by Kim Harrison
"You won't need that here," Nick said, sounding insulted. "No one will squeal on you."
I hesitated before I let it drop back in my bag, not because I trusted Nick, but because I might need it later to slip out. Nick seemed mollified, but Pierce cleared his throat in an understandable warning—which ticked Nick off all the more.
Jax was hovering outside the closed window, and when Nick put his car in park, someone pulled the garage door down, cutting off the light and making me feel trapped. "Wait here," Nick said stiffly, taking the bag from the coffeehouse with him as he got out. His door slamming shut was loud, and he went to greet the man who had closed us in, doing a complicated handshake thingy. I could see Pierce memorizing it. As a ley-line witch, he probably had it down with one look.
Nick laughed, fitting in perfectly with the rough men around us, thin from Brimstone and too hard a life. Jax was on his shoulder, clearly familiar by their casual acceptance. I sat nervously and watched as Nick and the guy talked, both of them looking at the car. At us.
"I'd allow that Nick's car has a lot more levers than yours," Pierce said, eying the dash.
"Nick's car goes faster than my mother's," I said, sitting sideways so I didn't have to take my eyes off Nick. "Don't touch anything. It might go boom."
It wouldn't, but Pierce drew his hand away. "I don't trust him."
"Neither do I." Nick took a metal cutter from a nearby bench, and I fingered my zip strip, eager to get it off.
"If you're not of a mind to trust him, then why are we still here? This is vexing, sitting like a fence post."
I had to think about that for a moment, first to piece together what he was saying, and then to figure out why we hadn't left. I had nothing for Nick but bad feelings, yet here I was. "I need to sleep," I finally said, "and I don't want to do it on a bus touring Cincinnati." My gaze returned to Pierce, finding a surprising amount of tension in him. "Relax. I've known Nick for a couple of years. We did okay until it fell apart. I don't trust him, but I think he loved me in his own way once. Even if he did sell information to Al about me."
That last had been barely muttered, but Pierce had shifted to look at Nick. "The lickfinger," he said. "You're a powerful more forgiving person than me, Rachel. I would have—"
His words cut off, and I looked at him sharply. "What?" I asked, remembering his black magic—magic not only black in name but deed, too. "What would you have done, Pierce?"
He dropped his eyes at my pointed look, silent, and I turned back to Nick in a huff. The more I knew about Pierce, the more I worried. And I didn't need a babysitter.
Out the back window, I watched Nick hand the garage guy the bag from the coffeehouse and shuffle our way. Pierce squinted at Nick when he opened the door and leaned to look in. "You want those bands off?" Nick asked, holding the clippers up.
Immediately I shoved Pierce to get out, grabbing my bag in passing as I slid across and found my feet beside him. It smelled like acetylene torch and oil, and three ragged guys were watching us as I held out my wrist. The metal was cold against my skin, and I shivered when the zip strip was clipped through. The strand parted with a little thump, and I rubbed my wrist.
"God, that feels good," I said as I reached for a ley line, realizing where we were in the process. Not far from the university. Cool. "Thanks, Nick." My chi filled, and my shoulders eased when I spindled a little bit extra in my head. It was easier now to stand confidently under the eyes of men talking in low tones and accents hard for me to follow. My knees felt better, too.
"Thank you," Pierce said stiffly, and Jax zipped down in a bow of silver dust, catching Pierce's zip strip before it hit the stained concrete, taking both of them to a high shelf. I wasn't surprised that Pierce remained looking like Tom when his band fell away. He'd probably keep his true appearance to himself for the same reason I was holding my old-lady disguise back.
Nick glanced at where Jax had left the zip strips, then turned back to us. "No problem," he said, looking skinny as he tossed the clippers to the closest bench, where they slid to a noisy stop. "You want to crash for a few hours? I've got a room across the street."
I shifted nervously, feeling cold in a garage that had never seen the sun, surrounded by concrete, tools to strip a car to nothing, and the men messing around with them—and watching me. "Sure. Thanks, Nick."
My fingers slipped into Pierce's hand as we headed for the man door, shocking the hell out of him, but I wanted Nick to know that I didn't consider his helping us as anything other than a temporary encounter. The guys watching laughed at both men's reactions, but I didn't care. If they thought I was an insecure airheaded fluff, then all the better.
