by Kim Harrison
He should be afraid.
“This is an I.S. matter,” he said. “Interfere, and I’ll have you down in lockup.” He smiled, flashing me his human teeth. “If you thought being in Kalamack’s cage was bad, wait until you see mine.”
My confidence cracked. The I.S. knew about that? “Don’t get your falsies in a twist,” I said snidely. “I’m here on a missing person, not your murders.”
“Missing person,” he mocked. “That’s a good story. I’d stick with it. Try to keep your tag alive this time.” He gave me a final glance before he started down the hallway to the sun and the distant sound of the commissary. “You won’t be Tamwood’s pet forever,” he said, not turning around. “Then, I’m coming for you.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I said even as a sliver of my old fear tried to surface. I quashed it as I pulled my hand away from the small of my back. I wasn’t Ivy’s pet, though living with her gave me a heap of protection from Cincinnati’s vamp population. She wasn’t in a position of power, but as the last living member of the Tamwood family, she had a leader-in-waiting status honored by wise vamps both living and dead.
I took a deep breath to try to dispel the weakness in my knees. Great. Now I had to go into class after they had probably started.
Thinking my day couldn’t possibly get any worse, I gathered myself and walked into the room lit brightly from the bank of windows overlooking the campus. As Janine had said, it was set up like a lab, with two people sitting on stools at each of the high slate tables. Janine was by herself talking to Jenks, clearly having saved me the spot next to her.
Ozone from Dr. Anders’s hastily constructed circle caught at me. The circle was gone, but my sinuses tingled at the remnants of power. I glanced at its source at the front of the room.
Dr. Anders sat at an ugly metal desk before a traditional blackboard. She had her elbows on the table, her head in her hands. I could see her thin fingers trembling, and I wondered if it was from Denon’s accusations or that she had pulled upon the ever-after strong enough to make a circle without the aid of a physical manifestation. The class seemed unusually quiet.
Her hair was back in a severe bun, gray streaks making unflattering lines through the black. She looked older than my mother, dressed in a conservative pair of tan slacks and a tasteful blouse. Trying not to draw attention to myself, I slipped past the first two rows of tables and sat beside Janine. “Thanks,” I whispered.
Her eyes were wide as I tucked my bag under the table. “You work for the I.S.?”
I glanced at Dr. Anders. “I used to. I quit last spring.”
“I didn’t think you could quit the I.S.,” she said, her face going even more full of wonder.
Shrugging, I pushed my hair out of the way so Jenks could land on his usual spot. “It wasn’t easy.” I followed her attention to the front of the room as Dr. Anders stood.
The tall woman was as scary as I remembered, with a long thin face, and a nose that wouldn’t be out of place on a pre-Turn depiction of a witch. No wart, though, and her complexion wasn’t green. She reeked of tenure, gathering the class’s attention by simply standing. The tremor was gone from her hands as she took up a sheaf of papers.
Dropping a pair of wire-rimmed glasses down to perch on her nose, she made a show of studying her notes. I’d have been willing to bet they had a spell on them to see through ley line charms as well as correct her sight, and I wished I had the gall to put my own glasses on and see if she used ley line magic to make her look that unattractive or if it was all her. A sigh shifted her narrow shoulders as she looked up, her gaze going right to mine through her spelled glasses. “I see,” she said, her voice making my spine crawl, “that we have a new face today.”
I gave her a false smile. It was obvious she recognized me; her face had scrunched up like a prune.
“Rachel Morgan,” she said.
“Here,” I said, my voice flat.
A wisp of annoyance flashed over her. “I know who you are.” Low heels clicking, she came to stand before me. Leaning forward, she peered at Jenks. “Who might you be, pixy sir?”
“Uh, Jenks, ma’am,” he stammered, his wings moving fitfully to tangle in my hair.
“Jenks,” she said, her tone bordering on the respectful. “I’m glad to make your acquaintance. You’re not on my class list. Please leave.”
“Yes ma’am,” he said, and much to my surprise, the usually arrogant pixy swung himself off my earring. “Sorry, Rache,” he said, hovering before me. “I’ll be in the faculty lounge or the library. Nick might still be working.”
