by Kim Harrison
I listened for Jenks’s wings, and hearing nothing, I whispered, “Don’t you dare make Jenks sit in here alone.” She clenched her jaw, the brown rim of her eyes shrinking even more. I brushed past her and headed to the kitchen. “I’m just asking for a night off. It’s not a big deal!”
“Then why don’t you do it in here?” she yelled back, and I stopped at the head of the hall.
Ivy was standing by her piano. The soft glow lights on my desk made a spot of living green with pixies peeking from every nook. “Because I lost it the last time I thought you two were dead, and I’m not going to risk you if I don’t have to.” Ivy took a deep breath, and I turned away. “I’ll be right back,” I added as I paced into the kitchen.
Jenks was still atop Ivy’s monitor, his wings a blur and his increased circulation making them a bright red. “Jenks, don’t look at me like that,” I muttered when I dropped my boots to put them on, and as my heels thumped into them, he turned his back on me. “Jenks…,” I pleaded, stopping when his wings buzzed. “I’ll be okay,” I said, and he shifted his head at the harsh sound of my zipper going up.
“This is fairy crap!” he exclaimed, rising up and spinning around. “Green fairy crap—”
“With sprinkles on top,” I finished for him as I fumbled for my gloves, jammed in the pockets. “We go through this every week. Either I show up at sunrise or he comes and gets me. Hiding on hallowed ground will only tick him off and then he visits my mom. If I’m lucky, I get the night off. If I’m not, I’ll send Bis back in for my things. Okay?”
Jenks hovered before me with his hands on his hips. Ignoring him, I picked up the scrying mirror and my cookies. I knew he hated being trapped by the cold, but I wasn’t going to risk his family. He was so good at everything else, why this bothered him was beyond me.
“Bis will be with me,” I offered, and when he crossed his arms and turned his back on me, I shouted, “I’ll be freaking fine!” and stormed to the back door. What is his problem!
I flicked on the porch light, giving the door a tight pull to get it to latch behind me. Hesitating on the landing, I took a moment to calm myself, taking in how quiet it was out here while I put on my gloves. The moon was riding high above the horizon with an edge so sharp it looked like it could cut paper. My breath steamed, and by the second lungful, I felt the cold all the way to my bones. Even Cincinnati, across the river and distant, seemed frozen. If death had a feeling, this was it.
Still peeved, I crunched down the salted back steps and into the garden, following the same path I’d taken out here last week. There was a good chance that Al wouldn’t go for this and I’d find myself sending Bis back in for my overnight bag, giving Al a laugh and me ten additional charms to spell before sunrise tomorrow.
I looked behind me to see the kitchen window plastered with pixies, but Jenks wasn’t among them. Guilt slithered out from me for having gone where he couldn’t follow, but it wasn’t like I was going into a dangerous situation. It was like asking your recruiter if you could skip the run today and rest up. I might get smacked for it, but I wasn’t going to die.
“This is so not going to work,” I muttered, then stepped over the low wall that separated the witch’s garden from the graveyard. The cold seemed to turn to knives in my chest, and I slowed before I froze my nose from breathing too fast. Fatigue was nothing new, and I had all the tricks to stave it off. I could feel the ley line shimmering in my thoughts, but I angled to Pierce’s statue instead. I didn’t need to be in a line to talk to Al, and the patch of unsanctified ground surrounded by God’s grace would keep Al from wandering if he decided to come over.
Pierce’s monolith of a kneeling, battle-weary angel was creepy, looking not quite human with its arms too long and its features starting to run from pollution and the poor grade of stone. I’d used this red-colored patch of cement to summon demons three times now, and that I was treating this as almost routine was worrisome.
“Hey, Bis?” I called, then jumped when Bis landed suddenly on the angel’s shoulder in a wash of air that smelled like rock dust.
“Holy crap!” I yelped, looking back at the church to see if anyone had noticed my surprise. “How about some warning, dude?”
