by Kim Harrison
Dali chuckled, and I felt out of breath. “We,” he said, and I blinked, not knowing why he’d said it until realizing I’d said it first. I had said we. I had lumped myself in with them, and it had come out as natural as if it had been we for a long time. “I like the way you think, Morgan. No wonder Al has risked so much on you.”
“Well?” I asked, since it was obvious Dali was leaving.
His fingers tightened on the bag of cookies. “You have four days. More than that, and the ever-after will be too damaged.”
Bis’s ears pricked, and the sound of the front door opening echoed through the church. My gaze darted to the clock on the stove. They were early. “Four days,” I said. Al would be able to tap a line in three. It would be close, but maybe by then I’d have this figured out.
“If it’s not fixed by midnight, you die.” Dali looked at his watch. “That’s Friday,” he said sourly as he squinted at Bis as if he had failed in something—and then . . . he vanished.
I exhaled, shaking as I went to prop the window open to let out the stink of demons. Dali had taken the cookies but left the petits fours. “Thank you,” I whispered into the night, though he couldn’t possibly hear me. Never underestimate the power of home-baked cookies. Bis’s chair creaked as he eased his grip. Looking out at the dark graveyard, empty of even the glow of sleeping pixies, I felt my gut clench at the sound of Trent’s steps in the hall. I had no idea what I was going to do next, but Trent wouldn’t be happy with what I’d found.
“Pepper piss! It stinks in here!” Jenks swore as he darted in, fingers pinching his nose shut as he swooped a large circle through the kitchen and landed atop Bis’s head. The gargoyle twitched his big fringed ears, and Jenks shifted to the top of the roll of paper towels we kept on the table. “He left? Just now? I wanted to talk to him.”
I leaned back against the counter, glad the kitchen was clean. I think it was the first time Trent had seen it when it wasn’t covered in spelling supplies. “Which is why I asked Trent not to bring you home until now,” I said, smiling thinly.
Trent’s nose was wrinkled at the stench, and worry warred with hope, showing in the way his brow was pinched. A long lightweight coat hid his suit. He looked wary as he held a hat to hide his missing fingers. The light caught his eyes as they traveled over the kitchen as if looking for a visible sign of Dali, but all that was left was the smell.
“Jenks said I could come in,” he said, and my mouth went dry. I had no comfort to give him, and I stayed where I was with my arms over my middle. I didn’t care if I looked pensive.
“Hi,” I said. Jenks’s wings clattered in surprise, but I didn’t know what more I could say.
Looking polished and together, Trent came in another step. He nodded to Bis, and the gargoyle touched his wingtips over his head. Eyeing me up and down, Trent’s hope slowly dulled and vanished. “That good, eh?”
I took a deep breath. Unable to meet his eyes, I pushed off the sink, my middle coming to rest against the center counter. The petits fours were sitting there, and the plate scraped as I pushed it away. “Dali’s hands are tied,” I said softly. “Ceri went willingly with Ku’Sox.”
“What!” Jenks rose up on a column of dust, and Bis turned an apologetic shade of black.
Trent’s face became ashen. “Ku’Sox took Lucy,” he breathed, and I nodded.
“And Ceri went willingly to keep her safe,” Jenks finished, now darting between Trent and me in agitation.
My head hurt, and I rubbed it. It was so simple, so devious. Trent’s feet scuffed, and I pulled my head up.
“That’s it, then,” Trent said, every vestige of softness gone in the hard clench of his jaw. “If there’s no chance at a political resolution, then I will use more drastic means.”
I froze. A creak came from Bis’s chair as he tightened his grip. Drastic measures? The last time Trent had instigated drastic measures, San Francisco was trashed and I ended up in a spell-induced coma for three days. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said, hand in the air. “You’re not going to give yourself up in exchange. It’s exactly what he wants.” What all the demons wanted.
“Which is exactly why it will work.”
