by Kim Harrison
Trent and I had already figured out how to capture an undead soul, but before I could say anything, Ivy drummed her fingers, clearly ticked. “Cormel won’t go for individual collection. In fact, it’s worse knowing that your soul is on the shelf, able to complete you but will end your life if you join with it.”
I’m so sorry, Ivy. I keep trying to help you, and I only keep making things worse.
“Rachel has already pioneered and patented the white curse needed to capture an undead soul,” Al said, his expression almost beatific as he gazed at the uptight professor. “I’d be delighted to explain it to you. How are you at making coffee?”
Professor Anders looked him over. “I make excellent coffee, but you’re making your own.” She hesitated, shifting away from him for the very first time. “I don’t trust you.”
Unperturbed, Al stood and extended a hand for her. “That is what makes it interesting,” he almost crooned. “Shall we go to your lab? Or mine?”
“Al and Anders, sitting in a tree—” Jenks sang out, then yelped at the twin pops of magic exploding under him, one from Anders, one from Al.
Eyes squinted in mistrust, Professor Anders stood and placed her hand in Al’s. The demon beamed, and she gasped as they just . . . vanished. Both their coffees went with them.
Trent shook his head in disbelief. “Okay, that was something I hadn’t expected. Vivian, where are you staying?”
It sounded like things were wrapping up, and there’d been no decisions, just ideas that weren’t going to work. “What about Landon?” I asked.
“I’m staying downtown at the Cincinnatian,” Vivian said, tucking her notes away in a tiny purse that had to be bigger on the inside than the out. “Give me until noon.” She hesitated as she stood. “Ah, make that three. They might not be up yet. I’ll have a better idea of what the coven will do.”
But I already knew they’d back Landon, and I slumped.
“Good.” Trent leaned his chair back on two legs with his hands clasped behind his head, looking pleased with what we’d learned. “I’ve found a few pieces of support in the dewar. Perhaps we can pool our resources if you find enough dissent.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Vivian gave me a nod. “See you when it’s done, Rachel. Try not to destroy Cincinnati like you did San Francisco.”
“That was Ku’Sox!” I said as she nodded to Jenks and Ivy, both of whom looked as happy as I felt—that is, not at all.
“David, you want a ride somewhere?” Vivian asked, and David pulled himself out of his thoughts with a grunt and reached for his phone.
“Sure. Thanks.”
Trent’s chair came back down onto all fours. “Actually, David, I’d like to talk to you about something.”
David perked up, hiding a sly smile that had Vivian putting a hand on her hip. “What are you planning?” she accused.
“Ah, just the local distribution of the packs to minimize disruption to services,” Trent lied, and Ivy sent Jenks to get a croissant. We might be here awhile. “The same thing the packs did the last time the vampires panicked.”
“Yeah, okay,” the smart woman said, and then seeing that no one was going to say anything more while she was standing there, she stomped out to the rental car she’d driven them all here in. “I don’t want to know, anyway, do I!” she called back over her shoulder before the door shut.
Excited, I sat up. All the busybodies were gone, leaving those who had the guts to actually do something. “What are we going to do?”
Trent smiled at my enthusiasm, then sobered at Ivy’s calm, deadly anticipation and David’s expectation. Outside, Vivian raced the car’s engine and left. “Vivian will try, but the coven is going to side with Landon to banish the undead souls and drain the ever-after for the energy to reinstate the lines,” Trent said.
“It’s unethical,” Ivy said bitterly, and I thought of the demons, facing their own maybe demise. It hurt that no one seemed to care.
“I agree,” Trent said in placation, “but fear will convince the coven and the dewar to follow him. Our number one priority is to find Landon.” Trent smiled at me, and finally my shoulders started to ease. “We have until tomorrow at sunset.”
Jenks made a burst of dust in worry. “What’s to stop him from doing it tonight?”
“It’s the equinox,” I said, only now remembering it. “Tomorrow, about an hour before sunset. If he’s going to break the lines, that’s when he’s going to do it. All things will be equal.”
