Pale Demon th-9

by Kim Harrison

  “Yes. Yes it is,” I said, and he smiled weakly. “Thank you.”

  It was what I wanted. What I had always wanted. So why did it feel so empty?

  Thirty-two

  Trent’s long black car pulled up to the curb, a soft hush in the dark. In an instant, Ivy was reaching for the handle. The front passenger’s door opened, and she was standing in the street, her eyes on the church’s steeple. Looking back in, she glanced first at Quen, then at Trent, sitting in the back with me and Bis, Lucy in her car seat between us.

  “Thanks for the ride, Trent. Quen,” she said, her voice low but sincere. And then she was gone, boot heels clicking on the night-cooled pavement, visibly shaking off being too far from home for too long. Vampires truly were the homebodies of Inderland society, and it had been hard on her in ways I could never imagine. That Trent had chartered a specially designed, low-flying jet to get us home in hours, not days, had been a godsend.

  “Tell your pilot his pressure control still sucks,” Jenks said through the open window in parting, and then darted to join Ivy. Giving me a toothy grin, Bis hopped to the open sunroof, and launched himself after them and into the dark.

  I held a hand to my head to keep my hair from flying around in the draft from his wings, and Lucy frowned in her sleep, her hand flashing out as if she was falling. Together, Jenks, Ivy, and Bis ascended the stairs in the dark, pulling the heavy oak doors open to let out a flood of light and pixies. I glanced at the headache-inducing cloud of silk and gossamer, then settled back in the soft leather, reluctant to get out—even as glad as I was to get home.

  A flash of liquid light turned into Jenks darting to the steeple as he checked in with the pixy on sentry duty. I heard a sharp wing chirp and a high-pitched harangue start. Jenks wasn’t happy about something. More reason to just sit for a moment.

  With the sound of clicking metal, Quen undid his seat belt and got out. There were kids shouting somewhere in the next street over, and the revving of a car engine. The trunk whined open, and I shifted my new shoulder bag onto my lap. I didn’t know what had happened to my old one. My phone was gone, but at least Vivian had given me my scrying mirror—for what it was worth. “Thanks for the ride home,” I said to Trent softly, so as not to wake Lucy. “Don’t mind Jenks. The pressure was fine.”

  Smiling, Trent tucked a blanket with the Disney logo under Lucy’s chin. She squirmed, but didn’t wake. “It was my pleasure. The honey seemed to do the trick.”

  “Yup.” Ivy was yelling at Jenks, who had dropped back down into the church by the sound of it—something about leaving his kids alone and that they’d done okay. Angels and ass seemed to figure into the conversation. Sighing, I looked at the light spilling from the church. I was tired, and getting out of the car only meant more work.

  “I know I’ve said it before, but thank you. For Lucy,” Trent said.

  I turned to Trent, then smiled at her, pouting in her sleep. My gaze flicked back to him, and I studied his love for her, honest and irrefutable on his face. He was different, less confident, softer. Or maybe I was just seeing him that way. “She’s beautiful,” I said, readjusting her blanket.

  The thumps from the trunk were obvious, and I reached for the door.

  “Ceri is due any day now,” Trent said, and I wondered if he was trying to get me to stay a moment longer. “But with Lucy there first, Ceri’s baby will be the second born.”

  I slumped back, curious. “Lucy is the ranking elf of the next generation? Not Ceri’s baby?”

  His new softness vanished, and he eyed me steadily. “I meant it when I said you’d have a say in it.”

  Tugging my new jacket closer, I tried to make light of it. “You mean, like I have to babysit or something?”

  “I was thinking more like godmother.”

  My nervous mirth changed to alarm. Oh jeez, a demonic godmother. Feeling ill, I glanced at him. “Okay. Yes. I’d like that. Thank you. It’s an honor,” I said, not sure this was a good idea but gratified nevertheless. I had Trent’s trust, and it was apparently an all-or-nothing affair. And I guess…he had mine.

  I jumped when my door opened, Quen standing ready with my two suitcases and garment bag at the curb. They had canceled my brother’s wedding since my mom had been stuck in jail while San Francisco rocked and rolled. Robbie was never going to forgive me, and I wasn’t invited to the new wedding next month.