I shook my head, but he wasn’t listening, wasn’t even looking at me as he stared at the wall two feet to my right. Cool and distant, he ignored even Jenks hovering inches before his face. “No fairy fart way, elf-man,” the pixy said, a bright red dust spilling from him. “We talked about this, remember? You give yourself up, and then Rachel’s just going to have to bail your ass out again, which means I’m stuck saving hers. I can’t take it anymore. I’m not a young pixy. She’s a demon, let her do her Tink-blasted job!”
Trent’s iron-hard hold on his emotions cracked. Turning, he tossed his hat on the table. “If I call his bluff, he’ll kill them,” he said. “You know he will. Then he will steal someone else for leverage and it starts again. I do have feelings, Rachel. I do love people. I’m not going to let them die for me!”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said softly, and his glare fell from me. “We can’t get them back through the courts, but in the meantime, I’ve got four days to balance the line.”
Clearly frustrated, he spun away, his coat furling. “How does that help Lucy and Ceri?” he said, his back to me as Jenks shot me a look and landed on his shoulder.
Curious, I thought as Trent’s shoulders relaxed at something Jenks said. Bis noticed as well. Clearly the two men had come to some kind of understanding. “If I can fix the line or prove that Ku’Sox made the hole, the demons will turn against him,” I said, but it was really more of a hope. “Ceri and Lucy will be returned.” I looked at the counter as if I could see the books on the shelf below. There was nothing in them about ley lines. Nothing in them, nothing in the library, nothing in Al’s library. If there had been, we would have found it by now.
Exhaling loudly, Trent slowly sank down in a chair. The last of his mask fell away and he slumped, elbow on the table as he sat sideways to it. “I can’t risk him killing Lucy and Ceri,” he said, and a lump filled my throat. He was hurting. It wasn’t my fault. He was the one who had let Ku’Sox out, but he’d done it to save my life, or rather, my freedom.
Jenks was making motions for me to do something, and I grimaced, finally moving around the center counter to stand there, feeling self-conscious. I wondered how long it had been since he’d eaten. “Al and I went out to look at the line,” I said hesitantly. “He got burned pretty bad, but it did give us a better idea of what Ku’Sox did.”
Trent didn’t acknowledge me, making me feel more awkward as I edged back to sit in Ivy’s chair. My eyes went to Trent’s ring, and I remembered how it had felt to wear Al’s. “I think I saved his life. Again.”
“I bet that was a surprise,” he said dryly.
Chuckling, I dropped my eyes. “It was. He won’t be able to tap a line until Thursday. And since I don’t trust anyone else over there, I’m stuck here until he heals. I know I can fix the leak in the line with Bis’s help,” I added, and the gargoyle bobbed his head, his tail whipping about to wrap around his feet. “If I can fix it, I can prove Ku’Sox is trying to destroy the ever-after. Ceri and Lucy will be the last thing on his mind if the entire collective is after him. None of them like him, anyway.”
Trent said nothing, staring at the table. I wasn’t even sure he had heard me.
My thoughts went to the demons and what Dali had said about them fearing Ku’Sox. Together, they could overpower Ku’Sox, but fear had made slaves of them. They were expecting me to take care of him, hiding behind semantics that it was a personal vendetta between us. Were they really afraid, or was apathy easier than survival? Maybe they just didn’t care if they lived or died.
Trent still hadn’t moved, and at Jenks’s exasperated motions, I reached out across the table, putting my hand atop his. “We’ll get them back.”
Trent blinked as our hands met, not in shock, but as if bringing himself back from a deep thought. His expression wa
s empty when his eyes touched my hand, and I gave him a smile and a slight squeeze before I pulled away. I could smell hospital on him, and I realized that’s probably why my head hurt. I hated hospitals.
“How’s Quen?” I said.
Trent eased back into the chair, his hand sliding from the table to fall into his lap. “He’s not conscious yet, but his brain activity is good.”
His relief made me smile again. “Good.” I stood up, but I didn’t know why other than I felt uncomfortable sitting across from Trent. “If there is anything I can do . . .”
He looked up as he reached for his hat on the table. “They tell me there’s nothing anyone can do but wait. He’s strong, and his chances are good.”
I wanted to touch his shoulder in support, but I hesitated at the last moment, going to throw the petits fours away instead. “You believe he’s going to make it,” I said. Trent, too, had learned to believe in the eleven percent.
