Pale Demon th-9

by Kim Harrison

  “Thank you,” Vivian said sarcastically, not a hint of overdone dramatic flair in her speech. “This is going to be a long night, and I want it done before sunrise so you princess wannabes can hit the fairy ball on the beach, so I’m going to throw out all the dramatic crap you’re all used to from Oliver and cut to the chase.”

  The casual, matter-of-fact manner in which she was conducting herself had caused a stir, but I was relieved. Vivian was a bit of fire and spit, and I didn’t think I could stomach seeing her standing before us in robes and speaking with the airy distance of pomp and circumstance.

  “This doesn’t mean I will be dispensing with the rules,” she said, accentuating the word as if talking to Oliver alone. “And since we can’t do anything without a full quorum, we’re going to take five minutes and swear in a new coven member.”

  Beside me, Pierce trembled. His hands formed fists, and then he opened them, setting them on his pants with his fingers spread wide. There was an excited reaction from the crowd, and my attention went to the five hopefuls sitting in the same row we were but on the other side of the theater.

  “Initiates?” Vivian said, her mood shifting to one of ceremony.

  “Excuse me,” Pierce said as he stood, causing a stir among the people who noticed him.

  Trent looked up at him in surprise. “Where is he going?”

  I didn’t answer, instead leaning back when Ivy touched my shoulder and whispered, “This should be interesting.”

  Vivian hadn’t noticed him crossing to the second set of stairs, focused on the other five hopefuls coming up the left side. “After much deliberation…,” she began, then hesitated as the crowd reacted to Pierce taking the stage and walking steadily forward. Vivian turned to him, and I swear her eyes held amused anticipation.

  Pierce halted, just shy of center stage. “May I approach, Madam Coven Member?” he asked, voice booming so he could be heard without an amulet.

  Oliver reached to touch his own amulet. “No,” he said flatly, and Vivian gave him a withering look.

  “You gave me this job, Oliver,” she said sharply. “Let me do it.” And as Oliver frowned, she turned and dramatically crossed the stage to hand him another amulet. “The coven recognizes Gordian Pierce.”

  Pierce fingered the metal ring, his eyes going everywhere but to me as he took off his coat and went to set it over the podium. Slowly he took over the stage without saying a word. His head came up, and the crowd became still. He wasn’t wearing anything unusual, just brown slacks, a white shirt, and that flamboyant vest, carefully buttoned and holding a pocket watch. The way he carried himself evolved as he stood there, and I stifled a shiver as Trent grunted in surprise. He was different, dangerous. And I had no idea what he was going to do.

  “I’m of a mind to beg your pardon, Madam Coven Member,” he said softly, his words going out perfectly with the help of the amulet. “And with all due respect to those fine witches you have assembled here, sworn in and ready to commit their lives to service, there is no coven opening. I am here.

  I am the sixth. And that’s all the pie there is.”

  The crowd stirred, most of the noise swallowed up by the space. With a sliding sound of wood, Oliver stood. “Get him out of here!” he roared, stirring the people into a buzzing whisper.

  Pierce didn’t recognize him, fixed on Vivian, waiting out the noise.

  “You are a black witch!” Oliver shouted. “Shunned and—”

  Pierce spun, and Oliver’s words choked off. “Bricked into the ground, aye, where I gasped out my last, six feet under, buried alive and breaking my nails to bloody stumps as I tried to claw my way free. And I died despite it. But I’m a coven member nonetheless, and I have returned to claim my position. And 156 years of back pay.”

  Ivy leaned forward and tapped my shoulder. “I take back everything I said about your sleeping with him.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I said dryly, and Trent stifled a guffaw. Jenks, though, clattered his wings for us to shut up so he could hear.

  The other coven members put their heads together, and I waited, watching them. Amanda looked scared, Oliver full of bluster, Wyatt peeved, and Leon like he wanted it to be over.

  It took only a moment, and then Oliver said, “You are a black witch, tried and condemned. You have lost your claim. Security!”

  Dropping back a step, Pierce took a stiff stance. I knew he couldn’t tap a line, but it was dramatic, and the approaching men halted before they even hit the puddle of light.

