by Kim Harrison
“You will behave, Rachel, or you learn obedience from the back of my hand,” Ku’Sox seethed.
The baby was dead, and I held him, rocking him and aching inside. “Now you’ve done it,” I said, voice low and threatening. Trent had been right. The baby had been dead the moment Nick had stolen him. “You will account for yourself,” I intoned, shaking as I felt a tweak on my thoughts.
“Who will force me? You?” Ku’Sox snarled, his hand reaching for me hazed with power dripping to hiss on the floor.
The lines echoed in my head as Bis landed on my shoulder, and I gasped when their jagged existence flooded my mind.
“No!” Ku’Sox screamed, but it was too late, and I sobbed as the line took me, the harsh caw of the demon replaced with the howling discord of the broken lines. I deserved the ragged edges cutting at my soul. It was only because of the baby that I bubbled my thoughts against their burning haze as I wept.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Rachel?
I thought it odd that a kid who had skin as hard as stone had thoughts as soft as silk, and they slid into mine without resistance. Depressed, I gathered my awareness, not wanting Bis to know how broken I felt, listening to the line screaming around us with a curious detachment.
Rachel, can you bubble this resonance for me? he said meekly, and I let him further into my mind, aching as the line seemed to burn and shift to a harsh orange-green glitter with sparkles. If we can set this song in the line we’re going to, then it won’t hurt so bad.
Bis was in pain, and that galvanized me. Sealing my heartache behind a thick wall, I sent my thoughts deeper into the chaos of the ever-after, finding the resonance he colored for me and bubbling it.
Shift us to this . . . Bis prompted, showing me a shimmery gray and green.
Mentally rocking myself, I did. A ping of rightness went through me. It was as if a tiny wail softly subsided, finding peace in the storm streaming around me. Hesitating in my misery, I caught back a sob, remembering the baby in my arms. Bis?
Bis’s emotion next to mine was clearer, and he sighed. Thank you, it will be easier to jump now. He hesitated, then added, Sorry about the headache.
Headache? I questioned him, then suddenly found myself struggling for air. We’d been in the line too long, and I clawed for a way out. There was a pop and a push, and I stumbled, taking a huge gasp of air as I found myself in reality, the screaming of the line replaced by the crying of a handful of angry babies.
Sure enough, my head was throbbing, and I looked down at the little boy in my arms, my hope crushed when I found him silent and pale. He was so perfect, but no longer really here. I looked up, feeling nauseated as I tried to take in more air than I possibly could. We were in Trent’s office, and I stumbled out of the line, staggering to fall into one of the chairs before the desk.
From behind his desk, Trent watched me as he dodged the cotton ball of antiseptic Quen was trying to dab on a scrape across Trent’s forehead. An office girl I didn’t recognize went from baby to baby, assessing and giving instructions to a few people, clearly office personnel, drafted into nursemaid duty. One by one, the babies were being taken out.
“Thank you, Bis,” I said when he hopped to perch on the back of the chair behind me. “Your dad will be so proud of you.”
So thin a line between alive and not. How could I have just left Etude there?
The wood creaked as Bis shifted his grip. “I’m sorry,” he said, meaning the baby still in my arms, and I closed my eyes, feeling the tears begin to slip down.
It was Quen who came forward, kneeling beside me as he took in the little boy’s silence and pallor. “Rachel . . .”
I blinked fast, eyes opening at his light touch on my arm. “He threw him to the ground,” I said, the room suddenly silent as the last of the babies were taken out and the door shut. “I tried to get there, but I was too far away, and . . .” I couldn’t say the rest, my head pounding as I held someone else’s child and grieved, rocking back and forth.
Quen’s touch on my shoulder was light, almost not there. “Give him to me.”
“Why!” I raged suddenly, and his expression shifted to one of pity.
“Let me take him,” he said, reaching carefully to make sure his head wouldn’t loll. “Give him to me. Please, Rachel.”
Crying, I let Quen take him. Moving painfully, he got to his feet and carefully passed the baby to another secretary. Someone handed me a box of tissues, and I snatched it, feeling like a wimp. I should be stronger. I didn’t know that little boy, but he had been important, and now he was gone—someone’s child who had been lost, found, and lost again.