“Sure. I’ll find you later.”
He gave Dr. Anders a head bob and zipped out the still open door.
“I’m sorry,” Dr. Anders said. “Is my class interfering with your social life?”
“No, Dr. Anders. It’s a pleasure seeing you again.”
She pulled back at the faint sarcasm. “Is it?”
From the corner of my sight I saw Janine’s mouth hanging open. What I could see of the rest of the class looked about the same. My face burned. I don’t know why the woman had it in for me, but she did. She was as nice as a hungry crow to everyone else, but I got the ravenous badger.
Dr. Anders let her papers fall to my table with a slap. My name was circled in a thick red marker. Her thin lips tightened almost imperceptibly. “Why are you here?” she asked. “We are two classes into the semester.”
“It’s still add/drop week,” I countered, feeling my pulse increase. Unlike Jenks, I had no problem fighting authority. But as the song went, authority always won.
“I don’t even know how you managed to get the approval for taking this class,” she said caustically. “You have none of the prerequisites.”
“All my credits transferred in. And I got a year for life-experiences.” True enough, but Edden was the real reason I had been able to skip right to a five-hundred-level class.
“You are wasting my time, Ms. Morgan,” she said. “You are an earth witch. I thought I had made that very clear to you. You don’t possess the control to work ley lines beyond what you need to close a modest circle.” She leaned over me, and I felt my blood pressure rise. “I’m going to flunk you out of my class faster than before.”
I took a steadying breath, glancing at the shocked faces. Clearly they had never seen this side of their beloved instructor. “I need this class, Dr. Anders,” I said, not knowing why I was trying to appeal to her stunted compassion. Except that if I got kicked out, Edden might make me pay the tuition. “I’m here to learn.”
At that, the prickly woman picked up her papers and retreated to the empty table behind her. Her gaze roved over the class before settling on me. “Having trouble with your demon?”
Several in the class gasped. Janine actually shrank away from me. Damn that woman, I thought, my hand going to cover my wrist. Not even here for five minutes, and she alienates me from the entire class. I should have worn a bracelet. My jaw clenched and my breathing increased as I fought to not respond.
Dr. Anders seemed satisfied. “You can’t reliably hide a demon mark with earth magic,” she said, her voice raised in the sound of instruction. “You need ley line magic for that. Is that why you’re here, Ms. Morgan?” she mocked.
Shaking, I refused to drop her eyes. I hadn’t known that. No wonder my charms to disguise it never worked past sundown.
Her wrinkles went deeper as she frowned. “Professor Peltzer’s Demonology for Modern Practitioners is in the next building over. Perhaps you should excuse yourself and see if it’s not too late to change classes. We do not deal in the black arts here.”
“I am not a black witch,” I said softly, afraid if I raised my voice, I would start shouting. I pushed up my sleeve to show my demon mark, refusing to be ashamed of it. “I did not call the demon who gave me this. I fought it off.”
I took a slow breath, unable to look at anyone, most of all Janine, who had pushed as far from me as she could get. “I’m here to learn how to keep it o
ff of me, Dr. Anders. I will not take any demonology classes. I’m afraid of them.”
The last was a whisper, but I knew everyone heard. Dr. Anders seemed taken aback. I was embarrassed, but if it kept her off my case, then it was embarrassment well spent.
The woman’s footsteps were loud as she clacked to the front of the room. “Go home, Ms. Morgan,” she said to the blackboard. “I know why you’re here. I did not kill my past students, and I take offense in your unsaid accusation.”
And with that pleasant thought, she turned, flashing the class a tight-lipped smile. “If the rest of you will please retain your copies of eighteenth century pentagrams? We will be having a quiz on them Friday. For next week, I want you to go over chapters six, seven, and eight in your texts and to do the even practices at the end of each. Janine?”
At the sound of her name, the woman jumped. She had been trying to get a good look at my wrist. I was still shaking, my fingers trembling as I wrote down the assignment.
“Janine, you would do well to do the odds on chapter six, as well. Your control in releasing stored ley line energy leaves something to be desired.”
“Yes, Dr. Anders,” she said, white-faced.
