by Ким Харрисон
Ivy's pupils had dilated to almost a full, vampire black. Her stance was domineering and sexually charged, but she had just slaked her blood lust and so was capable of listening. I shot a quick glance at Ceri, glad to see she wisely hadn't moved. "We all okay here?" I asked, my voice demanding they both back down.
Thin lips pressed tight, Ivy turned her back on us. Jenks dropped to my shoulder. "Nicely done," he said. "Got all your bitches in line, I see."
"Jenks!" I hissed, knowing Ivy had heard when her knuckles on her glass turned white. I flicked him off me, and laughing, he rose up and then back down to my shoulder.
Ceri was standing with her arms confidently at her side, watching Ivy grow more and more tense. "Oh-h-h-h-h," Jenks drawled. "Your new friend is gonna do something."
"Uh, Ceri?" I questioned, heart pounding as the petite woman went to stand beside Ivy at the sink, clearly demanding her attention.
Pale face tight with a repressed anger, Ivy turned. "What," she said flatly.
Ceri inclined her head regally, never taking her green eyes from Ivy's slowly dilating brown ones. "I apologize," she said in her high, clear voice, every syllable carefully pronounced. "I've slighted you." Her attention dropped to Ivy's elaborate crucifix on its silver chain about her neck. "You're a vampire warrior, and yet you can wear the Cross?"
Ceri's hand twitched, and I knew she wanted to touch it. Ivy knew it too. I watched, unable to interfere as Ivy turned to face her. Hip cocked, she gave Ceri a more in-depth once-over, taking in her dried tears, her exquisite ball gown, her bare feet, and her obvious pride and upright carriage. As I held my breath, Ivy took her crucifix off, the chain gathering her hair in front of her as she pulled it from around her neck.
"I'm a living vampire," she said as she put the religious icon in the elf's hand. "I was born with the vampire virus. You know what a virus is, don't you?"
Ceri's fingers traced the lines of the worked silver. "My demon let me read what I wished. A virus is killing my kin." She looked up. "Not the vampire virus. Something else."
Ivy's gaze darted to me, then returned to the small woman standing just a shade too close to her. "The virus changed me as I was forming in my mother's womb, making me some of both. I can walk under the sun and worship without pain," Ivy said. "I'm stronger than you," she added as she subtly put more space between them. "But not as strong as a true undead. And I have a soul." She said the last as if she expected Ceri to deny it.
Ceri's expression became empty. "You're going to lose it."
Ivy's eye twitched. "I know."
I held my breath, listening to the clock tick and the almost subliminal hum of pixy wings. Eyes solemn, the thin woman held the crucifix out to Ivy. "I'm sorry. That's the hell from which Rachel Mariana Morgan saved me."
Ivy looked at the cross in Ceri's hand, no emotion showing. "I'm hoping she can do the same for me."
I cringed. Ivy had pinned her sanity on the belief that there was a witch magic that might purge the vampire virus from her; that all it would take would be the right spell to let her walk away from the blood and violence. But there wasn't. I waited for Ceri to tell Ivy that no one was beyond redemption, but all she did was nod, her wispy hair floating. "I hope she can."
"Me, too." Ivy glanced at the crucifix Ceri was extending to her. "Keep it. It doesn't help anymore."
My lips parted in surprise, and Jenks landed upon my big hoop earrings as Ceri placed it about her neck. The elaborately tooled silver looked right against the rich purple and green of her formal gown. "Ivy—" I started, jerking when Ivy narrowed her eyes at me.
"It doesn't help anymore," she said tightly. "She wants it. I'm giving it to her."
Ceri reached up, clearly finding peace in the icon. "Thank you," she whispered.
Ivy frowned. "Touch my desk again, and I'll snap every one of your fingers."
Ceri took the threat with a light understanding that surprised me. It was obvious she had dealt with vampires before. I wondered where—since vampires couldn't manipulate ley lines and would therefore make lousy familiars.
"How about some tea?" I said, wanting something normal to do. Making tea wasn't normal, but it was close. The pot was steaming, and as I rummaged in a cupboard for a mug good enough for a guest, Jenks snickered, swinging my earring like a tire swing. His kids were flitting into the kitchen in twos and threes—much to Ivy's annoyance—pulled by the novelty of Ceri. They hovered over her, Jih taking the closest stance.
