by Kim Harrison
“Well, am I right?” he needled, his eyes glinting under his hat-flattened hair.
I made a face, then said, “You going to help me here or not?”
“You bet,” he said brightly. “I like your mom. Is she making pi-i-i-ie?”
He stressed the word as if it meant the world to him, and I grinned, feeling better about tomorrow already. “If she knows you’re coming, she’ll make two.”
Marshal chuckled, and as I sipped my coffee and smiled back, content and happy, Jenks flew out of the kitchen on quiet wings, a green trail of dust spilling from him to slowly fade to nothing.
Six
The FIB’s lobby was noisy and cold. Gray street slush had been tracked in, making a soggy mess of the rug and creating a slowly diminishing black path to the front desk, set back from the twin glass doors. The FIB emblem in the middle of the room was dingy from a hundred footprints. It reminded me of the emblem on the floor of the demons’ law offices. A joke, Al had said, but I had my doubts. I shifted nervously in the nasty orange chairs they had out here. Saturday, and my teaching date with Algaliarept, always seemed to come up too fast. Trying to explain to Robbie and my mom why I was going to be incommunicado all day would be tricky.
I had cheerfully strode into the FIB about ten minutes before—my mood excellent since Alex had brought my car home—my snappy boots leaving prints on their emblem as I went to the front desk to announce who I was—only to be asked to take a seat, like I was some weirdo off the street. Sighing, I hunched over with my elbows on my knees and tried to find a comfortable position. I wasn’t happy about being asked to wait. If Ivy had been here, they would’ve fallen all over themselves, but not for me—a memory-challenged witch they didn’t trust anymore.
Ivy was currently out on the street trying to pick up the sixth-month-old trail of Kisten’s killer. Guilt for not having done anything sooner had gotten her up long before me. Jenks had come with me today in the hopes that we’d stop at a charm shop on the way home. He wasn’t interested in a charm, but the stuff that went into making them—things that a garden-loving pixy cheating hibernation can’t get in December. Matalina wasn’t doing well, and I knew he was upset, ready and willing to spend some of the rent money he got from Ivy and me on his wife. Sitting here in the FIB’s lobby was a poor use for both our days. Not to mention that it was cold.
I straightened to swing my bag between my knees to try to burn off some irritation, and snuggled into my scarf, Jenks wiggled to life. “What’s up, Rache?” he asked, landing on my hands to get me to stop swinging my bag.
“Nothing,” I said shortly.
His brow rose, and he gave me a look. “Then why did your pulse quicken and your temperature rise?” He made a face. “Your perfume stinks. God, what did you do, bathe in it?”
I stared at the receptionist, avoiding Jenks’s question. I couldn’t tell him I was worried about his wife not making it through the winter. He buzzed his wings for my attention, and I tapped the banshee report on my knee. I had written it for Edden this morning—which only made me madder. I was here to help, and they left me waiting with distraught parents and thugs cuffed to the walls? Nice.
“Lookie here, Rache,” Jenks said, not a speck of dust falling from him as he flew heavily two seats down and landed on a discarded paper. “You made some print.”
“What?” Expecting the worst, I leaned over and snatched it up. Jenks laboriously flew back and settled on my hand as I held the paper up, scanning the picture. This was all I needed, but my worry eased when I found it was just a shot of the Tilsons’ house with a crowd and a news van out front. The caption said YEAR-END BRIMSTONE BUST GONE WRONG, and you couldn’t even tell it was me unless you knew it.
“Gonna save it for your scrapbook?” Jenks asked as I quickly read the article.
“No.” I tossed the paper back where it had been, then stretched to turn the picture side down. Drug bust, eh? Good for them. Keep it that way.
Hands on his hips, Jenks flew into my line of sight, but I was saved from whatever smart-ass remark he was going to gift me with when the doors cycled open and two uniformed FIB guys roughly escorted in a thin Santa. The man was shrieking about his reindeer. The cold draft hit us, and Jenks dove for my scarf.
“Tink’s titties, you think you could put a little more perfume on, Rache?” he complained, and I shivered as his wings brushed my bare skin.
“It’s from Ivy,” I said.
