and when I nodded that I’d have some, too, she beamed. “I’ll have that, then. With forks for all of us.” She shyly looked to Minias, and the demon stepped back almost out of my peripheral vision. The kid snuck glances at Jenks as he punched that in, announcing, “Fourteen eighty-five.” “We have one more person here,” I said, trying not to frown, and Jenks landed on the counter with his hands on his hips. I hated it when people ignored him. And asking him to share simply because he wasn’t going to eat much was patronizing. “I want an espresso,” he said proudly. “Black. But give me the domestic blend. That Turkish crap gives me the runs for a week.” “TMI, Jenks,” I muttered while I yanked my shoulder bag forward. “Why don’t you find a table? Maybe a corner without a lot of people?” “With your back to the wall. You got it,” he said, clearly doing better in the shop’s moist, balmy climate. A sustained temp below forty would send him into hibernation, and though Cincinnati was regularly hitting that after dark, the stump he and his huge family lived in would retain enough heat to keep them warm until almost mid-November. I was already dreading his brood moving into the church Ivy and I lived in, but they would not hibernate and risk Matalina, his ailing wife, dying of the cold. Jenks was why I wore the scarf; it wasn’t for my comfort. Glad for the warmth of the shop myself, I unzipped my coat. I handed the kid a twenty, then dropped the change into the tip jar, making the businessman wait while I scribbled “client meeting” on the receipt and tucked it away. Turning, I found my mother and Minias standing uneasily beside a table against the wall. Jenks was on the light fixture, the dust slipping from him rising in the bulb’s heat. They were waiting for me to sit down before choosing their seats, so grabbing some napkins, I headed over. “This looks great, Jenks,” I said as I edged behind my mom to reach the chair against the wall. Immediately my mother sat to my left, and Minias chose the chair to my right, shifting it a foot back before sitting down. He was almost in the aisle; apparently we both wanted our space. I took the opportunity to remove my jacket, and my expression froze when the bracelet Kisten had given me slipped to my wrist. Pain hit, almost panic, and I didn’t look at anyone as I tucked it behind the sleeve of my sweater. I wore the bracelet because I had loved Kisten and still wasn’t ready to let him go. The one time I’d taken it off, I found myself unable to tuck it away in my jewelry box next to the sharp vampire caps he’d given me. Maybe if I knew who had murdered him I could have moved on. Ivy hadn’t had much luck tracking down the vampire Piscary had given Kisten to as a legal blood gift. I had been sure that Sam, one of Piscary’s lackeys, had known who it was, but he hadn’t. The human polygraph test at the FIB, or Federal Inderland Bureau—the human-run version of the I.S. – was pretty good, but the witch charm I had around Sam’s neck when Ivy “asked” him about it was better. That was the last time I helped her question anyone, however. The living vampire scared me when she was pissed. That Ivy wasn’t getting results was unusual. Her investigative skills were as good as my ability to get into trouble. Since the “Sam incident,” we had agreed to let her handle our search, and I was getting impatient at her lack of progress, but my slamming vampires into a wall for information wasn’t prudent. What made it worse was that the answer was buried somewhere in my unconsciousness. Maybe I should have talked to the FIB’s psychologist to see if he could pull something to light? But Ford made me uneasy. He could sense emotions faster than Ivy could smell them. Uncomfortable, I scanned the d?cor of the busy place. Behind my mother was one of those stupid pictures with babies dressed up as fruit or flowers or something. My lips parted and I looked at Jenks, then to the counter where the college-age kid managed the customers with a professional polish. This was it! I thought in a surge of recognition. This was the same coffeehouse where Ivy, Jenks, and I had agreed to quit the I.S. and work as independent runners! But Junior looked like he knew what he was doing now, sporting a manager tag on his red-and-white-striped apron and with several underlings to handle the nastier parts of running the place. “Hey, Rache,” Jenks said as he dropped down to dust my sweater with gold. “Isn’t this the store we—” “Yup,” I interrupted him, not wanting Minias to be privy to more of my life than necessary. The demon was unfolding a paper napkin and meticulously settling it across a jeans-clad knee as if it were silk. Unease flowed through me as I remembered the night I decided to leave the I.S. Going clueless into an independent bounty hunter/escort service/jack-of-all-magical-trades runner service with a vamp had been one of the most stupid and best decisions of my life. It went along with Ivy and Jenks’s opinion that I lived my life to find the edge of disaster so I could feel the rush of adrenaline. Maybe I had once, but not anymore. Believing I had killed Jenks and Ivy with one of my stunts had cured me one hundred percent, and Kisten’s death had slammed the lesson home, hard. And to prove it, I wasn’t going to work with Minias no matter what he offered. I wouldn’t repeat the past. I could change my patterns of behavior. I would. Starting here. Watch me. “Coffee up!” the kid shouted, and Minias took his napkin from his lap as if he was going to rise. “I’ll get it,” I said, wanting to minimize his interactions with everyone. Minias eased down without a fuss. I gathered myself to stand, then frowned. I didn’t want to leave him with my mother either. “Oh, for God’s sake,” my mother said, standing to drop her purse loudly on the table. “I’ll get it.” Minias touched her arm, and I bristled. “If you would, Alice, bring the cinnamon with you?” he asked, and my mother nodded, slowly pulling from his fingers. She was holding her arm when she walked away, and I leaned toward Minias. “Don’t touch my mother,” I threatened, feeling better when Jenks took an aggressive stance on the table, his wings clattering menacingly. “Someone needs to touch her,” Minias said dryly. “She hasn’t been touched in twelve years.” “She doesn’t need to be touched by you.” I leaned back with my arms crossed over my middle. My gaze went to my mother, who was flirting in an old-lady way with the counter kid, and I paused. She hadn’t remarried when Dad died, hadn’t even dated. I knew she intentionally dressed herself to look older than she was to keep men at a distance. With the right haircut and dress, we could pass as big sister, little sister. As a witch, her life span was a good hundred and sixty years, and while most witches waited until they were sixty before starting a family, she had had Robbie and me very early in her life, giving up a promising career to raise us first. Maybe we were accidents. Passion babies. That brought a smile to my face, and I forced it away when I noticed Minias watching me. I straightened as my mom approached with a canister of cinnamon and her plate of cheesecake; the kid behind the counter was following with the rest. “Thank you, Mark,” she said as he placed everything on the table and backed up a step. “You’re a sweet boy.” I smiled at Mark’s sigh. Clearly he wasn’t happy with the title. He glanced at me, then Jenks, his eyes brightening. “Hey,” he said as he tucked the tray under his arm. “I think I’ve seen you somewhere. …” I cringed. Most times people recognized me, it was from the news clip of me being dragged on my ass down the street by a demon. The local news had incorporated it into their front credits. Sort of like that guy on skis pinwheeling over the finish line in the agony of defeat. “No,” I said, unable to look at him as I pulled the lid off my cup of coffee. Ah, coffee. “Yes,” he insisted, weight on one foot. “You’ve got that escort service. In the Hollows?” I didn’t know if that was better or not, and I looked tiredly up at him. I’d done escort service before, not that kind of escort service, but real stuff, dangerous stuff. I had a boat blow up around me once. “Yeah, that’s me.” Minias looked up from shaking cinnamon on his coffee. Jenks snickered, and I bumped my knee on the underside of the table to make his espresso slop over. “Hey!” he shouted, rising up a few inches, then settled back down, still laughing. The front door jingled, and the kid shot off his glad-to-have-you-here spiel and left. Minias was the only one listening. My coffee was steaming, and I hunched over it while I watched the demon. His long fingers were interlaced about the white soup-bowl mug as if relishing its warmth, and though I couldn’t tell for sure because of the sunglasses, I think his eyes closed as he took the first sip. A look of bliss so deep it couldn’t have been faked slipped over him, easing his features and turning him into a vision of relaxed pleasure. “I’m listening,” I said, and a mask of nothing fell between us. My mother quietly ate her cheesecake, her eyes flicking uneasily between us. I had the distinct impression she thought I was being rude. “And I’m not happy,” I added, making her lips press tightly. “You told me Al was contained.” I lifted my coffee and blew across the top. “What are you going to do about him breaking his word and coming after me? What do you think will happen when this gets out?” I took a sip, forgetting for a moment where I was when it slipped down, easing my slight headache and relaxing my muscles. Jenks cleared his throat, bringing me back. “You won’t have a chance of luring anyone into any agreements again,” I said as my focus cleared. “No more familiars. Won’t that be nice?” I finished with a simpering smile. His eyes on the delights of that fruit-baby picture, Minias sipped his drink with his elbows on the table and his mug propped up at mouth height. “This is much better this side of the lines,” he said softly. “Yeah,” Jenks said. His espresso cup came up to his waist. “That burnt amber really sticks in your throat, doesn’t it?” A flicker of annoyance flashed across Minias, and a thread of tension entered his stance of relaxed idleness. I took a deep breath, smelling only coffee, cheesecake, and the characteristic redwood scent of a witch. I was sure my mom had slipped him a charm, and I wasn’t looking forward to finding the cost of such an expensive amulet tacked on to the losses from the store. But if it kept him from smelling like a demon and causing a panic, I couldn’t complain. “Well, what do you want?” I said, setting my cup down. “I don’t have all night.” My mom frowned, but Minias took it in his stride, easing back in his stiff chair and setting his giant mug aside. “Al is being summoned out of confinement—” “We figured that part out,” Jenks said snottily. “Jenks …,” I murmured, and the pixy walked across the table with his makeshift sword to the cheesecake. “We’ve never run into this before,” Minias said, hesitating as he took in Jenks’s “whatever” attitude. “Because of his extraordinary amount of contact with this side of the lines, Al has arranged for someone to summon him every sundown. They get what they want, then release him without the compulsion to return to the ever-after. It’s a win-win situation for both of them.” And a lose-lose for me. My thoughts flashed to my old boyfriend, Nick. Jenks eyed me over a chunk of cheesecake as big as his head, clearly thinking the same thing. Nick was a thief who habitually used demons as a source of information. Thanks to Glenn at the FIB, I had a copy of his file in my dresser’s bottom drawer. It was so thick a monster rubber band barely kept it shut. I didn’t like thinking about it. “Someone’s freeing a demon without compulsion to return to the ever-after?” I managed, my eyes lowered. “That’s not very responsible.” “It’s extremely clever. For Al.” Minias’s one elbow found the table as he took a draught. I cringed, fully conscious of my mom listening quietly. “You think someone’s doing this to kill me?” I finally asked. Minias shrugged. “I don’t know. Nor do I care, really. I simply want it to stop.” A reproachful huff came from my mother, and Minias pulled his elbow from the table. “We can regain control of him after sunup,” the demon said, his eyes hidden behind his glasses. “When the lines close to cross-traffic, he’s snapped back to our side. Finding him then is just a matter of using his demon marks.” I pulled my hands from atop the table, my fingers pushing aside Kisten’s bracelet to feel the raised scar. The demon mark had flared into pain just before Al showed up, and a new worry settled in beside the old ones. That’s how Al had found me. Crap. I didn’t like feeling like a tagged antelope. “Al doesn’t have access to a lab while in custody,” Minias said, drawing my attention back. “So he only has simple, easily performed curses, but he’s exceptionally adept at line jumping.” “Well, he’s been in someone’s kitchen. He looks like he always does, and I know that’s not his natural form.” I don’t want to know what he looks like. I really don’t. Minias’s head moved up and down once, and he swallowed his coffee. “Yes,” he said softly as he leaned back. “Someone has been helping him. That he tried to take you tonight went a long way toward convincing me it wasn’t you.” “Me?” I blurted. “You really think I’d work with him?” Then my fingers, gripping my coffee, went weak. Appearance charms didn’t just happen in one night. That meant that Al … My eyes rose, and I wished Minias would take off his glasses. “How long has Al been slipping your containment?” Minias’s lips twitched. “This is the third night in a row.” Fear jolted me, and Jenks rose from the table, red dust slipping from him. “And you didn’t think I might want to know that?” I exclaimed. In a smooth motion, Minias took off his glasses. His arm flat on the table, he leaned in to me. “How much effort do you expect me to exert?” he said tightly, and I blinked at the irate emotion reflected in his goat-slitted eyes. “We don’t care if he kills you or not. I have no reason to help you.” “But you did,” I said belligerently, thinking anger seemed better than fear. “Why?” Immediately Minias backed down, and seeing there was something here he didn’t want to talk about, I decided I did. “I was tracking Al,” the demon said. “That you were there was merely helpful.” Jenks began laughing, and all eyes turned to him as he rose several inches. “You got sacked, didn’t you,” he said, and Minias stiffened. My first impulse to protest died at Minias’s stoic face. “You got fired?” The demon’s reach for his oversize mug almost smacked Jenks in its quickness. “Why else would he be tracking Al instead of watching TV with Newt?” Jenks said, flitting to the safety of my shoulder. “You got canned. Outsourced. Pink-slipped. Handed your walking papers. Given the go light. Slipped on the banana. Served the dead slug.” Minias put his glasses back on. “I’ve been reassigned,” he said tightly. Suddenly I was afraid. Really afraid. “You aren’t watching Newt?” I whispered, and Minias looked surprised by my fear. “Who is Newt?” my mother asked, dabbing a napkin at her lips and sliding the last half of the cheesecake to me. “She’s just the most powerful demon they got over there,” Jenks boasted as if he had something to do with it. “Minias was her babysitter. She’s more dangerous than a militant fairy on Brimstone, and she’s the one who cursed the church last year before I bought it. Didn’t twitch a wing. She’s got a major burr up her ass about Rachel.” Minias bit back a snort, and I wished Jenks would shut up. My mother hadn’t known about the “blasphemy incident.” “There are no female demons,” my mother said, fumbling in her purse to bring out a compact and her lipstick. “Your father was very clear on that.” “Apparently he was mistaken.” I picked up a fork but immediately set it down. I’d lost my desire for cheesecake about five surprises ago. Gut clenching, I turned to Minias. “So who’s watching Newt?” The demon’s face lost all its amusement. “Some young punk,” he said sullenly, surprising me with the modern phrase. Jenks, though, was delighted. “You lost Newt one too many times, and they replaced you with a younger demon. Oh, that’s beautiful!” Minias’s hand quivered, his fingers abruptly loosening on his mug when a soft crack rang out from the porcelain. “Stop it, Jenks,” I said, wondering how much of Minias losing his job was due to Newt slipping away on his watch, and how much was from the demon’s inability to make impartial decisions regarding her security. I’d seen them together, and Minias clearly cared for her. Too much to lock her up when she needed it, probably. “How do they expect me to seduce her and maintain her adherence to the law simultaneously?” he snarled. “It can’t be done. Damned fool bureaucrats don’t know the first thing about love and dominance.” Seduce her? I arched my eyebrows, but an icy sensation rippled through me at the glimpse of his anger and frustration. Silence, thick and uncomfortable, took over, making the surrounding conversation seem louder. Seeing us staring, Minias forced his tension from him. His sigh was so soft, I wasn’t sure I hadn’t imagined it. “Al can’t be allowed to flaunt the rules,” he said, as if he hadn’t just shown us the pain in his soul. “If I can contain him, I can return to supervising Newt.” “Rachel!” my mother exclaimed, and I turned to see a familiar mask of lighthearted ignorance on her. “He’s a runner, just like you! You should go out to a movie or something.” “Mom, he’s a—” I hesitated. “He’s not a runner,” I said, stopping just short of saying he was a demon. “And he certainly isn’t date material.” Guilt hit me. I’d pushed her, and she was slipping into old patterns. Cursing myself, I pulled my attention to Minias, just wanting to wrap this up and get out of here. “Sorry,” I said to apologize for my mother. Minias’s face was still empty. “I don’t do witches.” I had a hard time not finding offense in that, but Jenks saved me from making a total ass out of myself by buzzing his wings to gain everyone’s attention. “So let me get this straight,” he said, hovering a breath above the sticky table with one hand on his hip, the other pointing that plastic-coated paper clip at Minias. “You lost your cushy babysitting job and are now trying to gain control of a demon who has limited power and resources. And you can’t do it?” “It’s not a matter of gaining control over him,” Minias protested indignantly. “We can catch him. We simply can’t contain him after sunset. As I told you, someone is summoning him out of confinement.” “And you can’t stop them?” I questioned, thinking of the charmed zip-strips that the I.S. used to keep ley line practitioners from jumping out of custody via a ley line. Minias shook his head and his glasses caught the light. “No. We catch him, confine him, and when the sun goes down, he pops out, rested and fed. He’s laughing at us. Me.” I disguised my shiver by taking a sip of my coffee. “Any idea who’s doing it?” My thoughts went to Nick, and the coffee turned to acid in my stomach. “Not anymore.” His boots scraped against the gritty floor. “Soon as I find out, they die.” Nice. Fumbling for my mom’s hand under the table, I gave it a squeeze. “Do you have any idea as to who might be helping him?” Minias asked next, and I forced myself to keep breathing. Nick, I thought, but I wouldn’t say it aloud. Not even if he was sending Al to hurt me—because if it was Nick, I’d take care of him myself. I could feel Jenks’s eyes on me, wanting me to say it, but I wouldn’t. “Why don’t you just get rid of his summoning name?” I said, looking for other options. “You do that, and he can’t be summoned out.” The skin visible past Minias’s sunglasses tightened. He knew I wasn’t saying something. “You can’t throw away a password. Once you have one, it’s yours.” He hesitated, and I felt the gathering of trouble. “You can exchange it with someone else’s, though.” The ribbon of tension around my chest squeezed, and all my warning flags went up. “If someone exchanged names with him,” Minias drawled into the conversation-rich air, “we could contain him. Unfortunately, because of his job, he’s been very lax with his summoning name. There are an astounding number of people on this side of the lines who know it, and no demon will willingly take it.” Minias stared at me. “They have no reason to.” My fingers tightened on my waxed paper cup, sure now I knew why Minias was sitting at a table sipping coffee with me. I had a password. I had a reason to trade. I had a major problem. “So what