“And go sit by Brian,” she added. “You can learn more from him than Ms. Morgan.”
Janine didn’t hesitate. Before Dr. Anders had even finished, Janine picked up her purse and book, moving to the next table. I was left alone, feeling sick. Janine’s borrowed chalk sat next to my book like a stolen cookie.
“I would also like to evaluate your linkages with your familiars on Friday, as we will be starting a section on long-term protection over the next few weeks,” Dr. Anders was saying. “So please bring them in. It will take some time to get through all of you. Those at the end of the alphabet can expect to be held beyond the usual class time.”
There was a weary groan from some of the students, but it lacked a certain joviality that I sensed was usually there. My stomach dropped. I didn’t have a familiar. If I didn’t get one by Friday, she’d flunk me. Same as last time.
Dr. Anders smiled at me with the warmth of a doll. “Is that a problem, Ms. Morgan?”
“No,” I said flatly, starting to want to pin the murders on her whether she had committed them or not. “No problem at all.”
Eight
Thankfully, there was no line when we pulled up to Pizza Piscary’s in Glenn’s unmarked FIB car. Ivy and I slid out almost as soon as the car stopped. It hadn’t been a very comfortable ride for either of us, the memory of her pinning me to the kitchen wall still new-penny bright. Her manner had been odd this evening, subdued but excited. I felt like I was going to meet her parents. In a way, I suppose I was. Piscary was the way-back originator of her living-vamp family line.
Glenn yawned as he slowly got out and put his jacket on, but he woke up enough to wave off Jenks, flitting around his head. He didn’t seem at all uneasy about going into what was strictly an Inderland eatery. I could almost see the chip on his shoulder. Maybe he was a slow learner.
The FIB detective had agreed to exchange his stiff FIB suit for the jeans and faded flannel shirt Ivy had tucked in the back of her closet in a box labeled LEFTOVERS in a faded black marker. They fit Glenn exactly, and I didn’t want to know where she had gotten them or why they had several neatly mended tears in some rather unusual places. A nylon jacket hid the weapon he refused to leave behind, but I had left my splat gun at home. It would be useless against a room full of vamps.
A van eased into the lot to take an empty space at the far end. My attention drifted from it to the brightly lit delivery/ takeout window. As I watched, another pizza went out, the car lurching into the street and speeding away with the quickness that told of a large engine. Pizza drivers have made good money since they successfully lobbied for hazard pay.
Past the parking lot was the soft lapping of water on wood. Long strips of light glinted on the Ohio River, and the taller buildings of Cincinnati reflected in wide streaks on the flat water. Piscary’s was waterfront property, situated in the middle of the more affluent strip of clubs, restaurants, and nightspots. It even had a landing where yacht-traveling patrons could tie up to—but getting a table overlooking the dock would be impossible this late.
“Ready?” Ivy said brightly as she finished adjusting her jacket. She was dressed in her usual black leather pants and silk shirt, looking lanky and predatory. The only color to her face was her bright red lipstick. A chain of black gold hung about her neck in place of her usual crucifix—which was now tucked in her jewelry box at home. It matched her ankle bracelets perfectly. She had gone further to paint her nails with a clear coat, giving them a subtle shine.
The jewelry and nail polish were unusual for her, and after seeing it, I had opted to wear a wide silver band instead of my usual charm bracelet to cover my demon mark. It felt nice to get dressed up, and I’d even tried to do something with my hair. The red frizz I ended up with almost looked intentional.
I kept a step behind Glenn as we moved to the front door. Inderlanders mixed freely, but our group was more odd than usual, and I was hoping to get in and out quickly with the information we came for before we attracted attention. The van that pulled in after us was a pack of Weres, and they were noisy as they closed the gap between us.
“Glenn,” Ivy said as we reached the door. “Keep your mouth shut.”
“Whatever,” the officer said antagonistically.
My eyebrows rose and I took a wary step back. Jenks landed upon my big hoop earrings. “This ought to be good,” he snickered.
