Pale Demon th-9

by Kim Harrison

  Trent looked up from his shoes. “Don’t worry. I’ve practiced this.”

  “Nothing in that belt pack is lethal, right?” I persisted, wanting to go look. “Not that I care,” I said when he eyed me. “But if you’re caught, lethal usually gets you put in jail.”

  Smiling faintly, he stood up and looked at himself. “And if it looks like a harmless prank, they let you go. I got that part. Thanks.” He buttoned another button to hide the black shirt underneath. “If they catch me, I’ll be dead, not in jail.”

  I pushed away from the door frame. “Whoa! Hold on a sec. I told Quen I’d watch you. Just what are the risks here?”

  Jenks clattered his wings, but I couldn’t tell by his worried expression if this was something he’d known about before or not.

  “Quen puts the odds of my being successful at eleven percent,” Trent said, not meeting my eyes. “But with Jenks, I think it’s much better than that.”

  “Eleven percent?” I echoed. The same odds Quen had had of surviving that experimental treatment last year, the same odds that Trent didn’t believe were really possible.

  “My risk, not yours,” Trent said as he draped the utility belt around his slim waist and fastened it. I could tell he was nervous somewhere under that facade of calm he had developed in the boardroom. “It’s an elf quest, right?” he said, forcing a chuckle. “You’re not responsible for me once I hit Seattle. Quen knows that. I’ve already notified him. What happens to me from here on out is not your problem.”

  But I’d gotten him here, and I couldn’t help but feel responsible for…whatever he was doing. What was he doing? I licked my lips and lowered my arms, trying to play the “I don’t care” game. “You’re serious about the dead thing?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  He didn’t answer, and Jenks remained silent as he sat on the TV’s remote, his knees almost to his ears. I grimaced, realizing that Jenks had already slipped into backup mode. He never said much when I was on a run with him, either. He wasn’t wearing a scrap of red, and it worried me. Damn it, if Trent came back and Jenks didn’t…I’d make him suffer. If I did nothing else in this world, I’d make him suffer bad.

  Seeing me ready to call the whole thing off, Jenks blurted out, “Ready, Trent?”

  Trent looked at me, his hair slicked back and his green eyes holding excitement. “Yes.”

  “You were just kidding about the dead thing. Right? Right?”

  Jenks hovered by my shoulder. “Take a chill strip, Rache,” he said. “They’re faster than the pills and come in convenient dispensers. I’ve got this covered. He’s not doing anything that you wouldn’t do.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about.” Crap, I was used to beating the 11 percent, but Trent didn’t believe it was possible. It was often belief that made the impossible real. Jeez, maybe I should go with them.

  As if knowing my thoughts, Jenks’s expression darkened. Trent took off his watch, leaving it on the counter. His wallet was next, and he took most of the money out of it and tucked it in a small slot in the utility belt before setting the smooth leather next to his watch.

  I took a slow breath. If I said anything now, Jenks would be insulted. Trust. I had to trust. But it was hard. “Where do you want to be dropped off?” I asked softly.

  Trent was giving himself a last look, fussing with the hair about his ears. “Train station,” he said shortly. “Preferably on the platform, not the track,” he drawled.

  Nervous, I pushed myself into motion. “Okay. I’ll call him.”

  I headed for the living room. Trent followed with Jenks on his shoulder. Pierce was looking through the front closet as we entered, and I couldn’t help but wonder if this was what it would be like working for Trent: amicable conversations in penthouse suites in foreign cities, the excitement of a run coursing through me, and the coming satisfaction of knowing I’d done something no one else had before. Very secret agent. Was this why Nick did what he did?

  I sneaked a glance at Trent as I sat on the couch, thinking he looked fantastic standing there—his color high and that calm confidence he always had tightened by excitement. Twice he had called on a demon and survived; admittedly it had been a mistake, but he’d done it. He had the guts—or stupidity—to work with wild magic, elven and dangerous. He had a pixy on his shoulder and was ready to do something clever and dangerous—something that, if he failed, would mean his death. I didn’t know who he was anymore, and I felt a stirring inside.

  Feeling my eyes on him, he lifted his head. “What?”