Quen stood beside me as I sat in that chair and cried as the room slowly became quiet. “I know you’re hurting, but thank you for bringing Trent home.”
Wiping my eyes, I looked up, sealing the pain away for later if I survived this. I couldn’t tell what Trent was thinking. That I should be stronger, maybe. I hated it when he was right. “How long until he finds us?” I asked Bis, and he shrugged, wingtips touching above his head.
“Soon.” Quen glanced at Trent as if he needed his permission. “Bis fixed the line, and when Ku’Sox finishes his tantrum and realizes it, he will come investigate.”
“Sorry,” Bis grumbled, and I reached to touch his foot in reassurance, getting a flash of the jangle of lines. “The line hurt, and now it doesn’t.”
“Bis tells me that his family kept Ku’Sox from damaging the church, but the spell I put on it is gone,” Quen added. “And Nick. Ivy and Jenks are fine.”
I shrugged, not caring—about Nick, not Ivy and Jenks. The fact that the gargoyles had fought to protect those I loved was more than I could ever repay.
“We should leave,” Trent said, standing up behind his desk and taking his lab coat off.
“Where to, Sa’han?” Quen said, and I did nothing, staring at nothing as Trent began to pace. Behind him, his fish swam in a smaller tank, and I watched them listlessly. I wasn’t sure who had the master ring, but I knew they wouldn’t volunteer to take mine off until they felt safe, and every time I asked and they said no, I felt another part of me die. There was no such thing as safe. When Ku’Sox was dead? When the demons were gone? When the vampire threat was nulled?
“Not you, just Bis and I need to leave,” I said, and Trent spun on a heel to give me an incredulous look. “Now,” I said, lurching to my feet and sourly waving off Quen when he tried to steady me. His finger was bare. “If Bis and I can fix another line, it will give Ku’Sox somewhere else to look.”
“I’m coming with you.” Trent was at his desk, his motions quick as he jotted notes.
“No, you’re not.” If I wasn’t so angry about being tricked into reinvoking the slavers, I would have laughed at the stupidity of the situation. Couldn’t you be wrong at least once, Al? “You’ll curse me every time Ku’Sox shows up.”
“I can’t stay here.” Trent flexed his arm as if it was in pain as he paused in his writing. “Besides, it wasn’t me who threw the curse at you. It was Ku’Sox.”
I sniffed, pushing the edges of my torn shirt together. “Well, it was me who threw that curse at you. Do it again, and I’ll knock you flat on your ass so hard you won’t get up for a week—ring or no ring.”
Trent jerked, his eyes meeting mine from under his bangs. “About that . . .”
Oh God. Here it came. The excuse for me to keep it on, just for a little bit longer.
There was a soft knock, and Quen sprang forward to take the cart of water bottles an aide came in with. “We should keep him with us,” Quen said as he took it and all but pushed the man back out. “Otherwise, Ku’Sox will keep using him against us.”
I was suddenly a hundred times more thirsty. Keeping Trent with Bis and me would work as long as we stayed a step ahead of him, but why risk it? “I don’t remember including you on this private excursion, Quen,” I said as I strode to the cart and took a bottle. Damn elves thought they ruled the world. I trusted you, I thoug
ht, angry as I cracked the seal on one of the waters, downing half of it in one go. It was perfectly chilled, just enough to be cold but not enough to shock me, slipping down smooth as if it were from the fountain of life. Wiping my mouth, I looked at the label. KALAMACK SPRINGS. Figures.
“I trusted you,” I accused, pointing with the half-empty bottle, and guilt poured off Quen, adding to my anger. “I trusted both of you!” I shouted, and Trent came out from behind his desk.
“You will not be mad at Quen,” he said calmly, jerking to a halt when I pointed at him to keep his distance. “This isn’t his fault. I told him to remove the Riffletic rings so you would go for the slavers instead.”
“Son of a bitch . . .” I whispered, feeling the ring heavy on my finger. “This just keeps getting better and better.”
“It was the only way you’d reinvoke them!” he said loudly. “Rachel, it’s my only chance of getting out from under Ku’Sox’s boot.”