Ivy stood defensively before her computer, and after a moment's hesitation, Ceri sat in the chair farthest from her. She looked lost and alone as she fingered the crucifix about her neck. As I searched the pantry for a tea bag, I wondered how I was going to make this work. Ivy wasn't going to like another roommate. And where would we put her?
The accusing clatter of Ivy's pens was loud as she rearranged her pencil cup. "Got one," I said in relief as I finally found a tea bag. Jenks left me to bother Ivy, chased off my earring by the steam drifting up as I poured the boiling water into the mug.
"Here, Ceri," I said, waving the pixies away from her and setting it on the table. "Do you want anything with it?"
She looked at the cup as if she'd never seen one before. Eyes widening, she shook her head. I hesitated, wondering what I had done wrong. She looked like she was ready to cry again. "Is it okay?" I asked, and she nodded, her thin hand shaking as she took the mug.
Jenks and Ivy were staring at her. "You sure you don't want sugar or anything?" I asked, but she shook her head. Narrow chin trembling, she brought the cup to her lips.
Brow furrowed, I went to get the coffee grounds out of the fridge. Ivy rose to rinse the carafe. She leaned close to me, running the water to blur her words as she muttered, "What's wrong with her? She's crying over her tea."
I spun. "Ceri!" I exclaimed. "If you want some sugar, it's okay!"
She met my gaze, tears streaming down her pale face. "I haven't had anything to eat for—a thousand years," she choked out.
I felt as if I had been punched in the gut. "Do you want some sugar?"
Still crying, she shook her head.
Ivy was waiting for me when I turned back around. "She can't stay here, Rachel," the vampire said, her brow tight.
"She'll be fine," I whispered, appalled that Ivy was ready to kick her out. "I'll bring my old cot down from the belfry and set it up in the living room. I've got some old T-shirts she can wear until I take her shopping."
Jenks buzzed his wings for my attention. "Then what?" he said from the spigot.
I gestured my frustration. "I don't know. She's much better already. She wasn't talking half an hour ago. Look at her now."
We all turned, finding Ceri sobbing quietly and drinking her tea in small reverent sips as the pixy girls hovered over her. Three were plating her long, fair hair and another was singing to her.
"Okay," I said as we turned back. "Bad example."
Jenks shook his head. "Rache, I really feel bad for her, but Ivy's right. She can't stay here. She needs professional help."
"Really?" I said belligerently, feeling myself warm. "I haven't heard of any group therapy sessions for retired demon familiars, have you?"
"Rachel…" Ivy said.
A sudden shout from the pixy children brought Jenks up from the spigot. His eyes went past us to his kids as they descended upon the mouse, who had finally made a dash for the living room and found itself in its own personal hell. "Excuse me," he said, flitting off to rescue it.
"No," I said to Ivy. "I'm not going to dump her in some institution."
"I'm not saying you should." Ivy's pale face had started to color, and the ring of brown about her eyes was shrinking as my body heat rose and my blood grew warm, triggering her instincts. "But she can't stay here. The woman needs normal, and Rachel? We aren't it."
I took a breath to protest, then let it out. Frowning, I glanced at Ceri. She was wiping her eyes, the hand curled about her mug shaking to make rings on the surface of her tea. My
eyes went to the pixy children arguing over who was going to get to ride the mouse first. It was little Jessie, and the tiny pixy screamed in delight when the rodent darted out of the kitchen with her on its back. In a blur of gold sparkles, all but Jih followed. Maybe Ivy was right.
"What do you want me to do, Ivy?" I said, calming. "I'd ask my mom to take her in, but she's a step away from being in an institution herself."
Jenks buzzed back. "What about Keasley?"
Surprised, I looked at Ivy.
"The old guy across the street?" Ivy said warily. "We don't know anything about him."
Jenks landed on the sill beside Mr. Fish and put his hands on his hips. "He's old and on a fixed income. What more is there to know?"
As Ceri collected herself, I sifted the idea through my mind. I liked the old witch whose slow speech hid a sharp wit and high intelligence. He had stitched me up after Algaliarept had torn my neck. He had stitched up my will and confidence, too. The arthritic man was hiding something, and I didn't think his real name was Keasley any more than I believed his story that he had more medical equipment than a small emergency room because he didn't like doctors. But I trusted him.
