White Witch, Black Curse

by Kim Harrison

  “Marshal,” I gushed, totally miserable. “I’m sorry. I’m not good at this.”

  Marshal shuddered, opening one eye to focus on me. He had gone utterly pliant under me, frighteningly so. “Who says?” he whispered, sitting up to pull me farther onto his lap.

  I was ready to throw myself out the window. I could feel the energy from him in my chi, scintillating and tasting of masculinity in my thoughts. It wanted to go back to him, but I was afraid. I’d closed myself to him, and it was going to be harder, now.

  “Rachel,” Marshal soothed, his hand running up and down my arm. “Relax. You’ve been carrying around chunks of ever-after with the intent of hurting people if they attack you, and because of that, you’ve built one hell of a wall.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Just shut up,” he said, giving me little kisses that distracted and sent tingles of desire building in me. “It’s okay.”

  “Marshal—” This is so weird, kissing him, and I walled the thought off.

  “Use your lips for something other than talking, will you? If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. No big deal.”

  “Mmmmph,” I mumbled, surprised when he wrapped his arms around me and hiked me farther onto him, silencing my protests with his mouth. Giving up, I kissed him, feeling myself relax and tense up all at the same time.

  My breath came faster as Marshal’s hands started exploring, running across my jeans to drag me up where I could feel him pressing into me. I took his mouth with my own, finding a kiss, slowly tasting him as his redwood scent filled me. His tongue slipped into my mouth, and I pushed back. It was my undoing.

  I gasped, hands flying to his shoulders to shove away when he pulled on my chi. With an exquisite ping of adrenaline, I fought him, even as he gripped me harder, forcing me to stay. The shock was heady, and with a sound of desperation, I broke our kiss. Panting, I stared at him, breathless in the chill winter afternoon. Damn, that had felt good.

  “Sorry, sorry,” I panted, sexual excitement pounding in me.

  “For what?” Marshal asked, heat in his gaze.

  “I pulled away,” I said, and he smiled.

  “Take it back,” he whispered, teasing me. His fingers touched everything, running smoothly over me to make me shiver in the dusky light coming through the slats. Here, there, never long anywhere, to drive me almost mad. Oh God, I’ll make him beg for it.

  Shivering from anticipation and desire, I leaned in. Marshal’s scent was everywhere. I breathed him in, shutting off my thoughts. His hands were on my waist, and as I grew comfortable with our new closeness, I exhaled in a soft sound of pleasure as he found my breasts, nuzzling one of them through my shirt, then the other, bringing me stiff with anticipation until I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted to wait, to make him ask for it with his body if not his words, but instead I exhaled, pulling from him every last erg of power in his chi.

  Marshal groaned as the exquisite fulfillment of it rolled into me, mixed with the wicked feeling of domination and possession. He opened his eyes; the hot need showing in them set my heart pounding. I had taken from him, and now he was going to take from me.

  He didn’t wait. One hand behind my neck, he drew me down to kiss him. I knew it was coming, but I couldn’t help my whispered cry as he touched my chi with his awareness and pulled everything from me, running it through my body and into his to leave glittering trails of loss and heat to spiral through me like smoke from an extinguished candle.

  I didn’t fight him. I was able to share this, and with our kiss holding, I steadied myself to wrestle it back. My knees pressed into his thighs, demanding it, taking it, making it mine.

  Power pulled fast through him with the crack of a whip, and he gasped, his arms jumping up to imprison me. I breathed him in, feeling him inside me everywhere. I could taste him in my mind, in my soul. It was glorious. I could hardly stand it.

  “Take it,” I whispered, wanting to feel him do the same, but he grunted no. My moan turned into a pant of want, and spurred on, he gripped me more intensely until he touched my chi again, taking all of it in a wash of scintillation to leave only a trail of sparkles in my mind and an aching emptiness.

  It was my turn to steal it back, but he took control of everything. In a mind-numbing pulse of force, he pushed the energy into me. I sucked in my air in shocked surprise, clutching him. “Oh God, don’t stop,” I gasped. It was as if I could feel him inside me, outside me, all around me. And then he drew it back again, leaving me almost weeping for it. “Marshal,” I panted. “Marshal, please.”

