by Kim Harrison
His head dropped, and I frowned. Four hundred and thirteen? It had always seemed more than that, but perhaps it was the familiars who filled the shops and parties. “Trent stands with us,” I said, and Al sighed heavily.
“It cannot be done,” he said solemnly. “Come with me. We’re weaving a wall.”
“A wall,” I said flatly.
The lift of Al’s shoulders gave away his disdain for their own cowardice, but his jaw was set. “A wall to keep from being pulled back when they dissolve the lines.”
“A wall,” I said again, and he bared his teeth at me, daring me to call them cowards. “Al, walls are prisons. You need to break the original curse.”
“With four hundred of us?” he protested. “It can’t be done.”
I leaned forward, trying to cross the distance with my words. “That’s why you need the elves’ help.”
Al looked at me as if I was crazy, and maybe I was, but I stood, unable to sit any longer. “The elves are modifying an old curse, not making a new one,” I said, words rushing over themselves. “You told me yourself that was dangerous. All we have to do is end it!”
“And in the doing, we put ourselves in the stream itself,” he said sourly. “We will flounder and be lost.”
“You don’t know that!”
“We do!” he thundered, and I stiffened as I heard Jenks’s wings. He was somewhere close, but I said nothing as Al slumped, clearly frustrated.
“We know Landon will be the fulcrum,” I said, pacing now. “He’s in downtown Cincinnati, right by the square. We know his damn room number, Al! Ivy and Jenks can get us in—”
Al sat up, waving a hand disparagingly. “Why do I even try?”
“If we’re with him, we can shift the focus of the charm!” I protested. “Al!” I complained, my feet stopping as he frowned at me.
“There can be only one weaver in a spell that complex—”
“Then Trent and I will be a fulcrum and slant it the direction we want,” I pleaded.
“Rachel.” Al slumped. “We tried that. Their magic . . . It’s too strong.”
“Then we can try it again,” I insisted.
“Their magic is too strong!” he shouted, and I shut my mouth. Sighing, Al held a hand out to me, inviting me to sit down. “It can’t be done,” he said softly, never letting his hand fall, extending it for me.
Frustrated, I stomped over and sat down. “Cowards,” I accused.
“Realists,” he countered, but his anger was gone. The silence stretched. “What do you hope to get out of this?” Al asked, startling me.
“To end the war between you. To bring you home!” I said, and he actually smiled.
“No, I mean what do you want from the world? From everything?”
“Oh.” That was different, and the fire seemed to wash out of me. He’d come here to save me, save me again. “The same thing you do, I guess. A little peace to find out who I am.”
Slumped, Al looked out over the broken clearing. “There’s no peace but for the dead, and even that we’ve found a way to corrupt.”
It was starting to sound like a pity party, and I stood. “I don’t have to listen to you anymore, remember? I have to go. I’ve got to make a scrying mirror before midnight.” Damn it, I was going to have to do this without their help. If I couldn’t convince even Al, then the rest were useless. I strode back to the path, arms swinging.
“Rachel?”
His call was so soft, yet it pulled me to a halt. I didn’t turn, standing there with my back to him, but he knew I was listening.
“You don’t need the mirror anymore to connect to the collective,” he said, voice holding a sliver of pain. “Why do you think I’m here?”
Mystics, I thought, shaking as I turned around to see him still on the bench.
“You haven’t for a long time,” he said, hands clasped between his knees, making him look worried and scared. “We, ah, hate to admit it, but demons are still tied to elven magic.”
My feet scuffed a few steps back. “Maybe it’s not elven. Maybe it just . . . is.”
Al rubbed his forehead. “I don’t remember.”
My hope flooded back, and I came to him, sitting so our knees almost touched, begging him to listen. “Al, I know we can do this. You may be only four hundred, but you have the gargoyles as anchors now. There’s support among the elves, hidden in the dewar. Vivian is trying to sway the witches’ coven. Professor Anders . . .” I hesitated. “Ah, she’s okay, right?”
Al waved a hand and sighed, his regret that she was indeed okay obvious.