does that have to do with my daughter?” my mother said, her voice thick with warning. Fear caused her to drop the scattered-thoughts image she used as a buffer to hide the damage my dad’s death had wrought. Minias adjusted his glasses to give himself time to weigh the emotions at our table. “I want your daughter to exchange passwords with Al.” “No fairy-crap way.” The dust slipping from Jenks was a red so deep that it seemed black. “Absolutely not,” I echoed. I scowled and slid my chair back. Unperturbed, Minias shook more cinnamon into his coffee. “Then he’ll kill you. I don’t care.” “Obviously you do or you wouldn’t be here,” I said sharply. “You can’t hold him without my name. You don’t care if I live or die. It’s you you’re worried about.” My mom sat stiff and miserable. “Will you remove her demon marks if she does this? All of them?” “Mom!” I exclaimed, not aware that she even knew about my demon marks. Green eyes full of pain, she took my cold fingers in hers. “Your aura is filthy, honey. And I do watch the news. If this demon can remove your marks and purge your aura, then you should at least find out what the consequences or possible side effects are.” “Mom, it’s not just a password, it’s a summoning name!” Minias gazed at my mother with a new interest. “It’s a summoning name that has no pull on you,” he said. “The most that will likely happen is you fielding a few months of redirected calls to Al.” I took my hand from my mother’s, not believing this was happening. “You said I had to pick a name no one could figure out, that if someone did, they could make my life miserable. Do you know how many people know Al’s name? I don’t, but it’s more than know mine.” Done with this, I pushed myself from the table. The chair scraped, and the vibration went all the way up my spine and made me shiver. “That’s the point, witch,” Minias said, making the word an insult. “If you don’t, you’re going to die. I intervened tonight in the hope you’d be willing to come to an arrangement, but I won’t do it again. I simply don’t care.” Fear, or maybe adrenaline, sparked through me. Arrangement? He meant a deal. A deal with a demon. My mother’s eyes pleaded with me, and Jenks lifted his poker, bristling. “Is that a threat?” he snarled, his wings going red with his increased circulation. “A statement of odds.” Minias set his cup down with a sense of finality. The napkin was next, folded and laid flat beside it. “Yes or no.” “Pick someone else,” I said. “There are millions of witches. Someone has got to be more stupid than me and say yes. Give them a name and exchange it with Al.” He looked at me from over his shades. “You’re one of two witches this side of the lines whose blood is capable of making a strong enough bond. Yes or no?” Oh, back to the demon magic thing. Swell. “So use Lee,” I said bitterly. “He’s stupid.” As well as aggressive, ambitious, and now a basket case from having been Al’s familiar for a couple of months before I rescued him. Sort of. God, no wonder Al hated me. Minias sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. A faint whiff of Brimstone tickled my nose. “He has too close a tie to Al,” he said, his gaze on the ceramic mug cradled in his hands. “He wouldn’t do it. I asked. The man is a coward.” My neck stiffened. “And if common sense makes me say no, then I’m a coward, too?” “You can’t be summoned,” he said, as if I was being obstinate. “Why are you balking?” “Al would know my name.” Just the thought made my pulse quicken. “You know his.” For one brief moment I considered it. Then the thought of Kisten flashed through me. I couldn’t take the chance. Not again. This wasn’t a game, and there was no reset button. “No,” I said abruptly. “We’re done here.” My mother’s shoulders eased and Jenks’s feet touched the table. I was wire tight, wondering if this truce would last now that I had said no, whereupon he’d return to a normal demonic frame of mind and trash the place along with what was left of my reputation. But Minias finished his coffee in a final swallow, raising his hand and motioning for the clerk to make one more to go. He rose, and my held breath escaped. “As you want it,” Minias said as he picked up the cinnamon and stood. “I won’t be conveniently coming to save you a second time.” I was about to tell him where he could shove his convenience, but Al was going to show up again, and if I could call Minias to collect him, my chances of survival would increase—I thought. I didn’t have to take Minias up on his offer, just survive until I figured out who was summoning Al and deal with him or her myself. Demon summoning wasn’t illegal, but my foot in their gut a couple of times might convince them it was a really bad idea. And if it was Nick? Well, that would be a real pleasure. “What if I think about it?” I said, and my mother gave me a nervous smile and a pat on my arm. See, I can use my brain, too. Minias smirked as if he saw right through me. “Don’t think too long,” he said, accepting the paper cup Junior was extending to him. “I’ve gotten word that they caught him on the West Coast trying to ride the shadow of night into tomorrow. The pattern-shift indicates he has everything he needs and all that’s left is implementing it.” I refused to show my fear, not swallowing though my mouth was dry. Minias leaned close, the scent of burnt amber high in my imagination as his breath shifted my hair. “You’re safe until the sun goes down tomorrow, Rachel Mariana Morgan. Hunt fast.” Jenks rose up on his dragonfly wings, clearly frustrated as he stayed just out of the demon’s easy reach. “Why don’t you just kill Al?” Tucking the entire container of cinnamon into a jacket pocket, Minias shrugged. “Because we haven’t had a demon birth in five thousand years.” He hesitated, then shook his arm to cause an amulet to slip from his sleeve and fall into his fingers. “Thank you, Alice, for the use of your amulet. If your daughter is half as skilled in the kitchen as you, she would make a fine familiar.” Mom had made it herself? I thought. Not simply invoked a pilfered one? The cloying scent of burnt amber rolled over me, and my mother blushed. It was obvious by the protests of the surrounding people that they had noticed the stench as well, and Minias smiled an empty smile behind the mirrored black glasses. “If you would banish me?” I’d totally forgotten. “Oh. Sure,” I mumbled as the people behind him turned with their hands over their noses in complaint. “Ah, demon, I demand that you depart here and return directly to the ever-after to not bother us again this night.” And with a nod, Minias vanished. The people behind him gasped, and I waved. “University professor late for a class,” I lied, and they turned, laughing at their fear and dismissing the stench as an early Halloween prank. “Lord help you, Rachel,” my mother said sourly. “If that’s how you treat men, it’s no wonder you can’t keep a boyfriend.” “Mom, he’s not a man. He’s a demon!” I protested softly, pausing as she pocketed that charm. Clearly hair straighteners weren’t the only thing she was trading to Patricia. Scent amulets weren’t hard to make, but one strong enough to block out a demon’s stench was highly unusual. Talk about your niche market. Maybe she was specializing in charms no one else bothered with to avoid competition—and thus lawsuits—from annoyed, licensed charm makers. Eyes on my coffee, I said, “Mom, about those amulets you’ve been making for Patricia.” Jenks took to the air, and my mother huffed. “You’re never going to find Mr. Right if you don’t start playing with Mr. Right Now,” she said, gathering everything up on her plate. “Minias is obviously Mr. Never, but you could have been a little nicer.” Jenks shrugged, and I sighed. “I noticed he didn’t offer to get the tab, though, did he?” my mother finished. I took another swallow of my coffee and gathered myself to rise. I wanted to get home to my sanctified church before any more demons popped into my life with nasty solicitations. Not to mention I had to talk to Ceri. Make sure Ivy had told her Al was out. As I slowly followed Jenks and my mom to the trash and then the door, my thoughts swung back to what Minias had said about no new demons being born for the last five thousand years. He was at least five thousand years old and had been assigned to monitor and seduce a female demon? And why no new demons? Was it because there were so few female demons left, or because having sex with one could be deadly? Three (#u88fd9f3a-caa6-50ee-9b26-689f033b058e) I set the stack of unopened desk organizers I’d bought last month on the scratched hardwood floor of the sanctuary, wincing at the high-pitched squeal of pixy children as they swarmed into the nook of my desk that I had just opened up. They weren’t moving in for the winter yet, but Matalina was getting a jump on prepping my desk. I couldn’t blame her for the fall cleaning. I didn’t use my desk much, and there was more dust gathering than work done at it. The urge to sneeze took me, and I held my breath, eyes watering until the feeling evaporated. Thank you, God. I glanced at Jenks at the front of the church, where he was keeping a fair number of his younger kids busy, and out of the way, with decorating the sanctuary for Halloween. He was a good dad, a part of him that was easy to overlook when he was out busting bad guys with me. I hoped I found half as good a man when I was ready to start a family. The memory of Kisten—blue eyes smiling—swam up, and my heart seemed to clench. It had been months, but reminders of him still came fast and hard. And I didn’t even know where the thought of children had come from. There wouldn’t have been any with Kisten, unless we fell back on the age-old tradition of borrowing a girlfriend’s brother or husband for a night, practices born long before the Turn, when to be a witch would sign your death warrant. But now even that hope was gone. Jenks met my eyes, and a gentle dusting of gold contentment slipped from him as he watched Matalina. His pretty wife looked great. She had been fine all this summer, but I knew Jenks was watching her like the proverbial hawk with the onset of the cold. Matalina barely looked eighteen, but pixy life spans were a mere twenty years, and it made me heartsick that it was only a matter of time before we’d be doing this with Jenks as well. A secure territory and steady food supply could do only so much in lengthening their lives. We were hoping that by removing the need for them to hibernate they all would benefit, but there was a limit to what good living, willow bark, and fern seed could do. Turning away before Jenks could see my misery, I put my hands on my hips and stared at my cluttered desk. “’Scuse me,” I said, pitching my voice high as I edged my hands among the darting shapes of Matalina’s eldest daughters. They were chatting so fast that it sounded like they were speaking another language. “Let me get those magazines out of your way.” “Thank you, Ms. Morgan!” one hollered cheerfully, and I carefully pulled out the stack of Modern Witchcraft for Today’s Young Woman out from under her as she rose up. I never read them, but I hadn’t been able to turn down the kid on my doorstep. I hesitated with the stack in my arms, not knowing if I should throw them out or put them next to my bed to someday read, maybe, finally dumping them on the swivel chair to deal with later. A fluttering of black paper rose up as Jenks flew into the rafters with a small paper bat trailing after him by a thin thread. The smell of rubber cement mixed with the spicy scent of chili slow-cooking in the Crock-Pot Ivy had bought at a yard sale, and Jenks taped the string to a beam before dropping down for another. The swirl of silk and four-part harmony pulled my attention back to my desk, now barren, making the tiny nooks and drawers a pixy paradise done in oak. “All set, Matalina?” I asked, and the tiny woman smiled with a duster made from the fluff of a dandelion in her hand. “This is wonderful,” she said, her wings a blur of nothing. “You are too generous, Rachel. I know how much of a bother we all are.” “I like you staying with us,” I said, knowing I’d find pixy tea parties in my spice drawer before the week was through. “You make everything more alive.” “Noisy, rather,” she said, sighing as she looked to the front of the church and the papers Ivy had spread to protect the hardwood floor from the arts and crafts. Pixies living in the church was a bloody nuisance, but I’d do anything to put off the inevitable another year. If there was a charm or spell, I’d use it in a heartbeat, regardless of its legality. But there wasn’t. I had looked. Several times. Pixy life spans sucked. I smiled wistfully at Matalina and her daughters as they set up housekeeping, and after rolling the top of the desk down to leave the now-traditional one-inch gap, I grabbed my clipboard and looked for somewhere to sit. On it was a growing list of ways to detect a demon summoning. In the margin was a short list of people who might want me dead. But there were safer ways to kill someone than sending a demon after them, and I was betting the first list would get me closer to who was summoning Al than the second. After I exhausted the local stuff, I’d look out of state. The lights were high and the heat was on against the hint of chill in the air, turning the autumn night to a noon summer. The church’s sanctuary wasn’t much of a sanctuary anymore; the pews and altar had been removed even before I had moved in, leaving a wonderfully open space with narrow stained-glass windows stretching from knee height to the tall ceiling. My desk was atop the shallow stage up front, to the right of where the altar had been. Back by the dark foyer was Ivy’s seldom-played baby grand piano, and tucked into the front corner across from my desk was a new cluster of furniture to give us somewhere to interview prospective clients without dragging them all the way through the church to our private living room at the back. Ivy had a plate of crackers, cheese, and pickled herring arranged on the low coffee table, but it was the pool table my gaze lingered on. It had been Kisten’s, and I knew that the reason I was drawn to it was because I missed him. Ivy and Jenks had given the table to me on my birthday. It was the only piece of him Ivy had taken besides his ashes and her memories. I think she’d given it to me as an unspoken statement that he’d been important to both of us. He had been my boyfriend, but he had been Ivy’s onetime live-in and confidant, and probably the only person who truly understood the warped hell that their master vampire, Piscary, had put them through with his version of love. Things had changed radically in the three months since Ivy’s former girlfriend, Skimmer, had killed Piscary and landed herself in jail under a wrongful-death charge. Instead of the expected turf war, with Cincy’s secondary vampires struggling to assert their dominance, a new master vampire had stepped in from out of state, one so charismatic that no one rose to challenge him. I’d since learned that bringing in new blood was commonplace, and there were provisions set up in Cincinnati’s charter to deal with the sudden absence of a city power. What was unusual, though, was that the new master vampire had taken in every single one of Piscary’s displaced vamps instead of bringing his own camarilla. The small bit of kindness cut short an ugly mess of vampire misery that would have put me and my roommate in serious jeopardy. That the incoming vampire was Rynn Cormel, the very man who had run the country during the Turn, probably had a lot to do with Ivy’s quick acceptance. Respect usually came slowly from her, but it was hard not to admire someone who had written a vampire sex guide that sold more copies than a post-Turn bible, and had been president. I had yet to actually meet the man, but Ivy said that he was quiet and formal, and that she was enjoying getting to know him better. If he was her master vampire, they were going to have a blood tryst at some point. Euwie. I didn’t think they had yet, but Ivy was private about that sort of thing, despite her well-earned reputation. I suppose I should have been thankful he hadn’t taken Ivy as his scion and made my life hell. Rynn had brought his own scion, and the woman was just about the only living vamp to come with him from Washington. So after Kisten died, Ivy got a new master vampire, and I got a pool table in my front room. I’d known that a blood-chaste witch and a living vampire could never make it work in the long run. Regardless, I had loved him, and the day I found out who Piscary had given Kisten to like a thank-you card, I was going to sharpen my stakes and go for a visit. Ivy was working on it, but Piscary’s hold on her had been so heavy the last few days of his existence that she didn’t remember much. At least she no longer believed she had killed Kisten in a blind, jealous rage. I eased myself up to sit on the edge of the table, smelling the scents of vampire incense and old cigarette smoke rise from the green felt like a balm. It mixed with the odor of tomato paste and the sound of melancholy jazz filtering in from the back of the church, bringing to mind my early mornings spent in the loft of Kisten’s dance club, inexpertly knocking pool balls around while I waited for him to finish closing up. Closing my eyes against the lump in my throat, I pulled my knees up to prop my heels against the bumper and wrapped my arms around my shins. The heat coming from the long Tiffany lamp Ivy had installed over the table beat on the top of my head, hot and close. My eyes started to fill, and I pushed the pain down. I missed Kisten. His smile, his steady presence, just being with him. I didn’t need a man to feel good about myself, but the shared feelings between two people were worth suffering for. Maybe it was time to stop saying no to every guy that tried to ask me out. It had been three months. Did Kisten mean that little to you? came an accusing thought, and I held my breath. “Get off the felt,” came Ivy’s voice out of my swirl of emotions, and my eyes flashed open. I found her at the top of the hallway leading to the rest of the church, a plate of crackers and pickled herring in one hand, two bottled waters in the other. “I’m not going to tear it,” I said as I dropped my knees to sit cross-legged, loath to move since the only other place to sit was across from her. It was easier to keep our distance than deal with the building pressure of Ivy wanting to sink her teeth and my wanting her to, both of us knowing it would be a bad idea. We’d tried it once and it hadn’t worked out well, but I was a get-back-on-the-horse kind of girl—even when I knew better. Almost of their own accord, my fingers rose to my neck and the nearly unnoticeable bumps of scar tissue marring my otherwise absolutely pristine skin. Seeing my hand where it was, Ivy folded herself gracefully into a chair behind the plate of crackers. She shook her head at me, making the gold tips of her short, sin-black, lusciously straight hair glimmer, frowning at me like a ticked-off cat. I pulled my hand down and pretended to read the clipboard now propped in my lap. Despite her grimace Ivy seemed relaxed as she eased into the black leather, looking pleasantly exhausted from her workout this afternoon. She was wearing a long, gray, shapeless sweater over her tight exercise outfit, but it couldn’t hide her trim, athletic build. Her oval face still carried the glow of exertion, and I could feel her brown eyes watching me as she worked to quell the mild blood lust stirred by the spike of surprise that I had given off when she had startled me. Ivy was a living vampire, the last living heir of the Tamwood estate, admired by her living vampire kin and envied by her undead ones. Like all high-blood living vampires, she had a good portion of the undead’s strengths but none of the drawbacks of light vulnerability or the inability to tolerate sanctified ground or artifacts—she lived in a church to irritate her undead mother. Conceived as a vampire, she’d become an undead in the blink of an eye if she died without any damage for the vampire virus to repair. Only the low-born, or ghouls, needed further attention to make the jump to a damned immortality. Moved by scent and pheromones, it was an ongoing ballet between us of want and need, desire and will. But I needed protection from the undead who would take advantage of me and my unclaimed scar, and she needed someone who wasn’t out for her blood and had the will to say no to the ecstasy a vampire bite could bring. Plus, we were friends. We