“What, so you can kill him?” I yelled, and Bis dug his claws deeper into the back of the chair, clearly upset.
“No.” His face scrunched up in embarrassment, and he glanced from Quen to me. “Rachel, the slavers work both ways.”
Confused, I set the water bottle down. “Excuse me?”
Quen cleared his throat, his voice cutting off as Trent raised his hand.
“Shut up, Quen,” he muttered, shocking me. “I should have listened to my gut and included her in my decision from the first. We tried it your way, and it failed miserably. She isn’t a tool. If she was, it would have worked.”
“W-what . . .” I stammered as he dug in his pocket, and my pulse hammered as he jiggled what had to be the master ring.
“I’m sorry, Rachel,” he said as he took my wrist, lifting my hand to slide the master ring over the slaver. “I should have trusted you.”
“Damn right you—” My voice cut off as the rings touched. A wash of heat flooded through me, and Bis opened his wings and made an odd burble of sound, clearly happy.
Still holding my hand, Trent shifted his grip to become more gentle, less possessive. I looked at my hand, seeing two rings on my finger. I was hardly breathing when Trent easily slid both the rings off.
“I’d rather be your slave than Ku’Sox’s,” Trent said, and I wavered where I stood as he put both rings in my hand and curled my fingers over them.
Shocked, I looked up at him, seeing in his downcast expression his regret, his embarrassment, and his anger at himself. My distrust wavered, threatening to break apart like fog under the heat of truth. I needed to listen with my heart, not my hurt feelings.
“Sa’han,” Quen pleaded, and Trent frowned as he turned away. Bis, though, beamed, the tip of his tail quivering.
“I was wrong,” Trent said, and a flash of righteous hurt lit through me.
“Damn right you were wrong!”
“I should have told you.”
The rings felt warm in my hand, and I clenched my fist tighter. “I know!”
Trent looked up, leaning slightly to keep his weight off his one foot. He looked tired, fatigued, and the barest hint of relief colored his eyes. “If I had a plan that included slavers, I should have told you so you could have made a more informed decision as to which rings you were going to reinvoke.”
There was a lump in my throat, and I swallowed hard. He was becoming what his people needed, and I wasn’t part of that—except perhaps at the fringes, where a demon always was. “And?” I prompted, voice shaking.
“And I’m sorry,” he said, the tiniest hint of pleading hidden behind his calm voice ringing through me. “I’ll do better next time.”
Next time?
He reached across the small space between us, and as Quen quietly voiced his protest with a dramatic sigh, Trent turned my fist over and opened it up. His touch was warm on my wrist, and then my palm as he nudged the smaller slave ring from the other and . . . slipped it over his pinkie.
“Trent, no!” I said, reaching out, but he hid his hand behind his back, his eyes daring me to try to take it. “What are you doing?”
Determination tightened the corners of his mouth, and he stood poised as if surprised that nothing had changed. But then it wouldn’t until someone claimed the master ring. Quen’s head was down, and I wondered if this was Trent’s perverted way of saying he was sorry. That if I could take being a slave, he could, too.
“We need to try it again,” Trent said, and I closed my hand when he reached for the master ring.
“I’m not putting that thing on,” I said, face hot as I backed away. “Even if it is the dominant one. It’s foul. It needs to be destroyed.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more.” Trent’s confidence was a thin shadow. He was scared. I could see it, and still he came forward and pulled my arm out from behind me. “But if you dominate me with the old, very wild magic that you rekindled, Ku’Sox can’t force me to be his familiar.”
Quen dropped into a chair, his head in his hands. Hesitating, I squinted at Trent, gauging his resolve in the slant of his eyes. My fingers twitched, and I let him open my palm. “Really?”
“I think so. That was my first idea. Quen wanted to try it the other way first. It was the only way he would arrange for Riffletic’s rings to be pulled. That was a bad idea. That, and not including you in my—our—decision.”
I shivered as he touched my shoulder, his other hand still cradling mine with the ring. Was he serious, or just trying to make me not so mad at him?
“You are not a tool, Rachel. I’ve never thought of you that way.”