Pierce's brow furrowed, and suddenly the ley-line pressure between us eased as he drew on the same line and brought himself, holding an amount of energy, nearer mine.
Nick saw Pierce's fingers intertwined with mine. Expression unchanging, he pulled open the man door fixed in the garage door. "Jax!" he shouted, and the pixy zipped back, tucking himself into the outside pocket of Nick's faded cloth coat just as the sun spilled in across our feet. "Just across the street," he said again, squinting at the bright spring sun.
Pierce and I followed. His fingers moved against mine, taking my grip more firmly, and I stifled a start when a budding sensation of warmth grew in the cup of my hand. What in hell is he doing? I thought, then yanked free. Pierce smiled, and I glared at him. It hadn't been a power pull, but it had been something. And I didn't like his jaunty new step either.
The building Nick was heading toward looked bigger than most. I was guessing it had once been a theater, with SALTY CHOCOLATE in faded letters where the movie titles would have been. Dinner theater? I wondered, changing my mind when we entered the barred door to find a wide foyer with an unlit neon sign proclaiming it was the Salty Chocolate Bar. There was another set of barred gates; beyond them were a quiet space full of tables, a dance floor with three poles, the smell of Brimstone, and a long bar. The bar had a stripper pole, too. No one was in there, but the dark light display made me remember Kisten.
"You live above a strip bar?" I said, and Nick gave me a sidelong glance, pulling a single key out from a pocket and unlocking a side door covered in thick paint the same color as the walls. It opened to a narrow stairway with faded carpet and bare walls going up what must have been three stories. I sent my gaze all the way up and winced. This was going to kill my knees.
"Upstairs, last door at the end of the hall," Nick said, gesturing for me to go, and Jax flew up first, vaulting from Nick's pocket to make a steep, glittery ascent. It looked like the two of them had been working together since Mackinaw, and I wondered if it was only the fact that Nick was a thief that made Jenks and me that much different.
The stairs creaked, and it smelled old, like coal-stoves-and-pigs-roaming-the-streets old. The occasional window through the brick wall lit the way. Pierce was behind me, and I glanced up when footsteps started down. It was a very tall woman, and I stood aside when we met somewhere in the middle. She was wearing black lace and fur, both fake. Too much blush.
"Hi, hon, love your hair," she said to me, her voice decidedly husky, then to Nick, "Hey, lovey. Where's Jax?"
"Upstairs," Nick said shortly, clearly not liking the woman, or man, I was beginning to suspect. I smiled noncommittally as she passed with her boots clunking, but before I could take another step, she made a sound of recognition.
"Tom!" she exclaimed, and Pierce threw himself against the wall when she reached for him. His expression was scared, and he grabbed his hat from his head when it started to fall.
"Hey, man!" the woman said, punching him on the shoulder to make Pierce's eyes go even wider. "Tom, Tom, the magic man. That was some serious shit you did last time you were here. Where you been? Word was you got cacked by some broad under the city. Shoulda known it was nothing but salty water under the bridge. I didn't know you knew Nicky. You going to be here tonight? I got a table for you. You just say the word, and I'll have a couple o
f my best girls for you, too. No charge, no cleanup fee."
No cleanup fee?
Nick watched Pierce's frightened expression. I, too, was surprised. Tom was a known face down here? Great. Just freaking great.
"You mistake me for someone else... ma'am," Pierce managed.
The woman looked at me and laughed. "Oh, right. Yeah. My mistake," she said. "See you around. Bye, Nicky," she said, her voice shifting higher. "You working tonight?"
Nick shook his head. "Not tonight, Annie. I'll be showing my friends the sights."
"Plenty of sights in the club," she said deviously. With a little wave, she continued down. Her shoulders were wider than Glenn's and she carried herself with much the same easy grace.
"Annie owns the building," Nick offered. "Owns the club. Takes good care of her girls."
"Takes your rent?" I guessed, and Nick nodded.
"Doesn't ask questions," he added, passing me when I didn't move fast enough for him.
I'll bet, I thought, sliding over when Pierce came up beside me.
