by Kim Harrison
Affronted, I looked down at my leather pants and the red silk blouse tucked into them. Wearing leather before sunset had worried me until Ivy convinced me that the high quality of the leather I bought elevated the look from “white witch trash” to “wealthy witch class.” She ought to know, but I was still sensitive to it. “This is what I wear to work,” I snapped. “It saves on skin grafts if I have to run and end up sliding on pavement. Got a problem with it?”
Keeping his comments to a noncommittal grunt, he followed me to the kitchen. Ivy looked up from her map, silently taking in the burger bags and drinks. “Well,” she drawled. “I see you survived the pizza. I could still have Piscary bite you if you want.”
My mood lifted at Glenn’s suddenly closed expression. He made an ugly noise deep in his throat, and I went to put the frozen waffles away, seeing that the toaster hadn’t been plugged in. “You scarfed down that pizza fast enough last night,” I said. “Admit it. You li-i-i-i-iked it.”
“I ate it to stay alive.” Motions sharp, he stood at the table and pulled the bags to him. Seeing a tall black man in an expensive suit and shoulder holster unpacking paper-wrapped food made an odd picture. “I went home and prayed to the porcelain god for two hours straight,” he added, and Ivy and I exchanged amused looks.
Pushing her work aside, Ivy took the burger that was the most unsquished and the fullest envelope of fries. I slouched into a chair beside Glenn. He moved to the end of the table, not even trying to make it look casual. “Thanks for breakfast,” I said, eating a fry before unwrapping my burger with a rustle of paper.
He hesitated, his death grip on his FIB officer persona loosening as he undid the lowest button to his jacket and sat. “The FIB is paying for it. Actually, this is my breakfast, too. I didn’t get home until the sun was almost up. You put in a long day.”
His faint tone of acceptance eased my shoulders another notch. “Not really. It just starts about six hours later than yours.”
Wanting ketchup for my fries, I levered myself up and went to the fridge. I hesitated in my reach for the red bottle. Ivy caught my eye, shrugging after I pointed to it. Yeah, I thought. He was invading our lives. He ate the pizza last night. Why should Ivy and I suffer because of him? That decided, I pulled it out and set the bottle on the table with a bold thump. Much to my disappointment, Glenn didn’t notice.
“So,” Ivy said, reaching across the table and taking the ketchup. “You’re going to baby-sit Rachel today? Don’t take her on the bus. They won’t stop for her.”
He glanced up, starting as Ivy laced her burger with the red sauce. “Uh.” He blinked, clearly having lost his thought. His eyes were fixed upon the ketchup. “Yes. I’m going to show her what we have so far on the murders.”
A smile quirked the corner of my mouth at a sudden thought. “Hey, Ivy,” I said lightly. “Pass me the clotted blood.”
Not missing a beat, she pushed the bottle across the table. Glenn froze. “Oh my God!” he whispered harshly, his face going sallow.
Ivy snickered, and I laughed. “Relax, Glenn,” I said as I squirted ketchup over my fries. I lounged in my chair, giving him a sly look as I ate one. “It’s ketchup.”
“Ketchup!” He pulled his paper place mat with his food closer. “Are you insane?”
“Nearly the same stuff you were slurping last night,” Ivy said.
I pushed the bottle toward him. “It won’t kill you. Try some.”
His eyes riveted to the red plastic, Glenn shook his head. His neck was stiff, and he pulled his food closer. “No.”
“Aw, come on, Glenn,” I coaxed. “Don’t be a squish. I was kidding about the blood.” What’s the point of having a human over if you can’t jerk him around a little?
He stayed sullen, eating his burger as if it were a chore, not an enjoyable experience. But without ketchup, it might be a job. “Look,” I said persuasively as I edged closer and turned the bottle around. “Here’s what’s in it. Tomatoes, corn syrup, vinegar, salt …” I hesitated, frowning. “Hey, Ivy. Did you know they put onion and garlic powder in ketchup?”
She nodded, wiping a stray bit of ketchup off the corner of her mouth. Glenn looked interested, leaning closer to read the fine print above my freshly painted nail. “Why?” he asked. “What’s wrong with onions and garlic?” He got a knowing look in his brown eyes and settled back. “Ah,” he said wisely. “Garlic.”