  “Not yet,” he groaned.

  I gripped his shoulders, wanting everything. Wanting it all. Wanting it now.

  “Now,” I demanded, out of my mind with the self-enforced deprivation. He had my line energy, he had my fulfillment. His mouth found mine, and I begged. Not with my words, but with my body. I writhed for it, I pressed into him for it, I did everything but take it, finding the exquisite ache of unfulfilled need chiming through me, driving me to a fevered pitch.

  And then he groaned, unable to deny it anymore. I moaned in release as the energy from his chi filled mine as we both climaxed. A rush of endorphins cascaded through us, bringing me to a back-arched, gasping halt. Marshal’s grip on me shook, and I trembled as wave after wave smothered me, pulling me into a hyperalert state where nothing was real.

  I heard a panting moan, then realized, embarrassed, that it was me. Slumping into him, I felt my senses return. Marshal was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling under me as his hand lay on my back, still at last. I exhaled, feeling the flow of energy between us sift back and forth without hindrance, leaving little tingles that faded to nothing as the forces balanced perfectly.

  I lay against him with my head on his shoulder, listening to his heartbeat and deciding there were probably not too many more enjoyable ways to mess up your life than this. And fully clothed, too. Feeling the icy cold of the afternoon against me, I stirred. “You okay?” I asked, smiling as I felt him nod.

  “How about you?” he asked, his voice more of a rumble than a real sound.

  I listened for a moment, hearing nothing. No pixy wings, no roommate stomping around downstairs. “Never better,” I said, feeling more at peace than I had in a long time. Marshal’s chest began to bounce, and I pushed myself up when I realized he was laughing. “What?” I said, feeling like I was the butt of the joke.

  “Marshal, I don’t know if I remember how,” he said in a falsetto. “It’s been so long.”

  Relieved, I sat up and mock-punched his shoulder. “Shut up,” I said, not minding that he was laughing at me. “I didn’t.”

  Marshal eased me off his lap, and I snuggled up to him, both of us slouched with our heads on the back of the couch and our feet intertwined on the floor.

  “You sure your aura is okay?” Marshal asked, almost too soft to hear. He turned to look in my eyes, and I smiled.

  “Yeah. That was…Yeah.” Marshal’s arms wrapped around me as I made a move to get up, and giggling, I fell back into him.

  “Good,” he whispered in my ear, holding me all the closer.

  I wasn’t going to worry about what happened next. It truly wasn’t worth it.

  Nineteen

  The sun was arching toward the horizon, painting the buildings at Cincinnati’s waterfront in red and gold as I headed for Carew Tower for a quick bite and that interview with Edden. If it had been a normal Sunday, I’d be just about ready to head home from the ever-after and Al’s and my weekly push-and-shove contest, and though I was glad to have gotten out of it, I was worried about Pierce. Pierce, Al, Ivy, Skimmer, Kisten’s killer, and Mia. They all swirled in the back of my head, problems demanding to be solved. Most days, the overload would have had me tense and snappish, but right now? Smiling, I gazed at the sun reflecting on the buildings and fiddled with the radio as I followed the guy ahead of me over the bridge. All in due course, I thought, wondering if my calm was from Marshal, or Marshal’s massage therapist.
>
  Edden’s meeting was in about half an hour, then the I.S. lockup was at six, followed by an early dinner with Robbie and my mom at ten—I’d heard Robbie complaining in the background when I’d called to say I’d have to miss lunch, and he could just suck dishwater. Eventually Mia would surface, and then I’d nail her ass, but until then, I could enjoy a snack at Carew Tower. The massage I’d indulged in earlier had been fantastic, and I felt twinges of guilt all afternoon that I’d been enjoying myself under the excuse that it might help my aura. The feeling of relaxation was still with me, making it easy to tell Marshal that he’d been right, yada, yada, yada…He was going to call later. It felt good, and I wasn’t going to think any more about it than that.