  Giving Trent a last smile and Lucy a fond touch on her toes, I got out. Quen helped me arrange one suitcase over my shoulder and handed me my garment bag, never unzipped the entire trip. “Thanks, Quen,” I said when his pockmarked, weathered face curled up in a smile. “Tell Ceri I said hi.” Leaning in, I whispered, “And sorry about the ranking elf-baby thing.”

  He laughed, making the dark street seem comforting. “She doesn’t care,” he said. “The two of them are to be raised as sisters, though they don’t share a drop of common blood.” Hesitating, he looked to the church’s open door as a stream of noise flowed out. “Would you like some help getting this in?”

  Thinking Trent had to be anxious to get home, I shook my head. “I got it. Thanks.” Leaning down, I grinned at Trent through the window, surprised he’d shifted seats and was now in mine. “Thanks for everything.” I raised a hand, the circle of charmed silver catching the light. “You’re, uh, a lifesaver.”

  Oh God. I’d said it. And what’s more, I think I meant it.

  Trent flushed in the dim light of the car’s interior. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” Then, as if he’d been waiting for the apology, he reached into an inner coat pocket and extended an envelope.

  I looked at it suspiciously, shifting the weight of my small carry-on. “What is it?”

  “If you don’t want it—” he said, and I snatched it. Sometimes Trent’s envelopes had money in them. “It’s from the Withons,” he said as I tore it open and saw a check. A nice check. Six months’ worth of check. Damn, it would pay for a new car to replace the one I’d cracked up on the bridge and then some.

  “It’s restitution for the trouble they put you through,” Trent said, bringing my attention up to see him smiling in a rather devious way, and I tucked the money in my back pocket. This would help a lot. Not to mention that it would be the only monetary recompense I was likely going to get for ridding San Francisco of Ku’Sox. ’Course, the demon had destroyed a huge chunk of the Tenderloin, but that area could use a little sprucing up.

  “Did you make them do this?” I asked, wincing at the shrill pixy harangue filtering out. Ahhhh, it’s good to be home.

  Trent’s expression went from sly to gratified. “You did good,” he said, fingers resting gently on Lucy. “Have you given any more thought—”

  “What, you still want me to work for you? I’m pretty much useless,” I said, feeling the charmed silver heavy on my wrist.

  “That?” Trent said, his eyes flicking to the braided bit of charmed silver. “I told you it was a choice. Just say the word, and I’ll tell you the charm to break it. We can talk at Lucy’s birthday party. You like clowns?”

  My mouth dropped open, and Quen edged away from me. “You are not subjecting that sweet little girl to clowns!” I exclaimed.

  Chuckling, Trent settled back in the car. “Take care, Rachel,” he said as the window started to go up. “Don’t be afraid to call me. We can teach Lucy how to ride.”

  Riding. Right. “You take care, too…Trent,” I said, not knowing if it felt odder saying it or meaning it. The last ten days had been educational. The man was clever, intelligent, and utterly lacking in someone he could just…talk to. He was never himself, even with Ceri. It had to be a lonely way to live.

  But it wasn’t my problem, and I gave Quen a small wave and turned to the church. I didn’t wait for them to leave, just picked up my suitcases and headed for the stairs. Jenks met me halfway up. “Fairies!” he shrilled. “In the garden!”

  “Now?” I stammered, heart pounding.

  “Yes! I mean, no!” he shouted, flying
backward as I hesitated on the steps. “They attacked two days ago!”

  “Is everyone okay?” I asked, my gaze going to the steeple, seeing Bis there now, the glint of his red eyes and his relaxed posture telling me everything was fine.

  Trent’s window rolled down, and leaning out, he asked, “Is there a problem?”

  Concerned, I said, “Jenks says we were attacked two days ago.”

  Quen paused with his hand on the door, exchanging a look with Trent. Was the coven still at it? They’d pardoned me, and even though they were mad at Trent for having released Ku’Sox, they weren’t going to do anything about it lest Trent retaliate with something worse.

  “I was eating Tink-blasted cotton candy while fairies were attacking my children!” Jenks said, dripping a red dust.

  A faint smile touched Quen’s face, and giving me a nod, he got in the car. Trent, though, was still leaning out the window. “Perhaps Quen should look over your security before we go,” he said, then ducked back into the car.

  Quen met my startled gaze, sitting behind the wheel but with the door still open. “Sa’han?”

  Jenks was a bright ball of irritation. “My security is fine,” he snarled.

