by E J Frost
“Lovely. Does tomorrow afternoon suit you?”
I have some appointments, but I can reschedule them. Learning to ‘smell’ magic sounds intriguing. And maybe we can move from there to banishing demons. I nod.
Timmi beams at me, that infectious grin. “May I ask you something, Tsara?”
As long as it’s not about men. “Okay.”
“Are you always this wary?”
“Yes.” That’s an easy question. “I may be pale, but I’m still Rom. My family lives in America now, but that’s because most of my family died in Treblinka. Wiccans have made it trendy to wear a pentagram instead of a crucifix, but when it’s real witchcraft, real magic, that’s a different story. You must know that. My family’s been persecuted for centuries. I’m not going to end up burned at the stake, or suffocating in a gas chamber, or even stuck in a lab while a bunch of men in white coats stick me with wires. Not for doing what comes as naturally to me as breathing does to everyone else. You seem like a nice person, Timmi. You seem genuine and all, but I don’t know you. And my track record with strangers isn’t too good lately.” My track record with former friends is sucking even louder. “So, yes, I am wary. But, you know, I’m in recovery.”
She laughs. And reaches across to squeeze my hand again. “Tsara, you are such a delight. My family comes from the old country, too, although not for the same reasons. And although I have never been the sort of practitioner you are, I’ve always been aware that showing too much of my true nature to the wrong sort could have dangerous consequences. I hope you’ll come to see that I am not that sort.” She leans over and reaches down into her bag, which she’s tucked neatly between her feet. “Shall I show you what I brought? Maybe this will help put you at ease.”
When I nod, she withdraws a heavy brass key from her bag and puts it on the table between us.
I tilt my head, so I can see the key with my peripheral vision. In my Sight, the key isn’t brass. It’s small, yellowed bones. Finger bones. Toe bones. A curved, hollow bone at the top that must be an infant’s ischium. Ick. Just like the grisly little bits Ro kept tucking into corners of our dorm room. I wonder how many of her ‘treasures’ Jou trashed when he blew up her sanctum. Good riddance.
The antique bones are bound together with silver wire into the rough shape of a key, but this isn’t a key that’s ever turned any lock. Not a physical one anyway. From the rainbow warping of the ether around either end of the key, I can guess what this key opens.
“It’s a skeleton key,” I say. “Where does it lead? The Hollow Hills?” Most skeleton keys I’ve heard about lead to the Hollow Hills or the wild lands. Professor Lambert had one that opened a path to Limbo, but I skipped his independent study at Bevvy, since I’ve been able to speak with the Dead since I turned twelve. Usually when I don’t want to.
Timmi runs her fingers down the six little prongs at the bottom of the key. “It can open six doors. Each door is unique to the person who turns the key. Looking through the bow lets you see the doors.” She traces the little arch of bone from some long-dead child with her forefinger. I hope she can’t See what she’s actually touching. But, then, if she started out sorting dead beetles, maybe baby bones don’t bother her. “The trick is turning the key. A trick that has been lost, I’m afraid. Although perhaps not forever.” She smiles mischievously. “That’s the second part of my offer. I have a diary of a former curator who succeeded in using the key. I thought you might be interested in reading it. But the diary cannot leave the Museum, I’m afraid. So if you want to see the second part of my little inducement, you have to come for the tour.”
I laugh at her blatant manipulation. “I’d like the tour. And to read the diary.” I gingerly pick up the key and when Timmi doesn’t protest, look through the ischium. Towards the Old South Meetinghouse, where I’ve felt the whispery presence of something many times as I’ve browsed in Commonwealth Books.
The key strips away the pedestrians strolling in the warm afternoon sunshine. The potted trees. The bright street signs. All that’s left are the buildings, and as I watch, the warm brick of the Meetinghouse pits, cracks and crumbles away in a gray wind that sweeps down Washington Street, tumbling broken pieces of asphalt across the decaying sidewalk.
Time. I’m looking at a door through time.
