The Outlaw Demon Wails th-6

by Ким Харрисон

  "Wow," I said, cocking my hip and putting my hand against the door frame to prevent him from coming in, "they even did the voice. I didn't think they could do that. How much did that set you back?"

  Trent brought his attention down from the bats hanging in the sanctuary to give me a closed-lipped smile from under his raised eyebrows. They were thick and black, very unlike his pale wisps, and it made reading his emotions easier. He looked highly amused as his smile widened, showing a slip of long canine. He'd gone for the more realistic caps, and I felt an unhelped pulse of adrenaline dive to my middle at the mix of vampiric threat and lure. I wondered if that was why Trent was standing on my doorstep—trying to get a rise out of me. Or maybe he was rethinking his stellar decision to go into the ever-after and thought showing me his twenty-thousand-dollar costume would impress me.

  Suddenly wishing I'd never helped him, I blanked all the emotion from my face except for a bothered annoyance. "What do you want?" I said snidely. "Is this about Ceri? You know, letting me walk out of there thinking you got her pregnant was low even for you. If I wasn't going to go into the ever-after for you then, I sure as hell wouldn't work for you now." Yeah, I was mad at Ceri, but I was still her friend.

  Trent's eyes fixed on me, his pupils widening slightly in surprise. "I'm very glad to hear that, Ms. Morgan. Avoiding Mr. Kalamack is one of the items I wanted to talk to you about."

  I froze, alarmed. Not only had his voice lacked its musical cadence, but the accent was very New York.

  The sound of a car door opening jerked my attention past Trent to the curb. The man getting out of the driver's side wasn't Jonathan or Quen. No, this guy was bigger, with wide shoulders and arms as big as my legs. I could tell by his grace that he was a living vampire. Trent didn't employ vampires unless absolutely necessary. The man in black pants and a stretchy black T-shirt by the car crossed his arms over his chest and fell into a parade rest that looked threatening even at forty feet away.

  Swallowing hard, my gaze returned to the man on my stoop. I didn't think it was Trent anymore. "You're not Trent, are you," I said, and I flushed when he flashed me the beautiful smile Rynn Cormel was known for.

  "No."

  "Oh, God, I'm sorry, Mr. Cormel." I stammered, wondering if I could make this any worse. Ivy's number one was standing on our doorstep, and I'd just insulted him. "Ivy's not here right now. Do you want to come in and wait?"

  Looking utterly alive, the man threw his head back and laughed, long and deep. I warmed. Damn it, he was undead. He couldn't come in on holy ground. And asking him to wait had been stupid. Like he had time to wait for my roommate?

  "I'm sorry," I blathered, wanting to curl up and die. "You're probably really busy. Would you like me to tell her you called? I can try to reach her cell." My thoughts flashed to the vampire dating guide he had written to help increase a shadow's life expectancy. It was currently shoved to the back of my closet. Ivy had given it to me on our second night sharing the same roof so I'd quit pushing her vampire buttons. Reading it had been an education, one that left me wide-eyed and a little ill. Some of the stuff they did in the name of pleasure…

  Rex appeared at my feet, pulled out from the depths of the church by the scent of vampire, something she associated with Ivy. The stupid cat rubbed against me by mistake before going to twine about Cormel's feet. Shaken from my musings, I lunged for her, and when she spat at me, Mr. Cormel picked the cat up, crooning to the animal as he looked at me from between her ears.

  Rynn Cormel had run the world during the Turn, his living charisma somehow crossing the boundaries of death to give his undead existence an uncanny mimicry of life. Every move was a careful study of causality. It was highly unusual for so young an undead vampire to be so good at mimicking having a soul. I figured it was because he was a politician and had had practice way before he died.

  "Actually," he said, "it's you I've come to see. Did I catch you at a bad time?"

  I choked on my breath, and the corners of his mouth rose in amusement. What did Ivy's master vampire want with me? "Uh…," I said, backing up into the black foyer. He was an undead. He could ask anything…and if he insisted, I wouldn't be able to say no. Oh, God. Table 6.1. Had he really…I mean, you have to try stuff before you can print it, right?

  "It will only take two minutes of your time."