"He doesn't like the law and he knows how to keep his mouth shut," I said, thinking it was perfect. Eyes pinched, I looked at Ceri talking to Jih in soft tones. Ivy's eyes were doubtful, and peeved, I pushed into motion. "I'm calling him," I added as I motioned to Ceri that I would be right back and went into the living room for the phone.
Three
"Ceri," Jenks said as I flipped the switch and got a pot of coffee going. "If tea makes you cry, you gotta try french fries. Come here, I'll show you how to use the microwave."
Keasley was on his way over. It might take him a while since he was racked by arthritis so badly that even most pain charms wouldn't touch it. I felt bad for pulling him out into the snow, but it would have been even more rude to descend upon his house.
With an intentness I didn't understand, Jenks perched himself on Ceri's shoulder and talked her through the task of microwaving frozen french fries. She bent to watch the little carton spin, my pink slippers on her feet looking overly large and awkward. Pixy girls swirled around her in a whirl of pastel silk and chatter, mostly ignored. The unending noise had driven Ivy into the living room, where she was currently hiding with her earphones on.
My head came up when the air pressure shifted. "'Ello?" came a strong raspy voice from the front of the church. "Rachel? The pixies let me in. Where are you ladies?"
I glanced at Ceri, recognizing her sudden apprehension. "It's Keasley, a neighbor," I said. "He's going to check you over. Make sure you're healthy."
"I'm fine," she said pensively.
Thinking this might be harder than I thought, I padded in my sock feet into the hallway to talk to him before he met Ceri. "Hi, Keasley, we're back here."
His hunched, wizened figure limped down the hallway, eclipsing the light. More pixy children escorted him, wreathing him in circles of sifting pixy dust. Keasley had a brown paper grocery bag in his hand, and he brought the cold scent of snow in with him, mixing pleasantly with a witch's characteristic redwood scent. "Rachel," he said, his brown eyes squinting up at me as he got closer. "How's my favorite redhead?"
"I'm good," I said, giving him a quick hug and thinking that after outwitting Algaliarept, good was an understatement. His overalls were worn and smelling of soap. I thought of him as the neighborhood's wise-old-man and a substitute grandfather figure all in one, and I didn't mind that he had a past he wasn't willing to share. He was a good person; that's all I needed to know.
"Come on in. I have someone I want you to meet," I said, and he slowed with a wary caution. "She needs your help," I said softly.
His thick lips pressed together, and the brown wrinkles of his face deepened. Keasley took a slow breath, his arthritic hands making the grocery bag crackle. He nodded, showing me a thinning spot in his tightly curled, graying hair. Blowing in relief, I led him into the kitchen, holding myself back so I could see his reaction to Ceri.
The old witch rocked to a halt as he stared. But upon seeing the delicate woman standing in pink fuzzy slippers beside the microwave in her elegant ball gown with a folder of steaming fries, I could understand why.
"I don't need a physician," Ceri said.
Jenks rose from her shoulder. "Hi, Keasley. You gonna check Ceri out?"
Keasley nodded, limping as he went to pull out a chair. He gestured for Ceri to sit, then carefully lowered himself into the adjacent seat. Wheezing, he set his bag between his feet, opening it to pull out a blood pressure cuff. "I'm not a doctor," he said. "My name is Keasley."
Not sitting, Ceri looked at me, then him. "I'm Ceri," she said, just above a whisper.
"Well, Ceri, it's nice to meet you." Setting the cuff on the table, he extended his arthritic-swollen hand. Looking unsure, Ceri awkwardly put her hand in his. Keasley shook it, smiling to show his coffee-stained teeth. The old man gestured to the chair, and Ceri arranged herself in it, reluctantly setting her fries down and warily eyeing the cuff.
"Rachel wants me to look you over," he said while he pulled more doctor stuff out.
Ceri glanced at me, sighing as she nodded in surrender.