“Sorry,” the late-adolescent, foot-high gargoyle said, his red eyes whirling so fast in amusement that I knew he wasn’t sorry at all. His pebbly skin was black to absorb what heat he could from the night, but he could change it, even when he fell into a torporlike state as the sun came up. He’d have more control over his sleep when he got older, but right now, like most teenagers, he was like a rock when the sun came up. He paid rent to Jenks by watching the grounds for the four hours around midnight when pixies traditionally slept. He’d been doing more than that since the temperatures dropped below pixy tolerance. He and Jenks got along great, seeing as Bis had been kicked off the basilica for spitting on people, and Jenks thought that was just fine.
“Why is Jenks mad at you?” he asked as he pulled his wings close, and I winced.
“Because he thinks he has to protect me, and I’m going places he can’t,” I said. “You can hear us from out here?”
The gargoyle shrugged and looked at the church. “Only when you yell.”
Only when we yell. Brushing the snow off the base of the angel statue, I set the cookies down and brought out the mirror.
“Oh, that’s ultimate!” Bis said as the wine-and-crystal-colored scrying mirror threw back the moonlight. I looked down at it, feeling the cold right through my gloves. I agreed with him, even though I thought something that called demons should be ugly. This was my second mirror, made with a stick of yew, some salt, wine, a bit of magic, and a lot of help from Ceri. The first one I’d broken over Minias’s head when the demon had startled me. Ceri had helped me make that one, too. It was a contact glyph, not a summoning spell, and the double-circled pentagram with its symbols could open a path to the ever-after and any demon I wished to talk to. I didn’t need to know their summoning name, just their common one. That, and the word that tapped into the demon’s communal magic. Some days I really wished I didn’t know the magic word.
Nervous, I hunched down to sit on the edge of the monolith, beside the cookies, and balanced the mirror on my knees. I took my right glove off and set my palm in the cave of the large pentagram. The red-tinted glass was icy cold to my naked fingers as the spelled glass transferred the cold of the night into me. Glancing up at Bis lurking above me, I said, “If Al shows up, get to hallowed ground, okay?”
The cat-size gargoyle nervously rustled his wings. “’Kay.”
Satisfied, I pressed more firmly and reached to touch the nearby ley line.
Power that seemed to have picked up the chill of the night coursed in, finding a balance within me with an unusual flush of vertigo. Surprised, I leaned back until my shoulders hit the statue for balance. What in hell? The flow of energy was irregular, making me feel almost seasick. The odd sensation must be from my thin aura. Maybe auras functioned like filters, evening the highs and lows into a steady stream. The longer I held the line, the worse it got.
Bis dropped to stand uncertainly by my knee in concern, his clawed feet seeming to grow bigger when they hit the snow. “You okay, Ms. Morgan?” he asked, and I nodded slowly.
“Dizzy.” Mirror balanced on my knees, I tucked a strand of floating hair behind my ear.
“Your aura is still thin,” Bis said. “You sure you should be doing this?”
I blinked at him to get rid of the last of the vertigo. “You can see auras?” I asked, then rolled my eyes. Bis could see every ley line in Cincinnati in his mind, like I could see contrails in the daytime sky. When he touched me, I could see them, too. Of course he could see auras.
It was frigid out here, and since I was already connected to a line, all that was left was calling Al. Hands trembling faintly from light-headedness, I pressed my hand firmly and thought mater tintinnabulum to open a connection. The power of the ley line swelled in me, and my lips parted as I
panted. God, this thin aura sucked—it felt like I was sick again—and I wondered how long until I was back to normal.
Shutting my eyes was worse, and I forced them open. It was as if I was in a huge space, but unlike before, when it seemed there were hundreds of whispering voices, there were only a few. Al, I thought again, making my goal specific, and I felt a part of me wing off in an unknown direction, a faint vibration seeming to echo through my mind.
I was contacting the demon, which was different from summoning. If I summoned Al into a circle, he’d be subject to my whims and a prisoner until the sun rose or he was able to make his escape through trickery or a lack of interaction with his summoner. He’d also be ticked, seeing as he would be taking on the payment for crossing the lines. No, I was calling him, which was cheaper, smut wise. He could ignore me, though he never refused a chance to flap his lip and show off. He could also use the connection to make the jump to our reality, which was why I was doing it out here. Us having an understanding or no, Algaliarept was a demon, and he would happily hurt Ivy or Jenks for the satisfaction of seeing me angry and impotent.