“Oh.”
I sighed as I settled in to wait. I’d found the new bottle of citrusy scent on the kitchen table this morning. I’d known what it meant and had immediately dabbed on a splash. Apparently, after yesterday, Ivy thought it prudent to reinstate our practice of trying to muddle the mixing of our natural scents. We hadn’t had to resort to chemical warfare on her instincts for a while, but we’d been trapped in the church with the windows closed for months.
The Santa broke from the officers and bolted for the door. I jerked upright, then relaxed as the two officers fell on him. All three slid into the doors with a thump. The guy was cuffed. How far was he going to get? “Damn,” I swore softly, wincing. “That’s going to leave a mark.”
A presence of old coffee tickled my nose, and I wasn’t surprised when Edden appeared at my elbow. “The one on the bottom is Chad. He’s new. I think he’s trying to impress you.”
My irritation at having to wait returned, and I looked up at the squat FIB captain. He was in his usual khakis and dress shirt. No tie, but his brown dress shoes were polished and he held himself with his familiar uprightness. His eyes, too, looked more determined. Tired, but the fear was gone. Glenn must be doing better.
“I’m impressed,” I said, catching the drama out of the corner of my eye as Chad dragged Santa into the back. “Can’t you bring the loonies in the rear door?”
Edden shrugged. “It’s too icy, and we’d get sued.”
From my scarf, Jenks said, “And crashing into the door like that is soo-o-o much safer.”
“Resisting arrest with lots of witnesses,” he said. “I’d say that’s safer.” Then he tilted his head and peered at my scarf. “Hi, Jenks. I didn’t see you. Kind of cold, isn’t it?”
“Enough to freeze my balls together, yeah,” Jenks said, peeking out at the sound of Edden’s louder voice. “You got anyplace warmer? Between the cold and Rachel’s perfume, I’d be more comfortable at a fairy’s bris.”
The short man smiled, and he extended a hand to take the banshee essay that I’d written for him in my copious spare time. “Come on back. Sorry to make you wait here. New rules.”
New rules, I thought sourly as I stood. New rules or new mistrust? Old mistrust, maybe given new life. At least Chad liked me. “No problem,” I said sourly, not wanting to let him know how much it bothered me. He knew it was there, I knew it was there. Why rub my nose in it? “How’s Glenn doing? Has he regained consciousness yet?”
Edden had a hand on the small of my back, and where I’d usually take offense, he could get away with it. Edden was cool. “No,” he said, his eyes down with a thought. “But he’s doing better. More brain activity.”
Once away from the cold draft, Jenks left my scarf, and I nodded, thinking I should go out and see Glenn tonight after dinner. I’d be ready for some silent company by then. Maybe tickle his feet until he woke up or peed his sheets or something. I smiled at the thought, almost missing it when Edden made an unexpected left away from the interrogation rooms.
“Aren’t we going to the interrogation rooms?” I said, and Edden led me to his office.
“No. We can’t find Mia Harbor.”
My pace didn’t slow, but me cooling my heels in the lobby was making a lot more sense. So much for the truth amulet stuffed in my bag.
Jenks was starting to slip a thin trail of dust, telling me he was warm and in good form. “She went AWOL?” the small pixy said, flying backward to create a small commotion among the watching officers.
Edden wasn’t impressed with Jenks’s
aerial display, and he held the door to his office open and gestured for me to enter. “Yup,” he said, but he didn’t follow me in. “She moved without filing her new address. We’ve a warrant out for her arrest, so if you want her, she’s all yours, Rachel.”
“A banshee?” I said, laughing. “Me? How much money you got, Edden? I don’t do suicide runs.”
Edden tossed my essay on his desk, hesitating as if trying to decide whether I was kidding. “You want some coffee?” he finally said. “How about you, Jenks? I think I saw a honey packet from someone’s biscuits in the fridge.”
“Hell yes!” he exclaimed before I could protest, and Edden nodded, leaving the door open as he went in search of it.
I gave Jenks a wry look as he buzzed over Edden’s office to check out the new bowling trophy. Spinning the chair around, I plunked into it and set my bag at my feet. “I was really hoping you’d be sober for this,” I said, and Jenks landed on Edden’s cluttered desk with his hands on his hips.