had been since working together in the I.S., an experienced runner showing a newbie the ropes. I’d, um, been the newbie. Ivy’s blood lust was very real, but at least she didn’t need blood to survive as the undead did. I was fine with her sating her urges with anyone she wanted, seeing as Piscary had warped her such that she couldn’t separate love from blood or sex. Ivy was bi, so it wasn’t a big deal to her. I was straight—last time I checked. But after getting a taste of how good a blood tryst felt, everything was doubly confusing. It had taken a year, but I finally admitted that I not only respected Ivy but loved her, too—somehow. But I wasn’t going to sleep with her just to have her sink her teeth in me unless I was truly attracted to her and not just to the way she could set my blood burning, aching to fill the hole Piscary had carved into her soul, year by year, bite by bite. … Our relationship had gotten complicated. Either I had to sleep with her to safely share blood, or we could try to keep it to a blood exchange alone and run the risk that she would lose control and I’d have to slam her against the wall to get her to stop before she killed me. In Ivy’s words, we could share blood without hurt if there was love, or we could share blood without love if I hurt her. There was no middle ground. How nice was that? Ivy cleared her throat. It was a small sound, but the pixies went silent. “You’re going to damage the felt,” she almost growled. My eyebrows rose, and I turned to look at the table, already knowing its surface like the palm of my hand. “Like it’s in such good shape?” I asked dryly. “I can’t make it any worse. There’s a dent in the slate the size of an elbow by the front left pocket, and it looks like someone stitched up nail gouges there in the middle.” Ivy reddened, picking up an old issue of Vamp Vixen that she had out for clients. “Oh, my God,” I said, untwisting my legs and jumping off as I imagined just how gouges like that could get there. “I’ll never be able to play on it again. Thanks a hell of a lot.” Jenks laughed to sound like wind chimes, and he joined me as I headed over for some of the pickled herring. The puff of leather was soothing as I flopped into the couch across from Ivy, dropping my clipboard beside me and reaching for the crackers. “The blood came right out,” she muttered. “I don’t want to know!” I shouted, and she hid behind her magazine. The cover story was SIX WAYS TO LEAVE YOUR SHADOW BEGGING AND BREATHING. Nice. Silence slipped between us, but it was a comfortable one, which I filled by shoving pickled herring into my mouth. The tart vinegar reminded me of my dad—he had been the one who’d gotten me hooked on the stuff—and I settled back with a cracker and my clipboard. “What have you come up with so far?” Ivy asked, clearly looking for a shift in topics. I pulled the pencil from behind my ear. “The usual suspects. Mr. Ray, Mrs. Sarong. Trent.” Beloved city’s son, playboy, murdering slicker-than-a-frog-in-a-rainstormbastard Trent. But I doubted it was him. Trent hated Al more than I did, having run into him once before to come away with a broken arm and probably a recurring nightmare. Besides, he had cheaper ways to knock me off, and if he did, his secret biolabs would hit the front page. Jenks was jabbing the point of his sword into the holes of the crackers to break them into pixy-size pieces. “What about the Withons? You did bust up their plans to marry off their daughter.” “Nah …,” I said, not believing anyone could hold a grudge for that. Besides, they were elves. They wouldn’t use a demon to kill me. They hated demons more than they hated me. Right? Jenks’s wings blurred and the table was cleared of the crumbs he had made. Eyebrows raised at my doubt, he started layering herring bits on his tiny crackers, each the size of a peppercorn. “How about Lee?” he said. “Minias said he didn’t trust him.” I set the arches of my feet on the edge of the coffee table. “Which is why I do.” I had gotten the man away from Al. One would think that would be worth something, especially when Lee had taken over Cincy’s gambling when Piscary died. “Maybe I should talk to him.” Ivy frowned at me over her magazine. “I think it’s the I.S. They’d love to see you dead.” My pencil scratched against the yellow tablet. “Inderland Security,” I said, feeling a ping of fear drop through me as I added them to the list. Crap, if it was the I.S., I had a big problem. Jenks’s wings hummed as he exchanged a look with Ivy. “There’s Nick.” I unclenched my jaw almost as fast as it tightened up. “You know it’s him,” the pixy said, hands on his hips as Ivy peered at me over the magazine, her pupils slowly dilating. “Why didn’t you tell Minias right there? You had him, Rachel. Minias would have taken care of it. And you didn’t say a thing!” Lips pressed tight, I calculated the odds of me hitting him with the pencil if I threw it at him. “I don’t know it’s Nick, and even if it was, I wouldn’t give him to the demons. I’d take care of it myself,” I said bitterly. Think with your head, Rachel, not your heart. “But maybe I’ll give the cookie a call.” Ivy made a small noise and went back to her magazine. “Nick’s not that smart. He’d be demon fodder by now.” He was that smart, but I wasn’t going to start a witch hunt. Or stupid-human hunt, rather. My blood pressure, though, had gone back down at her low opinion of him, and I reluctantly added his name to the list. “It’s not Nick,” I said. “It’s not his style. Demon summoning leaves traces, either in collecting the materials to do it, the damage done while he’s there, or the increase in educated young witches dying of unnatural causes. I’m going to check with the FIB and see if they’ve found anything odd the last few days.” Ivy leaned forward, knees crossed as she took a cracker. “Don’t forget the tabloids,” she offered. “Yeah, thanks,” I said, adding that to the list. A “Demons Took My Baby” story could very well be true. Propping the tip of his metal sword on the table, Jenks leaned against the wooden hilt and let out a piercing chirp by rubbing his wings together. His kids flew up in a noisy flurry by the door, and I held my breath, fearing they were all going to descend on us, but only three came to a swirling, wing-clattering stop, their fresh faces smiling and their innocence beguiling. They were capable of murder, all of them. Down to his youngest daughter. “Here,” he said, handing a cracker to one of his sons. “See that your mom gets this.” “’Kay, Papa,” he said, and was gone, his feet never having touched the table. The other two ferried the rest of the portions out in a well-organized display of pixy efficiency. Ivy blinked at the normally nectarivorous pixies descending on the pickled herring like it was maple syrup. They’d eaten an entire fish last year for an extra boost of protein before their hibernation, and though they weren’t going to hibernate again this year, the urge was still there. Sourly contemplating my new and improved list, I cracked the bottled water Ivy had brought me. I thought about heading into the kitchen for a glass of wine, but after glancing at Ivy, I decided to make do with what I had. The pheromones she was kicking out were enough to relax me as much as a shot of whiskey, and if I added to it, I’d probably fall asleep before two in the morning. As it was, I was feeling pretty damn good, and I wasn’t going to feel at all guilty that most of it stemmed from her. It was a thousand years of evolution to make finding prey easy, but I felt I deserved it for putting up with all the crap living with a vampire brought. Not that I was that easy to live with either. I tapped the eraser against my teeth and looked at my list. The Weres were probably out, and Lee. I couldn’t imagine the Withons would be that ticked, even if I had busted up their daughter’s marriage to Trent. Trent might be angry, though, seeing as I’d gotten him jailed for all of three hours. A sigh lifted through me. I’d built up a lot of animosity with some pretty big people in a remarkably short time. My special talent. I should concentrate on finding traces of demon summoning and go from there, rather than investigating people who might hold a grudge. The dinner bell Ivy and I used as a doorbell bonged, startling us. A jolt of adrenaline pulsed through me, and Ivy’s eyes dilated to a thin rim of brown. “I’ll get it,” Jenks said as he flew up from the coffee table, his voice almost lost in the commotion his kids were making from the front corner of the newspaper-plastered sanctuary. As Ivy went to turn down the music coming in from the back room, I wiped my mouth of cracker crumbs and did a quick tidy at the table. Ivy might take a job two days before Halloween, but if they were looking for me, they were going to be sadly disappointed. Jenks worked the elaborate pulley system we’d rigged for him, and as soon as the door cracked, an orange cat streaked in. “Cat!” the pixy shrilled as the tabby headed right for his kids. I bolted upright, breath catching as every pixy in the sanctuary was abruptly eight feet higher. Shrieks and calls echoed, and suddenly the air was full of little black paper bats dangling enticingly from thin strings. “Rex!” Jenks shouted, darting to land right before the black-eyed animal, which was entranced and frozen by the overwhelming sensory input of twenty-plus dangling bits of paper. “Bad cat! You scared the fairy-loving crap out of me!” His gaze went to the rafters. “Everyone up there?” A shrill round of “Yes, Dad,” made my eyeballs hurt, and Matalina came out of the desk. Hands on her hips, she whistled sharply. A chorus of disappointed complaints rose and the bats fell. A flow of pixies vanished inside the desk, leaving three older kids to sit and dangle their feet from the rafters as casual sentries. One of them had Jenks’s straightened paper clip, and I smiled. Jenks’s cat patted one of the fallen paper bats and ignored her tiny master. “Jenks …,” Matalina said in warning. “We had an agreement.” “Ho-o-o-oney,” Jenks whined. “It’s cold out. She’s been an inside cat since we got her. It’s not fair to make her stay outside just because we’re inside now.” Her tiny, angelic face tight, Matalina disappeared into the desk. Jenks streaked in after her, a mix of young man and mature father. Grinning, I snagged Rex on my way to the door and the two shadows standing hesitantly in my threshold. I had no idea how we were going to handle this new wrinkle. Maybe I could learn how to make a ward to let people through but keep felines out. It was just a modified ley line circle. I’d seen someone do it by memory once, and Lee had put a ward up across Trent’s great window. How hard could it be? My smile widened when the light from the sign over the door illuminated who was there. It wasn’t a potential client. “David!” I exclaimed when I saw him next to a vaguely familiar man. “I told you I was okay earlier. You didn’t have to come over.” “I know how you downplay things,” the younger of the two men said, his face easing into a few smile wrinkles as Rex struggled to get away from me. “‘Fine’ can be anything from a bruise to almost comatose. And when I get a call from the I.S. about my alpha female, I’m not going to take that at face value.” His eyes lingered on the faint mark on my neck where Al had gripped me. Dropping the wildly wiggling cat, I gave him a quick hug. The complicated scent of Were filled my senses, wild, rich, and full of exotic undertones of earth and moon that most Weres lacked. I drew back, my hands still on his upper arms, peering into his eyes to evaluate his state of being. David had taken a curse for me, and though he said he liked the focus, I worried that one day, the sentient spell would risk my anger and take him over. David’s jaw clenched as he reigned in an urge to flee that stemmed from the curse, not himself, then smiled. The thing was terrified of me. “Still got it?” I said, letting him go, and he nodded. “Still loving it,” he said, dropping his head briefly to hide the need to run shimmering behind his dark eyes. He turned to the man beside him. “You remember Howard?” My head bobbed. “Oh, yes! From last year’s winter solstice,” I said, wiggling my foot at Rex so she wouldn’t come in and reaching to shake the older man’s hand. His grip was cold from the night and probably poor circulation. “How you been doing?” “I’m trying to stay busy,” he said, the tips of his gray hair moving as he exhaled heavily. “I never should have taken that early retirement.” David scuffed his boots, muttering a quiet “I told you.” “Well, come on in,” I said, waving my foot at the disgusted cat so she’d go away. “Quick, before Rex follows you.” “We can’t stay.” David hotfooted it inside, his old business partner quick on his heels despite his accumulated years. “We’re on our way to pick up Serena and Kally. Howard is driving us out to Bowman Park and we’re going to run the Licking River trail. Can I leave my car here until morning?” I nodded. The long stretch of railroad track between Cincy and Bowman Park had been converted to a safe running surface shortly after the Turn. This time of year, you’d only find Weres on it at night, and the rails-to-trails path ran fairly close to the church before it crossed the river into Cincinnati. David had used the church as an endpoint before, but this was the first time he had the ladies with him. I wondered if it was their first long fall run. If so, they were in for a treat. To run full out and not get hot was exquisite. I shut the door and ushered the men from the unlit foyer into the sanctuary. David’s duster brushed his worn boot tops, and he took off his hat as he entered, clearly uncomfortable on the holy ground. As a witch, Howard didn’t care, and he smiled and waved at the tiny hellos from the ceiling. I probably owed Howard a big thank-you—it had been his idea that David should take me as his new business partner. David set his worn leather hat on the piano and rocked from heel to toe, looking every inch the alpha male, albeit an uncomfortable one. The faint hint of musk rose from the sturdy but graceful man, and his hand nervously ran across the hint of stubble the almost-full moon was causing. He wasn’t tall for a man, standing almost eye to eye with me, but he made up for it in sheer presence. “Sinewy” would be the word I’d use to describe him. Or maybe “yummy,” if he were in his running tights. But like Minias, David had a problem with the different-species thing. He’d been forced to assume the title of alpha male for real when he accidentally turned two human women into Weres. It wasn’t supposed to be possible, but he had been in possession of a very powerful Were artifact at the time. Watching David accept his responsibility left me both proud and guilty, since it was partly my fault. Okay, mostly my fault. It would be a year come the winter solstice since David had started a pack with me, pressured into it by his boss and obstinately choosing a witch instead of a Were female so he wouldn’t have to take on any new responsibilities. It was a win-win situation: David got to keep his job, I got my insurance cheap. But now he was an alpha for real, and I was proud of him for accepting it with so much grace. He went out of his way to make the two women he had turned with the focus feel wanted, needed, and welcome, taking every chance he could to help them explore their new situation with joyous abandonment. But I was most proud of his refusal to show the guilt he lived with, knowing that if they knew how bad he felt for changing their lives without their consent, they might feel that what they had become was wrong. He had gone on to `prove his nobility by taking the Were curse from me to save my sanity. The curse would have killed me by the first full moon. David said he liked it. I believed him, though it worried me. I appreciated David for everything he was and who he was becoming. “Hi, David, Howard,” Ivy said from the top of the hall, her hair freshly brushed and shoes now on her feet. “Can you stay for dinner? We have a slow cooker full of chili, so there’s plenty.” Ivy, however, just wanted to get in David’s pants. David had started at her voice. Shifting his long coat closed, he took a step back as he turned. “Thanks, but no,” he said, eyes down. “I’m going for a run with the ladies. Howard might want to come back after dropping us off, though.” Howard mumbled something about a meeting, and Ivy turned to the stained-glass window and the moon, just shy of full but hidden behind clouds. Weres could change anytime, but the three days of a full moon were the only time it was legal to roam the city’s streets on four paws, tradition turned to law by paranoid humans. What Weres did in their own houses, though, was their own business. The moonlit trail would be busy tonight. Ivy’s foot twitched like a cat’s tail as she sat, turning her magazine over to hide the headline. I had to work to keep a straight face. It wasn’t often that she was smitten enough by anyone to look like a high schooler with a crush. And it wasn’t that she was obvious about it, but she was so closed with her emotions that any indication of attraction was as clear as finding love notes strewn on her bedroom floor. She’d probably recognized the sound of his car and had gone to tidy up, using the excuse of lowering the music. “You should have called me when the demon showed,” David said, edging to the door. Jenks’s wings clattered as he darted from the desk to the center of the room. “I was there to save her ass,” he said belligerently, then added a belated, “Hi, David. Who’s your friend?” “This is Howard, my old partner,” David said, and Jenks’s head bobbed up and down. “Oh, yeah. You stink for a witch. Whatcha been doing?” Howard laughed, the sound echoing into the rafters and setting the pixies giggling. “Some freelance work. Thank you, Mr. Jenks. I’ll take that as a compliment.” “It’s just Jenks,” the pixy muttered, giving Howard an unusual, cautious look as he landed on my shoulder. Ivy was making eyes at David from over the crackers, and the small man started edging toward the door in earnest. “Do you want me to stay until sunup? Just in case?” “Good God, no!” I exclaimed. “I’m on holy ground. I’m as safe here as if I was in my mother’s arms.” “We’ve met your mother,” Ivy said lightly. “That doesn’t instill any confidence.” “What is this, pick-on-Rachel night?” I said, tired of it. “I can take care of myself.” No one said anything, the silence broken by a stifled laugh from the rafters. I looked up, but the pixies had hidden themselves. “Guess what she’s doing tonight?” Jenks said, leaving me to escort a quickly retreating David and Howard to the door. “Making a list of people who want to kill her, followed by ways to detect demon summoning.” “She told me.” David retied his coat closed and headed for the door. “Don’t forget to put Nick on there.” “Got him,” I said, flopping into my chair and scowling at Ivy. She chased David away almost every time. “Thanks, Jenks,” I shot at the pixy, but he wasn’t listening as he opened the door for David and rose up out of the cold draft. David turned at the threshold. Behind him, Howard was heading down the steps to an unfamiliar station wagon. Parked by the curb was David’s gray sports car. “’Bye, Rachel,” David said, the light over the door glinting on his black hair. “Call me tomorrow if I don’t see you. Summoning demons usually results in a claim or two being filed. When I get back to the office, I’ll see if anything unusual has come in.” My eyebrows rose, and I made a mental note to add insurance claims to the list. David worked at one of the largest on-paper insurance companies in the United States and had access to just about everything, given time. Actually, maybe I’d call Glenn at the FIB to see if they had any complaints recently. They kept great records to compensate for their utter lack of Inderlander talents. “Thanks, I’ll do that,” I said as David followed his old partner out and shut the door. Ivy frowned at the dark foyer, sipping her drink as one foot bobbed up and down. Seeing me track the motion, she forced it still. I jumped at the high-pitched burst of noise from my desk, eyes widening as four streaks of silver raced out from it and into the back of the church. A crash brought me around in my seat, and I wondered what had just fallen off the overhead rack in the kitchen. And so it begins. … “Jack!” came Matalina’s shrill cry, and she zipped out of the desk after them. Jenks intercepted her, and the two had a rapid high-pitched discussion in the hallway punctuated by bursts of ultrasonic sound