  But Trent was talking to Quen over the seat. “It wouldn’t hurt to look around,” I heard him say faintly. “I’ll come in in a minute. Lucy needs attention.”

  He wants to come in? But Quen was getting out of the car, his body language not confused but perhaps…indulgent, and it wouldn’t hurt to have Quen look under my bed. “Okay. Sure. I don’t care,” I said, and Jenks rose up, appalled.

  “Rache!” he shrilled.

  “We’ve been gone for almost two weeks,” I said as I started up the steps again. “What can it hurt?” But what I was thinking was, What does Trent want?

  Quen’s door thumped shut, and I waited on the threshold for him, yanking the door shut behind us and dropping the suitcase in the dark foyer. Ivy was casually standing at the pool table sorting almost two weeks’ worth of mail, and I relaxed. Something felt like it was missing, though. Pierce.

  “We are all fine,” Jenks was saying as I breathed in the scent of Quen, seeming all the stronger for the foyer being dark. “We don’t need your help.”

  Quen flashed a bright smile. “Mr. Kalamack would like me to inspect the grounds.” His gaze shifted to Ivy as if for permission. Wise man. “Is that all right with you, ladies?”

  Ivy didn’t even look up from the mail. “Knock yourself out. Stay out of my room.”

  Quen turned to me next, and when Jenks buzzed off in annoyance, I asked him, “What is he really looking for?”

  Again, he smiled, but it was softer this time. “An excuse, I think.”

  Great. Just friggin’ great.

  Quen brushed past me, a shredded wisp of cinnamon and wine lingering in his wake. “I’m telling you, we’re fine!” came Jenks’s irate shout as he followed him into the hallway, and then the pixy darted back, dripping a bright silver dust. “Rachel!” he whined at me, his long hair getting in his eyes. There wasn’t a single pixy kid in the church, not unusual if their dad was on the warpath.

  I trudged forward with my stuff. “Go with him if you want.”

  Jenks rose up and down indecisively as if on a string, but when he heard the back door open and shut, he darted to me, flying backward as he fumed.

  “What does he want?” Ivy asked mildly as I passed her.

  “I’ve no idea.” I had none whatsoever, but I imagined that his claim of tending to Lucy was an excuse so I wouldn’t see him taking the steps in his cast. He could make it all right, but he lacked his usual grace, and I knew it bothered him.

  “What happened?” I asked Jenks as I smacked my luggage into the wall in the hallway.

  “The kids fought them off,” Jenks admitted, his dust finally starting to dampen as he followed me to my room. “Them and that fairy girl.”

  He had almost spat out the last, and I elbowed my light switch on to see his face screwed up in a nasty expression. “Belle?” I asked, remembering that Sidereal’s daughter had remained behind to watch me. It smelled stale in my room, and leaving my garment bag and overnight case on the bed, I propped the narrow stained-glass window open. Night sounds, the scent of marigolds, and the singing of pixies seeped in. Hands on my hips, I sighed, glad to be home.

  “She has a name? You knew she was here?” Jenks yelped, a burst of dust lighting my perfumes.

  “Well, yeah.” I took off my jacket and hung it on my bedpost. “Didn’t you? Jeez, Jenks. She’s been here for months.”

  He fumed, his wings drooping and his tiny features cross as I needled him. Relenting, I tugged my closet door open and hung up my garment bag. Unzipping it, the smell of clean fabric spilled out. “Everyone is okay, right?” I prompted, wondering if I should be more concerned.

  “Yeah…,” he admitted. “But…”

  “Then relax.” I pulled the beautiful dress from the bag and hung it at the back. “Bis!” I shouted, sensing him up on the steeple. He probably couldn’t hear me, but he’d come anyway.

  “You don’t care!” Jenks exclaimed, twin pixies rising in my dresser’s mirror. “We were attacked and you don’t care!”

  “Of course I care,” I said, then shut the closet door hard enough to make his dust shake. “But I’ve been trapped in a plane with you for five solid hours. No one is hurt, and you need to chill!” He was scowling at me, and I lowered my voice. “Let me catch my breath, okay?” I pleaded.

  A small scraping at the lintel brought my attention to the ceiling. It was Bis, his ears pricked and expectant. He hadn’t been his usual self during the few days we’d spent recovering on the coast before flying home. There was a hesitancy between us that hadn’t been there before, a feeling out of new responsibilities and expectations.