“Why?” he said, unusually belligerent. “You don’t need me if the banshee isn’t here. Give me a break. Like I’ve been honey drunk any longer than five minutes.”
I looked away in disapproval, and he buzzed a harsh flight to Edden’s pencil cup to sulk. Crossing my knees, I bobbed my foot. I was waiting again, but it was warmer, quieter, and I had the promise of coffee.
Edden’s office was a pleasant mix of organized clutter that I could identify with and was part of the reason I had taken to him so quickly last year. The man was ex-military, but you’d never know it by the dust and stacks of files. Still, I bet he could put his finger on anything he wanted in three seconds flat. The pictures on the walls were few, but in one of them he was shaking hands with Denon, my old boss at the I.S. It would worry me if I hadn’t once heard the pleasure Edden had taken in jerking a case out from under him. The smell of old coffee seemed embedded in the gray tiles and institutional-yellow walls. A new laptop sat open on his desk instead of a monitor, and the clock that had once been behind him was now behind me. Otherwise, it was the same as the last time I had sat here, waiting for Edden to bring me coffee.
I heard Edden’s footsteps before his bulky silhouette showed through the blinds between his office and the rest of the other offices, all open. The man came in with two china mugs instead of the expected foam ones. New rules again? One was clearly his by the brown-stained rim. I got the clean one with rainbows. How sweet…
Jenks rose up in a column of blue sparkles as Edden sat behind his desk, the pixy taking the packet almost as large as he was and retreating to a corner, out of my reach. “Thanks, Edden,” he said, wrestling with the plastic to tear it open.
I leaned to shut the door with my foot, and Edden eyed me. “You have something to say in private, Rachel?” he asked, and I shook my head. Taking the packet from Jenks, I tore it open and handed it back.
“Trust me,” I said, thinking that having the harried FIB officers deal with a drunk pixy was too much to ask for. My reputation was bad enough as it was.
“So,” I said to draw Edden’s attention from Jenks, who was humming happily and starting to list already, one wing not fanning as fast as the other. “Isn’t a felony charge a little harsh for failure to register a new address?”
Edden’s gaze darted from me to Jenks, and then back. “It’s not for failure to register. It’s because she’s a suspect.”
“’S good honey, Eddie,” Jenks interrupted, and I set my coffee mug down loud enough to make his wings hum.
“The banshee is a suspect?” I questioned. “Why? All she did was leave a tear.”
Edden leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee. “Alex took her photo out to the neighbors to see if she had been near the scene recently. Babysitter, cosmetics lady, whatever. Every single person asked ID’d Ms. Harbor as Mrs. Tilson.”
“What?” I yelped, sitting up fast.
“Holy crap,” Jenks swore, almost crashing into the stack of files on Edden’s desk as he took flight with his honey packet. “The banshee took a human’s name? What the hell for?”
My first wash of surprise ebbed into an uneasy answer, and by looking at Edden’s severe face, I knew he had the same idea. Mia had killed them and was trying to cover it up. Good God. Tom is trying to tag a banshee? By himself? Go for it, coffin bait. “That might explain why Tom Bansen was under our kitchen floor yesterday,” I said, and Edden started.
“Under your—”
“Kitchen floor,” I finished. “All dressed up like a military guy on urban-assault detail. Bis and one of my friends caught him trying to bug the church.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” Edden said, and I made a face while Jenks slurred something about the gargoyle.
“Because Tom’s been, ah, shunned,” I said, flushing. “No Inderlander will hire him, the I.S. included. He has no choice but to go independent. Bringing in a banshee will probably earn him enough money to get himself set up somewhere he can live his life out in the wilds. He warned me off the case. Now that I think about it, he told me specifically to stay away from Mia. He probably knows at least as much as we do.”
“Then why bug you?” he asked, and I shrugged.
“Because if he’s been shunned, he lacks the resources of both the FIB and the I.S. I guess he figured he’d listen in to what we found and act on it before we did. Tom probably knows exactly where she’s gone. Maybe I should try to bug him.”
