by Kim Harrison
The clatter of the gravel sliding beneath her shoes sparked through him like lightning, and he grit his teeth to hide his anticipation. One tiny stone, knocked out of place, would do it. “I would not do that,” she protested as she faced him, a gray shadow against the dark vegetation.
Refusing to meet her gaze because he knew it would hurt her, he looked at the moon, seeing a few lone butterflies daring the dark to find a mate. Crickets chirped as the music from the castle dissolved into polite applause. “Marry him if you will,” he said stoically. “I’ll forever come if you call, but I’ll be but a broken shadow. You can command my body, but you cannot command my heart.” He looked at her now, finding she was clutching a golden card to her chest, hiding it. “Do you love him?” he asked bluntly, already knowing the answer in her frantic expression.
She said nothing as torchlight shined upon her tears.
“Does he make your heart beat fast?” Algaliarept demanded, a shudder running through him when her eyes closed in pain. “Can he make you laugh? Has he ever brought new thoughts to you, as I have? I’ve never touched you, but I’ve seen you tremble in desire . . . for me.”
He nudged at the circle with a booted toe, jerking back at the zing of power. Though her face wore her anguish, her circle still held strong, even when her chest heaved, and her grip on her dress dropped, leaving creases in the otherwise perfect fall of fabric.
“Don’t hurt me like this, Algaliarept,” she whispered. “I only wanted to say good-bye.”
“It’s you who hurt me,” he stated, forcefully where before he had always been demure. “I’m forever young, and now you’ll make me watch you grow old, watch your beauty fade and your skills tarnish as you shackle yourself to a loveless marriage and a cold bed.”
“It is the way of things,” she breathed, but the fear in the back of her eyes strengthened as she touched her own face.
Her fondness for the mirror had always been her downfall, and he felt a surge of renewed excitement. “I will mourn your beauty when you could have been young forever,” he said, looking for a crack in her resolve. “I would’ve forever been your slave.” Faking depression, he slumped his perfect posture. “Only in the ever-after does time stand still and beauty and love last forever. But, as you say, it’s the way of things.”
“Gally, don’t speak so,” she pleaded, and he tensed when she used the nickname she’d chosen for him. But his lips parted in shock when she reached for him only to drop her hand mere inches from the barrier between them. His breath came in with a shudder, and his eyes widened. Had he been cracking the nut the wrong way? He had been trying to rattle her, make her lose her resolve so he could find a crack in her circle and break it, even knowing that her will would likely remain absolute even when her world was crashing down about her. She would not let her circle weaken, but what if she would take it down voluntarily? Ceri was of royal blood, a Dulciate. Generations of crown-sanctified temptation had created women who would not make a mistake of power. But she might make a mistake of the heart.
And the instant he realized why he had failed these seven years, her gaze went past him to the palace, lit up and replete with joy. Her eyes closed, and panic hit him as he saw everything fall apart. Shit, she was going to walk.
“Ceri, I would love you forever,” he blurted, not faking his distress. Not now. Not now when he’d found her weakness!
“Gally, no,” she sobbed as the tears fell and tiny blue butterflies rose about her.
“Don’t call me again!” he demanded, the words coming from him without thought or plan. “Go to your cold bed. Die old and ugly! I would make you wise beyond all on earth, keep you beautiful, teach you things that the scholars and learned men have not even dreamed of. I will survive alone, untouched, my heart becoming cold where you showed me love. Better that I had never met you.” He looked at her as a sob broke from her. “I was happy as I was.”
“Forgive me,” she choked out, hunched in heartache. “You were never just my demon.”
“It’s done,” he said, making a hitch in his voice. “It’s not as if I ever thought you would trust me, but to show me heaven only to give it to another man? I can’t bear it.”
“Gally—”
He raised a hand and her voice broke in a sob. “That’s three times you’ve said my name,” he said, crushing the now red rose beneath his foot. “Let me go, or trust me. Take down the wall so I may at least have the memory of your touch to console me as I weep in hell for having lost you, or simply walk away. I care not. I’m already broken.”