that made my head hurt. “Honey,” Jenks coaxed when she slowed enough that we could hear them again. “Boys will be boys. I’ll talk to them and make them apologize.” “What if they had done that when your cat came in!” she shrilled. “What then?” “But they didn’t,” he soothed. “They waited until she was secure.” Hand shaking as she pointed to the back of the church, she took a breath to start in again, gulping it back when Jenks kissed her soundly, wrapping her slim form in his arms and body, their wings somehow not tangling as they hovered in the hallway. “I’ll take care of it, love,” he said when they parted, his emotion so earnest that I dropped my eyes, embarrassed. Matalina fled to the desk in a dusting of mortified red, and after grinning at us in some masculine display of … masculinity, Jenks flew to the back of the church. “Jack!” he shouted, the dust slipping from him a brilliant gold. “You know better than that. Get your brothers and get out here. If I have to dig you out, I’m going to clip your wings!” “Huh.” Ivy’s long fingers carefully picked up a cracker. “I’ll have to try that.” “What?” I asked, shifting to prop my clipboard up on my knees. Ivy blinked slowly. “Kissing someone from agitation into bliss.” Her smile widened to show a slip of teeth, and a sliver of ice dropped down my spine. Fear mixed with anticipation, as unstoppable as jerking my hand from a flame. And Ivy could sense it as easily as she could see my embarrassed flush. Pulling herself upright, she stood. I blinked up at her as she stretched, and brushing past me in a wave of vampire incense, she headed for the door as the doorbell rang. “I got it,” she said, her pace provocative. “David left his hat.” My exhaled breath was slow and long. Damn it, I was not an adrenaline junkie. And Ivy knew we weren’t going to shift our relationship in either direction. Still … the potential was there, and I hated that she could flip switches in me as easily as I could flip them in her. Just ’cause you can do something, doesn’t mean you should, right? Exasperated with myself, I grabbed the empty cracker plate and headed for the kitchen. Maybe I needed a midnight run myself to clear my head of all the vamp pheromones in there. “Cat in the house!” came Ivy’s call, and then a different voice filtered in, stopping me cold. “Hi, I’m Marshal.” If the mellow, attractive voice hadn’t jerked me to a halt, the name would have, and I spun in the hallway. “You must be Ivy,” the man added. “Is Rachel in?” Four (#u88fd9f3a-caa6-50ee-9b26-689f033b058e) “Marshal?” I exclaimed as my thoughts realigned and I figured out who was standing in our threshold. “What are you doing here?” I added as I headed back. He shrugged and smiled, and the cracker plate dangled from my hand as I pushed past a belligerent Ivy to give him a one-armed hug. Dropping back a step, I warmed, but damn, it was good to see him. I had felt really guilty watching him swim back to his boat last spring, having to go on hearsay that he made it back all right and that the Mackinaw Weres were leaving him alone. But not contacting him had been the best thing to ensure his anonymity and safety. The tall, wide-shouldered man continued to grin. “Jenks left his hat on my boat,” he said, extending the red leather cap to me. “You did not come all the way down here for that,” I said as I took it, then squinted at the dark shadow of an infant beard on him. “You’ve got hair! When did you get hair?” Taking off his knitted cap, he ducked his head to show its fuzz. “Last week. I brought the boat in for the season, and when I’m not wearing a wet suit, I can let it all grow back.” His brown eyes pinched in mock agony. “I itch like crazy. Everywhere.” Ivy had moved back a step, and setting the cracker plate on the table beside the door, I took his arm and pulled him in. The scent of his short wool coat was strong, and I breathed it in, thinking I could smell gas fumes mixing with the strong redwood smell that meant witch. “Come on in,” I said, waiting for him to finish wiping his boots on the mat before he followed me into the sanctuary. “Ivy, this is Marshal,” I said, seeing her with her arms crossed over her middle and David’s hat in her grip. “The guy who got me out to the island at Mackinaw and let me run off with his diving gear. Remember?” It sounded stupid, but she hadn’t said anything yet, and I was getting nervous. Ivy’s eye twitched. “Of course. But Jenks and I didn’t see him at the high school pool when we returned his stuff, so I never met him. It’s a pleasure.” Dropping David’s hat on the small table beside the door, she extended her hand, and Marshal took it. He was still smiling, but it was growing thin. “Well, this is it,” I said, gesturing to the sanctuary and the rest of the unseen church. “Proof that I’m not crazy. You want to sit down? You don’t have to leave right away, do you? Jenks will want to say hi.” I was babbling, but Ivy wasn’t being nice, and she’d already driven one man out of the church tonight. “Sure. I can stay for a minute.” Marshal took his coat off as he followed me to the furniture clustered in the corner. I watched him take a deep breath of the chili-scented air, and I wondered if he’d stay if I asked. Plopping myself down in my chair, I gave him a once-over as Marshal eased his lean swimmer’s body down to the edge of the couch. Clearly not yet ready to relax, the tall man sat on the edge with his arms flat on his legs. Marshal was wearing jeans and a dark green pullover that had a backwoods look to it, the color going well with his honey-colored skin. He looked great sitting there, even if his eyebrows weren’t grown in yet and he’d nicked himself shaving. I remembered how utterly in control he had looked on his boat, dressed in a swimsuit and an unzipped red windbreaker that showed skin so smooth it glistened and beautiful, beautiful abs. God, he had had nice abs. Must be from all the swimming. Suddenly shocked, I froze. Guilt turned my skin cold, and I settled into my chair, heartache riding high where enthusiasm had just flowed. I had loved Kisten. I still loved him. That I’d forgotten for even an instant was both a surprise and a pain. I’d been listening to Ivy and Jenks long enough to know this was part of my pattern of getting hurt and then finding someone to hide the pain with, but I wasn’t going to be that person anymore. I couldn’t afford to be. And if I saw it, I could stop it. But it was really good to see Marshal. He was proof that I didn’t kill everyone I came in contact with, and that was a welcome relief. “Uh,” I stammered when I realized no one was talking. “I think my old boyfriend stole some of your gear before he went off the bridge. Sorry.” Marshal’s wandering attention lighted briefly on the bruise on my neck before rising to my eyes. I think he recognized something had shifted, but he wasn’t going to ask. “The FIB found my stuff on the shore a week later. No problem.” “I didn’t have a clue he was going to do that,” I said. “I’m really sorry.” He smiled faintly. “I know. I saw the news. You look good in cuffs.” Ivy leaned against the wall by the hallway where she could see both of us. She looked left out, but that was her own fault. She could sit down and join us. I flashed her a glance, which she ignored, then turned to Marshal. “You didn’t really drive all the way down here to give Jenks his hat, did you?” “No …” Marshal dropped his head. “I’m here for an interview at the university, and I wanted to see if you were jerking me around or if you really did have a job where you thought you could take on an entire Were pack alone.” “I wasn’t alone,” I said, flustered. “Jenks was with me.” Ivy uncrossed her ankles and pushed herself away from the wall an instant before Jenks zipped in, wings clattering. “Marshal!” the exuberant pixy shouted, dust slipping from him to make a sunbeam on the floor. “Holy crap! What the hell are you doing here?” Marshal’s jaw dropped. For an instant, I thought he was going to stand up, but then he fell all the way back into the couch. “Jenks?” He stammered. His eyes were wide as he looked at me and I nodded. “I thought you were kidding about him being a pixy.” “Nope,” I said, enjoying Marshal’s disbelief. “What you doin’ here, old dog!” the pixy said, darting from one side of him to the other. Marshal gestured helplessly. “I don’t know what to do. You were six feet tall the last time I saw you. I can’t shake your hand.” “Just stick your hand out,” Ivy said dryly. “Let him land on it.” “Anything to get him to stop flying around,” I said loudly, and Jenks settled on the table, his wings going so fast I could feel a draft. “It’s great to see you!” Jenks said again, making me wonder just why we were so glad to see Marshal. Maybe it was because he had helped us when we really needed it at great risk to himself when he owed us nothing. “Crap on my daisies,” Jenks said, rising up and settling back down. “Ivy, you should have seen his face when Rachel told him we were going to rescue her ex-boyfriend from an island full of militant Weres. I still can’t believe he did it.” Marshal smiled. “Neither can I. She looked like she could use some help was all.” Ivy made a questioning face at me, and I shrugged. Okay, seeing me in a tight rubber suit might have swayed his decision, but it wasn’t as if I had dressed up to romance help out of him. Marshal’s eyes darted to Ivy when she pushed herself into motion. Sleek and predatory, she eased onto the couch beside him, angling herself so her back was to the armrest, one knee pulled up to her chin, the other draped over the edge of the couch. Her magazine slid to the floor when she bumped it, and she pointedly set it on the table between us with the headlines showing. She was acting like a jealous girlfriend, and I didn’t like it. “Huh,” Jenks said, a smile on him as he looked at me sitting with my hands clasped primly in my lap and that unusual amount of space between Marshal and myself. “I guess you can teach a young witch new tricks.” “Jenks!” I exclaimed, knowing he was talking about me distancing myself from Marshal, but the poor witch didn’t have a clue. Thank God. Incensed, I made a snatch for the pixy, and the laughing four-inch man settled himself on Marshal’s shoulder. Marshal stiffened but didn’t move but for tilting his head and trying to see Jenks. “You said you were here for an interview?” Ivy said pleasantly, but I didn’t trust her mood as far as I could throw her. Which was about three feet on a good day. Moving carefully as if Jenks might leave, Marshal eased into the cushions and away from her. “At the university,” he said, showing signs of nervousness. “What’s the job?” Ivy questioned, and I could almost hear her think “Janitor?” Though not saying one cross word, she wasn’t being nice, like I’d asked him to come over to betray Kisten’s memory. Marshal must have picked up on it, too, for he shifted his wide shoulders and tilted his head to crack his neck, clearly a nervous tick. “I’d be coaching the swim team, but once I’m on the payroll, I can put in for a real teaching position.” “Teaching what?” Jenks asked suspiciously. At that, Marshal smiled. “Minor ley line manipulations. More of a high school course than anything else. A primer to bring deficient students up for the hundred-level classes.” Clearly Ivy wasn’t impressed. But she probably didn’t know that he had to be at a four-hundred level to instruct anyone in anything. I had no idea where my ley line proficiency put me, seeing as I was picking it up as I went along, learning what I had to when I needed it, not what was safe or prudent in a steady, progressive pace. “Cincinnati doesn’t have a swim team,” Ivy said. “Sounds like quite a job to build one.” Marshal’s head bobbed, and the stubble on it caught the light. “It will be. Normally I wouldn’t even try for the position, but I earned my bachelor’s here, and coming back feels right.” “Hey!” Jenks exclaimed, and I shivered in the draft from his wings. “You’re a Cincy boy! What year did you graduate?” “Class of 2001,” he said proudly. “Holy crap, you’re almost thirty?” the pixy said. “Damn, you look good!” “Almost? No, I’m past it,” he said, clearly unwilling to divulge just how much. But since he was a witch, it didn’t really matter. “It’s the swimming,” he said softly, then looked at Ivy as if he knew she was going to look up his records. “I majored in business management, and I used my degree to start Marshal’s Mackinaw Wrecks.” Disappointment flickered over him. “But that’s not going to work anymore, so here I am.” “Too cold?” Jenks said, either ignoring that we were likely the reason it wasn’t working anymore or trying to make light of it. “God, I froze my nuggie plums off in that water.” I winced, thinking Jenks’s mouth was getting steadily worse. Almost as if he had to prove he was a man in front of Marshal, and the way to do it was to be as raunchy as he could. But I had heard the hint of blame in Marshal’s words. “The Mackinaw Weres found out you had something to do with me getting onto the island, didn’t they,” I said, knowing I was right when he looked at his water-stained yellow leather boots. Shit. “I’m sorry, Marshal,” I said, wishing now I’d just knocked him on his head and stolen his stuff. At least he’d still have his business. I’d done the right thing, and it had hurt him in the long run. Where was the justice in that? His smile was tight when he pulled his head up, and even Ivy looked apologetic. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I didn’t lose anything that mattered in the fire.” “Fire?” I whispered, appalled, and he nodded. “It was time for me to come back,” he said, one shoulder rising in a shrug. “I only started the diving business so I could build the capital to get my master’s.” Ivy’s fingers, drumming on the couch, went still. “You’re finishing your degree?” Saying nothing, Marshal ran his gaze over her as if estimating how great a threat she was and nodded. “Hey, I have to go. I’ve got a couple of apartments I’m looking at tonight, and if I don’t show on time, the Realtor will probably figure it was a Halloween prank and leave.” He stood, and I found myself rising as well. Jenks darted into the air, grumbling about not having anything comfortable to put his ass on in the entire church before he landed on my shoulder. I wanted to go with Marshal so the Realtor wouldn’t convince him to take a rattrap that would be noisy with humans after sunup, but he probably knew Cincinnati as well as I did. Not much changed fast, despite the size of the city. Besides, I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. Ivy stood as Marshal shrugged into his coat. “Nice to meet you, Marshal,” she said, then turned her back on him as she walked out. Five seconds later, I heard her taking the lid off the slow cooker, and a new wave of tomato, beans, and spices wafted out. “Can you stay for dinner?” I found myself asking, not knowing why, except that he had helped Jenks and me, and I owed him. “We actually cooked tonight. Chili.” Marshal’s eyes went to the top of the dark hallway. “No, but thank you. I’m having dinner with a couple of guys from school. I just wanted to bring Jenks his hat and say hi.” “Oh, okay.” Of course he’d have friends here. I was being stupid. I followed him to the door to see him out, my eyes landing on Jenks’s leather cap, back after months of being with Marshal. I was glad to see him, and I wished he could stay, but it was tinged with depression from the guilt that I even wanted him to. Glowing a hot gold, Jenks hovered at eye-height beside Marshal as I reached to open the door. “It’s good to see you, Marsh-man,” he said. “If it was warmer, I’d show you my stump.” The way he said it almost sounded like a threat, and I could see Marshal thinking about it as he slowly buttoned his coat, probably trying to decide if he was serious or not. I wanted to talk to Marshal alone for a moment, but Jenks wasn’t leaving. Jenks suddenly noticed that neither of us was talking, and when I made a face at him, he dropped in height. “If you want me to go, you just have to say so,” he said sullenly, then darted off to leave a fading sprinkling of pixy dust to glow on the floor for a moment. My blood pressure dropped, and I smiled at Marshal. “That was the most excellent charm I’ve ever seen,” Marshal said softly, his eyes dark to take in the limited light in the foyer, “making him human-size, then small again.” “It’s not half as excellent as the person who actually made it for me,” I said, thinking that Ceri should get her just dues. “I just invoked it.” Marshal took his hat out of his wide pocket and put it on. I felt a twinge of relief when he reached for the door, then guilt that I’d enjoyed seeing him again. God, how long will I have to live like this? Marshal hesitated. Turning back, he searched my face. I silently waited, not knowing what might come out of his mouth. “I, ah—I’m not interfering in something, am I?” he asked. “With your roommate?” I grimaced, cursing both Ivy for her jealousness and Jenks for his protective nature. God help them, were they that obvious? “No,” I said quickly, then dropped my gaze. “It’s not that. My boyfriend …” I took a breath and lowered my voice so it wouldn’t break. “I just lost my boyfriend, and they both think I’ll jump into bed with the first guy to come into the church simply to fill the ache he left behind.” A fear that is both understandable and at the same time unnecessary. Marshal shifted his weight back. “The guy that went over the bridge?” he asked quizzically. “I thought you didn’t like him.” “Not him,” I said, flicking my eyes to his and away. “My boyfriend after him. Kisten was … important to both Ivy and me. He died to prevent an undead vampire from binding me to him … I don’t remember it, but I know he did. And I still …” I closed my eyes, a lump in my throat. “I still miss him,” I said miserably. I looked at Marshal, needing to see what he thought. His face was carefully blank of expression. “He died?” he said, and I nodded, looking away. “I think I understand,” he said as he reached to touch my shoulder, and guilt tweaked through me as I soaked in the support radiating from him. “I’m really sorry about your boyfriend. Um … I didn’t know. I should have called before coming over. I’ll just, uh, go.” His hand slipped away, and my head came up. “Marshal,” I said, reaching to take his sleeve, and he stopped. I let go, then glanced behind me at the empty church, then back to him. I loved Kisten, but I had to try to start living again. The pain would ebb only if I pushed it out with something good. Marshal patiently waited, and I took a deep breath. “I’d like to see you again,” I said, miserable. “If you want. I mean, I really can’t handle having a boyfriend right now, but I’ve got to get out of this church. Do something.” His eyes widened, and I blurted, “Never mind.” “No, no!” he said. “That’s cool.