  For a moment, I said nothing, tasting the emotions coursing through me as he tried to read my mind. Was I confusing adrenaline with attraction? Was I losing sight of my desire for independence, distracted by quick, clever people who didn’t give a damn about whom they hurt to get what they wanted? Or was I just now seeing who he really was?

  Trent’s face lost its questioning expression, shades of mistrust seeping in around his eyes. Jenks buzzed his wings at me, and I shook myself. “Nothing. Be careful, okay?”

  Not convinced, Trent stood beside a comfortable chair, waiting.

  Pierce scrambled to catch the clothes iron as it fell. Jenks flew up and down at the noise, but neither Trent nor I even looked.

  “Okay…” I breathed as I tugged my bag closer and brought out my mirror. Turning halfway to the back of the room, I shouted, “Ivy? I’m dropping Trent off. I’ll be back in five minutes.” I thought for a second. “Maybe ten!”

  “Okay,” came her muffled voice, and I felt a surge of tension.

  “Wait!” Jenks exclaimed, “I have to give Ivy my phone. She’s going to call my kids for me while I’m gone.”

  I glanced at Trent, expecting to find a tired exasperation, surprised when I found only a patient understanding. Maybe they’d been talking more than I thought. Jenks buzzed off, Ivy’s closed door hardly slowing him down as he slipped through the crack.

  Pierce finally got the iron back where it belonged, and he shut the sliding closet door with an attention-getting thump. “Rachel…,” he warned me, and my blood pressure spiked, pushed by the adrenaline already coursing through me. His blue eyes were pinched, and his jaw was tight, reminding me of when he had once stood in the snow in a borrowed coat and tried to stop me from helping him with a run. I’d flipped him into a snowbank then, and I’d do the same here. Well, minus the snow of course.

  “Don’t start with me,” I said, and Trent scuffed his foot on the carpet, impatient. “Al owes me for saving his life.” The scrying mirror was warming on my lap, and I set a hand on it, feeling a ping of energy equalize. “Thanks for that, by the way. I might be able to milk this for years.”

  I’d meant it to be funny, but Pierce came closer, sitting on the edge of the chair opposite me, the coffee table between us. The table had expensive-looking picture books on it of the work of local artists, most of which looked too sophisticated for my tastes. “I don’t like this,” he said.

  “I don’t like it much myself,” I said, almost laughing as I exchanged a look with Trent.

  From Ivy’s room came an exasperated “I got it, Jenks! Every four hours. Go away and let me sleep!”

  Jenks darted out, looking browbeaten, and I turned my attention to my calling circle. It was as beautiful as ever, and I had made it. With a curse.

  “Is it going to work?” Trent asked suddenly, startling me. “The salt in the air…”

  I slid my fingertips to the cave of the pentagram, touching the proper glyphs. “No reason it shouldn’t. It’s demon, not earth magic.” I looked up. “Jenks? Are we clear?”

  Jenks landed on Trent’s shoulder, shocking the elf. “Give me a break,” he said snidely. “I checked for bugs like three seconds after I came in. What do you think I was doing? Looking through cupboards for no reason like a goober?”

  Pierce grimaced, scooting to the back of his chair, looking embarrassed.

  “Let’s do it then,” I said and reached for a ley line. My face screwed up, and I swear, my
eye started twitching. An awful, metallic taste blossomed in my mouth, and my stomach twisted. “Oh God, the lines here are awful!” I said, finding one that was reasonably clean. It was as if they’d been fractured and were picking up rust and dirt. Maybe it was the earthquakes.

  My gaze went to the bolts in the wall, and I forced myself to look away.

  Steadying myself, I let the awful ley line fill me, reaching out and touching a finger of awareness into the ever-after by way of the calling circle. “Rachel calling Al, come in, Al,” I said sarcastically. “Come in, your immenseness…”

  Standing across from me, Trent raised his eyebrows in question, and I pressed my hand more firmly, finding it harder than usual to hold the divided awareness. Soon as Al picked up, the interference would vanish, but until then, I was left feeling disoriented.

  Abruptly, my focus blurred, and my muscles were suddenly loose. A warm lassitude soaked into me, and I realized that though Al had acknowledged me and made a connection, he wasn’t altogether conscious. He was sleeping.