I set the key carefully down on the table. Like the weather, I’m careful not to fuck with time. Never do anything that could bring you to the attention of Dr. Who. “Wicked,” I say.
“What did you see?” Timmi asks.
“The future, I think. Did your predecessor say anything about the key opening doors through time?”
Timmi shakes her sleek white head. “No, I think the door he opened was in the present. It was just somewhere else’s present.”
“I’d like to read his diary. Thanks for letting me look.” I slide the key back to her. Not tempted to take another peek. If that’s what the future of Downtown Crossing looks like, I don’t need a second glance.
“Please,” she says, nodding at the key. “Take it with you. You might like to take a look at some other places. Perhaps there are other doors you might open. You can bring it with you tomorrow.” She winks at me.
“Making sure I come?” I ask as I wrap the key in a napkin and tuck it in my handbag, but it’s with amusement, not derision, at her head-games. They’re much less distressing than the demon’s.
“I have good feeling about you and that key.” She shrugs her shoulders elegantly. Finishes her last bite of muffin. “As soon as I made up my mind to call on you, I knew exactly what to bring. I’ve been dying to show it to you.”
I smile back at her. Her grin really is infectious.
“Now, could I induce you to stroll back up School Street with me before we go our separate ways?”
Knowing a graceful exit when I see one, I nod and gather my things. Timmi takes my arm again as we walk past the bookstore and a cold, cold shudder runs up my spine. I pause and Timmi looks up at me quizzically.
I shake my head. “Sorry, someone just walked over my grave.”
Timmi’s white brows draw together. Her pale blue eyes flick over my face several times, quizzically. I shrug; this sort of shit happens sometimes. It’s that little flicker of precognition I get from my Dala. It’s useless. If Ro was here, she’d have been able to say what and when it was going to happen to the minute. I just get a fuzzy sense that shit is about to fall on me from a great height. But then, Ro didn’t foresee me setting free the demon she’d summoned, or the demon eating her soul. So I guess her precognition didn’t serve her all that well after all.
Timmi looks around, takes a deep breath, and urges me on again. “I’m sorry, my dear, I don’t feel anything.”
“Don’t worry about it. I never see enough to be useful.”
“Do any of your family?”
Enough to stay ahead of the gavver. Not enough to keep from fucking up their lives on the same epic scale as everyone else. I’m guessing that if Uncle Billigoat had seen that his fourth wife would take a hatchet to his privates after finding him cavorting with his umpteenth mistress, he wouldn’t have married her. Or that Dala wouldn’t have taken me to a school on the edge of the Artic Circle if she’d known she’d die there of pneumonia. Then again, maybe she would. I didn’t understand half the things my Dala did.
I shrug. “Most of them get flashes from time to time. I don’t think any of them would claim to be able to see the future.” Maybe Uncle Walther would. He’s arrogant enough.
“I’ve never met a true precognitive,” Timmi says as we start walking again.
I have, and look where that led. I shrug and let her take that any way she wants.
Timmi and I part ways at the corner of School and Tremont. With a rueful smile, she hails a cab. Her feet must really be bothering her. I wave after her and cross against the light to walk up Tremont Street, following the fall sunshine. I glance down often enough to keep from tripping and face-planting, but the rest of time I keep my f
ace tilted up to the sun. Golden days like this should be treasured. I can feel the sunlight soaking into my skin. My cells percolating. And deep in me, where my magic resides, tingly warmth flowers.
A gentle breeze tugs at my hair. If I spread my arms, I might lift onto the soft updraft and soar over the towers of Government Center. In the open court of City Hall Plaza, I spread my arms, close my eyes, and twirl.
The breeze hums in my ears. My heels lift off the pale paving stones. I enjoy the wonderful, weightless sensation for a moment, let it tickle my tummy until I giggle, before I settle back onto the kitten heels with a teeter. After I right myself, I glance around. The few dark-suited lawyers hurrying across the courtyard to the law library and the courthouse aren’t staring at me. I guess they’re too preoccupied by their Very Important Business to notice me levitating. Most people don’t notice the magic right under their noses. I smile to myself and make my way to the steps beside One Beacon, confident that if my feet don’t quite touch the ground as I walk, no one will notice.