“Well, she’s rallying the scientific community,” I continued. “You aren’t alone this time. Four hundred and thirteen survivors, but you are the ones who made it this far. Can’t you convince the rest we have a real chance?”
“It was beautiful here once,” Al said distantly, eyes on nothing.
“Al!” I shouted, then frowned as Jenks’s wings clattered. “I can’t walk away from this!”
“Right here, this spot,” the demon said, his hands beginning to glow. “The fountain was the perfect blending of sound and motion.” I started, eyes wide as a haze shimmered over the broken statuary and realities seemed to shift, focusing in and out until a mossy fountain of fish and antelope took form.
“The moonlight made the water into pearls, and the smell of the night vines was intoxicating,” Al whispered, and I could hear the water, see it. “There were pixies then. That bastard killed them all when she died. It wasn’t their fault.”
He was fingering the pocket where the chrysalis lay, and I couldn’t speak as I looked over a memory pulled from the recesses of time. The patio was new and clean, looking like midnight in the late noon sun. I knew without asking that he was talking about Trent’s mother and dad. “You were here?” I asked. “You knew them?”
“I knew her.”
I leaned forward as the magic faded and reality imposed itself anew and the shattered ruin of the fountain smothered the spell. I could see a fin in the wreckage, and the curve of a graceful leg. All gone. All spoiled.
“Not everything changes, Rachel,” Al said as he stood up. “Some things just are.”
“So you won’t help,” I said.
His hand trembled as he set the chrysalis down on the broken statues. “No.”
“Then you’d better leave because I’m busy,” I said, eyes rising to a faint glimmer of pixy dust coming through the greenery.
Al said nothing, and I started when I turned to find him gone. Grimacing, I stood. Okay, some things changed, and it was up to those who cared to fight for the change they wanted.
“I’m sorry, Rache,” Jenks said as he hummed into the clearing.
“Me too.” Frustrated, I turned and went back to the spelling hut, hurt and sick at heart.
I left the chrysalis behind.
Chapter 25
The black van was borrowed from one of Ivy’s friends, and therefore untraceable past a fictional Hollows address. It smelled like Special K and blood lust under the acidic bite of disinfectant. Between that and the pheromones Ivy and Nina were dumping into the air, my vampire scars were tingling.
Looking across the front seat at Ivy, I muttered, “You need to relax,” all the while wishing the side windows would open a little more.
Ivy took a slow breath, stilling her painted nails as they drummed a frustrated staccato on the steering wheel. We’d been here for about ten minutes, and she hadn’t let go of it yet.
“This is relaxed,” Nina said, but she’d gotten up from her rear seat, moving forward with a pained slowness to avoid touching anyone. Kneeling beside Ivy, she put an arm around her back. Head tilting to rest almost on Ivy’s shoulder, she whispered something. Ivy sighed and the tension visibly flowed from her, her head thumping down to land upon Nina’s.
Happy, I turned back to retying my boots. I was glad that Ivy had someone and that it was Nina.
Ivy was decidedly polished in black slacks, white shirt with a collar,
and a suit coat that was tailored to both show off her curves and scream “desk clerk” all at the same time. She’d even put on makeup. Nina looked even more professional, with bangles and a belt that I thought could be used as handcuffs in a pinch. They were going in first, coming out last, and keeping our way clean and open at all times.
But the snick-snick of a weapon being checked jerked my head back up. Nina had slipped into a seat, and Trent stiffened at the little pistol she was sighting down. “I said no weapons,” he said, leaning from the backseat with his hand outstretched.
“Rachel has one!” Nina complained as she held it close to her chest like a favorite doll. “How are we supposed to take the front desk if we can’t have guns?”
She knew darn well mine was just a splat gun, not considered lethal by the FIB or the I.S. thanks to some clever judicial loopholes. Jenks darted to her, his wings loud in the small space. “David’s got the front desk already,” he said, red dust slipping over her threateningly. “Ivy, you said she was ready for this. I don’t have the manpower to babysit her.”
Ivy sucked on her teeth, and with that as an almost silent rebuke, the zealous woman glumly handed the gun to Trent. “Can I keep my knife?” she asked sarcastically, and Trent nodded.