Trent was nodding, and Ivy exhaled as she slumped back. “At least we have some time to plan this one,” she said sarcastically. “Tomorrow?”
Hell, I didn’t need a plan, just a direction.
“The thing about a collective curse is that it can be broken if the person orchestrating it is, ah . . .” Trent’s voice trailed off as he searched for a word.
“Killed?” Jenks suggested, striking a pose and stabbing the sugar packets.
“I was going to say distracted,” Trent said, and Jenks held his cup under the tiny stream of sugar spilling out.
“Killed works for me,” David said. “I’m all for live and let live, but this guy is knowingly hurting too many people.”
“Take Landon out and they’ll just find someone else to do it,” Ivy said glumly.
“Perhaps, but they will have to wait an entire six months. And if we can’t convince Landon to cease, we might be able to work a clause into the curse that will shift it to our liking, but we have to find him first.”
My eyebrows rose. “You can do that?”
Trent shifted uncomfortably. “With some planning. It’s how the elves originally turned the curse around and trapped the demons in the ever-after instead of us. Landon won’t be looking for such subterfuge, but we have to physically be involved in the casting of the curse to break the lines, and for that, we need to find him.”
“Ivy, I can use your help with that,” David said, and the despairing look Ivy had been wearing since I walked in finally eased.
“Jenks can keep us clean,” Trent said, and the pixy’s sparkles turned a bright silver. “Which will leave you and me, Rachel, to twist the curse to our liking.”
“And maybe Mark to make us a couple more coffees while we figure out how to do all that,” Jenks said.
I couldn’t help my smile. That totally worked for me.
Chapter 24
This tastes like moldy mulch,” I whispered as I set the tiny potion vial down and stifled a shudder at the gritty feel of it as I swallowed. The recipe made seven portions, and as I reached for another, I decided that I’d leave the last four for Trent. Elves had an affinity for blending into shadows, but the spelled ability to become virtually invisible seemed prudent. I didn’t know if elves could store potions like demons could, but we figured it was worth a try. I was finding out they were more alike than different, which was about par for the course. The more I knew, the more I realized everything I’d been told was probably wrong.
Trent’s breathing was slow and even as he napped on the cot, the light blanket pulled up almost over his head. He’d once told me that he envied the way most people could stay awake through the entire day, but I’d always thought it more effective to never need to sleep more than four hours at a go instead of an interminably long eight hours at a time. The world could end in eight hours and you’d never know until it was too late.
I hadn’t been surprised when Trent had suggested coming out here to spell. The hut was hard to find notwithstanding its being mere steps from his back office, even with the fire going and giving off a telltale thread of smoke. There was no running water or electricity, which made it a very secure place to spell, if a little small. The table I was working at was actually a fold-up job, slipped out from under the cot.
And I liked it here, away from the polished simplicity of most of Trent’s rooms. It was only here that I felt comfortable among the softer, earthy parts of Trent’s nature carefully hidden away from casual bruising. Here he kept h
is favorite books—the ones that had helped shaped his ideas of right and wrong. A small shrine to his mother glowed with candlelight next to the summoning circle set within the ley line that nicked the inside corner of the building. Mementos from camp and college were cheek by jowl with scientific awards, the layer of dust an accurate determination of when he’d won them. Thank-you letters and pictures from people he and his father had saved with illegal genetic medicines were shoved in drawers along with brochures of places he’d never have time to go. The hut held everything that was dear to him, everything too precious to have where people could see it. That the mantel now held Mr. Fish and that black chrysalis from Al made me feel more than good; it made me feel like I belonged.
My coffee, instant prepared from water warmed up over the open fire, was cold. I’d make more but I was afraid the scent might wake Trent, and I’d just as soon have him asleep while I finished up the prep for crashing Landon’s spelling party tomorrow. Not everything was legal, but nothing was immoral, and that was my guide these days.