"Law sakes' alive," the shaken man whispered as he snuck glances down at the woman, still making her boot-clunking way downstairs. "I suspicion wearing Tom's appearance isn't a powerful-good idea anymore."
His accent had gone full into the early 1800s, proof that he was shaken, and I gave him a sour look. "You got that right," I said, following his gaze to the bottom of the stairwell where the woman blew kisses to us before slipping out the side door and locking it firmly. "Why don't you put yourself back together? I like you looking like you."
Pierce glanced at the stairway. "I didn't want to be spied with two faces in the car barn."
"Garage," I corrected him, and he softly repeated the word, brow furrowed.
Nick's steps were soundless as he reached the top. A building-long hallway stretched with doors on one side, windows on the other. It looked like it had once been an open balcony looking out onto the side street, long since bricked up to give some protection from the elements.
"It's the one at the end," Nick said, seeming as eager as us to avoid any more encounters.
Someone was yelling at someone about their choice of TV and eating all the yogurt as Nick hustled down the hall, me trailing behind with my sore knees, looking out to the blah brown building across the street in the cold spring sun. I felt a tweak on my awareness, and I wasn't surprised when Pierce shuddered, and I looked to see him like himself again. Even his fingers were different. Not so thick, smaller, more dexterous.
Nick stopped at the last door, doing a double take as he saw Pierce. "That's a good one," he said as he fished out a second key. "I'd never have known it was you if you hadn't been sitting next to Rachel. Demon magic? Must have cost a lot."
Pierce shrugged, eyes on the brown building across the street. "Someone died for it. And this is the disguise, sir."
Nick hesitated with the key in the door, clearly having second thoughts.
"Thanks for letting us crash at your place," I said, not wanting to have to go back downstairs and grab a bus. "I'm amazed you found us, with me looking like an old lady."
His expression softening, Nick twisted the key and unlocked the door. "Remember the library? When we broke in to see the restricted section? You were wearing the same thing."
I laughed, but Pierce was appalled. "You are a hoister, Rachel? Lifting books from a... public institution?"
My smile grew fond. "I just wanted to see them. I didn't walk off with anything." Nick had, though. Slowly my smile faded. That had been the night I'd met Al. He'd torn my throat out at the request of Ivy's old master vampire. I'd survived, obviously, but that was the beginning of everything that put me here, shunned and beholden to the very demon who'd tried to kill me. "I needed a look at the spell books," I finished softly.
"Then why didn't you simply ask?" Pierce asked. "Surely if you had impressed upon the librarian your plight, he would have allowed you access."
"They wouldn't have made an exception," I said sadly, knowing I was right. "People just aren't that way anymore."
Good mood thoroughly gone, I entered Nick's apartment. As I crossed the threshold into the one large room, I rubbed at the demon mark I'd gotten that night, wondering if that one decision could be responsible for the entire rest of my life. Why Pierce was scowling, I hadn't a clue. It couldn't be Nick's place. It was nice. Really nice. In-any-neighborhood nice.
It was a corner apartment with windows on two sides and a rack of plants under a skylight in the kitchen. Jax was dusting heavily among the greenery already, and the place smelled like a conservatory: green and growing. The kitchen was faded, small, and clean.
"Make yourself at home," Nick said as he dropped the single key conspicuously on the Formica kitchen table and sat down to take off his tatty sneakers.
I came farther in as Pierce shut the door, his flat black shoes making a slow turn on the low carpet. It was all one big room, with trifold screens to loosely define areas. Shelves lined the walls between the windows, each holding stuff that I'd classify as knickknacks if I hadn't known they were probably priceless. Some had spotlights. It reminded me of a museum, and I couldn't help but wonder if Nick had had this place before we broke up.
The living room was a couch before a wide-screen TV bolted to the wall, out of view from the windows thanks to the screens. Beside it in the corner—also out of sight—was a stack of expensive equipment, everything black and silver and piled as if they were worth nothing, but nothing was likely what he'd paid for them. The last corner between two windows had a gray slab of slate propped two feet up on cinderblocks, probably to get the underside of a circle free of pipes or lines. Beside the raised stone was a locked box. It had demon summoning all over it, and I think Pierce had come to the same conclusion, since his lips were pressed tight in disapproval.