  I breathed a little easier. Everything in the guide would take at least twenty minutes. Unless he was working on a sequel. HOW TO NAIL YOUR SHADOW AND LEAVE THEM BREATHING IN TWO MINUTES.

  Letting the cat slip from his arms, he brushed at his somehow immaculate coat. Rex continued to purr and twine. Her attention went behind me, and the clatter of pixy wings became obvious. "Rachel, it's getting late," Jenks said, his voice high and preoccupied. "I'm moving everyone out to the stump for the night." But his entire demeanor changed when he came wing to shoulder with me.

  "Holy crap!" he swore, pixy dust sifting from him to make sunbeams at my feet. "Rynn Cormel? You gotta be pissing on my daisies! Rache!" he exclaimed, flying an erratic path between us. "It's Rynn Cormel!" Then he stopped as if he'd been nailed to the air. "I'm giving you fair warning, Mr. Cormel. If you bespell Rachel, I'll open up your head for the sunshine to come in."

  I cringed, but the dignified man clasped his surprisingly ugly hands before him and gave Jenks a respectful nod. "Not at all. I want to talk to Ms. Morgan. That's all." He hesitated, and I flushed when his gaze dropped to my stocking feet. "Is there a more comfortable place…"

  Oh, God. I hate it when this happens. "Um," I hedged, then winced. "Would you mind coming around the back, Mr. President? We have two unsanctified rooms for our undead clients. I'm really sorry for asking you to come in the back door, but the majority of our clients are living."

  "It's just Rynn," he said, smiling as if he were Father Christmas. "I was never sworn in, actually." He rocked back and glanced at his bodyguard. "I'd be happy to join you in back. Is it just that way?" he asked, leaning to his right.

  I nodded, glad Ivy and I had put in a slate walk, then wondered if we had gotten the trash out this week. Crap, I hoped so. "Jenks, if it's warm enough, could you escort Mr. Cormel?"

  A flash of dust slipped from him, and he darted outside. "You bet." He flew down the stairs and then back up. "This way, please."

  His tiny voice was sarcastic, and I wouldn't be surprised if Jenks took the opportunity to threaten him again. He had no respect for titles, law, or anything but a pixy sword, and he took his job of keeping my ass above the grass seriously.

  Giving me a smile that would have twitterpated Genghis Khan, the vampire took the stairs. I watched his confident pace as he made his way to the sidewalk, shoes clicking smartly, listening to everything, seeing everything. A master vampire. The master of this city. What did he want with me if it wasn't…blood?

  I ducked inside and shut the door, relieved that Cormel had motioned for his bodyguard and driver to stay put. I didn't want them in my church even if Jenks was with me. Three vampires opened the door for a lot of misunderstandings.

  "Matalina?" I said loudly as I padded through the sanctuary. "We have a client." But the pixy woman had already hustled the last of her brood down the hall and out through the chimney in the back living room. It was only the youngest that were giving her trouble, not remembering the drill from last year. They would stay out of the church until Rynn Cormel left, or they'd be cleaning my windows tomorrow.

  I scuffed on my slippers by the back door and unlocked it, darting into the kitchen to see if I could do a quick tidy. I elbowed the rocker switch for the lights, already reaching to shove a crumb-strewn plate into the dishwasher before the fluorescent tubes finished flickering to a bright, steady glow. Mr. Fish, my Betta, flipped his tail nervously at the sudden light, and I made a mental note to feed him. Beside him on the sill was a tiny pumpkin that I had bought for Jenks and his kids, hoping that they would go for it instead of the huge pumpkin they'd grown off the compost pile this summer. Chances looked slim since th
e obnoxious but beautiful vegetable was sitting under the table, warming up. The thing was huge, and I wasn't looking forward to a repeat of last year's fiasco. Pumpkin seeds could be shot with painful accuracy, it turns out.

  I loved my kitchen, with its expansive counters, two stoves, and huge stainless-steel fridge that was big enough to hold a goat, at least in theory. There was a heavy antique table against the interior wall holding Ivy's computer, printer, and desk stuff. One side of it was mine, and lately I'd lost all but the last corner of it, having to continually shove her stuff back so I'd have somewhere to eat. I had taken the center island counter for me, though, so fair was fair.