I was tired of trying to overcome the bad guys with a few simple spells and throwing raw energy at them—as effective as it was. Earlier today Trent and I had made and imbibed potions to make ourselves almost invisible, to temporarily hold our breath for five minutes without stress, to make our hands sticky enough to climb walls, and to coat an attacker in a spiderweblike net. But after a morning of prepping spells and curses, I was beginning to have second thoughts. They all tasted like crap. I didn’t know how Al stood being his own spelling cupboard. I felt ill, as if I’d eaten bad yogurt. And what if I forgot the word of invocation?
But if Trent would stay asleep for ten more minutes, I had one more spell to craft, one I’d rather finish before he woke.
The soft hum of pixy wings pulled my attention to the tiny window over the bowl currently being used as a sink. Dust glittered in the sun as Jenks landed on the narrow sill. I slammed down a third potion as Jenks leaned over his knees, a stick of yew as tall as he was in his grip.
“Is this long enough?” he asked, panting as he glanced at the sleeping Trent in envy.
I nodded, carefully setting the four remaining potions aside and clearing the table. My pulse quickened. It wasn’t as if Trent would be mad, but he’d made it clear that he wasn’t going to count on the demons to help. I disagreed. I was sure I could get them to help us stave off the elven trickery. I mean, they knew Landon was lying. Why wouldn’t they help expose him? But to talk to the collective meant I needed another scrying mirror—something smaller this time, say small enough to fit in my shoulder bag.
“Thanks, Jenks,” I said as I took the plates with their crumbs of cheese and crackers to the makeshift sink. The pixy propped the stick against the side of the open window frame. It still sported bits of green and peeling bark, and I smiled, seeing where he’d wedged it off the plant.
Jenks followed me to the table, coming to rest on my cold coffee cup as I swabbed the teak down with a salt water–soaked rag. Apparently teak was spell resistant. I hadn’t known, and it felt really weird to be spelling on it. “Can I help?” he asked, and then a draft sent his dust into the fireplace to flame up with a hiss.
“Ah, sure.” Brow furrowed, I shifted a footstool out of the path of a protection circle. It was inlaid right into the floor, making me wonder about Trent’s mom. This had been her spelling hut, and it was a fairly large circle for most casual users. “Keep an eye on Trent’s aura and let me know if he’s waking up.”
Jenks snorted, and I shot him a look to behave as I settled myself at the table with the hand mirror, bottle of wine, salt from Trent’s stash, and the rest. The charm would temporarily strip me of my aura, which was the reason for the circle. Closing my eyes, I reached out and strengthened my hold on the ley line.
Energy was a jolt instead of the usual calm flow, and my eyes started open. The line was only six feet away, but there was a raw, serrated feel to it that I’d never felt before. I had a bad feeling that it was the mystics and that I’d gotten used to the smooth silk of power that they naturally gave off like a living ley line.
“Okay, let’s get this started,” I muttered, glancing at Trent as I set the protective circle. Jenks was inside it with me, and his wings shifted in agitation as the molecule-thin sheet rose up and around us.
I was reaching for the knife to pare down the yew stick to a proper stylus when the silver bell over the fireplace made a single, beautiful peal of sound.
My heart seemed to stop. I looked to Trent, then Jenks, his dust shifting to an alarmed silver as he turned to that tiny slip of ley line that crossed the hut’s corner.
I spun to a stand. Al! The demon materialized in his green crushed velvet, his nose wrinkled and disdainfully brushing at his coat. “Al!” I almost hissed, still in my circle. Crap on toast, not again! At least he wasn’t drunk this time. “Get out!” I exclaimed softly.
Jenks took to the air when Al seemed to shake his foot free of the line and stepped closer to the fire. His sleeve brushed the edge of my circle and it fell with the sensation of winter snow, our auras being identical thanks to Newt. “I should have guessed you’d be here,” he said, a white-gloved hand reaching for the chrysalis he’d once given me. “Here, collected among that elf’s favorite things,” he finished bitterly.
“I’m not collected,” I whispered. “And put that down. It’s mine!”
Eyes mocking, Al succinctly put the black chrysalis into his front pocket, daring me.