“Be careful how you use it.”
I exhaled as Trent put the gun in the van’s illegal “safe hole” and shut it. My eyes returned to the one-way back door of the hotel, waiting for a Were to signal us that the sixth floor was cleared; the staff in the break room for an emergency OSHA meeting; and the hotel ready to assume new, albeit temporary management. No guns. That was rule number one, four, and sixteen. This operation had an excellent chance of crashing down before we reached the end, and I didn’t want guns cluttering the issue. It was going to be hard enough to survive this.
“At least it’s not in the tunnels,” Trent said as he checked that his laces were tied.
A quiver, quickly quashed, lit through me. I liked the mix of thief, commando, and lover he had going for him. “You don’t like the tunnels?”
Coming up from his soft-soled boots, Trent lined his utilitarian hat with his spelling cap and settled it onto his head. “No. They’re damp and make me sneeze.”
“And cold,” Jenks added, looking just as good in his thief-black tights.
And cold, I echoed in my thoughts, hoping this stayed within the hotel. September was iffy for pixies, even those skilled in staying alive through a street chase as the sun went down, taking the temperature with it.
“There he is,” Ivy said, and my attention followed hers to the rear door. “Ready, Nina?”
A Were in a suit with his hair carefully corralled in a trendy ponytail was leaning halfway through the white fire door, beckoning us in. Nina started to get out, jerking to a halt when Trent caught her arm. Her lips pulled back in a snarl, and Ivy hesitated when he tugged her close, ignoring her tiny little fangs, now bared at him.
“No one dies, Nina. Especially if they deserve it. Understand?”
Her brow furrowed, and Trent pulled her closer, demanding an answer. Jenks hovered over his shoulder, and finally she accepted his dominance and nodded. Ivy took a slow breath, relieved. Nina was an odd mix now that Felix was gone, and no one quite trusted it.
“Just give us ten minutes to put everyone in a closet,” Ivy said to break the tension, but I could tell she was worried about Nina as she handed me the keys to the van and got out.
“Be right back, Rache,” Jenks said, then zipped out the side door with a sullen Nina.
Ivy’s pace was held to a deliberate, sexy stride as she went around the front and joined Nina and Jenks. I had a pang of worry that we were here alone and unsanctioned by any police force. But damn it, if we had brought the FIB into it, we’d still be arguing with Edden about vampires getting their souls being a bad thing. Even so, I hunched in guilt, wondering what that said about me. Who had changed, me or Trent? Stop it, Rachel.
“They’d better leave us something to do,” Nina complained as they neared the building, and Trent chuckled.
I licked my lips, worried as Jenks back-winged in front of Ivy and reminded her to put a box in the door to keep it from shutting. Ivy’s singsong “I got it, pixy!” was soft, and I smiled as she nudged it forward, waiting for Jenks’s approval before stepping over it. She was gone.
Jenks gave me a thumbs-up and darted after her.
Ten minutes.
“We’ve got an hour until the undead can be aboveground,” I said, checking the clock on the van’s dash. “Twenty minutes until the equinox officially begins. We need to be in and out before then.” Forty minutes minus ten equals thirty. Why did we always cut these things so Turn-blasted close?
Trent was fidgeting, and I moved in a hunched walk to the back of the van. “Relax.”
Trent followed my gaze to his hands and shook the tension from them. “Easy for you to say. It’s not your people who are about to flush everything back to pre-Turn chaos. If I’d known they were going to do something this boneheaded, I wouldn’t have pushed to come out of the closet.”
It was nice of him to say, but I knew I was the real reason he’d lost clout. Frankly, I didn’t care anymore. We’d make them play nice in the sandbox, and that would be that. Nervous, I leaned to look at the clock on the dash, then knelt beside Trent to look out the window for Jenks. “They’re just scared.”
“Scared,” Trent scoffed, fiddling with the ends of his ribbon. “My people want a return to power so badly they don’t care who they step on to get it.”
I slid a sideways look at him. That had sounded kind of familiar, but I wasn’t going to say anything.