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “To be honest, I’m not looking for a girlfriend either.” I kind of doubted that, but I nodded, grateful he pretended to understand. “There used to be a place by the waterfront that had really good pizza,” he offered. “Piscary’s?” I almost panicked. Not Kisten’s old dance club. “Uh, it’s closed,” I said, which was the truth. The elaborate apartments underground were now the property of Rynn Cormel. And since he wasn’t a partier, he had gutted the upper rooms and turned them into a day residence for his living guests and staff. But it still had one hell of a kitchen. Or so Ivy said. Weight shifting to one foot, Marshal frowned in thought. “Don’t the Howlers have an exhibition game this week? I haven’t seen them play in years.” “I’m banned,” I said, and he looked at me as if he thought I was joking. “From the Howlers?” he said. “Maybe we could just have lunch or something.” “Okay,” I said slowly, not knowing if I could actually do this. His smile widened and he opened the door. “I have that interview tomorrow, but I was going to go look at some apartments before that. If I treat you to coffee, will you tell me which ones are overcharging me? Unless you’re working …” “Two days before Halloween?” I clasped my arms about me in the sudden chill. I hadn’t expected to do anything this soon, and now I was having second thoughts. I thought of backing out on the excuse of needing to track down a demon summoner before sundown tomorrow, but I had to give my sources time to work. I stunk at research, and I knew enough people who enjoyed it to pass it off on them. “Sure,” I reluctantly said. It was coffee. How bad could it be? “Perfect,” he said, and I froze when he eased forward. Before it could become a hug, or worse, a kiss, I stuck out my hand. Marshal tried to make his shift to my hand natural, but it was kind of obvious, and his fingers slipped from mine almost immediately. Embarrassed by my guilt and misery, I looked down. “I’m sorry you’re still hurting,” he said sincerely as he stepped back onto the stoop. The light from the sign above the door made shadows on him. His eyes, when I met them, held a soft emotion, black from the low light, nothing more. “I’ll see you tomorrow. About noon?” I nodded as I tried to think of something to say—but my mind was empty. Marshal smiled one last time before taking the steps lightly and heading for the new-model, chrome-plated sport utility at the curb. Numb, I backed up into the church, my shoulder thumping painfully into the doorjamb and startling me back into reality. Heartache swelled as I shut the door and leaned back against it to stare into the sanctuary. I had to start living again, even if it killed me. Five (#u88fd9f3a-caa6-50ee-9b26-689f033b058e) The soft click of teeth on the knob of my bedroom door stirred me, but it wasn’t until a wet nose snuffled in my ear that I truly woke up, with a pulse of adrenaline that was better than chugging three cups of coffee. “David!” I exclaimed, jerking upright and scooting back to the headboard, my covers pulled to my neck. “How did you get in here?” Pulse hammering, my panic subsided, turning to irritation when I saw his pricked ears and his doggy smile. My gaze slid to my clock. Eleven? Damn it, I had a good hour left before the alarm was going to ring. Irritated, I flicked the alarm off. No way would I get back to sleep now. Not after a Were’s version of a wet willy. “What’s the matter? Your car not starting?” I asked the large, gangly wolf, but he only sat on his haunches and let his tongue loll as he stared at me with his luscious brown eyes. “Get out of my room. I have to get up. I’m meeting someone for coffee,” I said, making shooing motions with one hand. At that, David snuffed a negation, and I hesitated. “I’m not meeting someone for coffee?” I said, ready to believe him. “Is Ivy okay? Is it Jenks?” Worried, I swung my feet to the floor. David put his front paws, each as big as a saucer, to either side of me to keep me sitting. His breath was warm, and he gave me a comforting lick. He wouldn’t get this close in his people skin, but wearing fur seemed to bring out the softer side of most Weres. I eased back, deciding everything was okay. He didn’t look worried. “Talking to you is like talking to a fish,” I complained, and David huffed, his claws clicking on the hardwood floor as he got off my bed. “You want some clothes?” I asked, seeing as he probably hadn’t woken me up for the hell of it. If it wasn’t car problems, maybe he had forgotten to bring something to change into. “You might fit in Jenks’s old stuff.” David bobbed his head, and after a brief thought of my almost-nakedness, I got out of bed and snagged my robe from the back of a chair. “I kept a pair of his sweats,” I said as I shrugged into the blue terry cloth and tied it closed with an abrupt, embarrassed haste, but David had turned to the hallway, the perfect gentleman. Feeling awkward, I dragged a box down from my closet shelf and dropped it on my bed. Not that we had a lot of naked men in our church, but I wasn’t going to throw out Jenks’s old clothes from when he had been people-size. The scent of Queen Anne’s lace came to me when I wrestled the box open. Fingers searching through the cool fabric, my slight headache eased and the smell of growing things and sunshine rose high. Jenks smelled good, and it hadn’t washed out. “Here you go,” I said when I found the sweats and extended them to him. His brown eyes sheepish, David carefully took them in his mouth before padding to the dim hallway, the oak floorboards glowing with morning sun reflecting in from the living room and kitchen. Shuffling to the bathroom, I decided he had probably locked himself out of his car and change of clothes—which left me curious as to where the ladies were. David didn’t seem to be distressed, and I knew he would be if either one of them had a problem. Wondering how David knew I didn’t have a coffee date when I hadn’t even told him I had one to begin with, I shuffled into the bathroom and quietly shut the door to keep everyone who was sleeping, sleeping. It was nearing the golden hour of noon when the church went silent—Ivy and me asleep and the pixies just settling down for their four-hour nap. Hanging on the back of the door, my costume thumped, and I quieted it, listening for the hum of pixy wings. I fingered the supple leather in the silence, hoping I would get a chance to wear it. I was pretty much churchbound after dark until I nailed whoever was sending Al after me. And Halloween wasn’t a holiday to be missed. Since the Turn—the nightmarish three years following the supernatural species coming out of the closet—the holiday had been gaining strength until now it was celebrated for an entire week, becoming the unofficial celebration for the Turn itself. The Turn actually began in the late summer of sixty-six when humanity began dying of a virus carried by a bioengineered tomato that was supposed to feed the growing populations of the third-world countries, but it was on Halloween that we celebrated it. That was the day Inderland had decided to come out of the closet before humanity found us by way of the “why aren’t these people dying?” question. It had been thought that Halloween might ease the panic, and it had. Most of the surviving human population thought it was a joke, easing the chaos for a day or two until they realized that we hadn’t eaten them yesterday, so why would we today? They still threw a bloody-hell tantrum, but at least it had been aimed at the bioengineers who designed the accidentally lethal fruit instead of us. No one had been so tactless as to make the holiday official, but everyone took the week off. Human bosses didn’t say, er, boo when their Inderland employees called in sick, and no one even mentioned the Turn. We did throw tomatoes instead of eggs, though, put peeled ones in bowls and called them eyeballs, stacked them up on our porches along with carved pumpkins, and generally tried to gross-out the human population that wouldn’t touch the no-longer-lethal red fruit. If I was stuck in my church for the night, I was going to be ticked. By the time I finished a quick morning prep and was headed for the kitchen, David was changed and at the table, with coffee brewing and two empty mugs waiting. The hat he had forgotten yesterday was beside him, and he looked good sitting there with a thick black stubble heavy on him and his long black hair loose and flowing. I’d never seen him so casual before, and it was nice. “’Morning,” I said around a yawn, and he turned to acknowledge me. “Did you and the ladies have a good run?” He was smiling, his brown eyes showing his pleasure. “Mmmm. They headed home from here on paws, confident enough without me. That’s why I’m here, actually.” I sat at my spot at the table, the bright sun and the scent of coffee making my head hurt. There was a stack of late-night newspapers opened to the obituaries that I’d gone through before bed. There had been nothing obvious, but Glenn, my FIB contact, was running the three young witches I’d found there through their database to see if they were known acquaintances. One had died of a heart attack at age thirty, another of a brain aneurism, and the third of sudden appendicitis—which had once been a common, pre-Turn expression for a magic misfire. Soon as I got this morning’s edition, I’d pass any more likely candidates on to Glenn. He was working Halloween since he was a human and didn’t celebrate it; he policed it. “I thought you’d locked yourself out of your car,” I said, and he chuckled. “No. I would have just run the rest of the way home if I had. I wanted to ask you about a pack tattoo.” My eyebrows rose. “Oh?” Most Were packs had a registered tattoo, but I hadn’t seen the need, and David was used to standing alone. Seeing my reluctance, David shrugged. “It’s time. Serena and Kally are confident enough to be on their own in fur, and if they don’t have a sign of pack recognition, someone might think they’re curs.” He hesitated. “Serena especially is getting cocky. And there’s nothing wrong with that. She has every right, but unless she has an obvious way to show her status and affiliation, someone will challenge her.” The coffeemaker finished with a hiss. I got up, eager for the distraction. I’d never given it much thought, but the tattoos that Weres decorated themselves with had a real and significant purpose. They probably prevented hundreds of skirmishes and potential injuries, allowing the multitude of packs that lived in Cincy to get along with minimal friction. “Okay,” I said slowly, pouring out the coffee into his mug first. “What were you thinking of?” I don’t want a tattoo. The damn things hurt! Clearly pleased, David took a mug when I came back and offered it. “They’ve put their heads together and came up with something with you in mind.” Images of broomsticks and crescent moons danced in my head, and I cringed. The Were leaned forward, the pleasant scent of musk giving away his eagerness. “A dandelion, but with black fluff instead of white.” Oh, cool, I thought, and seeing my reaction, David smiled with one side of his mouth. “I take it that’s okay, then?” he asked, blowing across his coffee. “I suppose I ought to get one, too?” I asked, worried. “Unless you want to be rude,” he admonished gently. “They put a lot of thought into it. It would mean a lot to them if you would.” A breath of guilt wafted through me, and I hid it behind a gulp of scalding coffee. I hadn’t done much with Serena and Kally. Maybe we could get our tattoos together. Oh, God, I’m going to be a hundred and sixty with a flower on my ass. “You, ah, said I don’t have a coffee date?” I said, changing the subject. “What do you know that I don’t?” David nodded to a scrap of paper in the middle of the table, and I pulled it closer. “Jenks let me in before he headed off for his nap,” he said. “Matalina …” His words drifted to nothing, and I looked up from Jenks’s note. “What about her?” “She’s fine,” he said, easing my worry. “But she was going to bed early, and there was no need for him to stay up to man the door if I was here, so I told him to go.” I nodded and turned my attention back to the note, uneasy about Matalina, but glad that Ivy and I had broken Jenks of answering the phone without taking a message. According to the note, Marshal’s interview had been moved from tonight to this morning, and he wanted to know if we could get together at about three instead. Plenty of time to do something before Al started gunning for me after sundown. There was a number, and I couldn’t help but smile. Below it was another number with the cryptic message JOB, and Jenks’s reminder that rent was due on Thursday the first, not Friday the second or Monday the fifth. “I should get home,” David said softly as he rose and took another gulp from his mug. Hat in hand, he said, “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll let Serena and Kally know you like their idea.” “Um, David,” I said, and I saw his brow crease at the sound of Ivy moving about. “Do you think they’d mind if I went with them when they got their tattoos?” His sun-darkened face broke into a smile, the faint wrinkles about his eyes deepening in pleasure. “I think they’d like that. I’ll ask them.” “Thanks,” I said, and he jumped at a bumping sound from Ivy’s room. “You’d better get going unless you want to be here when she gets up.” He was silent as his face reddened. “I’ll lope in to work later and check out the recent claims for possible demon damage. There won’t be anyone in two days before Halloween, so I won’t have to explain myself.” “This isn’t illegal, is it?” I asked suddenly. “I’ve gotten you in enough trouble as it is.” David’s smile was easy and a bit devilish. “No,” he said, shrugging with one shoulder. “But why draw attention to yourself? Don’t worry about it. If someone in Cincy is summoning demons, any claims will be odd enough to be flagged for investigation. At least you’ll know then if it’s a local threat. Help you narrow your suspects.” I drew my coffee closer and slumped into the hard chair. “Thanks, David. I appreciate it. If I can shut down the guy summoning Al, then I won’t have to take Minias up on his offer.” I didn’t want a demon’s summoning name, especially Al’s. Unusable or not. A sliver of worry slipped between my thought and reason, and I forced my smile to be light, but David saw it. Coming closer, he put a small but powerful hand on my shoulder. “We’ll get him. Don’t do anything with that demon. Promise?” I winced, and David sighed when I didn’t say anything. There was a soft creak of a door opening, and David started like a deer. “I’ll, uh, bring Jenks’s sweats back later, okay?” he muttered, then grabbed his hat and almost ran for the back door, red faced, as I chuckled. Still smiling, I stretched for the phone and brought Jenks’s note with the number for the potential job closer. I wasn’t going to work until after Halloween, but it would be nice to have something lined up for the first of the month. Besides, I didn’t have anything else to do this afternoon but surf the Net for local demon sightings and bug Glenn for his findings. And that, I thought as I reached for the phone, would only slow him down. Six (#u88fd9f3a-caa6-50ee-9b26-689f033b058e) The muffled thump, thump, thump of the rubber seal of the revolving door overtook the street noise and turned into the echoing sound of sporadic voices as I entered Carew Tower. It had grown warm, so I’d left my coat in the car, deeming jeans and a sweater would be enough until the sun went down—and I’d be back in my church by then. Hoping I didn’t lose my signal, I tried to catch what Marshal was saying as I held my phone to my ear and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. “I’m really sorry, Rachel,” Marshal said, sounding embarrassed. “They asked me to come in early when someone canceled, and it wasn’t like I could say no.” “No, it’s okay,” I said, glad I was my own boss, even if my boss was an idiot sometimes. Stepping inside, I shifted out of the foot traffic and took my sunglasses off. “I had an errand come up, so this might work out better anyway. You want to grab a coffee at Fountain Square?” Three is good. Not breakfast, not lunch. A nice, safe hour with no expectations attached. “The only thing is I have to be back on hallowed ground by sunset,” I added, remembering. “I’ve got a demon gunning for me until I can figure out who’s sending him to kill me and knock some sense into him or her.” As soon as I said it, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was trying to drive him away. But Marshal laughed, quickly sobering when he realized I was serious. “Uh, how are your interviews going?” I asked to break the uncomfortable silence. “Ask me in a few hours.” He groaned softly. “I’ve got two more people to meet. I haven’t kissed so much ass since I accidentally knocked a customer off the dock.” I chuckled, my gaze rising across the busy lobby to the signs directing people to the elevators. My smile ended with a flash of guilt, then I got mad at myself. I could laugh, damn it. Laughing was not saying I had cared for Kisten less. He had loved to make me laugh. “Maybe we should try tomorrow instead,” Marshal said softly, as if he knew why I was suddenly silent. Tucking my shades into my bag, I headed for the express elevators. I was meeting a Mr. Doemoe at the observation deck. Some people just love the cloak and dagger. “There’s a coffee cart at Fountain Square,” I suggested with a bitter resolve. I can do this, damn it. It was right next to a hot dog cart. Kisten had liked hot dogs. A memory hit me—an image of Kisten in his snappy pin-striped work suit, leaning casually next to me against the huge planters at Fountain Square, smiling as he caught a drop of mustard from the corner of his mouth, the wind ruffling his hair and him squinting from the sun. I felt my stomach cave. God, I can’t do this! Marshal’s voice intruded. “Sounds great. First one there buys. I take a grande with three sugars and a hint of cream.” “Black, straight up,” I said, almost numb. Hiding in my church because of heartache was worse than hiding there because of a demon, and I didn’t want to be that person. “Fountain Square it is,” Marshal said. “I’ll see you then.” “You got it,” I replied as I passed the security desk. “And good luck!” I added, remembering what he was doing today. “Thanks, Rachel.’ Bye.” I waited until I heard the phone disconnect, then whispered, “’Bye,” before shutting the phone and tucking it away. This was harder than I had thought it would be. My melancholy trailed behind me like a shadow as I went down the short hall, my thoughts slowly turning to the upcoming client meeting. The roof, I thought, rolling my eyes. Honestly, Mr. Doemoe had sounded like a mouse of a man when I called him earlier to set this up. He’d refused to come to the church, and I hadn’t been able to tell by phone if he was nervous because he was a human asking a witch for help or if he was just worried that someone was out to get him. Whatever. The job couldn’t be that bad. I had told Jenks to stay home since it was simply an interview. Besides, I was running errands, and dragging Jenks around when I went to the post office and FIB building was a major waste of his time. My trip to the FIB had been productive, and I now had information on my original three witches plus an additional one from this morning’s obituaries. Apparently two of the recently dead witches knew each other, seeing as they had joint prior arrests for the crime of grave robbing. I thought it interesting that the arresting I.S. officer had been Tom Bansen, the same nasty little twerp who had tried to arrest me yesterday. This was looking easier all the time. Tom had all the motive he needed to call a demon to take me out—seeing as I’d told him to shove his little demon-summoning club last year. He also had the knowledge to do it, being high up in the I.S.’s Arcane Division. That in itself would make his demon-summoning hobby harder to trace and recruitment easy as he’d run into all sorts of black-art witches eager to make a deal. David was still checking recent claims for me, and if any of them pointed to Tom, the I.S. officer and I were going to have a chat. We might have a chat anyway. I really didn’t think it was Nick sending Al after me. I mean, I had misjudged his character badly, but actively sending a demon to kill me? My gaze unfocused in the memory of our last conversation, and as I turned the corner, I saw one of the express elevator doors closing. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so bitchy with him. He had sounded desperate. Jogging forward, I called out for whoever was in the elevator to hold it. A weathered, sturdy hand gripped the door at the last moment to wedge it open. I darted inside the otherwise empty lift, turning to the man to give him a breathless “Thanks.” But my words caught in my throat and I froze. “Quen!” I snapped, seeing the plague-scarred elf standing in the corner. He smiled without showing his teeth, and at the hint of amusement in his eyes, it all fell into place. “Oh, hell no,” I said, looking for the elevator panel for a button to push, but he was standing in front of it. “You’re Mr. Doemoe? Forget it. I’m not working for Trent.” The older man hit the highest button, adjusted his weight, and clasped his hands before him. “I wanted to talk to you. This was the easiest way.” “You mean this is the only way,’ cause you know I’d tell Trent he can shove his problem up an orifice,” I said. “As professional as always, Ms. Morgan.” His gravelly voice was mocking, and knowing I was trapped here until we reached the upper floors, I slumped in the corner, not caring if I looked sullen for the cameras. I was sullen. I wasn’t going to tap a line. You don’t pull a gun unless you’re going to use it—and you don’t tap a line in front of a master of ley line magic unless you want to be slammed up against the wall. Quen’s smile faded. He appeared innocuous in his long-sleeved shirt and matching black pants, which looked vaguely like a uniform. Yeah, he was innocuous. Like black mamba innocuous. The man stood only a few inches taller than me in his flat, soft-soled shoes, but he moved with a liquid grace that put me on edge, as if he was able to see me react before I actually did. I was trapped in a tiny metal box with an elf skilled in martial arts and black ley line magic. Maybe I should be nice. At least until the doors open. His complexion was marred by the scars a few Inderlanders had come away with from the Turn, and his roughened, dark skin only added to his presence. A vampire bite marked his neck, most of the white scar tissue hidden by his high black collar. Piscary had given the scar to him in anger, and I wondered how Quen was handling the new problem of having an unclaimed vampire bite, now that Piscary was truly dead. I had one, too, but Ivy would kill any vampire who broke my skin, and all of Cincy knew it. Quen didn’t have any such protection. Perhaps the bite was why he wanted to talk to me—if this wasn’t about a run for Trent. Quen was Trent Kalamack’s eminently skilled security officer, one hundred percent deadly, though I’d trust him with my life if he said he’d watch my back. Trent was just as dangerous without having earned my trust, but he did his damage with words, not actions—a stinking politician at his best, a murderer at his worst. The financially successful, attractive, charismatic hunk of man flesh efficiently ran most of Cincinnati’s underworld and the northern hemisphere’s illegal Brimstone trade. But what Trent could go to jail for besides being a murdering bastard—for which I’d gotten him incarcerated for all of three hours a few months ago—was his worldwide trade in illegal biodrugs. What really stuck in my craw was that I was alive because of them. I’d been born with a fairly common genetic defect among witches, Rosewood syndrome, where my mitochondria kicked out an enzyme my body determined was an invader, the result being that I should have died before the age of two. Because my dad had secretly been working closely with Trent’s dad trying to save his species at the time, Trent’s dad had tinkered with the genetic makeup of my mitochondria, modifying something just enough that the enzyme would be ignored. I truly believe that he hadn’t known the enzyme was what allowed my blood to kindle demon magic, and I thanked God the only people who knew it were me and my friends. And Trent. And a few demons. And whatever demons they told. And whomever Trent told. And Lee, of course, the only other witch Trent’s dad had fixed. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t that good a secret anymore. Trent and I were currently at an impasse, with me trying to put him in jail and him trying to buy my services or kill me—depending on his mood—and while I could bring the house down on him if I went public about his illegal biodrugs, I’d probably end up in medical confinement in Siberia—or, worse yet, surrounded by salt water like Alcatraz—and he’d be back on the streets and campaigning for reelection in less time than it takes a pixy to sneeze. That’s just the kind of personal power the man had. And it is really irritating, I thought, shifting my weight to my other foot as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Immediately I got out and jabbed at the “down” button. No way was I going to go through the halls to the closet-size secondary elevator and up to the roof with Quen. I was impulsive, not stupid. Quen ghosted out as well, looking like a bodyguard as he stood in front of the elevator doors until they closed again. My eyes went to the camera in the corner, its friendly red light blinking. I’d stay there until another car arrived. “Don’t touch me,” I muttered. “There isn’t enough money in the world for me to work for Trent again. He’s a manipulative, power-hungry, spoiled only-child who thinks he’s above the law. And he kills people like a homeless man opens a can of beans.” Quen shrugged. “He’s also loyal to those who have earned his trust, intelligent, and generous to those he cares about.” “And those he doesn’t care about don’t matter.” Hip cocked, I silently waited, getting more annoyed. Where in hell is the elevator? “I wish you’d reconsider,” Quen said, and I jerked back when he pulled an amulet from his sleeve. After giving me a high-eyebrow look, he turned a slow circuit, attention lightly fixed on the redwood disk glowing a faint green. It was probably a detection amulet of some kind. I had one that would tell me if there were any deadly spells in my vicinity, but I’d quit wearing it when it kept triggering the anti-theft wards in the mall. Apparently satisfied, Quen slid the amulet away. “I need you to go into the ever-after to retrieve an elven sample.” I laughed at that, and anger flickered over the older man. “Trent just got Ceri’s sample,” I said, pulling my shoulder bag tight to me. “I’d think that would keep him busy for a while. Besides, you couldn’t pay me enough to go into the ever-after. Especially not for a chunk of two-thousand-yearold dead elf.” One of the elevators behind me dinged, and I backed up to it, ready to make my escape. “We know where a tissue sample is. We just need to get it,” Quen said, his gaze flicking behind me as the doors opened. I backed into it, standing so he couldn’t follow me. “How?” I said, feeling secure. “Ceri,” he said simply, fear flashing in the back of his eyes. The doors started to close, and I hit the “open” button. “Ceri?” I questioned, wondering if this was why I hadn’t seen much of her lately. She knew I hated Trent, but she was an elf and he was an elf—and seeing as she had been born into royalty and he was a zillionaire, it would be foolish to think that they hadn’t had some contact the last few months, whether they liked each other or not. Seeing my interest, Quen took a more confident stance. “She and Trent have been having tea every Thursday,” he said softly, sneaking a guilty glance at the hallway. “You should thank her. He’s absolutely obsessed with her even as her demon smut terrifies him. I think that’s part of the attraction, actually. But he’s starting to consider that demon smut might not equal a bad person. She saved my relationship with him. She is a very wise woman.” She ought to be, seeing as she had over a thousand years of servitude to a demon. The doors started closing again, and I hit the button for a few more seconds. “Everything went to hell when Trent found out you use black magic to protect him, eh?” Quen didn’t shift, even maintaining his sedate breathing, but his very stillness told me I was right. “So?” I said belligerently. “So he’s starting to entertain the thought that you might be trustworthy, too. Will you at least consider it? We need the sample.” The reminder of my own demon-smut-laced soul bothered me, and I jabbed at the “close” button. No freaking way. “Get back to me later, Quen. Like a hundred years later.” “We don’t have a hundred years,” Quen said, desperation entering his voice. “We have eight months.” Oh, shit. I pushed myself into motion, my shoulder bag catching on the doors as I shoved my way past them. Quen had moved back. His lips were tightly pressed, as if he wished he hadn’t had to say that to get me to listen. “What do you mean, eight months? As in one less than nine?” Quen said nothing. Didn’t even look at me. And I didn’t dare touch him. “He got her pregnant?” I exclaimed, not caring who heard me. “The son of a bitch! The stinking son of a bitch!” I was so angry, I was almost laughing. Quen’s jaw had clenched so tight his pox scars stood out white and stark. “Will you do it?” he said stiffly. “I want to talk to Trent,” I said. No wonder Ceri was avoiding me. The woman was recovering from a thousand years of demon servitude, and Trent goes and gets her pregnant! “Where is he?” “Shopping.” My eyes narrowed. “Where?” “Across the street.” He was shopping. A hundred to one it wasn’t for baby booties or a car seat. Remembering Marshal and our coffee date, I glanced out the cloudy window to estimate the time. It couldn’t be much past one o’clock. Plenty of time. Unless this was a ruse and Trent was going to try to kill me—in which case I might run a little late. I hit the “down” button hard, and the elevator doors opened immediately. Shopping? He was shopping? “After you,” I said, and followed Quen into the lift. Seven (#u88fd9f3a-caa6-50ee-9b26-689f033b058e) The thin heat from the sidewalk vanished when I turned the corner and entered the shadow of tall buildings. “Where is he?” I said, holding my hair out of my face when I looked to Quen. He was beside and a little behind me, and it gave me the creeps. The quiet, powerful man pointed with his eyes across the street, and when I followed his gaze, I felt a wash of apprehension. OTHER EARTHLINGS COSTUMER, INC. Holy crap, Trent was picking out a Halloween costume? I pushed myself into motion and headed for the exclusive costumer. Well, why not? Trent had parties to go to like anyone else. Probably more of them. But Other Earthlings? You needed an appointment just to walk in, especially in October. Hesitating at the curb, I felt Quen’s presence slide up behind me. “Will you stop guarding me?” I muttered, and Quen made a little start. “Sorry,” he said, then hastened to catch up when I crossed in the middle of the street. I caught him glancing at the crosswalk and snickered. Yeah, me bad. After a moment’s hesitation at the brass BY APPOINTMENT ONLY sign, I reached for the door only to have someone from inside pull it open. The doorman looked seriously brain-dead when I entered, but before I could say anything, an older woman in a crisp peach skirt and jacket click-clacked to us, the sound of her heels muffled when they found the thick white carpet. “I’m sorry. We’re closed to walk-ins,” the woman said, her face a mix of cool professionalism and polite disdain at my jeans and sweater. “Would you like to make an appointment for next year?” My pulse quickened and I cocked my hip at her obvious but unspoken opinion that hell would freeze over before I’d ever have enough money to buy even a complexion charm from them. I took a breath to demand to see their hair straighteners, knowing their claim to be able to straighten any hair wouldn’t be able to touch mine, when Quen settled in behind me, too close for my comfort. “Oh! You’re with Mr. Kalamack?” she said, only the faintest blush marring the aged whiteness of her complexion. I glanced at Quen. “Not really. I’m Rachel Morgan, and I’ve got something to say to Mr. Kalamack. I understand he’s here?” The woman’s mouth dropped open, and she came forward to take my hands. “You’re Alice’s daughter?” she said breathlessly. “Oh, I should have known. You look just like her, or you would if she wouldn’t spell herself down. It is such a pleasure to meet you!” Excuse me? She was pumping my arm up and down enthusiastically, and when I looked at Quen, he seemed as mystified as me. “We don’t have any openings today, sweetheart,” she said, and I blinked at her familiarity. “But let me talk to Renfold. He’ll stay late for you. Your mother’s straightening charms have saved our reputation too many times.” “My mother’s hair straighteners?” I managed, grabbing her wrist and extraditing my hand from hers. I was going to have to talk to my mother. This was so not-good. Just how long had she been making bootleg charms? The woman, Sylvia, according to a name tag outlined in green pearls, smiled and winked at me as if we were grand friends. “You don’t think you’re the only person who has difficult-to-charm hair?” she said, then reached to touch my hair fondly as if it were a thing of beauty, not a constant bother. “I will never understand why no one is satisfied with what nature gives them. I think it’s wonderful that you appreciate yours.” “Appreciate” wasn’t the right word, but I didn’t want to stand here and discuss hair. “Uh, I need to speak to Trent. He’s still here, right?” The woman’s surprise that I was on a first-name basis with the eminently eligible bachelor flashed across her face. She glanced at Quen, who nodded, and with a soft “This way, please,” she led us through the store. I felt better now that we were moving, even if the staff was whispering as Sylvia led us along a wandering path through racks of scrumptious clothing. The store smelled wonderfully of expensive fabrics and exotic perfumes, plus the snap of ozone that said ley line charms were made and invoked here. Other Earthlings was an all-encompassing costumer, supplying the clothes, prosthetics as needed, and charms to make anyone into anyone else. They weren’t online, and the only way you could get their products was to make an appointment. I couldn’t help but wonder what Trent was going for, costumewise. Quen was behind me again, and Sylvia led us past a small back counter and to a short hall with four doors. They were set back like the entries to high-class hotel rooms, and from behind the last, I could hear Trent’s voice. The soft murmur of it went right to my middle and twisted something. God, he had a beautiful voice: low, resonant, and rich with unexplored undertones—like shadowed moss in the sun-dappled woods. I was certain his voice contributed to how well he did in the city elections—if the generous donations to underprivileged children and hospitals weren’t enough. Clearly not hearing anything in Trent’s voice but words, Sylvia knocked smartly on the door and entered without waiting for an invitation. I hung back and let Quen go in ahead of me. I didn’t like being burst in upon by rude salespeople, and they did sell clothes here. And while seeing Trent in his tighty-whities would make my decade, I’d found out long ago that I couldn’t stay mad at a man wearing nothing but underwear. They looked so charmingly vulnerable. The rich smell of wool and leather struck deeper as I entered. The lights were low at the perimeter of the comfortably warm, low-ceilinged room, helping to hide the open cupboards filled with racks of costumes, hats, feathers, wings, and even tails—things that ley line charms couldn’t easily create. To my right in the shadows was a low table holding wine and cheese, to my left a tall screen. Smack in the middle and under can lights was an ankle-high round stage cradled in the lee of a trifold mirror. Low racks of amulets surrounded it, the wood structures having the smoothness and color of hundred-year-old ash. And in the center of it all was Trent. He wasn’t aware I was in the room, clearly trying to fend off the overenthusiastic attentions of the witch helping him try on ley line amulets. Beside him was Jon, his freakishly tall lackey, and I bristled, remembering him tormenting me when I had been a mink trapped in Trent’s office. Trent frowned at his reflection and handed the clerk an amulet. His hair flashed back to its usual transparent whiteness that some children have, and the witch began babbling, deducing that he wasn’t doing well. Trent was clean shaven and comfortably tan, with a smooth brow, green eyes, that gorgeous voice, and a cultivated laugh. A politician through and through. He wasn’t much taller than me when I was in heels, wearing his thousand-dollar silk-and-linen suit with the VOTE FOR KALAMACK pin well. It accented his trim form, making me believe he actually got out and rode his race-winning horses more than once every new moon when he played The Huntsman in his fenced-in, old-growth planned forest. He gave the witch a professional smile as he refused another amulet, his unworked hands gesturing smoothly. There were no rings on his fingers, and seeing as I broke up his wedding by arresting him, it was likely it would stay that way, unless he was going to make an honest woman of Ceri, which I doubted. Trent lived by appearances, and him publicly joining with a demon’s ex-familiar covered in smut any witch could see with their second sight probably didn’t fit into his political agenda. He hadn’t seemed to have a problem knocking her up, though. Trent ran his fingers over his carefully styled hair to flatten a few floating strands as Sylvia approached. Shifting my shoulder bag forward, I said loudly, “That suit would look better with a burping pad.” Trent stiffened. His eyes flicking to the mirror, he searched the shadows for me. At his side, Jon pulled himself upright, the distasteful man holding a thin hand to his eyes to see through the glare. The witch at his feet fell back, and Sylvia murmured an apology, flustered, as her most valuable client and the daughter of one of her suppliers glared at each other. “Quen,” Trent finally said, his voice now hard but no less beautiful. “I don’t doubt you have an explanation for this.” Quen took a slow breath before he started forward. “You weren’t listening, Sa’han. I had to try another method to bring you to see reason.” Trent waved the clerk away, and Jon strode across the room to flick on the main lights. I squinted as light blossomed, then smiled cattily at Trent. He had regained his composure remarkably fast, with only the slight tightening of the skin around his eyes giving away his annoyance. “I was listening,” he said, turning. “I choose to think other than you.” Stepping from the stage, the multimillionaire shook his sleeves down. It was a nervous reaction he had yet to break himself of. Or maybe his jacket was too tight. “Ms. Morgan,” he said lightly, not meeting my gaze. “Your services are not required. You have my apologies for my security officer wasting your time. Tell me what I owe you, and Jon will draft you a check.” That was kind of insulting, and I couldn’t help my snort. “I don’t charge if I don’t do the run,” I said. “Unlike some people.” I held my arms over my chest as a flicker of annoyance crossed Trent’s face and vanished. “And I didn’t come here to work for you,” I added. “I came because I wanted to tell you to your face that you’re a lowlife, manipulative bastard. I told you if you hurt Ceri that I’d be ticked. Consider yourself warned.” Angry was good. The pain from losing Kisten disappeared when I was angry, and right now, I was pissed. The witch who had been helping him gasped, and Sylvia started for me, rocking to a halt when Trent lifted his hand to stop her. God, I hated that—as if he had given me permission to call him names. Ticked, I tilted my head, waiting for his response. “Is that a threat?” Trent asked softly. My gaze went to Jon, who was grinning as if my saying yes would please him immensely. Quen’s expression had gone dark. He was mad, but what had he really expected me to do? Still, I did want to get out of here on my own power and not at the end of an I.S. leash, arrested for harassment … or whatever Trent wanted. He might own the I.S. now that Piscary was gone. “Take it any way you want,” I said. “You are scum. Absolute scum, and the world would be better without you.” I wasn’t sure I truly believed that, but it felt good saying it. Trent thought for all of three seconds. “Sylvia, if we might have the room?” I stood, smug, as the room emptied with soft murmurs of apologies given and reassurances offered. “Jon,” he added as Sylvia headed out, “see that we are not disturbed.” Sylvia hesitated by the open door, then vanished into the hallway to leave the door open. The older man’s craggy face went pale. He was being gotten rid of, and he knew it. “Sa’han,” he started, cutting it short when Trent’s eyes narrowed. What a sissy-pants. Jon’s thin, long hands clenched as he shot me a look and left. The door shut softly behind him, and I turned to Trent, ready to blast him. I wasn’t about to air Ceri’s dirty laundry where it might get into the tabloids, but now, I could really say what I thought. “I can’t believe you knocked Ceri up. God, Trent! You are unbelievable!” I said, gesturing. “She is just starting to rebuild herself. She doesn’t need this emotional crap!” Trent glanced at Quen. The security officer had taken a wide-footed stance before the closed door, his arms loose at his sides and his face lacking emotion. Seeing his nonchalance, Trent stepped back onto the stage and began sifting through the charms. “None of this is your business, Morgan.” “It became my business when you romanced information from my friend, knocked her up, then asked me to do something you’re afraid to,” I said, taking offense at his cavalier attitude. Trent bent over the metallic ley line charms as he watched me through the mirror. “And what have I asked you to do?” he said, his voice rising and falling like a gust of rain. My blood pressure spiked, and I stepped forward, halting when Quen cleared his throat. “You are despicable,” I said. “You know the chances that I’d go into the ever-after to help Ceri are a hundred times better than me going to help you. I’d hate you for that if nothing else. How cowardly is that? Manipulating someone into doing something you’re afraid to do