Springs squeaked as Trent shifted on the cot, and my pulse quickened. Damn it, I’d wanted to talk to Al, but not in person, and not here! “Outside,” I demanded, grabbing his coat and tugging him to the door. “Now, before he wakes up.”
“Like I care,” he muttered, but he was moving, and I got behind him and pushed.
“I want to talk to you,” I said, again noticing he didn’t smell like burnt amber. “Alone,” I added, making Jenks bristle.
Al let himself be shoved out, but I think it was only because Jenks was having a personal issue with the “alone” comment. “Rache . . . ,” the pixy protested once we were outside.
“Stay here,” I demanded, tugging Al down the path. “I mean it. Just . . . keep Trent safe.”
“Trent!” the pixy yelped, releasing a burst of gold dust rivaling the sun.
“Do this for me!” I exclaimed, voice hardly above a whisper. “Al, walk with me.”
The demon snorted. “Walk with me . . . ,” he drawled. “How poetic. You’re turning into the little kingmaker, aren’t you?”
“Sweet ever-loving pixy piss,” Jenks griped. “I hope he turns your underwear to slugs!”
Jenks wouldn’t follow me right away, and tension brought my shoulders up to my ears when I realized I was shoving a demon through Trent’s private gardens. “How did you know I wanted to talk to you?” I said, pulse fast as I slowed down.
“I didn’t.” Al’s voice was low, distant almost as he touched a coiled fern frond and it gracefully unrolled with the sound of green. “I came to stop you from making a mistake.”
He came to stop me. My heart jumped at the thought that he might have forgiven me. I mean, he wasn’t throttling me or threatening me. But then my brief elation died. “It’s not a mistake. We could use your help in twisting Landon’s curse to dust.”
Al’s steady pace faltered, and I stopped in the middle of a tangled cricket-filled clearing.
“Rachel, you can’t shift the elven curse. The best you can hope for is to survive it. But it doesn’t matter. You must come now as we prepare.”
“Prepare for what? I’m not leaving Trent to do this alone. We could do this if the rest of you would help,” I accused, glad we were out of earshot of Trent’s hut.
Al reached for my arm, his hand falling back before it touched me. “No, we can’t,” he said with an infuriating sureness. “Trent has overestimated himself, and you won’t come out of this alive if you bind your fate to his.”
My brow furrowed. �
�I didn’t know you cared.”
Fire exploded against my cheek, and I stumbled back, hand pressed to my face as I reeled. Al caught me by the shoulder, jerking me back upright. He’d slapped me?
“Don’t toy with me,” Al whispered. “Trying to shift the elven curse will get you killed!”
He’d slapped me! “Hey!” I exclaimed, almost afraid. He had struck me because I’d used his pain to hurt him. “You walked away from me. You don’t have any say in what I do anymore, and if you hit me again, I’m going to smack you back!”
Al let me go. I tensed, but he turned away, his back bowed as he went to a cement bench. I hadn’t even known it was there, so covered in a rambling rose vine it was. Head down, Al waved his hand, brushing aside the vines to find a clear spot to sit. The scent of disturbed roses wafted out—one last bid for beauty before the autumn chill pinched the petals free.
He looked broken as he sat there with his elbows on his knees and stared at nothing. My cheek throbbed, and guilt swam up. I deserved to have been slapped. Using his own pain against him was cruel.
“We need your help,” I said, and he looked at me from under lowered eyebrows. My boots scuffed through the leaf mold to find paving as I shifted closer. There’d been a clearing here once—a patio maybe—and I went to sit on a broken statue. It looked as if it might have been a witches’ garden, though admittedly not a very sunny one.
“Why do you care about the undead souls? The demons? Me?”
His last word held a painful vulnerability, and I tried to find a more comfortable position. “Because everyone deserves a chance to come back from their mistakes.” My roving eyes returned to find him sitting among the roses. “I should know.”
“You won’t come back from this one,” he said. “The elves are massed for destruction. Our destruction. The undead souls were the lure and the way. The elimination of the aged undead is a bonus, but it’s us they’re after. We couldn’t beat them when we were forty thousand strong. We are four hundred and thirteen now.”