“Don’t be stupid.” I set the bottle down. “Garlic and onions have a lot of sulfur. So do eggs. They give me migraines.”
“Mmmm,” Glenn said smugly as he picked the ketchup bottle up between two fingers to read the label for himself. “What’s natural flavors?”
“You don’t want to know,” Ivy said, her voice pitched dramatically.
Glenn set the bottle down. I couldn’t help my snort of amusement.
The sound of an approaching motorcycle pulled Ivy to her feet. “That’s my ride,” she said, crumpling her wrapper and pushing her half-eaten carton of fries to the middle of the table. She stretched, her lanky body reaching for the ceiling. Glenn ran his attention over her, then looked away.
My gaze met Ivy’s. It sounded like Kist’s cycle. I wondered if this had anything to do with last night. Seeing my apprehension, Ivy grabbed her purse. “Thanks for breakfast, Glenn.” She turned to me. “See you later, Rachel,” she added as she breezed out.
Shoulders easing, Glenn looked at the clock above the sink, then went back to eating. I was scraping the last of the ketchup up with a fry as Ivy’s demand filtered in from the street, “Go Turn yourself, Kist. I’m driving.” I smiled as the bike accelerated and the street grew quiet.
Finished, I crumpled my paper into a ball and stood. Glenn wasn’t done, and as I cleared the table, I left the ketchup. From the corner of my sight, I watched him eye it. “It’s good on burgers, too,” I said, dropping to crouch beside the island counter and pick out a spell book. There was the sound of sliding plastic. Book in hand, I turned to find he had pushed the bottle away. He wouldn’t meet my eyes as I sat down at the table. “Mind if I check on something before we leave?” I asked, opening to the index.
“Go ahead.”
His voice had turned cold again, and deciding it was the spell book, I sighed and leaned over the faded print. “I want to stir a spell for the Howlers to change their mind about not paying me,” I said, hoping he would relax if he knew what I was doing. “I thought I might pick up what I don’t have in the garden while I’m out. You don’t mind an extra stop, do you?”
“No.” It was marginally less cold, and I took that as a good sign. He was noisily stirring the ice with his straw, and I purposely edged closer so he could see.
“Look,” I said, pointing at the blurring print. “I was right. If I want to send their pop flies foul, I need a noncontact spell.” For an earth witch such as myself, noncontact meant wands. I’d never made one before, but my eyebrows rose at the ingredients. I had everything but the fern seed and the wand. How much could a dowel of redwood cost?
“Why do you do it?”
His voice had a touch of belligerence, and blinking, I closed the book. Disappointed, I went to put it away, turning to face him with my back against the island counter. “Make spells? It’s what I do. I’m not going to hurt anyone. Not with a spell, anyway.”
Glenn set his super-sized cup down. His dark fingers loosened their grip and slid away. Leaning back in his chair, he hesitated. “No,” he said. “How can you live with someone like that? Ready to explode with no warning?”
“Oh.” I reached for my drink. “You just caught her on a bad day. She doesn’t like your dad, and she took it out on you.” And you did ask for it, dickhead. I slurped the last of my drink and threw the cup away. “Ready?” I said as I got my bag and coat from a chair.
Glenn stood and adjusted his suit coat before crossing in front of me to throw his stuff away under the sink. “She wants something,” he said. “And every time she looks at you, I see guilt. Whether she means
to or not, she’s going to hurt you, and she knows it.”
Affronted, I gave him an up-and-down look. “She’s not hunting me.” Trying to keep a lid on my anger, I headed down the hallway at a fast pace.
Glenn was close his hard-soled shoes a heartbeat behind mine. “Are you telling me yesterday was the first time she attacked you?”
My lips pursed, and the thumps of my boots went all the way up my spine. There had been lots of almosts before I figured out what pushed her buttons and quit doing it.
Glenn said nothing, clearly hearing the answer in my silence. “Listen,” he said as we emerged into the sanctuary, “I may have looked like the dumb human last night, but I was watching. Piscary bespelled you easier than blowing out a candle. She pulled you from him by simply saying your name. That can’t be normal. And he called you her pet. Is that what you are? It sure looks like it to me.”