  The small island counter was covered in herbs I was experimenting with, last week's mail stacked on a corner and threatening to spill off, and a mishmash of earth-magic spelling hardware. Copper pots and utensils hung over it from a huge rack where the pixies loved to play hide-and-seek among metal that wouldn't burn them. Below the counter was the rest of my spelling stuff jammed together in no particular order, as it was mostly ley line paraphernalia that I didn't know what to do with. My splat gun, with its sleepy-time charms, was nestled in another set of nested copper pots, and my small library of spell books was propped up with my more mundane cookbooks on a low shelf that was open on both sides. Three of them were demon curse books and they gave me the willies, but I wasn't going to store them under my bed.

  Everything looked halfway decent, and I flicked on the coffeemaker Ivy had already prepped for breakfast tomorrow. Mr. Cormel probably wouldn't drink any, but the smell might help block the pheromones. Maybe.

  Concerned, I put my hands on my hips. The only thing I might have done had I some warning would be to sweep the salt out of the circle etched in the linoleum surrounding the center island counter.

  The air pressure shifted and I turned, but my welcoming professional smile froze as I realized I hadn't heard the back door click open.

  "Shit," I breathed, tensing as I realized why.

  I'd stepped off hallowed ground.

  Al was here.

  Ten

  "Jenks!" I shouted, stumbling backward.

  I prayed Al would start talking, but his elegant, chiseled features twisted in anger, and he leapt at me, white-gloved hands reaching.

  I fell back against the sink. Arms braced, I swung both feet up to hit him square in the chest. Oh, God. I was dead. He wasn't gloating. He wanted to freaking kill me. If I was dead, no one would know he broke his word. Not only was Ceri an idiot for making charms for him, she was wrong, too.

  Panic took me when my feet went right through him. Gasping, I fell, sliding down the face of the cupboards to land on my butt. My gaze went to my spell books. Minias. My new calling circle was under the counter with my books. I had to get to it.

  I scrambled forward. Pain made me slow, and as adrenaline pulsed through me, Al's thick, gloved hand grabbed me by the throat and hauled me up. I choked, ugly sounds making it past my lips. My eyes bulged, and my body went flaccid. He shook me, and the scent of amber rolled over me. "You are a really—stupid—witch," he said, giving me another shake with his accented word. "Sometimes, I wonder how you expected your genes to get to the next generation." He smiled, and fear wrapped around my heart as I gazed into his red, goat-slitted eyes and saw his anger. He had nothing to lose. Nothing.

  Panicking, I struggled. He couldn't go misty to avoid my strikes and still hold on to me. I had a chance. Al grunted when I scored on his shin, and he let go.

  I took a gasping breath of air. My feet hit the floor. Knees crumpling, I screamed when I was jerked back upright by my hair. "I'm going to freaking kill you, Al, if you don't get the hell out of my kitchen!" I vowed, not knowing where the threat was coming from, but I was pissed. Scared. Absolutely terrified.

  A velveteen arm went around my neck. A cry slipped from me when his grip on my hair tightened, pulling my head up so I looked at the ceiling. Pain struck through my neck and scalp. I reached backward, and he grunted when I got a fistful of his hair. But he wouldn't let go. Even when I yanked it out by the roots and sent my hands scrabbling back for more.

  "Stop it," he said grimly, jerking me into motion. "We have an appointment."

  "The hell we do," I panted, finding an ear and digging my nails in. Where is Jenks?

  Al grunted, tightening his grip until I let go. I wasn't dead. I wasn't dead. He wanted me alive. For the moment. For an appointment?

  "You are going to clear my name," he snarled, bending to mouth my ear as if to bite it off. I fought him until he pulled my hair so hard that tears started. I could smell blood, but I didn't think it was mine. I thought I'd broken his nose when I had flung my head back. I tried to shove against the counter, and Al dragged me away.

  "I asked you nicely, but like the spoiled brat you are, you refused," he said. "I don't mind doing it the hard way. You are going to testify to the courts that Ceridwen Merriam Dulciate is limited to teaching one child how to spindle line energy. That the damage is contained. I won't do time for an ex-familiar who would be dead but for you."