As expected, the demon picked up immediately, and the unusual vertigo from my thin aura vanished as my expanded experience narrowed to a single, tunnel-vision-like expression.
Itchy witch? his sharp thought echoed in mine. It was surprised and confused, and it was as if I could almost hear the elegant and precise British TV accent he used. I had no idea why. It’s early, he thought, giving me the impression he was scrambling to organize his thoughts. It is early, isn’t it? There was a hesitation, then, It’s bloody hell four in the morning! If this is about exchanging my summoning name for that old mark of Newt’s, the answer is no. I like you owing me two marks, and I’m enjoying not being yanked across the lines to answer stupid questions from stupid people. You included.
Worry that he might never make good on our agreement flitted through me, but he needed his name to make a living and would eventually want it back. He was in debt up to his eyebrows, and had the further indignity of not having a familiar to stir his spells and curses. Even better, he now lived in a dump of a two-hollow hellhole instead of the ten-room mansion deep underground that he kept bitching about. Everything but his kitchen and front room had been sold to bribe the demon muck-ety-mucks to let him out on parole.
Despite his numerous and loud complaints, he wasn’t too unhappy, because I was the only witch alive whose kids would technically be demons…and I belonged to him. Sort of. I was his student, not his familiar, and he had me only one night a week. Just my luck it was Saturday. Not that I was dating or anything, but a girl liked to keep her weekends free just in case.
That I still had his summoning name meant he couldn’t pursue his freelance job of luring stupid people into demon servitude and then selling them to the highest bidder. That I might get summoned out under his name didn’t bother me as much as I’d thought it would. I’d scare the crap out of them so good that they wouldn’t dare think to summon Al again, and they’d be safe. Soon as Al figured that out, he’d switch back. I hoped.
Curiosity got the better of him when I remained silent, and he finally added, What do you want? I’m not letting you go early tomorrow for starting early today.
My eyes met Bis’s. The gargoyle looked concerned, shifting his clawed feet and using a wing tip to scratch the middle of his back. “Uh,” I said aloud so the kid could hear at least half of the conversation. “Can I have the night off? I don’t feel very well.”
There was a slight background confusion in him, but Al was alone or I’d be able to pick up his thinking about whoever was with him. You don’t feel well? he thought, then hesitated as I got the impression he was unhappy with the way he looked. There was a surge of minor power through his mind, followed by a flush of satisfaction, and then he added, You want time off because you don’t feel well? No.
I could feel him ready to snap the connection, and I blurted, “But I made you cookies.” I moaned, knowing if I played ignorant, he might give in. He knew I wasn’t ignorant, but he liked it when I pretended, as if I could manipulate him. Which I could, so who was smarter after all?
The tingles of thought coming from him touched on crushed green velvet coattails and lace, and I guessed he was primping. And what the hell do I care about that? he thought, but there had been a flash of hidden interest, and I smiled at Bis’s worried expression.
I exhaled, not caring that Al could read my relief, because he hadn’t hung up on me. “Look, I was attacked by a banshee yesterday and she sucked most of my aura off. I don’t feel good, and tapping a line makes me dizzy, so I don’t think I can be of any use anyway.”
I can think of a lot of things to do, he thought. And none of them involve standing up.
“Very funny. I’m serious,” I said, wondering what I had interrupted. His thoughts were focused on…tidying up? Good grief, is he tidying up for me? “I would have gotten a work excuse, but I had to break out of the hospital just to get here to talk to you.”
I felt a surge of annoyance, and then, quite unexpectedly, it vanished. My gaze slid to Bis. Crap, was Al coming over? “Bis, take off!” I said in alarm, then gasped as a wave of vertigo slammed into me like a cresting wave.
“Ms. Morgan!” Bis shouted.
I pushed the mirror off my lap as I struggled not to spew. Pain followed the nausea. My skin felt like it was on fire, the pulsating energy hitting me hard without my aura to even out the surges. My legs wouldn’t work, and when I tried to stand, I fell over. I hit the snow-covered pavement on my side, managing to get my arms out so I didn’t crack my nose open.