The coffee had finished, and as Keasley took her temperature, checked her reflexes, her blood pressure, and made her say "Ahhhh," I took a cup into the living room for Ivy. She was sitting sideways in her cushy chair with her earphones on, head on one arm, feet draped over the other. Her eyes were shut, but she reached out without looking, taking the cup the instant I set it down. "Thank you," she mouthed, and still not having seen her eyes, I walked out. Sometimes Ivy gave me the creeps.
"Coffee, Keasley?" I asked as I returned.
The old man peered at the thermometer and turned it off. "Yes, thank you." He smiled at Ceri. "You're fine."
"Thank you, sir," Ceri said. She had been eating her fries while Keasley worked, and she looked glumly at the bottom of the carton.
Immediately Jenks was with her. "More?" he prompted. "Try some ketchup on them."
Suddenly Jenks's zeal to get her to eat french fries became very clear. It wasn't the fries he was interested in, it was the ketchup. "Jenks," I said tiredly as I took Keasley his coffee and leaned against the center island counter. "She's over a thousand years old. Even humans ate tomatoes then." I hesitated. "They did have tomatoes back then, right?"
The hum of Jenks's wings audibly dropped. "Crap," he muttered, then brightened. "Go ahead," he said to Ceri. "You try working the nuker this time without my help."
"Nuker?" she questioned, carefully wiping her hands on a napkin as she stood.
"Yeah. Don't they have microwaves in the ever-after?"
She shook her head, sending the tips of her fair hair floating. "No. I prepared Al's food with ley line magic. This is…old."
Keasley jerked, almost spilling his coffee. His eyes tracked Ceri's grace as she went to the freezer and, with Jenks's encouragement, pulled out a box of fries. She meticulously punched the buttons, her lip caught between her teeth. I thought it odd that the woman was over a thousand years old but thought the microwave was primitive.
"The ever-after?" Keasley said softly, and my attention returned to him.
I held my coffee before me with both hands, warming my fingers. "How is she?"
He shifted his shoulders. "She's healthy enough. Maybe a little underweight. Mentally she's been abused. I can't tell what or how. She needs help."
I took a deep breath, looking down into my cup. "I've got a big favor to ask."
Keasley straightened. "No," he said as he put his bag on his lap and started putting things in it. "I don't know who—or even what—she is."
"I stole her from the demon whose work you stitched up last fall," I said, touching my neck. "She was its—I mean, his—familiar. I'll pay for her room and board."
"That isn't it," he protested. Bag in hand, his tired brown eyes went worried. "I don't know anything about h
er, Rachel. I can't risk taking her in. Don't ask me to do this."
I leaned over the space between us, almost angry. "She has been in the ever-after the last millennium. I don't think she's out to kill you," I accused, and his leathery features shifted to a startled alarm. "All she needs," I said, flustered that I had found one of his fears, "is a normal setting where she can regain her personality. And a witch, a vampire, and a pixy living in a church running down bad guys isn't normal."
Jenks looked at us from Ceri's shoulder as the woman watched her fries warm. The pixy's face was serious; he could hear the conversation as clearly as if he was standing on the table. Ceri asked him a soft question, and he turned away, answering her cheerfully. He had chased all but Jih out of the kitchen, and it was blessedly quiet.
"Please, Keasley?" I whispered.
Jih's ethereal voice rose in song, and Ceri's face lit up. She joined in, her voice clear as the pixy's, managing only three notes before she started to cry. I stared as a cloud of pixies rolled into the kitchen, almost smothering her. From the living room came an irate shout as Ivy complained that the pixies were interfering with the stereo reception again.
Jenks yelled at his kids and all but Jih flitted out. Together they consoled Ceri, Jih soft and soothing, Jenks somewhat awkwardly. Keasley slumped, and I knew he'd do it. "Okay," he said. "I'll try it for a few days, but if it doesn't work, she's coming back."
"Fair enough," I said, feeling a huge weight slip off my chest.
Ceri looked up, her eyes still wet. "You didn't ask me my opinion."
My eyes widened and my face flamed. Her hearing was as good as Ivy's. "Um…" I stammered. "I'm sorry, Ceri. It's not that I don't want you to stay here—"
Heart-shaped face solemn, she nodded. "I am a stumbling stone in a fortress of soldiers," she interrupted. "I'd be honored to stay with the retired warrior and ease his hurts."