Ivy grabbed Glenn’s collar, picking him up and slamming him against the wooden pillar supporting the canopy. The startled man froze for an instant, then kicked out, aiming for Ivy’s gut. Ivy dropped him to evade the strike. With a vamp quickness, she picked him back up and slammed him into the post again. Glenn grunted in pain, struggling to catch his breath.
“Ooooh,” Jenks cheered. “That’s going to ache in the morning.”
I jiggled my foot and glanced at the pack of Weres. “Couldn’t you have taken care of this before we left?” I complained.
“Look, you little snack,” Ivy said calmly, putting herself in Glenn’s face. “You will keep your mouth shut. You do not exist unless I ask you a question.”
“Go to hell,” Glenn managed, his face reddening under his dark skin.
Ivy shifted him a smidgen higher, and he grunted. “You stink like a human,” she continued, her eyes shifting toward black. “Piscary’s is all Inderlanders or bound humans. The only way you’re going to get out of here with all your parts intact and unpunctured is if everyone thinks you’re my shadow.”
Shadow, I thought. It was a derogatory term. Thrall was another. Toy would be more accurate. It referred to a human recently bit, now little more than a walking source of sex and food, and mentally bound to a vamp. They were kept submissive as long as possible. Decades sometimes. My old boss, Denon, had been counted among them until he curried the favor of the one who had granted him a more free existence.
Face ugly, Glenn broke her hold and fell to the ground. “Go Turn yourself, Tamwood,” he rasped, rubbing his neck. “I can take care of myself. This won’t be any worse than walking into a good-old-boy’s bar in deep Georgia.”
“Yeah?” she questioned, pale hand on her cocked hip. “Anyone there want to eat you?”
The Were pack flowed past us and inside. One jerked, doing a double take as he saw me, and I wondered if my stealing that fish was going to be a problem. Music and chatter drifted out, cutting off as the thick door shut. I sighed. It sounded busy. Now we’d probably have to wait for a table.
I offered Glenn a hand up as Ivy opened the door. Glenn refused my help, tucking his anti-itch spell back behind his shirt as he struggled to find his pride, squished under Ivy’s boots somewhere. Jenks flitted from me to his shoulder, and Glenn started. “Go sit somewhere else, pixy,” he said around a cough.
“Oh, no,” Jenks said merrily. “Don’t you
know a vamp won’t touch you if there’s a pixy on your shoulder? It’s a well-known fact.”
Glenn hesitated, and my eyes rolled. What a crock.
We filed in behind Ivy as the Were pack was being led to their table. The place was crowded, not unusual for a work-day. Piscary’s had the best pizza in Cincinnati, and they didn’t take reservations. The warmth and noise relaxed me, and I took off my coat. The rough-cut, thick support beams seemed to prop up the low ceiling, and a rhythmic stomping to the beat of Sting’s “Rehumanize Yourself” filtered down the wide stairs. Past them were wide windows looking out over the black river and the city beyond. A three-story, obscenely expensive motorboat was tied up, the docking lights shining on the name across the bow, SOLAR. Pretty college-age kids moved efficiently about in their skimpy uniforms, some more suggestive than others. Most were bound humans, since the vamp staff traditionally took the less supervised upstairs.
The host’s eyebrows rose as he took Glenn in. I could tell he was the host because his shirt was only half undone and his name tag said so. “Table for three? Lighted or non?”
“Lighted,” I interjected before Ivy could say different. I didn’t want to be upstairs. It sounded rowdy.
“It will be about fifteen minutes, then. You can wait at the bar if you like.”
I sighed. Fifteen minutes. It was always fifteen minutes. Fifteen little minutes that dragged to thirty, then forty, and then you were willing to wait ten more so you didn’t have to go to the next restaurant and start all over again.
Ivy smiled to show her teeth. Her canines were no bigger than mine were, but sharp like a cat’s. “We’ll wait here, thanks.”
Looking almost enraptured by her smile, the host nodded. His chest, showing beneath his open shirt, was scattered with pale scars. It wasn’t what the hosts were wearing at Denny’s, but who was I to complain? There was a soft look about him that I didn’t like in my men but some women did. “It won’t be long,” he said, his eyes fixing to mine as he noticed my attention on him. His lips parted suggestively. “Do you want to order now?”