  Al? I pushed into his mind, only to find myself surrounded by tiny slate blue butterflies in a field of amber grass, the tips waving at my waist. Al was trying to catch them, but every time he tried, he’d open his white-gloved hands to find them crushed and stinking like carrion. The grass grew tall until it waved over my head and turned into a maze. Al kept trying to catch the butterflies, and they began vanishing through cracks in the walls.

  “Al!” I shouted, disoriented, and the dream vanished. Al’s panic coursed through me, confusing me even more. I felt him bolt upright, then gasped when a black magic swirled through me, burning my brain. There was a huge drop in the line I was connected to as he pulled on it through me. Al, wait! I shouted, but it was too late, and I winced as I felt him throw a ball of unfocused energy at a shadow.

  “It’s just me!” I shouted as Al cowered, swearing when he realized his mistake.

  “Rachel?” Pierce said, leaning over the table to put a hand on my shoulder. Feeling the line burning through me, he pulled away with a disturbed slant to his eyebrows.

  “He was sleeping,” I said in explanation, dizzy as I tried to see both Pierce and decipher what was going on in the ever-after simultaneously. “I had to wake him up. We’re good now.”

  The hell we are! Al swore, and I felt his surface emotions swirl around and the feel of a soft robe he was draping over himself. I blew a blasted hole in my wall! Damn it, Rachel, what do you want? I was sleeping.

  “So I noticed,” I said, thinking it curious that he was dreaming of butterflies. They looked exactly like the butterflies he’d once made out of snowflakes, brushing them from his sleeve to die in the snow. Except for the chrysalis still on my kitchen windowsill at home. “I’m sorry to wake you, but I have a favor to ask.”

  Trent cleared his throat. “We drove all the way out here, and you haven’t asked about this?” he said, sounding alarmed but not surprised.

  “It’s not a big deal,” I grumped. “If he doesn’t, I’ll ask Newt. I need to talk to her anyway.”

  What? Al said, suddenly a whole lot more awake. Ask Newt what?

  I resettled myself on the sofa, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as I noticed my reflection bouncing back up at me, coated in red and silver. “I need a trip through the lines for two. Trent and Jenks.” Jenks buzzed his wings, proud to be counted as a person, but I’d never seen him any other way.

  Al huffed in his thoughts, sending me the feeling of warm slippers being scooted onto his feet. I’m not your taxi service.

  “No, you’re my teacher,” I said. “And I saved your life. I’m not going to bargain for favors in return for saving your life.” I’m asking for some consideration, from one lost witch to a lost demon, I said silently, glancing at Jenks when he hummed in disapproval, knowing I’d said something, just not out loud.

  I’m exhausted, Al thought, and I caught a glimpse in my mind of him looking into a mirror, tweaking the skin around his eyes. Can it wait? I’ve been in meetings all day. Yammer, yammer, yammer. And no Pierce to fix my lunch. He makes a marvelous fish sandwich. Ask him, dove.

  He was using pet names—not good. “You made me take him,” I said, and Pierce stiffened, knowing we were talking about him. “Al. I need this. It’s not a matter of convenience.” He made a noise, and I pressed my fingers more firmly until it felt like the ice of the glass was touching my bone. Look, let me dream a little longer, okay? I thought silently, not wanting to share with Jenks my low expectations of what was going to happen in the next couple of days. I know how slim a chance I have to get out of this, but it’s a chance.

  Al was thinking—a good sign. I’d saved his ass, and he was going to give this to me. “I need to see this through if only to be able to walk away knowing who my enemies are,” I said aloud. I couldn’t help it, and my eyes rose to find Pierce’s. Not missing a beat, Pierce pointed to Trent.

  Trent cleared his throat, affronted, but Al was talking and I had to concentrate. Growing up is hard, love. Otherwise everyone would do it.

  “Spare me,” I muttered. “I need a jump for Trent and Jenks to Seattle and back. I know you’re going to do it or you wouldn’t have gotten out of bed.”

  A devious spark lit through Al, making me smile. One way. It costs too much, he said.

  “There’s no inflation in the ever-after, Al.”

  Call it a recession then. One way.