“I’m not her pet,” I said. “She knows it. I know it. Piscary can think what he wants.” Shoving my arms into my coat, I pushed my way out of the church and stormed down the steps. His car was locked, and I yanked at the handle. Angry, I waited for him to unlock it. “And it’s none of your business,” I added.
The FIB detective was silent as he opened his door, then paused to look at me over the roof of the car. He put on his shades, hiding his eyes. “You’re right. It’s not my business.”
The door unlocked, and I got in, slamming it to make the car shake. Glenn slid softly in behind the wheel and shut his door.
“Damn right it isn’t your business,” I muttered in the closeness of his car. “You heard her last night. I’m not her shadow. She wasn’t lying when she said that.”
“I also heard Piscary say if she didn’t get control of you, he would.”
A flash of real fear tightened me, unwanted and unsettling. “I’m her friend,” I asserted. “All she wants is a friend that isn’t after her blood. Ever think of that?”
“A pet, Rachel?” he said softly as he started the car.
I said nothing, tapping my fingers on the armrest. I wasn’t Ivy’s pet. And not even Piscary could make her turn me into one.
Ten
The late September afternoon sun was warm through my leather jacket as I rested my arm on the car’s window. The tiny vial of salt on my charm bracelet shifted in the wind to clink against my wooden cross, and reaching out, I adjusted the side mirror to watch the traffic hanging a car length behind. It was nice to have a vehicle at my beck and call. We’d be at the FIB in fifteen minutes, not the forty it would take by bus, afternoon traffic and all. “Take a right at the next light,” I said, pointing.
I watched in disbelief as Glenn drove straight through the intersection. “What the Turn is wrong with you!” I exclaimed. “I have yet to get in this car and you go where I want you to.”
Glenn’s expression was smug behind his sunglasses. “Shortcut.” He grinned, his teeth startlingly white. It was the first real smile I had seen on him, and it took me aback.
“Sure,” I said, waving a hand in the air. “Show me your shortcut.” I doubted it would be faster, but I wasn’t going to say anything. Not after that smile.
My head turned to follow a familiar sign on one of the passing buildings. “Hey! Stop!” I shouted, spinning halfway around in my seat. “It’s a charm shop.”
Glenn checked behind him and made an illegal U-turn. I gripped the top of the window as he made another, pulling up right before the shop and parking at the curb. I opened the door and grabbed my bag. “I’ll just be a minute,” I said, and he nodded, moving his seat backward and leaning his head against the headrest.
Leaving him to nap, I strode into the shop. The bells above the door jingled, and I took a slow breath, feeling myself relax. I liked charm shops. This one smelled like lavender, dandelion, and the bite of chlorophyll. Bypassing the ready-made spells, I went straight to the back where the raw materials were.
“May I help you?”
I looked up from a posy of bloodroot to find a tidy, eager salesman leaning over the counter. He was a witch by the smell of him—though it was hard to tell with all the scents in there. “Yes,” I said. “I’m looking for fern seed and a dowel of redwood suitable for a wand.”
“Ah!” he said triumphantly. “We keep our seeds right over here.”
I paralleled his path from my side of the counter to a display of amber bottles. He ran his fingers over them, bringing down one the size of my pinky and extending it. I wouldn’t take it, indicating he should put it on the counter. He looked affronted as I dug about in my bag, then held an amulet over the bottle. “I assure you, ma’am,” he said stiffly, “it’s the highest quality.”
I gave him a weak smile as the amulet glowed a faint green. “I was under a death threat this spring,” I explained. “You can’t blame me for being cautious.”
The doorbells jingled, and I glanced back to see Glenn come in.
The salesman brightened, snapping his fingers and taking a step back. “You’re Rachel. Rachel Morgan, right? I know you!” He pressed the bottle into my hands. “On the house. So glad to see you survived. What were the odds on you? Three hundred to one?”
“It was two hundred,” I said, slightly offended. I watched his gaze dart over my shoulder to Glenn, his smile freezing as he realized he was human. “He’s with me,” I said, and the man gasped, trying to disguise it with a cough. His eyes lingered on Glenn’s half-hidden weapon. The Turn take it, I missed my cuffs.