yourself. A stinking coward, not willing to help your kin except for when you’re safe and secure in your little underground labs. You’re a mouse burger.” Trent straightened, surprised. “Mouse burger?” “Mouse burger,” I stated again, arms crossed and hip cocked. “A weenie little man with the courage of a mouse.” A faint smile quirked the corner of his lips. “That sounds funny coming from a woman who dated a rat.” “He wasn’t a rat when we dated,” I shot back, face flaming. Trent’s attention went to his image in the mirror, and he pulled the pin on the ley line charm to invoke it. A shimmer flared through his aura, making it visible for an instant as the illusion took over. I snorted; Trent now looked like he had gained twenty pounds of muscle, his coat seeming to bulge with the illusion. “I didn’t ask for your help with retrieving a sample of elven tissue,” he said, turning sideways to see himself and frowning at the result. Behind me, Quen shifted uneasily. It was a small motion, but it rang through me like a gunshot. The request for help could have been Quen acting on his own. He’d done so before. “Well, Quen did, then,” I said, knowing I was right when Trent’s attention flicked to the security officer through the mirror. “Apparently,” Trent said dryly. “But I didn’t.” Grimacing, he felt his face. It looked like he’d been pumping iron, bulgy and ugly. “I don’t need your help. I will go into the ever-after myself and retrieve the sample. Ceri’s child will be healthy.” I couldn’t stop my laugh at the mental image of Trent standing in the ever-after, and the man reddened. Relaxing, I slumped into one of the cushy chairs by the wine and cheese and sat with my feet spread wide. “I can see why you came to me,” I said to Quen. “You think you can handle the ever-after?” This was directed at Trent. “You wouldn’t last a minute. Not a freaking minute.” I eyed the cheese. I hadn’t eaten anything since this morning, and my mouth started to water at the sharp scent. “The wind might muss up your hair,” I said lightly. Quen stepped from the door. “So you’ll go in his stead?” Reaching for a cracker, I hesitated until Trent grimaced. But he hadn’t said I couldn’t have it, so I snapped the cracker in two and ate half. “No.” Looking like a steroid poster boy, Trent frowned at Quen. “Morgan doesn’t need to be involved in this.” His gaze went to me. “Rachel. Leave.” As if I ever do anything he tells me to do? Trent’s fingers sifted through a display of amulets, choosing one that added eight inches to his height. The fake bulk thinned a little, but not much. I could feel the tension rise as I stayed where I was. Quen would have to work to get me out of here, and I knew he’d rather wait until I was ready. “Lowlife Romeo,” I said, taking another cracker and adding a piece of cheese. “Slime of the earth. I knew you were a murderer, but knocking up Ceri and abandoning her? That’s pathetic, Trent. Even for you.” At that, Trent turned. “I did nothing of the kind,” he said, his voice rising. “She is getting the finest care. Her child will have every opportunity.” I smiled. It wasn’t often I could get him to lose his professional edge and act his age. He wasn’t much older than me, but he got precious little chance to enjoy his wealthy youth. “I’ll bet,” I said, egging him on. “Who are you trying to be here?” I asked, gesturing to the charms. “Frankenstein’s monster?” His neck went red, and Trent took off the height and weight charms. “You’re embarrassing yourself, not me,” he said, once again his usual size and shape. “I offered to move her into my compound. I offered to put her anywhere she liked from the Alps to Zimbabwe. She chose to stay with Mr. Bairn, and whereas I might object—” “Bairn?” I gasped, jerking upright, my fake indolence vanishing. “You mean Keasley?” I stared into Trent’s mocking green eyes. “Leon Bairn? But he’s dead!” Trent was positively smug. Showing me his back, he rifled through a rack of earth charms and watched his hair shift color. “And whereas I might otherwise object—” “Bairn did the investigation on your parents’ deaths,” I interrupted, thoughts scrambling. “And my dad’s.” Bairn is supposed to be dead. Why is he across the road pretending to be a kind old man named Keasley? And how did Trent know who he was? His hair now an authoritative gray, Trent frowned. “And whereas I might otherwise object,” he tried again, “Quen assures me that between Bairn and two pixies—” “Two!” I blurted. “Jih took a husband?” “Damn it, Rachel, will you shut up?” My attention fixed on him, and I hesitated. Trent’s face was longer, kind of creepy. He had the bulking-up charm on again, but with the extra height, the roundness had been lost. I blinked at him, then closed my mouth. Trent was giving me information. That didn’t happen very often. Maybe I should shut up. I forced myself to recline in the chair, pantomiming zipping my mouth shut. But my foot was jiggling. Trent watched it for a moment, then turned to the mirror. “Quen assures me that Ceridwen is as safe in that nasty little hole of a house as she would be with me. She’s agreed to receive medical attention at my expense, and if she’s lacking anything, it’s because she has stubbornly refused to accept it.” The last was said rather dryly, and I couldn’t help my rueful smile as Trent studied his reflection, clearly not pleased with what he saw. I understood completely. Though mild mannered most times, when Ceri set her mind to something, she was quietly adamant, then aggressively so if she didn’t get her way. She had been born into royalty, and I had a feeling that apart from having to be submissive to Al when she was his familiar, she had pretty much ruled the rest of his household. Until her mind had broken and she lost the will to do anything at all. Trent was watching me when I met his gaze, clearly bewildered at my fond smile. Shrugging, I ate another cracker. “What are her chances for a healthy baby?” I asked, wondering how guilty I was going to have to feel about my refusal to go into the ever-after. A silver-haired Trent went back to the ley line charms. He was silent, and I imagined he was weighing his words carefully. “If she had a child with someone from her own period, chances would be good that her child would be healthy with a minimal amount of genetic intervention,” he finally said. Choosing another ley line charm, he invoked it. A shimmer cascaded over him, and his height grew by almost three inches. Tossing the invocation pin aside, he kept the charm. His fingers among the shards of metal, he almost whispered, “Having a child with someone of our generation, the chances of a healthy child are only marginally better than anyone else’s without intervention. Though some of the repairs my father and I have managed are hooked into mitochondrial DNA and therefore passed from mother to child, most aren’t, and we are limited by the health of the egg and sperm at the time of conception. Ceri’s reproductive capabilities are excellent.” His eyes met mine, every drop of emotion gone. “It’s those of us who are left that are failing her.” I wouldn’t look away, though guilt smacked me a good one. Trent’s father had kept me alive by modifying my mitochondria. Even if I conceived a child with a man who carried Rosewood syndrome, our child would survive, free of the genetic aberration that had been killing thousands of witches in infancy for millennia. My attention rose from the half-eaten cracker in my hands. It seemed unfair that elven efforts could save a witch but not the elves themselves. Trent smiled knowingly, and I dropped my gaze. He had to guess where my thoughts were, and it made me uncomfortable that we were starting to understand what drove each of us, even if we didn’t agree on each other’s methods. Life had been easier when I had been able to pretend I couldn’t see shades of gray. “Who are you trying to be?” I said suddenly, trying to change the subject and gesturing at the amulets so he knew what I was talking about. Quen shifted into a more comfortable position, and Trent sighed, going from successful business executive to embarrassed young man in an instant. “Rynn Cormel,” he said hesitantly. “It’s awful,” I said, and Trent nodded as he looked at his reflection. “Yes, it is. I think I should try for someone else. Something less … ominous.” He started taking off charms, and gathering myself, I lurched out of the chair and brushed my sweater free of crackers. Leaving my shoulder bag on the table, I headed to the open closets. “Here,” I said, giving him an oversize black suit coat. “That’s too big,” he said, but he took it. The only charm he still had was the earth charm that turned his hair gray, and the silver gave him a more distinguished look. “It’s supposed to be big. Just put it on,” I griped, watching as he shuffled out of his linen coat and handed it to me. A puff of scent rose as I took it, and I breathed deeply. Sort of a mix of mint and cinnamon … with a little bit of crushed leaves and, oh, was that a hint of leather from the stables? Damn, he smelled good. Trying not to be obvious about my sniffing, I draped it over one of the amulet racks and turned to find Trent wearing the coat. The sleeves covered his hands but for his fingertips; it was clearly too long. The starkness of the black fabric looked bad with his complexion, but when I was done with him, it would be perfect. Trent moved to take it off, and I waved for him to wait. “Try this,” I said, handing him a ley line charm to add about six inches of height. He could make up the rest with his shoes and it wouldn’t cost him beaucoup bucks. The usual rate was a thousand dollars an inch, but here it was probably more. He put the charm on, but I didn’t wait to see the result, already back among the amulets and the more familiar earth charms. “Longer, longer …,” I muttered. “Don’t they have these in any order? Ah. Here it is.” Pleased, I turned, almost smacking into him. Trent backed up, and I extended the charm. “This will add a few inches to your hair. Hold on.” I shuffled through the clutter, found a finger stick, pricked my finger, and while Trent watched, invoked the amulet with three drops of my blood. “Now try it,” I said. Trent took it, his silver-enhanced hair growing the instant his fingers encircled the redwood disk. Unlike ley magic charms, earth magic needed to be touching the skin, not just within a person’s aura. “Okay … you don’t want a bulk-up amulet,” I directed. “You don’t need muscles, you need mass.” I turned with the proper ley line charm. “Try this,” I said, and he silently took it, his weight seeming to grow to match his new height. I smiled as I eyed my efforts. It was a delicate balancing act, one I’d practiced with my mom for the better part of two decades before I’d moved out. And having this much variety at my fingertips made it a real pleasure. “Rynn Cormel’s facial structure is kind of spare,” I murmured, fingers dancing through the ley line charms. “We don’t want to mess with your weight-to-height ratio, so if we add a few years with an age amulet, and then add a complexion charm to remove the wrinkles …” I quickly chose the age ley line charm, then hesitated. If it were me, I’d spring for the earth magic complexion amulet rather than a ley line spell of illusion in case someone touched my face. Then I shrugged. Like anyone would be touching Trent’s face at a party? And a second ley line charm joined the pile. “Your chin needs to be longer …,” I murmured, rifling through the labeled ley line charms. “Get rid of the tan. A wider brow, thicker eyebrows. Shorter eyelashes. And ears …” I hesitated, my focus blurring as I brought the undead vampire’s face to mind. “His ears don’t have much of a lobe and are round.” I glanced at Trent. “Yours are kind of pointy at the top.” He cleared his throat in warning. “Here,” I said, invoking the charms I had selected as I dropped them one by one into his hand. “Now let’s see what you look like.” Trent slipped them into a pocket, and I turned to the mirror. Slowly I smiled. Trent said nothing, but Quen swore softly, his steps unheard on the carpet as he came forward. I went to a drawer marked GLASSES and, after shuffling around, pulled out a pair of modern wire-rims. I gave them to Trent, and when he put them on, Quen whistled low and long. “Morgan,” Quen said, shooting me a wary but impressed glance, “that is fantastic. I am going to install a few more charm monitors in the hallways.” “Thank you,” I said modestly, beaming. I stood beside Trent and admired my handiwork. “You need teeth, yet,” I said, and Trent nodded slowly, as if worried he might break the spell if he moved too fast. “Are you going with caps or a charm?” I asked. “Charm,” Trent said absently, turning his head to get a better glimpse of himself. “Caps are more fun,” I said, inordinately pleased. There was an entire bin of teeth charms, and I went ahead and invoked the ley line spell and dropped it into his pocket. “And you would know that how?” Trent asked slyly. “Because I have a pair,” I said, refusing to show any pain about Kisten in front of Trent, but I couldn’t meet his eyes. Done, I stood beside Trent as he smiled at the illusion of longer teeth. Somewhere along the line, I’d joined him on the stage. Not wanting to get down and look subservient, I quieted my sudden nervousness at how close we were. And neither of us was trying to kill or arrest the other. Huh. How about that? “What do you think?” I asked, since I had yet to hear Trent’s opinion. Standing beside me, Trent, who now had distinguished gray hair, a thin, almost hollowed face, six more inches, and fifty more pounds, shook his head, looking nothing like himself and everything like Rynn Cormel. Damn, I should have gone into showbiz. “I look just like him,” he said, clearly impressed. “Almost.” More pleased than I wanted to be by his approval, I invoked and handed him one last ley line charm. Trent took it, and my breath caught. His eyes had gone pupil black. Hungry vampire black. A shiver rose through me. “Holy crap,” I said, pleased. “Can I play dress-up, or what?” “This is … impressive,” Trent said, and I got off the stage. “You’re welcome,” I said. “Don’t let them overcharge you. There are only thirteen charms there, and only the two for your hair are earth magic and not pure illusion.” I glanced at the plush surroundings, deciding that they wouldn’t sell temporary ley line spells with a reduced life. “Maybe sixteen grand for the entire outfit if they put it all in two charms. You can triple that considering who you’re buying them from.” Doppelg?nger charms were legal on Halloween, not cheap. Trent smiled, a truly vampiric smile, charismatic, dangerous, and oh-so-seductive. Oh, God. I had to get out of there. He was hitting all my buttons, and I think he knew it. “Ms. Morgan,” Trent said, his suit rustling as he followed me off the stage. “I do believe you’re betraying yourself.” Swell. He totally knew it. “Don’t forget to pick up a charm to change your scent,” I said as I went to get my shoulder bag. “You won’t be able to match Cormel’s individual smell, but a generic scent charm ought to fool everyone.” I plucked my bag up, then turned, taking one last look at him. Damn. “Everyone except those who know his scent, of course.” Trent glanced at Quen, who was still staring in disbelief. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Trent muttered. I headed for the door, my pace faltering when Quen said, “Rachel, please reconsider?” My good mood crashed, and I stopped two feet from the door with my head bowed. Quen was asking, but I knew he was asking for Trent. I thought of Ceri and the happiness a healthy child would bring her, the healing that could come of it. “Trent, I can’t. The risk—” “What would you risk for your child to be healthy?” Trent interrupted, and I turned around, surprised at the question. “What would any parents do?” Tension pulled me stiff, and hearing the accusation of cowardice in his voice, I hated him more than I ever had before. I’d never thought about children much until I met Kisten, and then it had always been with a melancholy sadness that they wouldn’t have his beautiful eyes. But if I had a child? And that child was suffering as I had in my past? Yeah. I’d risk it all. Trent seemed to see it in my eyes and a hint of victory quirked his lips. But then I thought of Al. I’d been his familiar once. Sort of. And it was hell on earth. That was assuming he wouldn’t outright kill me. I wouldn’t chance it. I was going to think with my head this time and not be goaded into a stupid decision by Trent pushing my buttons—and I wasn’t going to feel guilty about it either. A shiver lifted through me and was gone. Lifting my chin, I stared until the disgust I directed at him made his eye twitch. “No,” I said, my voice shaking. “I won’t. I go in the ever-after, and Al will pick me up three seconds after I tap a line. After that, I’m dead. It’s that simple. You can save your own damn species.” “We don’t need Morgan’s help,” Trent said, his voice tight. But I noticed he’d waited until I refused before he said it. Ceri wasn’t the only stubborn elf, and I wondered if Trent’s new desire to prove his worth came from his trying to impress her. “This isn’t my problem,” I muttered, hiking my shoulder bag up. “I have to go.” Feeling ugly, I opened the door and walked out, bumping Jon in his gut with my elbow when he didn’t get out of my way quick enough. I had never cared about Trent’s grand plan to save the elves before, but this wasn’t sitting well with me. I consoled myself that Ceri’s child would survive whether they had a thousand-year-old sample from her or a two-thousand-year-old sample from the ever-after. The only difference was the amount of tinkering that they would have to do to the child. My mouth twisted into a grimace as I remembered my three summers spent at Trent’s father’s Make-A-Wish camp for dying children. It would be stupid to believe that all the children there were on the roster to save. They were a living camouflage for the few that had the money to pay for a Kalamack cure. And I would give anything to have escaped the pain of making friends with children who were going to die. The chatter of the people up front changed when they caught sight of me, and I waved so they’d leave me alone. I stormed to the door, not caring if Jon thought his boss had gotten the best of me. I didn’t stop or slow down until my feet reached the sidewalk. Street noise hit me, and the sun. Slowing, I remembered where I was and did an about-face. My car was the other way. I didn’t look up as I passed the front window, hiding my eyes as I dug my phone out of my bag. Bothered, I hit the return-last-call number to tell Marshal I had a friend emergency and I’d let him know if I couldn’t make Fountain Square by three. I had to talk to Ceri. Eight (#u88fd9f3a-caa6-50ee-9b26-689f033b058e) I cut a sharp left into the carport, taking it fast because of my lingering anger at Trent. Habit alone kept the paint unscratched. I loved my car, and though I was jamming the gearshift like an Indy 500 driver, I wasn’t going to do anything to hurt my mobile icon of independence. Especially after finally getting my license back and the dent I didn’t remember putting in the car repaired. Fortunately the church was in a quiet residential area, and only the sixty-year-old oaks lining the street saw my ugly temper. I hit the brakes sharply, and my head swung forward and back. A perverse sense of satisfaction filled me. The grille was four inches from the wall. Perfect. Grabbing my bag from the backseat, I got out and slammed the door. It was edging two. Ceri was probably still asleep, seeing as elves kept the same sleeping habits as pixies when they could, but I had to talk to her. I heard the dry clatter of pixy wings when my feet hit the walk, and I swung my hair out of the way for whomever it was. My money was on Jenks; it was his habit to stay awake with the few kids on sentry duty, sleeping odd hours when everyone else was up. “Rache,” Jenks said in greeting, his swooping dart to land on my shoulder shifting at the last moment when he saw my sour expression. Hovering, he flew backward in front of me. I hated it when he did that. “Ivy called you, huh?” he said, his attitude one of affronted righteousness. “It’s in the eaves in the front. I can’t wake the damn thing up. You need to use a spell or something.” My eyebrows rose. It’s in the eaves? “What’s in the eaves?” “A gargoyle,” Jenks said angrily, and my alarm vanished. “A clumsy-ass, pimply-faced, big-footed gargoyle.” “Really?” I said as I stopped right there and peered up at the