  I was feeling dressy in the silk-lined pants and shiny top I had put on for Ms. Walker. I hadn’t gotten a chance before to wear the long felt coat my mom had given me last winter, and I felt elegant, driving over the bridge into Cincinnati, aiming for Carew Tower and a business meeting at the top of the city. Jenks, too, had dressed up, wearing a black top and pants that flowed, hiding the insulating layers of fabric under it. Matalina was improving at making winter wear he could fly in, and the pixy was perched comfortably on the rearview mirror, fussing with the black fisherman cap she’d concocted out of a scrap of felt from the inside lining of my coat. His blond hair was peeking out rather charmingly, and I wondered why he didn’t wear a hat all the time.

  “Rache,” he said, looking suddenly nervous.

  “What?” I fiddled again with the radio as we came off the bridge, cutting in front of a semi to get onto the exit ramp at a fast forty-five miles an hour. There was a guy on my tail in a black Firebird, and he followed, riding my bumper. Really safe in the snow, bud-dy.

  “Rache,” he repeated, wings fanning.

  “I see him.” We were both headed for the exit ramp, and giving me the one-fingered salute, the guy accelerated, trying to get ahead of me before the lane disappeared.

  “Rachel, just let him in.”

  But he ticked me off, so I maintained my speed. The semi behind us blew his horn as the off-ramp approached. The guy wasn’t going to make it, and the weenie shoved me into the curb.

  Gravel and rock salt hit the undercarriage of my car. The wall slid close, and I caught my breath, hands clenching as the lane narrowed to one. I thunked the brakes, jerking the wheel at the last moment to slip in behind him. The guy roared ahead and ran the yellow light at the end of the exit ramp. Face flaming, I waved to the irate semi driver behind me who had seen the whole thing from a sort-of-safe distance. Jenks was shedding a sickly yellow dust as he stood on the rearview mirror and held the stem as if it were his life. I slowed to a halt at the red light and glared at the Firebird, a block ahead of me, stopped at the next light. Ass.

  “You okay, Rache?” Jenks asked, and I turned down the heater.

  “Fine. Why?”

  “’Cause you don’t usually careen into other cars unless you’re going more than sixty,” he said, dropping to land on my arm and walk up it to sniff me. “You on some human medicine? Did that massage therapist slip you an aspirin or something?”

  Not as upset as I thought I’d be, I glanced at him and then back to the street. “No.” Marshal was right. I should get a massage more often. It was really relaxing.

  Jenks made a face and sat down in the crook of my elbow, wings fanning to keep his balance. The massage had been wonderful, and I hadn’t realized how tense I’d been until the stress was gone. God, I felt good.

  “Green light, Rache.”

  I pushed the accelerator, noticing that the Firebird was still at the red light. A smile curved over my face. I checked my speed, the sign, and the street. I was legal.

  “It’s red,” Jenks said as I barreled down the street to the next light.

  “I see it.” Glancing behind me, I shifted lanes so Mr. Ass was parked in the lane next to me. No one was in front of me, and I maintained my speed.

  “It’s red!” Jenks exclaimed as I didn’t slow down.

  My fingers gripped the wheel casually, and I watched the crossing light start to blink. “It’ll be green when I get there.”

  “Rachel!” Jenks shouted, and as smooth as white icing, I blew past Mr. Firebird two seconds after the light changed, going a nice forty miles per hour. I made the next light while he raced his engine and tried to catch up. Making a sedate left on an early yellow, I turned to go downtown. Mr. Firebird had to stop, and I couldn’t help my feeling of satisfaction. Dumb ass.

  “Holy crap, Rachel,” Jenks muttered. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “Nothing,” I said as I turned up the radio. I felt really good. Everything was A-OK.

  “Maybe Ivy could pick us up at the restaurant,” Jenks muttered, and I took my eyes from the road, mystified.

  “Why?”

  Jenks looked at me like I was crazy. “Never mind.”

  I zipped around a bus, changing lanes halfway down the block. “Hey, how does my aura look?” I asked, slowing as I tapped the nearby university line. It flowed in with an uncomfortable pinch, but at least I wasn’t dizzy from the ebb and flow of energy. There was a car ahead of me, and I checked both ways before I shifted lanes and took a yellow light. Plenty of time.

  “Stop playing with the line and drive!” Jenks exclaimed. “Your aura’s a lot more even than before, and thicker, but only because it’s been compacted down to a bare inch off your skin.”