“Yes, I do.” His voice was soft but determined.
“Give me a day or two before you start being noble, okay?”
He chuckled, and I hesitated, my thoughts spinning. I needed more stuff. He who has the most stuff in his toolbox wins. “Hey, you have a library, right?” I said as I turned back around. I’d moved too fast, and Jenks darted forward to catch one of the cakes as it slid off the plate. “Do you have any books about line energy?” I asked as I set the dish on the center counter, ignoring Jenks swearing at me as he brushed the frosting off his clothes.
Trent pushed forward, his hand reaching to touch a pocket. “I don’t have anything in my library about the lines, no, but I know someone who does,” he said, his hand reluctantly falling from his jacket. “Rachel, would you like to come to tea tomorrow?”
Jenks looked up from his soiled silk jacket, surprise in his angular face. Trent had stood, and I started at how fast it had been. He had a direction, and it changed everything. It was back, the power and certainty was back, and something in me shivered.
“Tea?” Jenks was standing next to the plate of petits fours. “You want to have tea? Are you nerking futs?”
The light caught the tips of his hair as Trent came up to the center counter, the fair strands beginning to float in his excitement. “I know of something you might want to read.”
My pulse leaped. “Why not now?” I said, and Bis sniffed his agreement. If it was about the lines, he’d want to see, too.
But Trent was shaking his head. “Ellasbeth has it,” he said, and I remember his aborted reach for a phone. “It was my mother’s book, but I know she’ll let us look at it. If she doesn’t bring it, I won’t let her on the grounds, and she’s dying to yell at me in person.”
We had a chance, and it was frustrating that we had to wait. “Okay,” I said, hands behind my back so Trent couldn’t see them tremble. “Tomorrow, then. Trent, when was the last time you ate?”
He was sideways to me, putting his hat on. His confidence was clear, his motions sharp. “I think something from the hospital vending machine.” He looked up and smiled. Something in me fluttered again, and again I shoved it down deep. I knew what was going on, and I wasn’t going to let it happen. It was a fantasy, and I was through with them.
“You’re not going to do anything stupid without me, right?”
“I’m going back to the hospital for a couple of hours. Get another bag of salty snack food for dinner. Do you want me to tell Quen anything?”
My smile faltered. I wasn’t invited, but I didn’t like hospitals, anyway. “No,” I said as I leaned to pull open a drawer and find a plastic bag for the petits fours. “But here. Run these under his nose. They smell like demons. They might snap him out of it.”
Trent fidgeted, impatient to be away as I shook the cakes into a bag and tied it with a yellow twisty. Jenks landed on my shoulder, and I frowned when he whispered, “Go with him!”
“Here,” I said, holding them out and flushing as Trent took them, the plastic bag looking both the same and different from when I’d given cookies to a demon named Dali. For some reason, giving Trent petits fours felt a lot more dangerous.
“Thank you. I’ll let you know if they do the trick.” He turned on a heel, then hesitated in the threshold. “You made the six o’clock news,” he said, and my smile froze. “You did okay. Really good for what you had to work with. Thank you again for handling that.”
I hid behind the center counter, more relieved than I wanted to be. “I’m sorry about putting Ray in front of the camera.”
He shook his head, looking down at the bag of cakes. “No, it was worth giving them something positive to take away.”
“Thanks.”
He nodded sharply to Bis, and without another word, he headed down the hall, his thoughts already far away. Jenks hovered in my line of sight, hands on his hips and frowning. He gestured that I should escort him to the door, and I squinted, crossing my arms over my chest. “He shouldn’t be alone,” the pixy grumped, darting out after his fading footsteps.
I leaned forward as he left, the new quiet seeping in. “Maybe, but he shouldn’t be with me, either,” I whispered.
Even alone as he was, Trent didn’t need me at all.
Chapter Ten
I’ll be sure Belle gets it,” I said, smiling at the wingless fairy standing on the wrought-iron garden table, her long white braid almost to her waist and her pale, angular features in a tight knot. Still the mistrustful, scary-looking fairy waited until I put the little packet of stitching into my shoulder bag beside her on the table. Jenks sighed, and she hissed at him, making me shiver.