Expression held at an anguished pain, he turned his back on her again, shifting his shoulders as if trying to find a new way to stand. Behind him, he heard a single sob, and then nothing as she held her breath. There was no scuffing of slippers as she ran away and no lessening of the circle imprisoning him, so he knew she was still there. His pulse quickened, and he forced his breathing to be shallow. He was romancing the most clever, most resolute bitch he’d ever taught a curse to, and he loved her. Or rather, he loved not knowing what she would do next, the complexity of her thoughts that he had yet to figure out—an irresistible jewel in a world where he had everything.
“Do you love him?” he asked, adding the last brushstrokes to his masterpiece.
“No,” she whispered.
His hands quivered as adrenaline spiked through him, but he held perfectly still. He would’ve given a lot to know which card she held crushed in her grip. “Do you love me?” he asked, shocked to realize he’d never used those particular words to seduce a familiar before.
The silence was long, but from behind him came a soft, “Yes. God help me.”
Algaliarept closed his eyes. His breath shook in him, hid excitement racing through him like a living ley line, burning. Would she drop her circle? He didn’t know. And when a light touch landed on his hand, he jumped, looking down to find a blue butterfly slowly fanning its wings against him.
A butterfly? he thought in shock, and then he realized. She had broken the summoning circle, and he’d never even felt it go down. Oh God, he thought, a surge of what was almost ecstasy making his knees nearly buckle as he turned, finding her standing before him, nervous and hopeful all at the same time. She had let him in. Never had he taken anyone like this. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before, debilitating.
“Ceri,” he breathed, seeing her without the shimmer of her power between them. Her eyes were beautiful, her skin holding a olive tint he’d never noticed before. And her face . . . She was crying, and he reached out, not believing when he ran a white-gloved hand under her eye to make her smile at him uncertainly. It was a smile of hope and fear.
She should be afraid.
“Gally?” she said hesitantly.
“Do you really love me?” he asked her as the butterflies swarmed, drawn by the scent of burnt amber, and she nodded, gazing at him as tears slipped down and she hesitantly folded herself into his arms.
“Then you are one stupid bitch.”
Gasping, she flung her head up. Pushing from him, she tried to escape, but it was too late. Silently laughing, Algaliarept wrapped his arm around her neck, grabbing her hair with his free hand and pulling her across the garden to the nearest ley line. “Let me go!” she screamed, and gathering herself, she shouted, “celero inanio!” sobbing as she flung the entire force of the nearest ley line at him.
With a quick thought, Algaliarept deflected the burning curse, chuckling as flickers of light blossomed to show where the blue butterflies burned before they hit the dew-wet grass. In his grasp, Ceri hesitated her struggles, aghast that he had turned her magic into killing something she loved. “Do that again, and I’ll burn anything that comes round that corner,” he encouraged, winding his fist in her hair until she began hitting him with her tiny fists.
“You lied! You lied to me!” she raged.
“I did nothing of the kind,” he said, holding her close and dragging her out of the circle so that the people now running toward her scre
ams wouldn’t be able to trap him easily. “I’m going to keep you forever young and teach you everything I know, just as I promised.” She was panting, her struggle hesitating as she waited for the help that wouldn’t be able to free her. Closing his eyes, he smelled her hair. “And I’m going to love you,” he whispered into her ear as she began to pray to an uncaring god he’d teach her not to believe in. “I’m going to love you within an inch of your life, then love you some more.”
Anticipation high, he reached for her inner thigh. The instant his fingers touched her, she screamed, fighting to be free. A fierce smile came over him and his blood pounded in his loins. This was going to be everything he wanted. A distraction for as long as he cared to make it last.
“Let me jump you to my bed so we may begin your tutelage,” he said as the bobbing torches came closer.
“No!” she cried out, wiggling as her hair came undone to fall about her face. She looked so much more fetching, her color high and rage making her eyes sparkle.