  Neither of us knew what being bonded meant, but I sensed where he was most of the time, and he knew where I was. And since we couldn’t ask Al or Pierce what my responsibilities were to Bis and his to me, we’d just have to figure it out as we went along. Him teaching me how to line jump wasn’t an issue anymore, so maybe the question was moot.

  “Hi, Bis,” I said as Jenks fumed on my dresser. “You want your shirt?”

  Immediately he perked up, slithering into my room and dropping onto my bedside table, wings flat to his back. “I was just going to ask you for it,” he said, sending a sliver of concern through me. “Can you put it on me? I want to show the kids.”

  He wanted to show the kids. Subtle phrasing, but significant. He was seeing himself as less of a kid and more of an adult. I’d seen it on the jet when he settled into a watchful mode with a magazine, and how he kept an eye on the people in the airport instead of being distracted by the jets or the people staring at him. Growing up wasn’t bad, but I kind of missed the old Bis and his wonder at everything. He still had that inquisitive good nature, but now it was tempered with the knowledge that life wasn’t fair and that bad things happened, even if you watched for them.

  “You bet,” I said, opening the snaps of my overnight case. Still in a huff, Jenks landed on the open lid. We had spent a day at Disneyland before coming home, and Jenks had gone a little nuts, buying out a gift shop and generally acting like a chipmunk on Brimstone. Bis had contented himself with a tourist T-shirt, but Ivy and I sat on a curb for almost an hour waiting for Jenks to come out of the Tink history exhibit. Since then, there hadn’t been a single swear word using the “Inderlander pioneer,” as he now called her.

  I pulled Bis’s tank top out, carefully folding the brightly patterned bag with Tinkerbell on it after Jenks started making tiny, pained noises when I crumpled it up. I couldn’t help but wonder if we had a little crush going. Finally I snapped the bright red shirt to get out the wrinkles and held it up to Bis. “I don’t think we’re going to have to make wing slits for you,” I said, seeing a glimpse of his old self in his delight at the screened picture of characters in the latest gargoyle flick.

  “Too cool,” h
e said, holding his arms up, and I settled the soft cotton tank top over his head, tugging gently to get it around his ears. I tried to imagine him my size but failed. He was still a kid—and my responsibility. Damn, how had my mom done this?

  “Belle says the battle was Sunday,” Bis said, his voice muffled. “After I left.”

  “Yeah?” Jenks barked, his wings moving but not lifting him at all.

  “Wings,” I prompted, and Bis lifted them high so I could work the tank top around them.

  “She said a passing clan thought that Jenks had died, so they attacked,” Bis said, his red eyes glowing. “They didn’t know what to do. The kids, I mean. Jih was across the street, and it was noon. But Belle was awake, and she saw them. Raised the alarm. They would have taken the garden and killed everyone if not for Belle.”

  I dropped back, thinking the shirt was perfect—even if it looked odd on him. There was the faint click of the front door opening, and Ivy’s soft murmur followed by the thunking of Trent’s cast on the old oak. My tension spiked. Trent was in my church. Why?

  “She saved the garden,” Bis said as he looked at himself in my dresser mirror. My perfumes were scattered about his feet, and he didn’t hit one as he shifted and turned. “Took over the fight. Told everyone what to do. Kept the lines from breaking until Jih could help. No one got hurt except Belle. She took an arrow in the leg.”

  Alarmed, I turned to Jenks. “I thought you said no one was hurt!”

  “A fairy?” he said in disbelief. “Since when are you worried about a fairy?”

  “When one saves the lives of your children,” I said, and Trent thumped to a halt at my door. My eyes fell from Trent’s, and I slammed my suitcase shut. “Jenks, you’re ugly when you talk like that,” I said, then turned to Bis, hesitating at the sight of him in a bright red shirt. “Where’s Belle?” I asked, imagining her broken and bleeding somewhere in the garden.

  “Uh, the kitchen,” he said, glancing at Jenks as if the pixy was going to protest.

  A last hard look at Jenks, and I started for the hallway. Trent was standing in the doorway with Lucy, smelling of fresh baby powder and baby wipes, and his injured hand gently patted her as he rocked. I jerked to a stop when he didn’t get out of my way fast enough, my eyes dropping to the floor as I flushed. “Come on in,” I said softly. “I don’t think we have anything but water, but you’re welcome to it.”