  “I will be heard!” he shouted, eyes angry. “This meeting, called for Rachel Morgan to apologize for using black magic in her effort to save lives, is a farce. The goal here is to validate or deny the use of black magic for the greater good, not apologize for using it. I opine that until you make a fist of the issue, I have a claim!”

  Vivian waved security back, and Pierce relaxed. From the audience rose a nervous murmur. Oliver, though, seemed too catty for my comfort. He looked to his left, then his right, to get everyone’s opinion and their nods, and sat back down with a magnanimous gesture.

  Crap, it was all or nothing now. Apologizing wasn’t going to do it. I had to justify myself. Thanks, Pierce.

  Vivian’s smile grew wide, as if that was a good thing, and I let out a breath, unaware that I’d been holding it. “The vacant coven membership remains in question then,” she said, glancing back into the wings to someone on the support staff. “All in favor of exploring the validity of legalizing black magic in specific people for the intent of the greater good and using the case of Rachel Morgan as the cornerstone?”

  As one, they all muttered their ayes.

  “Opposed?”

  It was simply a formality, but no one breathed as she waited to the count of five. Clearly pleased, Vivian looked down at me, and my heart stopped. “Rachel, is this okay with you?”

  “S-sure,” I stammered when Trent jabbed his elbow into me.

  “Can we have two more chairs up here?” Vivian asked someone in the wings, and a skinny, tall man in black slacks and shirt emerged with two plain brown folding chairs.

  “Well, get your ass up there,” Jenks said, and I had a moment of panic.

  “Wish me luck,” I whispered as I set my bag on my chair and stood. I was feeling Jenks’s loss already as he stayed, perched on the back of my chair, beside Trent, where his dust sifted over a cooing Lucy, reaching for him with her little hands.

  I felt unreal as I watched my steps, head down and looking at the red-and-silver pattern in the carpet as I made my way to the stage. The stairs had treads on them, but I still held the railing as I went up, my palms starting to sweat. Someone in the crowd hissed as I found the light. It was warm up here, but I shivered. Pierce stood beside the podium where the two new chairs waited. He wasn’t smiling. And I was so friggin’ scared.

  “Come on, Rachel!” Jenks shrilled. “You’re a badass, not a bad witch!”

  My head came up, jaw clenched. He was right, and I gave him a bunny-eared kiss-kiss. Someone laughed. I couldn’t see who it was through the lights, but I breathed easier.

  Vivian’s Möbius-strip pin caught the glint of the spotlight, and wisps of her blond hair that had escaped her elaborate coiffure drifted in the heat as she approached me. Confident and sure, she looked miles away from the tangled mess in the back of my car. Handing me my amplification amulet, she gave my shoulder a squeeze to publicly show her support. It was a bold move on her part, and I appreciated it. She couldn’t be fired, but as Pierce had proved, you could be retired.

  “It’s a ley-line charm,” she said. “But you have to touch it for it to work. Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” I looped the amulet over my head, making sure that the small disc wasn’t touching skin. I didn’t want anyone hearing my private words to Pierce.

  He sat a moment after I did, and I tried to look attractive but not slutty in my leather dress. I had a moment’s thought for the cap I’d forgotten, on the couch back at the hotel, and then I turned t
o Pierce as he said, “Are you well?”

  “I’m okay. Yourself?” I was going to puke. I knew it.

  Pierce sent his gaze into the glare. “About the same. Having died once, the outcome of a public trial has lost much of its threat.”

  “I’d think it would be the other way around,” I said, then jerked when Vivian called my name. She was back at the podium, waiting.

  “Rachel? I think everyone knows why you’re here. Would you like to say anything?”

  Some of the crowd muttered, and I thought I heard “black witch,” but I stood, trying to gather everyone’s attention with a moment of silence. I picked out Trent through the glare, thinking he looked worried as he tried to keep Lucy quiet. I daren’t look at my mother or Ivy, and Jenks was too small. This would be tricky. If I lied, the silver bell on the table would ring. I had come here under the lie of having been forced into black magic to test Trent’s security systems. That wasn’t the issue anymore, and I’d have to be careful with what I said.

  Finally there was silence. I took a breath. Feeling dizzy, I reached to touch my amulet. “I’m here because of manipulation by both the coven and outside forces, and I’m claiming my shunning should be permanently annulled.”