“Wrong answer,” he said, flooding her with the force of the line.
Her eyes widened, her small lips opening to show perfect teeth. Gasping, she bit her lip, trying not to scream. Almost she passed out, and he let up the instant she started to go limp. That she wouldn’t scream made him smile. She’d scream before it was over, and finding her breaking point would be . . . exquisite.
“I’m giving you everything you want,” he breathed in her ear when she could think again, hanging in his grasp as she panted. “Everything and more, Ceri. Let me take you.” He could knock her out and take her by force, but if she gave in entirely to him . . . it would be beyond anything he’d ever accomplished.
The bobbing torches turned the corner, little dogs yapping in overdressed women’s arms.
“Stop! For the love of God, stop!” she shouted, and Algaliarept felt a deep surge of satisfaction. Destroying her will would fulfill his every need.
A young man in white and gold pushed past the women, stumbling to a stop, shock in his perfect face. A wailing outcry rose from the nobles behind him, and several turned and ran.
Ceri’s bridegroom was perfect, Algaliarept decided bitterly as he held her tighter. The man before him now complimented her in every way, slim, fair—everything Algaliarept was not. And then Algaliarept smiled—she had shunned elven perfection to be with him.
The man’s lips parted in horror as Algaliarept’s fingers entwined deeper in her hair, jerking her head up to expose the long length of her neck to him. And still Ceri stared at her bridegroom, color in her cheeks as her lungs heaved. Turning, the prince called for magicians.
At the sight of his back, Ceri’s hand opened and the card she held fell to the earth. Something in Algaliarept sparked when the devil card fell to the manicured grass. The bent gold glinted in the torch light, but it was easy to see the beautiful maiden being dragged off by an ugly, red-skinned demon. “Take me,” she whispered as three magicians stumbled into the clearing, frightened but determined. “I don’t want to grow old. You are my demon.”
With her acquiescence, it was done. Seven years of labor culminated in one satisfied laugh that made the young man in white pale. But he didn’t move to save her.
“You don’t deserve her,” Algaliarept said, and then, as the magicians moved, he shifted his thoughts to leave. The yapping dogs, the wailing women, everything vanished into the clean blackness of thought. And as they traveled the lines back to the drop of time that had been flung from space itself, Algaliarept touched her soul, ran his fingers through her aura and felt her squirm. She had wanted it. Even with her denials and screams, she wanted it. Wanted him. She was his little blue butterfly, seeking out carrion.
Don’t cry, Ceri, he thought, knowing she heard him when her mind seemed to quiver.
He was going to keep this one for himself. Turn the Dulciate elf into a showcase of his talents. No one had ever come willingly, before. He was an artist, and destroying her as he made her into what he wanted, would be his finest masterpiece.
Until I find someone with a little more skill, that is, he thought, knowing that wasn’t likely to happen for, oh, probably another thousand years.
Two Ghosts for Sister Rachel
Two Ghosts for Sister Rachel first appeared in the anthology Holidays Are Hell. Family was becoming more important to Rachel at about this time in the series, and dropping back to when she was still living at home and working for her hard-won independence gave me a chance to show where Rachel developed not only her stamina but also her refusal to give up hope in the face of low odds. I thought it was important for the reader to see the Rachel beyond the tough, capable, and get-back-up kind of girl I usually focused on, the one who came from the fragile, weak, and death-row childhood. It makes her choices easier to understand.
ONE
I stuck the end of the pencil between my teeth, brushing the eraser specks off the paper as I considered how best to answer the employment application. WHAT SKILLS CAN YOU BRING TO INDERLAND SECURITY THAT ARE CLEARLY UNIQUE TO YOU?
Sparkling wit? I thought, twining my foot around the kitchen chair and feeling stupid. A smile? The desire to smear the pavement with bad guys?