“The wands are over here,” he said, his tone giving me clear indication he didn’t approve of my choice of companions. “We store them in a desiccation box to keep them fresh.”
Glenn and I followed him to a clear spot beside the cash register. The man pulled a wooden box the size of a violin case out, opened it, and turned it with a flourish so I could see.
I sighed as the sent of redwood came rolling out. My hand rose to touch them, dropping as the salesman cleared his throat. “What spell are you stirring, Ms. Morgan?” he asked, his tone going professional as he eyed me over his glasses. The rims were wood, and I’d bet my panties they were spelled to see through earth magic disguise charms.
“I want to try a noncontact spell. For … oh … breaking wood already under stress?” I said, stifling a tinge of embarrassment.
“Any of the smaller ones will do,” he said, his gaze shifting between Glenn and me.
I nodded, my eyes fixed upon the pencil-size wands. “How much?”
“Nine hundred seventy-five,” he said. “But to you, I’d sell it for nine.”
Dollars? “You know,” I said slowly, “I should make sure I have everything before I actually get the wand. No sense having it lay around and pick up moisture before I need it.”
The salesman’s smile turned stiff. “Of course.” In one smooth motion he snapped the case closed and tucked it away.
I winced, withering inside. “How much for the fern seed?” I asked, knowing his earlier offer had been made only because I was buying a wand.
“Five-fifty.”
I had that—I thought. Head bowed, I dug about in my bag. I had known wands were expensive, but not that expensive. Money in hand, I glanced up to find Glenn eyeing a rack of stuffed rats. As the salesman rang up my purchase, Glenn leaned close and, still staring at the rats, whispered, “What are those used for?”
“I have no idea.” I got my receipt and jammed everything in my bag. Trying to find a shred of dignity, I headed for the door, Glenn trailing behind. The bells jingled as we reached the pavement. Again in the sun, I took a cleansing breath. I wasn’t going to spend nine hundred bucks to possibly get my five-hundred-dollar fee.
Glenn surprised me by opening the car door for me, and as I settled in the seat, he leaned against the frame of the open window. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and strode inside. He was out in a moment with a small white bag. I watched him cross in front of the car—wondering. Timing himself between the traffic, he opened the door and slid in behind the wheel.
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“Well?” I asked as he set the package between us. “What did you get?”
Glenn started the car and pulled out into traffic. “A stuffed rat.”
“Oh,” I said, surprised. What the devil was he going to do with it? Even I didn’t know what it was for. I was dying to ask all the way to the FIB building but managed to keep my mouth shut even as we slipped into the cold shade of their underground parking.
Glenn had a reserved spot, and my heels echoed as I found the pavement. With the pained slowness I remembered from my dad, Glenn slowly unkinked himself as he got out and tugged the sleeves of his jacket down. He reached back in for his rat and gestured to the stairs.
Still silent, I followed him into the concrete stairway. We only had to go up one flight, and he held the door for me as we went in the back door. He took his shades off as we entered, and I pushed my hair out of my eyes and under my cap. The air conditioner was on, and I looked over the small entryway thinking it was worlds away from the busy front lobby.
Glenn plucked a visitor pass from behind a cluttered desk, signing me in and giving the man on the phone a nod. I clipped it on my lapel as I followed him to the open-aired offices.
“Hi, Rose,” Glenn said as he came to Edden’s secretary. “Is Captain Edden available?”
Ignoring me, the older woman put a finger on the paper she was typing from and nodded. “He’s in a meeting. Want me to tell him you’re here?”
Glenn took my elbow and started hustling me past her. “When he gets out. No rush. Ms. Morgan and I will be here for the next few hours.”
“Yes sir,” she said, going back to her typing.
Hours? I thought, not liking the way he hadn’t let me talk to Rose; I wanted to find out what their dress code was. The FIB couldn’t have that much information. The I.S. had primary jurisdiction of the crimes.
“My office is over there,” Glenn said, pointing to the bank of offices with walls and a door that lined the cubicle-divided space. The few officers at their desks looked up from their paperwork as Glenn almost pushed me forward. I was getting the distinct impression that he didn’t want anyone to know I was there.