Sure, she was only six inches high, but she looked like a tiny, silver-cloaked grim reaper with her raggedy clothes made from spider silk, her long fangs used to crack the shells of the insects she ate, and the bow and toxic arrows she carried to shoot me or Jenks if we did anything she didn’t like. Her butterfly-like wings were gone, burned off when she and her clan had tried to kill me and Jenks last summer, and their lack made her far more mobile even if she was stuck on the ground.
Mostly, I thought as she shot a corded arrow into the canopy and climbed the string into the surrounding greenery, taking the packet of cloth that Belle had asked me to bring to her. It had that stitching that Matalina’s daughters had taught her, the one that gave beautifully around the wings. True, the fairies in Trent’s gardens were wingless, but their children wouldn’t be. It was odd, seeing the first steps of understanding between two longtime enemy races. Jenks had come a long way.
Knowing we were being watched by a handful of lethal assassins, I leaned back into my chair and tried to look relaxed instead of uptight. Trent’s glassed-in garden felt stuffy; the propped-open door leading to the exterior gardens let in very little air. Outside, the early afternoon sun shone thinly on the largely empty spring gardens, but it was here that Trent had brought me for tea—which I thought totally weird. I’d thought that “tea” had been an excuse, something he could tell people instead of the ugly reality that he wanted me to come out so he could show me some illegal black-magic books—and maybe that’s all it was. But tea and cookies were on the table, and I was hungry . . . Besides, Ellasbeth had arrived late, and I had bowed out of going to meet her. Ellasbeth had thought I was a hooker the night we had met. Arresting Trent at their wedding probably hadn’t helped.
The cord Belle’s sister had climbed snaked upward out of sight, and Jenks sniffed, nervously adjusting his garden sword on his hip.
“I thought you were beyond that,” I said, fingering my cup of cooling tea. It smelled like Earl Grey, but I could take a few sips to be social. Jenks’s comment that Trent shouldn’t be alone drifted through me.
Jenks edged to the silver tray, his steps hesitant and his unmoving wings catching the light. “I don’t know her,” he said as he glanced up into the potted fig trees.
“Well, knock it off,” I grumbled. “You’re making me nervous.”
“I don’t know any of them,” he said again. “It’s not like I trust he
r with my kids.”
But he trusted Belle with them, I thought. Small steps could make large journeys, if admittedly very slow ones. Fidgeting, I lolled my head back to look at the plate-glass ceiling as I waited for Trent to return. Ellasbeth was an idiot. How long did it take to drive half a mile and get settled? There were three chairs here.
“I still think you should let the ever-after collapse,” Jenks said, his knees up almost to his ears as he sat on the rim of the silver tray, then got up when he realized his pants weren’t as good of an insulator as he had first thought.
Frowning, I stood to look at the orchid jammed into the crook of two branches. Jenks followed me, and the brush rustled as the fairies shifted to keep him in their sights. “Earth magic will work for a while before it fades,” he said, demanding my attention as he hovered between me and the orchid. “A year at least. You could take down a reality-based Ku’Sox before that. Ivy and I would help.”
A spike of fear slid through me, quickly shoved down deep. I’d survived Ku’Sox by the skin of my teeth—every single time. But as I counted the new blossoms yet to open on the orchid, the thought of the end of magic rang through me with a new clarity. This was why Nick was helping the psychotic demon. An end or reduction to magic would put humans back in the driver’s seat. I couldn’t believe that Ku’Sox didn’t have a way to keep magic alive with the ever-after gone, doling it out to the highest bidder. Or maybe Dali was right and this was simply a way to get me dead and the rest of the demons kowtowing to him.
I sat back down in Trent’s chair so I could watch Jenks now fussing over the orchid and the path. “I might not be able to hear you if magic fails,” I said as I took one of the gingersnaps I had brought over for Ray. “Ever think about that?”
Jenks’s eyes widened. “Tink loves a duck!” he exclaimed, his wings clattering as he carefully untwisted a stem.