  I looked at Trent and smiled. He relaxed, exhaling as his shoulders dropped. “Okay, one way,” I said. “But I want to see them off, so it’s one way for them, two way for me.”

  Deal, Al thought sharply, and Jenks made a burst of gold dust, yelping.

  “Holy crap!” the pixy swore, and the fractured disjointedness of San Francisco’s ley lines sliced into me, jangling my nerves. I snapped a bubble of protection around my thoughts, large enough to include Jenks and Trent. I could feel Trent’s flash of fear dissolve into acceptance, and Jenks readying himself, his steady courage flowing into me like a memory that wasn’t mine. Surrounding us like an oily smoke was Al’s presence, but I pulled most of his reeking burnt amber and selfishness to me, not wanting Trent and Jenks to have to deal with it. Embarrassed, maybe?

  The train station, Al! I shouted in my thoughts, not wanting to show up in traffic. On the platform, I added. My nonexistent heart pounded, and I felt the lines grow pure around me again, the taint of salt and rust fading away to be replaced by the taste of ozone, clean, pure, and fast.

  A glimpse of an immense, dirty room, not yet formed, sifted through my eyes. The presences of Trent and Jenks were with me, and I dissolved the bubble holding them as I felt their souls slip from my grasp and return to the memory of their bodies. I ached to take a breath, but as soon as I thought I might have lungs, I was yanked back into nothing, my forming body dissolving so fast I swear it hurt.

  Al! I shouted, disoriented. And then it was Al sheltering my thoughts. I threw up another barrier between us as he laughed. The platform dissolved, and reality swung around. I waited for the trendy furnishings of the hotel in San Francisco to appear and gritted my nonexistent teeth to endure the fractured ley lines the witches were forced to use here, but the tinfoil-on-teeth feeling never came. Instead, the line grew warmer, comfortable. Familiar.

  Crap on toast, I thought as I reached for the top of the leather wingback chair, my fingers ghosting through until I yanked them back and tried again to find them solid. I was in Al’s library.

  “Trent? Jenks?” I called out as soon as I had lungs. Damn it, had it all been a trap? I should have let Pierce kill him.

  “Not here, itchy witch. Safe at the train station as promised,” Al said, and I spun to see him in the robe I’d felt him put on, standing by the huge hearth with a bowl of marshmallows on the hearth beside him. “Come sit by the fire,” he said, patting the leather seat. “We need to talk.”

  Seventeen

  The intention was for me to say good-bye,” I said, almost setting my scrying mi
rror down, then changing my mind at the last moment. I wasn’t staying—if I had any say in the matter.

  Al scooted his chair closer to the fire, sitting on the edge before he shook his robe sleeves to his elbows and carefully wedged a marshmallow on the end of one of his toasting forks. Leaning in, he held the puffed sugar close to the flames. His muscular arms looked almost tan in the firelight. Feet spread wide, he hunched toward the flame, his bare feet showing from under the hem of his brown robe. They were surprisingly normal looking. Behind me, shelves of books were silent witnesses in the dark.

  “Your intention was to see that they got there safely,” Al said in a low voice, focusing on the marshmallow. “They are. Off to make mischief on an elven scale, which means worldwide and yet somehow…totally insignificant. You need a new hobby, Rachel. Something other than nasty little men with visions of world domination.”

  The marshmallow caught fire, and he pulled it close, somehow looking suggestive as he ran his fingers down the length of the stick to take off the still-flaming puff. “I want to talk to you about magic and sweat,” he said, the light from the burning marshmallow glinting in his eyes. “Of good deeds born from stupid ideas. Of honest mistakes leading to dishonest graves.” His eyes met mine, and he pursed his lips, gently blowing the flaming sugar puff out.

  Oh God. He’s talking funny, I thought, nervous as I looked over the dark room. Deciding to stay behind the chair, I let my scrying mirror slide down to rest on the soft leather. I wanted both hands free.

  Al stood, and I froze. His movement had been graceful, a studied motion of power that I seldom saw in him. The marshmallow was gone, and he was licking his fingers, watching me from under his lowered brow. My pulse quickened as he went to the fire, taking a second marshmallow from the bowl. What in hell is he playing at?