Sighing, I tucked my hair behind my ear and slumped. My eyes shifted to the clock above the sink as it ticked minutes into hours. I wasn’t going to waste my life. Eighteen was too young to be accepted into the I.S. intern program without a parent’s signature, but if I put my application in now, it would sit at the top of the stack until I was old enough, according to the guidance counselor. Like the recruiter had said, there was nothing wrong with going into the I.S. right out of college if you knew that’s what you wanted to do. The fast track.
The faint sound of the front door opening brought my heart to my throat. I glanced at the sunset-gloomed window. Jamming the application under the stacked napkins, I shouted, “Hi, Mom! I thought you weren’t going to be back until eight!”
Damn it, how was I supposed to finish this thing if she kept coming back?
But my alarm shifted to elation when a high falsetto voice responded, “It’s eight in Buenos Aires, dear. Be a dove and find my rubbers for me? It’s snowing.”
“Robbie?” I stood so fast the chair nearly fell over. Heart pounding, I darted out of the kitchen and into the green hallway. There at the end, in a windbreaker and shaking snow from himself, was my brother Robbie. His narrow height came close to brushing the top of the door, and his shock of red hair caught the glow from the porch light. Slush-wet Dockers showed from under his jeans, totally inappropriate for the weather. On the porch behind him, a cabbie set down two suitcases.
“Hey!” I exclaimed, bringing his head up to show his green eyes glinting mischievously. “You were supposed to be on the vamp flight. Why didn’t you call? I would’ve come to get you.”
Robbie shoved a wad of money at the driver. Door still gaping behind him, he opened his arms, and I landed against him, my face hitting his upper chest instead of his middle like it had when we had said goodbye. His arms went around me, and I breathed in the scent of old Brimstone from the dives he worked in. The tears pricked, and I held my breath so I wouldn’t cry. It had been over four and a half years. Inconsiderate snot had been at the West Coast all this time, leaving me to cope with Mom. But he’d come home this year for the solstice, and I sniffed back everything and smiled up at him.
“Hey, Firefly,” he said, using our dad’s pet name for me and grinning as he measured where my hair had grown to. “You got tall. And wow, hair down to your waist? What are you doing, going for the world’s record?”
He looked content and happy, and I dropped back a step, suddenly uncomfortable. “Yeah, well, it’s been almost five years,” I accused. Behind him, the cab drove away, headlamps dim from the snow and moving slowly.
Robbie sighed. “Don’t start,” he begged. “I get enough of that from Mom. You going to let me in?” He glanced behind him at the snow. “It is cold out here.”
“Wimp,” I said,
then grabbed one of the suitcases. “Ever hear about that magical thing called a coat?”
He snorted his opinion, hefting the last of the luggage and following me in. The door shut, and I headed down the second, longer hallway to his room, eager to get him inside and part of our small family again. “I’m glad you came,” I said, feeling my pulse race from the suitcase’s weight. I hadn’t been in the hospital in years, but fatigue still came fast. “Mom’s going to skin you when she gets back.”
“Yeah, well I wanted to talk to you alone first.”
Flipping the light switch with an elbow, I lugged his suitcase into his old room, glad I’d vacuumed already. Blowing out my exhaustion, I turned with my arms crossed over my chest to hide my heavy breathing. “About what?”
Robbie wasn’t listening. He had taken off his jacket to show a sharp-looking pinstripe shirt with a tie. Smiling, he spun in a slow circle. “It looks exactly the same.”
I shrugged. “You know Mom.”
His eyes landed on mine. “How is she?”
I looked at the floor. “Same. You want some coffee?”
With an easy motion, he swung the suitcase I had dragged in up onto the bed. “Don’t tell me you drink coffee.”
Half my mouth curved up into a smile. “Sweat of the gods,” I quipped, coming close when he unzipped a front pocket and pulled out a clearly expensive bag of coffee. If the bland, environmentally conscious packaging hadn’t told me what was in it, the heavenly scent of ground beans would have. “How did you get that through customs intact?” I said, and he smiled.