“Ms. Morgan?” Bis tried again, and I clenched in agony when he touched me and I felt like I was going to explode. Damn it, I’d been okay until Al tapped into me to make his crossing cheaper. The cement slab under me was hard, and my cheek burned against the snow.
I smelled burnt amber, and suddenly there was a pair of shiny, buckled shoes before my pain-clenched eyes. “Run, Bis,” I panted, then sucked in air when the pain cut off with a blessed suddenness. The power of the line was gone, and it was just me lying in the snow.
“What, by my blood dame’s shadow, am I doing in the snow?” came Al’s refined British accent. “Morgan, get up. You look like a scullery girl down there.”
“Ow,” I said as his white-gloved hand grabbed my shoulder and hauled me up. I stumbled, my feet not quite finding the ground for the first second or two.
“Let go of Ms. Morgan,” came a deep, gravelly voice from behind me, and still in Al’s grip, I worked to look around me.
“Bis?” I stammered, and Al dropped me. Wobbling, I found my balance with a hand on Al’s chest, shocked. Bis had released his body’s warmth to melt a patch of snow, taking the water into him to increase his size. He was as tall as me now, a grainy black, and his wings spread to make himself look bigger. Water-filled muscles bunched and flexed, from his craggy feet to his gnarly hands. He was probably too heavy to fly, and when Al dropped back a step, the gargoyle hissed to show a long, forked tongue. Damn, there was steam coming off him.
I felt Al touch the small line running through the graveyard, and I jumped. “Al, no!” I shouted, feeling helpless as I stood between a red-eyed demon and a red-eyed, horned gargoyle, my hands outstretched to them both. When did Bis get horns?
“He’s just a kid!” I shouted at Al. “Al, don’t hurt him! He’s just a kid!”
Al hesitated, and I flicked a look behind me at Bis, surprised by the change. Bridge trolls were able to change their size with water, too. “Bis, it’s okay. He won’t hurt me. Ivy wouldn’t let me come out here alone if it wasn’t okay. Just…relax.”
The tension lessened as Bis stopped hissing. He slowly lost his crouch, shrinking only slightly as he closed his wings. Al’s hands stopped glowing, and there was a curious sensation in me as the demon pushed a wad of force back into the line.
Al sniffed loudly, tugging his coat about him and adjusting his lace. “When did y
ou get your gargoyle?” he said sarcastically. “You’ve been holding out on me, itchy witch. Bring him with you tonight, and he can have mortar cakes and tea with mine. Poor little Treble hasn’t had anyone to play with in ages.”
“You have a gargoyle?” I said as Bis shifted awkwardly, unused to this much mass.
“How else would I be able to tap a line so far underground?” the demon said with forced pleasantness. “And how clever of you to have one already.” This last was said sourly, and I wondered what other nasty surprises he hadn’t told me about.
“Bis isn’t my familiar,” I said, working to stay upright as my fatigue hit me anew when the adrenaline crashed. “Al, I really need the night off.”
At that, the demon seemed to bring his wandering attention back from the cold night. “Stand up,” he said, jerking me upright. “Get the snow off you,” he added, smacking my coat to make the crusty stuff fall away. “What the devil is wrong with you, calling me out in the snow when you have that adorable little kitchen?”
“I don’t trust you with my friends,” I said. “Can we skip this week?”
His gloved hand lashed out and gripped my chin before I could think to move. I stifled a gasp, and Bis rumbled. “Your aura is nearly thin enough to tear…,” the demon said softly, turning my face back and forth as his goat-slitted eyes peered three inches outside my outline. “It is far too thin to work the lines, much less travel on them,” he said in disgust, and dropped my chin. “No wonder you were belly down on the pavement. Hurt, huh?”
I backed up, rubbing where it felt as if I could feel him still. “So I have the night off?”
He laughed. “God’s little green apples, no. I’ll just pop on home and bring back a little something to make my itchy witch al-l-l-l-l better.”
That didn’t sound good. I had looked in my books already, finding that there was no white charm to help replace a person’s aura. I didn’t know any black ones either. If there were any, vampires would know about them, seeing as that’s what the undead ones siphoned off their victims along with the blood.