Edden looked grim, rubbing his mustache, when I finally looked back. “Want a car at your house?”
Immediately I shook my head. “No, but one at my mom’s might be nice.”
“Within the hour,” he promised, the pen almost lost in his grip as he made a note.
Jenks had started climbing Edden’s desk files like a drunken mountaineer, and I blushed when I found out what happened on the tenth day of pixy Christmas. Shaking off the visual, I turned to Edden. “If Mia is Mrs. Tilson, we need to find her fast. The man with her is in danger.”
Edden made an ugly sound and just about threw the pen in the cup. “I don’t care.”
“He’s liable to wind up dead,” I protested, then took a sip of my coffee now that Jenks wasn’t hiding behind it. My eyes closed in bliss for a moment. I’d give the FIB one thing: They knew how to make coffee. “A banshee’s live-ins never live long,” I said. “And if Mia has a baby, her emotion requirements will be almost triple.” I paused in my motion to take another drink. That was probably why she had to put five years between her children.
Edden’s mustache was bunched up, and his expression was hard. “I’m not concerned about Mia’s accomplice,” he said. “He was healthy enough to beat up my son. We pulled his record this morning by way of his fingerprints. His name is Remus, and we would never have found him this fast but he’s got a file thicker than my fist, starting from high school with an attempted date rape, up to about three years ago when he spent time in a psychiatric jail for an especially foul animal-cruelty charge. They let him out, and he dropped off the face of the earth. No credit card activity, no rental history, no W-2 forms. Nothing until now. So you can understand if I don’t rush out and try to find him for the sake of his own health.”
My stomach hurt. God, the two of them had probably killed the Tilsons together. They had killed those happy faces that were in that yearbook and taken their names, their lives, everything. Shoved what they didn’t want into boxes in their garage.
Jenks dropped the empty honey packet, staggering under the desk lamp and staring up at it. Realizing that he was singing to it to get it to turn on, I flicked the switch. Jenks exploded into gold sparkles and collapsed, giggling. My expression went blank. He was stuck on the tenth day of Christmas, but finally he gave up and started singing about four purple condoms.
I looked at Edden and shrugged. “Maybe the little girl belongs to Remus,” I said, and Edden jerked the topmost file out from under Jenks. The pixy rose three inches before falling down, mumbling as he pillowed his head on his folded arms
and fell asleep in the artificial warmth of the light. Edden handed me the file, and I opened it. “What is this?”
He leaned back to lace his hands over his middle. “Everything we have on Mia. That baby makes her a lot easier to track. Without her, Remus wouldn’t exist. We found another licensed day care that Mia frequents, making four now and at least two more informal ones.”
I leafed through the small packet to read the addresses, impressed again with the FIB’s investigative techniques. The day cares were mostly in Ohio, on Cincy’s outskirts.
“I called them all this morning,” Edden said. “Mia didn’t show up anywhere yesterday, and the one she was scheduled for was concerned. Apparently she always stays to help instead of paying them for care, claiming that she wants Holly to have more socialization skills.”
“No kidding?” I said, eyebrows high. I could buy that, but not if she was taking her daughter to five other day cares to do the same thing.
“No, no, no,” Jenks slurred from under the glaring light. His eyes weren’t open, and I was surprised he was conscious enough to listen, much less comment on the conversation. “Kid isn’t socializing. The kid is sucking down emotion like…”
His words trailed off in confusion, and I offered, “A pixy with honey?”
Jenks cracked an eye and gave me a thumbs-up. “Yeah.” His eyes closed, and he started to snore. I didn’t know why, but I unwound my scarf and covered him. Embarrassment, maybe?
Edden was watching us with a questioning expression, and I lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “Mia’s probably trying to spread her daughter’s damage around.”
Edden made a noncommittal grunt, and I continued to leaf through the information. “The neighbor kid who mowed their lawn said that Mia told his mom she wanted a lot of kids but had to space them out, five years apart,” I said. “That would go along with Holly being a banshee. You can’t have two kids around like that. Hell, a banshee usually has a kid once every hundred years or so, so if Mia is thinking another one in five years, she must have a really good way to keep from killing people to support her daughter’s growth…”