  “Huh. It’s good, though?”

  He nodded, his tiny features looking irate. “Good enough if no one takes any more. You just missed the turn for the parking garage.”

  “Did I?” I mused, seeing a black Firebird roaring up a block behind me. “Look, there’s a space right out front,” I said, eyeing an open spot on the other side of the street.

  “Yeah, but by the time you circle around, it will be gone.”

  I looked behind me, then smiled. “If I circle around,” I said, then cut a sharp U-bangy. The road was slick, and the car spun just as I thought it would, turning to face the opposite direction as it drifted into the spot with a soft jiggle when the wheels met the curb. Perfect.

  “Good God, Rachel!” Jenks shouted. “What the hell is wrong with you? I can’t believe you did that! Who do you think you are? Lucas Black?”

  Grabbing my bag, I turned off the engine and adjusted my scarf. I didn’t know where the confidence for that had come from, but it had felt damn good. “Coming?” I said sweetly.

  He stared at me, then pried his fingers off the rearview mirror. “Sure.”

  Jenks’s wings were cold as he snuggled in between my neck and scarf, and after a last look, I got out. Chill air smelling of wet pavement and exhaust hit the bottom of my lungs as I took a deep breath, scenting the coming night and calling it good. It was freezing out here, and feeling confident in my best coat and boots, I waved at Mr. Firebird before I headed for Carew Tower.

  My boots squishing in the melting slush, I squinted at the light as I adjusted my sunglasses. The bright storefront of an independent charm shop caught my eye, and I wondered how early we were. “Jenks?” I questioned as my steps slowed. “What time is it?”

  “Three thirty,” he said, muffled from the yarn he was hiding in. “You’re early.”

  Jenks was better than a watch, and my thoughts shifted to the coming meeting with the banshee. Marshal and I hadn’t found anything in my books to supplement my aura after we got ourselves together and actually looked at them. But maybe the owner of a spell shop had something to increase “digestive and sleep rhythms.” There was that failed locator amulet I wanted to check on, too. Maybe I’d just used the wrong kind of carbonic wax.

  “You want to stop at a spell shop?” I asked Jenks. “See if they have any fern seed?”

  “Oh, hell yes!” Jenks said so enthusiastically that I felt a twinge of guilt. He was so damned independent that it probably never occurred to him to ask us to take him shopping. “If they don’t have fern seed, I’ll get some tansy,
” he added as his wings brushed my neck. “Matalina likes tansy tea. It keeps her wings moving well.”

  I angled to the small front door, the memory of his ailing wife rising in me. The man was hurting, and there was nothing I could do about it. Not even hold his hand. Taking him to a charm shop was the best I could do? It wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot. “Almost there,” I said, and when he swore at me for my concern, I pulled open the single glass door and entered.

  Immediately I relaxed at the tinkling of the bell and the scent of cinnamon coffee. The soft buzz of the charm-detection spell was a mild alarm reacting to my bad-mojo amulet. I took my hat off, and Jenks flew from my scarf to land on a nearby rack and stretch his wings.

  “It’s nice in here,” he said, and I smiled as he ruined his tough-guy image by standing on top of dried rose petals and using the word “nice.”

  I undid my scarf and took off my shades, scanning the shelves. I liked earth-charm shops, and this was one of the better ones, right downtown, in the middle of Cincy. I’d been here a few times and had found the clerk to be helpful and the selection more than adequate, with a few surprises and the odd pricey item I didn’t have in my garden. I’d rather buy local than use mail order. If I was lucky, they might have that red-and-white stone crucible. Worry pinched my brow at the thought of Pierce with Al, but it wasn’t as if I could do the spell if he was trapped in the ever-after.

  Or could I? I thought suddenly, my fingers, running over a stand of planting seeds, going still. I’d be willing to bet Al hadn’t given Pierce a body yet, in effect preventing him from tapping a line and becoming more dangerous than he already was. If he was still a ghost, maybe the charm could pull him back from the ever-after the same way it did from the hereafter. Ever-after, hereafter. What’s the difference? And if I did that—Al would come to me.