A sparkle of dust caught my breath, and I lurched to open the sliding door. It was Jenks, and he was carrying something heavy, his path slowly arching to the ground. It had been only two minutes. Something had gone wrong. “What happened?” I demanded, one hand on the side of the van as I leaned out and down to catch him. “Jenks?”
“It’s a key,” Trent said, holding my shoulder so I wouldn’t fall out. “I think we’re okay.”
With a burst of silver, Jenks rose up, clearly laboring. “Someone take this, will you?” he exclaimed, and a heavy brass key fell into my hand. “Tink save me from the artists! Every other hotel is in the twenty-first century and uses card keys, but no-o-o-o-o! We have to be special. We have to be extravagant! We have to be so far behind the times that it’s considered chic! Why the hell did I volunteer to bring it out for you?”
“Is everything okay?” I glanced at the clock. They couldn’t have secured the front desk that fast.
“Yeah, we’re good.” Jenks stood on my palm, wings drooping and a sheet of red dust pouring through my fingers. “That Nina is one scary bitch. Remind me not to stare her down again. The lobby and restaurant are cleared out. We figure he’s in 612. It’s the only one with a crib, according to housekeeping.”
“Lucy?” Trent exclaimed, almost hitting the ceiling as he stood. “She’s here?”
Jenks nodded, head still bowed as he caught his breath.
Shit, this changed everything. “Okay. Trent, if we find her you take her and get out. End of story. I can do this with Jenks.” His daughter came first. I understood and supported that, even as I was scrambling to adapt.
“Ah, Landon is probably in the adjoining room,” Jenks suggested, but his soulful, almost pitying expression told me he was just saying that to try to give Trent something to pin his worry to. We could not start a firefight in a room where Lucy was.
“I can’t endanger Lucy,” Trent said, his worry lines melting into alarm. “Rachel . . .”
“If we find her, she’s a priority,” I said. “You take her and go.”
“Yeah, cookie maker,” Jenks said as he took to the air again. “We got this in a can already. We just need to put a label on it and put it on a shelf. Let’s go.”
Looking ill, Trent rolled the door open.
“Is he going to be okay?” I breathed to Jenks, turning
my lips up into a smile when Trent spun to help me out.
“It’s the people holding Lucy I’m worried about,” Jenks muttered, but I thought Trent might have heard as he wiggled his fingers impatiently for me. “We’re burning daylight, people,” Jenks prompted, and I grabbed my jacket and put my hand in Trent’s. Little tingles of energy balanced between us. The lump of my new cell phone was in a back pocket, and the cool feel of steel from my splat gun that never seemed to warm up was at the small of my back. Jittery, I closed the door, making the sound echo in the small space. Trent and I hustled forward as I shoved first one arm into my jacket, then the other. The leather would give me some protection against spells, both earth and some ley line.
“Which way, Jenks?” Trent asked as we stepped over the box and crept into the back receiving room, and Jenks hummed off at head height, intentionally dusting a thick yellow that would linger. The scent of excited vampire mixed with cinnamon and wine as we followed Jenks’s glowing path through the receiving area to the warmer kitchen, and finally into the bar.
I’d been to the Cincinnatian before, and I’d always thought having the bar just off the tiny lobby sort of elegant in the tight confines a city hotel demanded. The new decor—rich with texture and color—made up for the small space. The ringing of a phone pulled my attention to the front desk. Ivy’s eyes met mine, but I couldn’t smile. Lucy was here. It changed everything.
The light past the front desk was decidedly gray. We were getting close to the mark. My eyes went to the elevators and the Were fidgeting in a borrowed uniform keeping the lift at the lobby for us. The Weres had cleared the building with the understanding that they’d not be involved in a magical firefight. I could understand their reluctance. Even the I.S. didn’t send a Were out after a witch, much less a bunch of elves. “Jenks, does Ivy know about Lucy?” I asked, and he dusted a silent yes.
Trent took my elbow. “We don’t need Ivy,” he muttered as we angled to the ornate elevators, and he frowned when I made the finger sign for “be ready to move.”