  You’d think I’d dropped a bloody vampire into a sweet-sixteen pajama party. The crowd burst into noise, and I felt sick when from up in the balcony, the chant “Burn her, burn her” drifted down.

  “Steady, Rachel,” Pierce said, his eyes narrowed as he sat beside me. “They’re ignorant and frightened.”

  “Yeah, but they can still kill me,” I said, thinking longingly of my kitchen.

  “Enough!” Vivian shouted. “You want me to clear the auditorium and do this behind closed doors?”

  Fear tightened my shoulders, and I almost panicked. A private “trial” would be my end. The threat of my going public with our origins would be gone. I’d never even get my say, but would be shoved on a boat and be on my way to Alcatraz on the midnight run. But Vivian was only trying to get them to be quiet, and it worked. Still holding her frown, aimed at the crowd, she gestured for me to continue.

  “I was forced into learning black magic in order to survive,” I said truthfully, nodding to Trent, in the first row. That a hundred circumstances had forced me, not Trent, was beside the point, and I couldn’t help it if they thought I was talking about him. “I know black magic, but I’ve never hurt anyone but myself. And I’m not going to apologize for it.” My eye twitched as I thought of the fairies, and from the coven’s table, there was a tiny ping of sound as the silver bell rang, giving evidence of my lie.

  “No, that’s a lie,” I quickly amended as the crowd stirred. “I killed fairies to keep them from burning down my church and massacring my partner and his family when the coven started taking potshots at me. But I’ve never hurt anyone who wasn’t trying to kill me first.”

  The crowd responded with an almost disappointed ferocity. I felt my face pale when I realized that these people, whom I counted as my own, were actually eager for my blood. They reminded me of Trent’s dogs, and my knees became weak.

  “I’m sorry, Rachel,” Pierce said, touching my hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Fairies aren’t real people!” Jenks shrilled, his familiar voice cutting through the noise. “That doesn’t count.”

  Oliver leaned forward to pour himself a cup of water, looking too satisfied to live. “But Rachel believes they are people, and she used black magic to kill them,” he said as he touched his amulet. “I say it stands.”

  I could see the rest of the night with crystal clarity. Vivian would be on my side, but Oliver would pick holes in everything until there would be nothing left of my defense. I found Trent in the haze, and he shrugged, having known it already. Frightened, I took a breath to refute the statement, though I didn’t know how.

  Pierce stood, surprising the crowd into soft whispering. “I was there when Rachel twisted the curse to burn the fairies,” he said. “I was part of it as much as she was. More so. There was no way to survive but for burning them. Rachel took part, but she drew the curse back into herself at great cost before it was fully invoked, turning a deadly curse into a nonlethal one, saving most of the fairies at great hurt to herself.”

  “She drew a curse into herself and survived?” someone shouted. “She’s a demon, that’s what she is!”

  My eyes widened, and I swear, my heart stopped. I looked to Trent, panicked. I hadn’t told. I hadn’t told anyone!

  Everyone in the audience started talking, and Oliver just sat back and enjoyed it, arms crossed in confidence. I was going to be branded a black witch and sentenced to Alcatraz. There was no way around it. Damn it, Al was going to win.

  “The issue at hand is not whether killing fairies is lawful!” Trent shouted as he stood, and those around him quieted. “Who here hasn’t accidentally killed one of the winged folk? It’s a tragedy, but should we all be considered murderers for it?”

  I exhaled and let go of Pierce’s hand, then winced when he shook it, trying to get the circulation back. I hadn’t even known I’d taken it. Jeez, I probably looked like a scared little girl. And Trent had spoken for me?

  Vivian walked to the podium and pulled another amulet from under it. “The coven recognizes Trenton Kalamack.”

  I’ll give Trent one thing. He knew how to make an entrance. He was already halfway to the stairs, and Lucy babbled as he took them. The crowd’s noise rose and fell, and I detected a softening. It was hard to think ugly thoughts when you were watching a highly successful businessman with a happy baby in his arms.