  My breath seemed to freeze in me. Testify? He meant in the ever-after. He expected me to stand in a demon court? "Why should I trust you?" I panted, fingertips squeaking as he pulled my grip off the counter again.

  "It might make things easier," he suggested, sounding almost bitter that I didn't.

  Easier? I thought. It might also make me dead. I struggled, my slippers sliding on the linoleum as he yanked me backward to the hall. My pulse leapt when the back door opened and the skittering of cat claws rasped. I tried to see, but it was hard with Al's arm around my neck.

  "'Bout time, Jenks!" I exclaimed. "What were you doing? Showing him your stump?"

  My bravado died at the snarl that rumbled slowly to life and vibrated to my very nerve endings, reaching deep into my psyche and clenching around my primitive brain to reduce me to fight or flight. Cormel? That ugly sound was coming from him?

  "Holy shit!" Jenks shrilled, and Al's grip on my hair loosened.

  Taking a gasp of air, I twisted, falling away and smacking the flat of my foot square across the demon's right cheek. Al rocked back, his eyes never leaving Rynn Cormel, who was standing in the threshold to my kitchen.

  "Get back!" I shouted at the vampire, but he never even looked at me. Al, too, was a hunched shadow ignoring me. Mostly.

  "Rynn Matthew Cormel," the demon drawled, a brief shimmer of ever-after cascading over him to leave his nose unbloodied and whole as he straightened. "What brings you slumming here?"

  The elegant vampire loosened his coat. "You, in a roundabout way."

  I flicked my gaze between them and felt my neck for the new bruise that was bound to show up. Jenks hovered beside me, spilling red dust that puddled on the floor.

  "I'm honored," Al said, tension in his voice and posture.

  "You're dead," Cormel said. "Morgan is mine. You will not touch her."

  Oh, that's nice. Maybe.

  Al laughed. "As if you have a say in the matter."

  That was even freaking better. My breath came in sharply and I scrambled back when Cormel jumped at Al, arms reaching and an ugly sound erupting from him. A muffled curse slipped from me, and my back hit the fridge. I watched, shocked, as the two grappled, both moving incredibly fast. Al blurred in and out of existence, making the vampire look like he was trying to catch moving sand. I couldn't take my eyes away, and my pulse hammered. If Al won, I was going to be bail money. If Rynn Cormel won, I was going to have to deal with a master vampire hyped up on fear and anger who thought I was his.

  "Look out!" I cried when Al got a grip on him, but the vampire twisted with an inhuman bonelessness, dislocating his own shoulder to fix his teeth on Al's neck.

  Al screamed and went misty, re-forming to push Rynn backward into the sink. Mr. Fish's bowl teetered, and when the vampire launched himself at Al, his fangs sheened with blood, I darted to rescue the Betta.

  Water sloshed as I retreated. Not looking at what I w
as doing, I shoved the fish onto the back of the counter. My gaze went to the books hiding my scrying mirror. Minias. I could call Minias. Yeah, one more demon ought to make this farce complete.

  Al hit the wall beside Ivy's computer, and the lights flickered. Gathering my courage, I darted forward, fingers slipping on the cold glass as I found the mirror.

  "Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God," I whispered, not remembering the word to invoke the charm.

  "Rachel!" Jenks cried.

  They were coming right at me. Eyes widening, I curled my body over the mirror and dove out of the way. Al and Cormel crashed into the fridge. The clock above the sink fell, shattering to send the battery rolling into the hall.

  Al had Cormel's face in his hands and was squeezing with a supernatural strength, but the vampire's teeth were red. I watched, unable to look away as Cormel reached up and dug his ugly fingers into Al's eyes.

  Screaming, the demon flung himself back, but the vampire was after him. The two rolled on the floor, both struggling for control. They were going to freaking kill each other in my kitchen. And wouldn't Ivy be ticked at me for that?

  "Jenks?" I said, seeing him hovering at the ceiling, just as captivated as I was.

  His face was white, and his wings made a high-pitched whine. "I'll get them apart, you set the circle," he said.

  I nodded and shoved my sleeves up past my elbows. The simplest plans were the best.

  My heart pounded and Jenks hovered over them. They had regained their feet, struggling like wrestlers, Al's green frock making an odd statement against Rynn's elegant business suit.