Chapter 30
The demon’s early. I glance up at the clock on my wall when I hear the door buzz and his deep tones answering Lin. Five-forty. I sigh and set aside the file I’ve been working on. Raise my eyes to the door, expecting him to walk through.
When he doesn’t, and I can still hear the murmur of voices, I rise and hurriedly make my way out front. The last thing I need is the demon having long heart-to-hearts with my friends.
Which is exactly what he’s doing. He’s leaning against Evonne’s desk, braced on his hands so his chest and shoulders swell. I swear, he poses unconsciously. Lin’s standing a few feet away, looking star-struck.
“Hi,” I say, putting a little power into the word, a little bite, to break whatever spell he’s weaving around Lin.
He turns his head and smiles at me and the full force of his will hits me like a shockwave. He wasn’t even trying with Lin. But as soon as I walk into the room, he turns on the charm. Just his smile, the bedroom glow in his eyes, makes my body tighten and a warm pressure grow low in my belly.
Stop it. You don’t need to do that with me anymore.
That’s for me to decide. We’re havin’ dinner with Lin and her boyfriend on Friday night, by the way.
No, we’re not!
He shifts and holds out his hand to me. “C’mere.”
Before I can even decide whether I’m going to obey or resist, I’m tugged forward. The invisible bonds on my wrists drag me towards him. Shit.
When I reach him, he puts his arm around my shoulders and leans forward to kiss me. I stiffen, not wanting him to do anything graphic in front of Lin. But he just brushes his mouth across my forehead and breathes warmly into my mind, I missed you.
You did? I stand rigid within the circle of his arm, not sure how to take his admission. I thought . . . you said you don’t feel that way . . .
I said I don’t miss my harem like humans miss each other. His liquid chocolate chuckle. You’re not part of my harem, sweet meat.
Thank God for that, I fire back. But if he doesn’t want me to be part of his harem, then what does being his seggurach mean?
I’ll show you after dinner. Say g’night to the nice dragon. Dinner’s waiting.
I draw away from him, irritated at his ability to read more of my mind than I want him to. He lets me go with a grin that tells me he heard that thought, too. Smug bastard.
“You ready to go?” he asks aloud.
I nod.
“Good. I got lamb tagine waiting and it shouldn’t be left too long. Dries out the apricots.”
My mouth begins to water. His additional thought – And crème brulee for desert, but only if you lick it off the little demon – does nothing to help me control my salivation.
“You cook?” Lin asks. She gives me a meaningful glare. I shrug.
“A little,” he says, all false demonic modesty.
I knock him with my elbow. “He’s an amazing cook.”
“I can’t believe I offered to cook on Friday.” Her glare redoubles and I shrug. So I didn’t mention it. Although I adore his cooking, it’s really not what’s been at the forefront of my mind.
“I’m lookin’ forward to it. I love traditional Shandong,” the demon says easily. He slides his arm across my shoulders again. “C’mon, let’s go.”
I let him steer me out the front doors with an abbreviated good-bye to Lin, and only when we’re accelerating along Memorial Drive do I remember that I’ve left the apples on my desk.
They’ll keep, the demon thinks. We don’t need ‘em for anything we’re doin’ tonight.
“We don’t need them for anything we’re doing because we’re not doing anything. I’m going gathering, remember?”
“I told you, no more fraternizing with the airy fairy.”
“And I told you that I need him.”
“’Cause it’s all about what you need, right?”
He sounds so much like Saul in that moment that I shiver. “Maybe it is.” And if it is, maybe he’ll leave, like Saul. But nothing in me believes it. And although I shouldn’t feel relief at that thought, I do.
Stop trying to convince yourself that you don’t want me around.
I turn in my seat to look at him. He sits behind the wheel completely relaxed, one huge hand clamped around the top of the wheel, long leather-clad legs stretched in front of him. His eyes are on the road, dark and alert. The master of all he surveys. Except that there’s a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“What difference does it make?” I ask. “You ignore everything I want anyway.”