But it's okay for you to do black magic, eh?
"This is nice," I said as I dropped my bag on the couch. The fabric was faded, and I sat gingerly on the edge and wiggled out of my coat, leaving it to slump behind me. It was warm in here, for Jax, and the windows dripped condensation.
Nick looked satisfied as he came out from the fridge with a bottled water. "Pierce, you want a beer?" he said as he threw it to me.
The water thunked into my raised hand, and I set it on the coffee table unopened, thoughts of Alcatraz's spice drifting through my head.
Pierce didn't look away from a rack of leather books, his hands behind his back as he squinted at the titles. They were regular spell books, then. Demon texts had no names. "No. I'm of the mind to remain clearheaded," he said, his voice flat.
Deciding that Nick wouldn't magic my drink, I cracked the lid and took a sip. My gaze landed on a statue of an Incan god, and I moseyed over to the ugly thing. "Is this real?"
Nick leaned against the counter with his ankles crossed. "Depends on who you ask."
Depends on who you ask, I mocked in my thoughts. Stupid ass.
Pierce's hands came out from behind him to touch a long, curved knife resting on a wooden stand before the leather-bound books. It was almost a dagger, really. "This is real," he said, turning it over and examining the detail on the engraving.
"Is it?" Carefully casual, Nick pushed himself into motion, beating me to Pierce and taking the knife from him. "I found it at an estate sale," he said as we peered at it, the lie coming so easily it was disgusting. "The woman said it belonged to a sea captain who refused to sail back to England. I thought it was pretty. Someday, I'll find out what the words on the handle mean." Setting it on a higher shelf over our heads, he put his beer on the coffee table and moved to the bedroom, defined by a large folding screen.
The words on the handle were in Latin, and though I hadn't been able to read them, I think Pierce had by his grim expression.
Tired, I turned to the big TV affixed to the wall. "I'd think you'd be worried about thieves," I said, looking at the equipment piled under it. I didn't see any security system, and though Jax was better than any d
etection setup known to man or witch, he wasn't here 24/7.
"Not since the first one had a heart attack in the hall, no," Nick said, and I turned to see him bring a shirt out of his dresser and drop it on the bed.
From the far corner by the kitchen, Jax piped up, "He walked right into the ward, bam! It took three days for the stink of burnt hair to go away. Annie was pissed."
Feeling ill, I sat on the couch with my back to him. That's why Jax had gone ahead of us. Bringing my focus back, I casually brought out my big-mojo amulet, glowing a very faint, almost-not-there red. Whatever safeguards Nick had, they were nasty even when uninvoked. "Got yourself a rep, eh?" I needled Nick, watching his reflection in the blank TV as Pierce tried to figure out the blinds.
Nick took his shirt off in one easy move. "Not as bad as yours."
Pierce's eyes snapped in ire, but the words never made it past his lips when he saw Nick's battered and scarred body. I'd forgotten, but Nick was covered in scars; the deep gouges never properly taken care of had mellowed to lumpy white scar tissue, crisscrossing his chest and shoulders in a bizarre pattern. Most had probably come from the rat fights where we'd met. Even more disturbing was the new demon scar with two slashes on his shoulder. Nick's gaze flicked away when he realized I'd seen it. Motions fast, he put on a lightweight T-shirt.
Peeved, I crossed my arms and sank back into the cushions to stare at the black TV. An uncomfortable silence grew, broken only by Jax's wings. In the almost-mirror of the TV, I watched Nick sit on the edge of the bed to pull a pair of stained blue overalls over his pants. I wondered if it was the same pair he'd used when he had helped me break into Trent's grounds. Maybe I was as bad as he was.
"Bathroom is behind the kitchen," Nick said as he stood and adjusted the straps about his shoulders. "I've got extra blankets under the bed if you're cold or on the off chance you're not sleeping together and one of you wants the couch."
Lips parting, I turned to give him an ugly look. Pierce's attention lifted from a rack of preindustrial buttons, his stance stiffening as he eyed Nick from under his loose black curls. "Rachel is a lady, sir, not an adventuress. If I was not obliged to abide by good manners for the turn you gave us, I'd be of a mind to settle this off the reel directly."