steeple, not seeing the gargoyle. “How long has it been here?” “How the hell should I know!” he shouted, and I realized that was where his anger was coming from. Someone had slipped through his lines, and he didn’t like it. Jenks saw my smile, and he put his hands on his hips as he hovered backward. “What’s so funny?” “Nothing.” I pushed myself into motion, making a left on the sidewalk to go to Keasley’s instead of the church. Jenks’s wings hummed when I took the unexpected direction, and he hastened to catch up. “We’ll talk to him or her tonight, okay?” I said, wanting to get Ivy’s take before we made any sweeping decisions. “If it’s young, it’s probably just looking for somewhere to hang.” “They don’t hang, they lurk,” he muttered, wings clattering aggressively. “Something’s wrong with it, or it would be with its kin. They don’t move, Rachel, unless they did something really bad.” “Maybe he’s a rebel like you, Jenks,” I said, and the pixy made a tiny huffing sound. “Where are we going?” he asked shortly as he turned to look at the church behind us. Immediately my bad mood returned. “To talk to Ceri. I ran into Trent trying on costumes.” “What does that have to do with Ceri?” Jenks interrupted, as protective of the small but self-assured woman as I was. Toes edging the drop off of the curb, I pulled myself to a stop so I could watch his expression. “He got her pregnant.” “Pregnant!” The shrill shout was punctuated by a flash of dust I could see even in the strong afternoon light. “It gets better,” I said, stepping into the empty street and heading for the tired, sixty-plus-year-old house Ceri and Keasley shared. “He wants me to go into the ever-after to get a sample so their child will be born without any effects of the curse. Tried to guilt me into it.” And it almost worked. “Pregnant?” Jenks repeated, his angular face showing his shock. “I gotta smell her.” The scraping of my boots on the pavement faltered. “You can smell it when someone’s pregnant?” I said, somewhat appalled. Jenks shrugged. “Sometimes. I don’t know about elves.” He darted to the sidewalk, then back to me. “Can you walk a little faster? I’d like to get there before the sun sets and that thing in the eaves wakes up.” My gaze went three houses down to find Keasley outside enjoying the fall weather, raking leaves. Great, he’d seen me tear into here like a bunny on fire. “Jenks,” I said suddenly. “I’m going to do the talking. Not you.” “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said, and I fixed my gaze on him with a threatening sharpness. “I mean it. Ceri might not have told him yet.” The hum of his wings dropped in pitch, though he didn’t lose a millimeter of height. “Okay,” he said hesitantly. My boots hit the sidewalk and the dappled pattern of sun that made it through the colored leaves still clinging to the dark branches. Keasley is Leon Bairn? I thought as I looked him over. Leon was the only other person besides me to quit the I.S. and survive, though he’d apparently had to fake his death to do it. I was guessing that Trent knew it because he had helped. He would have been about fifteen then, but just coming into his parents’ legacy and eager to show his stuff. I glanced at Jenks, remembering how mad the pixy had been when I hid from him that Trent was an elf. If Keasley was Leon, then he was a runner. And Jenks wouldn’t violate that trust for anything. “Jenks, can you keep a secret?” I said, slowing when Keasley saw us and stopped his work to lean on his rake. The old man suffered from arthritis so badly that he seldom had the stamina for yard work, despite the pain charms Ceri made for him. “Maybe,” the pixy said, knowing his own limits. I gave him a sharp look, and he grimaced. “Yeah, I’ll keep your lame-ass secret. What is it? Trent wears a man-bra?” A smile quirked my lips before I grew serious. “Keasley is Leon Bairn.” “Holy crap!” Jenks said, a burst of light glowing against the bottom of the leaves. “I take the afternoon off, and you find out Ceri’s pregnant and sharing a roof with a dead legend!” I grinned at him. “Trent was chatty today.” “No fairy-ass kidding.” His wings went silver in thought. “So why did Trent tell you?” I shrugged, running my finger against the thump-bump of the chain-link fence surrounding Keasley’s yard as I walked. “I don’t know. To prove he knew something I didn’t? Did Jih tell you that she’s shacked up with a pixy buck?” “What!” His wings stopped and my palm darted out with a flash of adrenaline, but he caught himself before he could drop into my palm. Jenks hovered, his face a mask of parental horror. “Trent?” he squeaked. “Trent told you?” And when I nodded, he turned his gaze to the front gardens of the house, just starting to show the grace of a pixy presence even in the fall. “Sweet mother of Tink,” he said. “I have to talk to my daughter.” Without waiting for my reply, he darted away, only to jerk to an abrupt halt at the fence. Slipping several inches in height, he yanked a pixy-size red bandanna from a pocket and tied it about his ankle. It was a pixy’s version of a white flag: a promise of good intention and no poaching. He’d never worn it before when visiting his daughter, and the acknowledgment of her new husband had to be bittersweet. His wings a dismal blue, he zipped over the house to the backyard where Jih had been concentrating her efforts on building a garden. Smiling faintly, I raised a hand to Keasley’s hail, opened the gate, and entered the yard. “Hi, Keasley,” I called, looking him over with a new interest born of knowing his history. The old black man stood in the middle of his yard, his cheap sneakers almost hidden by leaves. His jeans were faded by work, not distressing stones in the wash, and his red-and-black plaid shirt looked a size too big, probably gotten at discount somewhere. His wrinkles gave his face texture that made his expressions easy to read. The tinge of yellow in his brown eyes had me worried, but he was healthy apart from old age and arthritis. I could tell that he’d once been tall; now, though, I could look him eye to eye. Age was beating hard upon his body, but it had yet to touch his mind. He was the neighborhood wise old man and the only one who could give me advice without triggering my resentment. But it was his hands that I liked the most. You could see how he had lived his entire life in them: dark, spare, knobby with stiffness, but not afraid of work, able to stir spells, stitch vampire bites, and hold pixy children. He had done all three in my sight, and I trusted him. Even if he was pretending to be something he wasn’t. Didn’t we all? “Good afternoon, Rachel,” he called, his sharp gaze coming back from the roofline and Jenks’s disappearing trail of pixy dust. “You look like a piece of autumn in that sweater.” I glanced down at the black-and-red pattern, never having thought about it before. “Thanks. You look good out here raking. Your knees doing okay?” The old man patted the worn spots, squinting in the sun. “They’ve been better, but they’ve been a lot worse, too. Ceri’s been in the kitchen a lot lately, trying things out.” I slowed, my feet still on the cracked walk to the front porch. Grass had encroached upon it until it was only eight inches wide. “I suppose,” I said softly, “chasing bad guys all your life can really damage a person. If they aren’t careful.” He didn’t move, going still as he stared at me. “I, uh, talked to someone today,” I said, wanting to hear it from him. “He said—” “Who?” he rasped, and my face lost its expression. He was frightened. Terrified, almost. “Trent,” I said, pulse quickening as I came forward. “Trent Kalamack. He acted like he’s known for a long time.” My shoulders tensed, and the dog barking nearby made me nervous. Exhaling long and slow, Keasley replaced his fear with a relief so deep I could just about feel it. “He has,” he said, a shaky hand going over his tight, graying curls. “I have to sit down.” He turned to his house. It needed new shingles and paint in the worst way. “Do you want to sit for a moment?” I thought about Ceri, then Marshal. Then there was the gargoyle Jenks was going on about, too. “Sure.” Keasley made his slow way to the sagging porch steps, propping the rake against the rail before easing himself down in stages with a heavy sigh. A basket of cherry tomatoes decorated the railing to be given out for trick-or-treat, and two pumpkins waited to be carved. I gingerly sat beside him, my knees even with my chest. “Are you okay?” I asked hesitantly when he didn’t say anything. He looked at me askance. “You know how to get an old man’s heart going, Rachel. Do Ivy and Jenks know?” “Jenks,” I said, guilt pinching my brow, and he raised a hand to tell me it was all right. “I trust he will keep his mouth shut,” he said. “Trent gave me the means to stage my death. Actually, all he gave me was the DNA-doctored tissue to smear over my front porch, but he knew.” Gave him tissue? There’s a nice thought. “Then you really are—” My words cut off when his twisted hand landed warningly on my knee. In the street, five sparrows fought over a moth they had found, and I listened to them squabble, hearing in his silence his request that I not even say it. “It’s been over a decade,” I finally protested. His eyes tracked the birds as one gained the moth and the rest chased the bird across the street. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Like a murder charge, the file stays open.” I followed his gaze to the church Ivy and I shared. “That’s why you moved in across from the church, isn’t it?” I asked, remembering the day. Keasley had saved my life by removing a delayed combustion charm someone had slipped me on the bus. “You figured if I could survive the I.S.’s death contract, you might find a way, too?” He smiled to show his yellowing teeth, and he pulled his hand from my knee. “Yes, ma’am. I did. But after seeing how you did it?” Keasley shook his head. “I’m too old to fight dragons. I’ll stay Keasley, if you don’t mind.” I thought about that, cold despite the sun on us. Becoming anonymous was just something I couldn’t do. “You moved in the same day I did, didn’t you? You really don’t know when Ivy rented the church.” “No.” His eyes were on the steeple, the top hidden behind the trees. “But I watched her patterns close that first week, and I’m guessing she’d been there for at least three months.” My head was going up and down. I was learning a lot today. None of it comfortable. “You’re a good liar,” I said, and Keasley laughed. “Used to be.” Liar, I thought, and then my mind drifted to Trent. “Uh, is Ceri up? I have to talk to her.” Keasley shifted to look at me. In his tired eyes was a deep relief. I had learned his secret and freed him of the necessity to lie to me. But what I think he was the most grateful for was that I didn’t think any less of him for it. “I think she’s asleep,” he said, smiling to tell me he was glad I was still his friend. “She’s been tired lately.” I’ll bet. Giving him a smile, I stood and tugged my jeans straight. I’d long assumed that Ivy had moved in before me, having only pretended to move in the same day to ease my suspicions. Now that I knew the truth, I might confront Ivy about it. Maybe. It didn’t necessarily matter—I understood her reasons, and that was enough. Sometimes, just let sleeping vamps lie. I extended a hand to help Keasley rise. “Will you tell Ceri I came over?” I asked as I held his arm until I knew he had his balance. The porch creaked behind us, and I whipped my head around. Ceri was standing behind the closed screen door, in a sweaterdress that made her look like a young wife from the sixties. A jumble of emotions hit me as I took in her somber, guilty stance. She didn’t look pregnant. She looked worried. “Did Jenks wake you?” I said in greeting, not knowing what else to say. She shook her head no with her arms crossed over her middle. Her long, translucent hair was done up in a complex braid that needed at least two pixies to manage it. Even through the screen I could see her cheeks were pale, her green eyes wide, and her narrow chin raised defiantly. Though delicate and petite, her mind was resilient and strong, tempered by a thousand years of serving as a demon’s familiar. Elves didn’t live any longer than witches, but her life had paused the moment Al took her. My guess was she’d been in her midthirties. She was barefoot, as usual, and her purple dress had black and gold accents. They were the colors that Al made her wear, though admittedly, this wasn’t a ball gown. “Come in,” she said softly, vanishing into the dark house. I glanced at Keasley. He had a wary sharpness to him, having read my tension and the shame she was hiding under her defiance. Or maybe it was guilt. “Go on,” he said, as if wanting us to get this over with so he’d know what was the matter. Leaving him, I went up the stairs, my tension easing as the shelter of the house accepted me. I didn’t think she’d told him yet—which meant I’d been seeing guilt. The screen door squeaked, and now, knowing Keasley’s past, I was sure the lack of oil was intentional. The scent of redwood struck me as I followed the sound of her fading steps down the low-ceilinged hall, past the front room, the kitchen, and all the way to the back of the house and the sunken living room, added on at some point. The older house muffled outside sounds, and I stood in the middle of the back living room. I was sure this was where she had gone. My gaze traveled over the changes she’d made since moving in: asters arranged in Mason-jar vases, live plants bought off the sale rack and nurtured back to health clustered at the lace-curtained windows, bits of ribbon draped over mirrors to remind wandering spirits not to cross into them, yellowed doilies bought at yard sales decorating the padded arms of the couch, and faded pillows and swaths of fabric disguising the old furniture. The combined effect was clean, comfortable, and soothing. “Ceri?” I finally called, not having the slightest idea where she was. “Out here,” she said, her voice coming from beyond the door, which was propped open with a potted fig tree. I winced. She wanted to talk in the garden—her stronghold. Great. Gathering myself, I headed out to find her seated at a wicker table in the garden. Jih hadn’t been tending it very long, but between the enthusiastic pixy and Ceri, the tiny space had gone from a scuffed-up scrap of dirt to a bit of paradise in less than a year. An old oak tree thicker than I could get my arms around dominated the backyard, multiple swaths of fabric draped over the lower branches to make a fluttering shelter of sorts. The ground under it was bare dirt, but it was as smooth and flat as linoleum. Vines grew above the fence to block the neighbors’ view, and the grass had been allowed to grow long past the shade of the tree. I could hear water somewhere and a wren singing as if it were spring, not fall. And crickets. “This is nice,” I said in understatement as I joined her. There was a teapot and two tiny cups on the table, as if she had been expecting me. I would have said Trent had warned her, but Keasley didn’t have a phone. “Thank you,” she said modestly. “Jih has taken a husband, and he works very hard to impress her.” I brought my attention back from the garden to focus on Ceri and her anxiety. “Is that where Jenks is?” I asked, wanting to meet the newest member of the family myself. A smile eased her tight features. “Yes. Can you hear them?” I shook my head and settled myself in the bumpy wicker chair. Now, what would be a good segue? So, I hear Jih isn’t the only one who’s been knocked up. … Ceri reached for the teapot, her motions wary. “I imagine this isn’t a social call, but would you like some tea?” “No, thanks,” I said, then felt a tug on my awareness as Ceri murmured a word of Latin and the pot began to steam. The amber brew tinkled into her tiny cup, the click of the porcelain sounding loud among the crickets. “Ceri,” I said softly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her vivid green eyes met mine. “I thought you’d be angry,” she said with desperate worry. “Rachel, it’s the only way I can get rid of it.” My lips parted. “You don’t want it?” Ceri’s expression blanked. She stared wonderingly at me for a moment. “What are we talking about?” she asked cautiously. “Your baby!” Her mouth dropped open and she flushed scarlet. “How did you find out …?” My pulse had quickened, and I felt unreal. “I talked to Trent this afternoon,” I said, and when she just sat there, staring at me with her pale fingers encircling her teacup, I added, “Quen asked me to go into the ever-after for a sample of elven DNA that predates the curse, and I wanted to know what the rush was. He kind of blurted it out.” Panic filled her, showing as her hand flashed to set her cup down and grip my wrist, shocking me. “No,” she exclaimed softly, eyes wide and breath fast. “Rachel, you can’t. You can’t go into the ever-after. Promise me right now that you won’t. Ever.” Her fingers were hurting me, and I tried to pull away. “I’m not stupid, Ceri.” “Promise me!” she said loudly. “Right now! You will not go into the ever-after. Not for me. Not for Trent. Not for my child. Never!” I wrenched my wrist away from her, taken aback at her extreme reaction. I had been in the ever-after before, and I wasn’t about to go back. “I told him no. Ceri, I can’t. Someone is summoning Al out of confinement, and I can’t risk being off hallowed ground after sunset, much less go to the ever-after.” The pale woman caught her emotions, clearly embarrassed. Her eyes flicked to my reddened wrist, and I hid it under the table. I felt guilty about the stand I was taking to stay out of the ever-after, even if it was a smart decision. I wanted to help Ceri, and I felt like a coward. “I’m sorry,” I said, then reached for the teapot, wanting a cup of something to hide behind. “I feel like a pile of chicken crap.” “Don’t,” Ceri said shortly, and my eyes met hers. “This isn’t your war.” “It used to be,” I said, my thoughts going to the widely accepted theory that the witches had abandoned the ever-after to the demons three thousand years before the elves gave up. Before that, there was no witch history except what the elves remembered for us, and very little elf history either. Ceri intercepted my reach for the teapot, pouring it out for me and carefully handing me the cup and saucer with the grace of a millennium of practice. I accepted it and took a sip. It wasn’t coffee, but I could still feel the caffeine rush, and I eased into the wicker and crossed my legs. I had time, and Ceri, nervous and flustered, clearly was in no state for me to leave yet. “Ceri,” I said, putting a tone of pride in my voice. “You’re something else. If I found out that I was pregnant unexpectedly, I’d be falling apart. I can’t believe Trent did this to you.” Ceri hesitated over her cup, then took a delicate sip. “He didn’t.” I shook my head. “You can’t take the blame for this. I know you’re a grown woman and you make your own decisions, but Trent is devious and manipulative. He could charm a troll out of her bridge if he tried.” A faint rose color tinged her cheeks. “I mean, it’s not Trenton’s child.” I stared at her. If it isn’t Trent’s … “It’s Quen’s,” she said, her eyes on the swaths of fabric fluttering overhead. “B-But …” I stammered. Oh, my God. Quen? Suddenly his awkward silences and stiff looks meant something completely different. “Trent never said anything! Neither did Quen. They just stood there and let me believe—” “It’s not their place to say anything,” Ceri said primly, then set her teacup down with a sharp clink. The breeze shifted the wispy strands of her hair that had slipped her braid as I realigned my thinking. That’s why Quen had gone behind Trent’s back to ask for my help. That’s why he’d seemed guilty. “But I thought you liked Trent,” I finally managed. Ceri made a face. On me it would have looked ugly; on her, it looked comely. “I do,” she said sourly. “He is kind with me, and gentle. He is clever with words and quick to follow my thoughts, and we enjoy each other’s company. His bloodline is impeccable …” She hesitated, her eyes going to her fingers, now sitting still in her lap. A deep breath lifted through her and was gone. “And he won’t touch me without fear.” My brow furrowed in anger. “It’s the demon smut,” she said distantly, shame in her gaze darting about. “He thinks it’s the bloody kiss of death. That I’m filthy and foul, and that it’s catching.” Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/kim-harrison/where-demons-dare/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.