I broke eye contact, staring at the ring instead. “You should have told me,” I said, only realizing now that I’d forgiven him already. I was so stupid. But he was right. Al had said Trent was the better match. With Trent’s help, I could do this. We could do this.
His hand fell from me, and Trent took the suit jacket that Quen stoically handed him. “Yes, I know,” he said as he let it drop and took up the lab coat instead.
I felt Bis move before he shifted a wing, and I stood waiting when he made the short hop to me, landing upon my shoulder, his tail curving across my back and up under my arm. It was a far more secure position than around my neck, and I let the awful horror of the lines race through me. There was a hint of purity in them, and it gave me hope.
“Where to?” Trent asked, and I slipped the master ring onto my finger.
Trent’s knees buckled, and both Quen and I reached for him. “My God!” Trent gasped, as he caught himself against the desk, a hand to his forehead.
“Sorry,” I whispered, trying to be as innocuous and undemanding as I could. Bis’s tail tightened, and I wondered if some of it might be the lines, though he’d felt them through Bis before.
Eyes watering, Trent gestured for Quen to back off. “The lines are . . . indescribably awful,” Trent managed, pulling himself to his full height, looking shaken but undeterred.
“That’s why the gargoyles are upset,” I said as I linked my arm in his, and he started. “If you don’t like it, you can bubble your thoughts. You think it’s bad now, you should have heard it before Bis fixed your line.”
“Can we go?” Bis almost whined. “The sooner we fix another, the better I’ll feel.”
I took a deep breath and nodded my farewell to Quen. The sun would be up far too soon. I had to finish it by then. “Then by all means, let’s go.”
And we were gone.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Swirling, howling colors of noise beat at me as I floundered in a wide river of energy. It was so thick I could hardly think. Fatigue pulled at me. It was getting harder to keep myself intact. Bis? I thought, searching for something familiar, and his presence joined mine, a solid, soothing gray.
Trent? I thought, and Bis brought to me his emotions of determination, surprise, and awe of the strength we were surrounded by. He was with us, but quiet, trying to take it in.
Find this! Bis’s thoughts were laced with exhaustion, and I fastened on h
is low impressions of green, gold, and brown, swirling with a harsh slash of red and black. I fumbled through the jumbled imbalances, picking threads and bundling them until I matched what Bis was showing me, which was complex with incredibly high and low sensations. I vaguely felt the drive to breathe, felt the pain of oxygen starvation creeping up on me, making my thoughts slow.
Got it! I thought, panicking when I found Bis struggling. This would be a lot easier if we didn’t have to do this on the run. Bis, where does it go? I thought as I bubbled the imbalance. Where does it go!
His thoughts whispered in mine, singing a color I felt I should recognize. I tuned the bubble holding the imbalance to it, and with a ping of sensation I felt Trent notice, it was gone. A pure note joined the howling energy, ringing in the sound of hope.
Wrenching us together, I shifted the circle surrounding us to the taint of the imbalance I’d just replaced, feeling reality swirl and coalesce. The imbalance made each ley line unique—the key flaw that made traveling them possible.
I gasped as my air-starved lungs became real and expanded, pulling in the acidic taste of burnt amber. Face-first, I plowed into the red dirt, my eyes squinted shut and my elbows taking most of the impact. There was a pained grunt and sliding of rock, and I guessed Trent had made it. The wind was gritty and the sky was dark. Sitting up, I rubbed my chin and spit the dirt out. “Bis?” I croaked, realizing we were in the ever-after. “Shouldn’t this be getting easier?”
Bis was a hunched shadow next to me. “I thought the ever-after might hide us a little longer,” he said, his red eyes on the sky, the moon, half full and waning, just rising over the broken horizon. “He will find us soon. There’s not as much to damage here if he does.”
What he meant was fewer people as potential hostages, and I rose, extending a hand to help Trent up. He shook his head and refused, head bowed as he sat on the ruined earth and tried to catch his breath. Bis was getting the job done, but he clearly lacked finesse. Rubbing my scraped elbow, I looked out over a huge drop-off. Turning, I saw a large valley filled with slumps of rock; the edges had a red sheen from the moon, which showed their outlines facing the east. I made a slow circuit, recognizing where we were when I saw the shallow depressions and the broken bridge across it.