“Maybe it bugs me that I’ve offered you everything I can and all you can think about is gettin’ rid of me.”
I snort in disbelief. “Are you telling me I’ve hurt your feelings?”
He flicks his eyes at me, their neon glow sliding over my face like hot fingers. “Somethin’ I been thinking about all day. Last night, I asked you why you don’t call me ‘baby’ or ‘lovedaddy.’ You didn’t answer me.”
I twist in my seat so I can stare out the window. I’m not answering him now, either.
“Your mind’s a fucking bullhorn. ‘Cause I’m a demon, right?”
“I never said that,” I say to the window.
“You thought it, though. You don’t want to be like the dead bitch and the others that have trapped me, but you are. Deep down. You’re using me just the same way.”
That’s grossly unfair. “I am not using you!”
“No? Why do you keep jumping in the sack with me?”
“You haven’t given me any choice!”
“That ain’t the way I remember it. I had to tell you ‘no’ yesterday.”
“You are such a pig!” My breath steams against the window, and not because of the cold air outside.
“You’re usin’ me for sex, sweet meat, admit it. You’re poppin’ me like Ex. I could smell it earlier when you were doing your greenwitch thing. You’re pumped up on my power.” His voice drops to a growl. “And it’s okay to use me like that, right? ‘Cause I’m just a demon. So what I want and need don’t matter.”
I snap my head around to glare at him. “What you want and need mean damnation and the loss of my soul, or have you forgotten about that?”
“Nope, been thinking about it pretty much non-stop. Can’t remember being this preoccupied with one human, actually. Maybe that’s why makin’ you my seggurach seems like a good idea.”
“Funny, it doesn’t seem like a good idea to me.”
“’Cause you don’t know anything about it.”
“Well, why don’t you enlighten me?” I say through my teeth.
“Showin’ you’s easier.”
I cross my arms over my chest, feeling the seatbelt bite between my breasts. “You are so not taking me to Hell.”
“See, there you go. You never been there, don’t know anything about it, but you’re already certain you don’t want to go.”
“Strangely enough, yes, I am pretty sure I
do not want to go to Hell. I’m even more sure that I don’t want to go there with you.”
He glances at me, his forehead tightening into a frown. “Why not with me?”
“Because you’ll try to keep me there!”
He looks back at the road. His mouth tightens and the muscle ticks in his jaw again. “That never even crossed my mind.”
I bang my palms against my forehead in exasperation. “You make me insane! You expect me to believe that you just want to take me on a little day trip to Hell?”
“You can be so fuckin’ close-minded . . .” He sighs. “Here it is, I want you to come with me. Tonight. I want to raise power with you to fortify my place. And show you what it would be like to be my seggurach.”
“And that’s it?”
“Yup. In and out. Just enough to warp the weft around the Hill. Last thing I want is for the old man to get wind of this.”
I sit in silence for a moment. Too surprised to really think of any objection. Two innocent offers in one day. That can’t be right. There must be a catch. But I can’t see it. “In and out,” I say slowly. “No part of me stays there. Nothing happens to my soul.”
“In and out. No part of you stays. Nothin’ happens to your soul.”
“I—” I still can’t think of any reason to say ‘no.’ Maybe I should take the path of least resistance, the way I did with Timmi. That worked out okay. “I, uh, okay.”
“Okay?” He corners through Union Square before glancing at me darkly. “Just okay? Whaddo you want in return?”
“I, um—” What do I want? I’m not sure anymore. “I want these things off my wrists.”
“No deal. Those things are all that’s lettin’ me take you there in the first place.”
Damn. “I want . . . I want a future favor.”
“A what?” he growls.
“A future favor. Something that I get to ask for in the future.”
“Wrong. Whaddo you want right now?”
“I don’t want anything right now. I mean, I do want things, but I can’t think of anything I want for this. So I want to keep my favor for the future. Like an I.O.U.”
“Whaddo you think I am, the Bank of Perdition? Fuck that. Tell me what you want now.”