  Trent and Vivian murmured a few words, their heads almost touching, and then he took the amulet. Lucy’s cooing rang out, and then Trent disentangled her little fingers from the amulet, whispering to her in what sounded like another language. The crowd liked that, and I wondered if he’d done it intentionally. Trent gathered himself, and when he looked pointedly at me, I sat down, my chair scraping. That same guy brought a third chair out, placing it between me and the podium.

  “If I may continue,” Trent said, not sitting, and Pierce touched my knee, stilling my bobbing foot. “Should Rachel Morgan be held accountable for her actions when she was manipulated by outside forces into a place where to survive she had to learn a dark skill? Forced to learn and utilize black magic at the whim of another? I don’t know. My intent would have been twofold. First, to see if my security systems could stand against the worst a witch can produce, which I think we can all agree is the magic done by a black witch. And second, a minor question of mine, curiosity, really. I wanted to know if a good witch could use black magic and not be…wicked.”

  The crowd buzzed, and I wasn’t pleased. That little silver bell wasn’t ringing. Had Trent taken advantage of the situation to find out if I was trustworthy? Son of a bastard…

  “Is this to be a morality trial?” Oliver asked, and I swallowed hard. With the room out for my blood, there was no way I could win, and telling them of our beginnings would make things doubly worse. Damn, damn, and double damn.

  “Perhaps,” Trent said, his soft, melodic voice spilling out to fill the room with confidence. “What would have started out as an experiment in security has left me racked with guilt. This is my fault,” he said, and people started to listen. “I was blind to how seriously the witch community would respond to black magic. If I’d known, I would certainly have chosen another method for testing my security.”

  Why in the hell wasn’t that bell ringing? I asked myself, unless Trent was confident that his wording put everything into the theoretical. I couldn’t have gotten away with it, but I wasn’t a bloody politician.

  “I feel remorse for having manipulated such an honest person into a bad place,” Trent was saying, his words hitting me hard. “I want to make reparations. Rachel doesn’t deserve imprisonment for the things she has done.” He turned to the coven’s table, holding Lucy’s hand away from his face. “There was an arrangement, Oliver. It went too far. She should b
e pardoned, and you know it.”

  Vertigo was dancing about my brain, and I was glad I was sitting. Trent was referring to the deal we’d agreed to in the FIB interrogation room, and with sudden clarity, I realized I was lost. If Oliver called my bluff, I was lost. My gaze found Ivy and my mother, both dealing with the stress in their separate ways. I couldn’t turn society upside down by telling them where witches had come from—and Oliver knew it.

  Vivian invited Oliver to speak, and he laid a hand on his amulet as if covering his heart. “You offered her a job, if I remember correctly,” the highest-ranking member of the coven stated. “Perhaps this is a ploy to get yourself a black witch on your payroll, Mr. Kalamack. A legalized black witch who you think is…good at heart.”

  The auditorium buzzed, and from the front row came Jenks’s high-pitched “Go to hell, Oliver! Rachel isn’t working for no scummy politician!”

  Vivian gestured to the bell, sending a clear pinging out to silence the crowd. “If I may bring the conversation back to what we’re here for?” she said when they quieted.

  Oliver leaned over to look at her. “And just what is that, Vivian, if not holding witches accountable to our laws? Laws that have kept us safe for thousands of years?”

  Trent was walking toward me, a faint smile on his face as he sat in the rickety folding chair beside mine. His expression was both confident and satisfied, and not any of it was from Lucy babbling in his arms. Something was up, and I probably wasn’t going to like it. “You took advantage of this to find out if I was a good witch?” I said softly. “And you wonder why I don’t like you?”

  “See the course through,” he said, careful to keep from touching his amulet. “There will be hell to pay, but I will see you back on this side of the lines before I’m done. Trust me.”

  Frustrated, I sat and crossed my arms over my chest.

  Vivian had taken the floor, and slowly the crowd became quiet. “Rachel Morgan and Gordian Pierce knowing black magic is only part of the issue here,” she said, head rising to take in the edges of the room. Her voice had taken on the cadence of a storyteller, and I fidgeted. “This is more than a trial of black witchcraft, but a question of how far we allow accepted morality to stretch to maintain the public safety. Two days ago, I was sent to watch Rachel on her journey here. Two days ago, I was certain that black magic, under any circumstances, was grounds for shunning.”