by Kim Harrison
"Really?" My stomach rumbled, but I wasn't going to drink the "coffee."
"Who else can do it?" Please don't say Newt...
His eyes almost appeared normal in the dim light as he stared at nothing, his white shirt with lace at the cuffs and collar making him look like a tired British lord at the end of the day. "Just the handful of demons still in existence."
Oh? Pierce had said demons had flung themselves back to reality after stranding the elves, accidentally scribing the ley lines and stabilizing the ever-after. Which meant that Al had been there. Survived it. And the gargoyles who then taught them how to do it without hurting themselves were either killed or enslaved. Nice.
"I'm not a demon," I said. "And I'm not going to use Bis like a familiar either. It's wrong!"
Cup perched in his fingers, untasted, he said, "Rachel, if you would be patient and listen to me, you wouldn't have to make the same mistakes we all did."
Crap, he was starting to sound like my dad. Another man who, the more I knew, the more I didn't know. Leaning back, I crossed my knees. "Which line did you make?"
Al's eyes squinted. For a moment he just stared; then he set his cup down and rose in a rustle of fabric. Fine. Don't tell me. "Treble doesn't like you," I prodded. "You trust her?" What I really wanted to know was if that black monstrosity was really him.
"Absolutely." Al unwrapped a cloth-covered basket and brought out half a loaf of bread.
I snorted, earning a dry look, and then I asked, "How come Bis has to teach me? He's a good kid and all, but wouldn't it be easier if Treble did it?" He was stalling, trying to keep me ignorant, and I wasn't going to let him.
"Treble?" Al carefully cut perfectly equal slices off the loaf, one by one. "She can't get through your aura like Bis can."
"Bis can get through yours. What's the difference?" I almost accused him.
"Bis is young." Al turned with six slices of bread in his hand. "He'll be able to cross any circle until he bonds himself to an aura. He seems to like you, but even so, you'd better be careful or you'll lose him to Pierce. And there you'll be, forced to steal another baby from the basilica and having to wait another fifty years to learn how to jump the lines."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. What's this 'bond' thing?" I asked, worried. Gargoyles to witches, as pixies are to elves? "Bis is not my gargoyle," I protested, and Al chuckled as he pierced each slice of bread on a set of long forks.
"I wasn't too keen on Treble either," he said. "Still am not. But once a gargoyle takes to you, it's not as if you have much say. It's in their makeup, you see. Engineered in."
They had made them. Demons had made gargoyles, creating the ability to hear the lines and the need for them to bond so they wouldn't run off and teach us poor witches and elves. No wonder free gargoyles hung out on churches. Oh, this wasn't good. Bis and I needed to talk.
"Done and done," Al said with a tone of finality as he propped the six slices of bread on their toasting forks against the heat. "I believe you didn't help Pierce, Rachel Mariana Morgan. Tell me your plan to get the coven off your ass and Nicholas Sparagmos into my kitchen."
Apparently we were done talking about gargoyles, but at least I knew he believed me. My sigh of relief was loud, but then I tensed. "I never said Nick in your kitchen was part of the deal—," I started, but my words cut off when he turned, a big-ass knife in his hand.
"Rachel, we've been over this. This is what I do," he said, crumbs of white cheese falling from the knife. "Find a way for your lofty, unrealistic ideals to deal with it."
"But I'm the one who gets blamed!" I exclaimed, frustrated. I knew Vivian was going to ask me to rescue Brooke or get caught trying to do it herself. Then I'd get blamed for that, too.
"So stay here with me." He was slicing more cheese, his broad back to me as he worked. I could almost imagine sharp-edged, shiny wings. "I'm touched that you came to my rescue. And with nothing but a pain amulet. You are either truly overconfident or truly stupid."
"I didn't rescue you," I said quickly.
The fire snapped as he wiped his fingers on a white towel, casual and totally out of character. There was enough cheese for two, and I eyed it hungrily. "Looks to me like you did," he said. "It has been untold ages since I worked with anyone like that. I'd quite forgotten. It does give one a thrill, not knowing what might happen."
My held breath slipped out, and I frowned. "Okay, maybe I did," I admitted, "but I did it because I need you to find Nick, fast. Can you give me a locator curse?" I asked. Crap, this was risky. Asking Al for help was easy, like a wish, and you always paid for those in the ass.
Al tested the toasted bread between a finger and a thumb. "Rush, rush, rush. You have no need for haste anymore. Tell me your ideas while we eat. There's always time for coffee."
I grimaced at my cup, and he put the fork back, clearly not happy with the brownness of the bread. I didn't say anything, and he finally rose, standing so the flames warmed him. "It's been a bitch since Pierce left to watch you. I've had to do my own cooking. I hope you don't mind cheese sandwiches. It's all I know how to make."
With the toast done on one side, I thought, eying it as my stomach rumbled again, and I sat up to hide the sound. Elbows on my knees, I hung my head, going over my plan and trying to decide how much to tell him. It was Trent's idea, thanks to his Pandora charm. "I need to be charged with a crime," I started.
Al laughed as he shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. "I can think of a few. Let's start with uncommon stupidity for jumping the lines untrained."
My head came up, and I frowned. "I managed it, though, didn't I? I'm serious. The press is always watching me, so I may as well use that to my advantage. I need to be caught at some crime that is both spectacular and relatively harmless, something that people will fall in love with, maybe see as noble. Nick is the perfect choice."
"Noble," Al said, taking up two of the forks. "Like a new modern-day Robin Hood."
Yeee-haaaa. "If the press is paparazzing me, the coven can't tuck me away in Alcatraz."
Al layered a slice of cheese between two pieces of toast and set it on a black plate that hadn't been there a moment ago. "Ahhh...," he said as he quickly made three sandwiches, divvying them up between two plates. "If they give you a trial, what you are comes out, and where all witches have their beginnings. Or they leave you alone and pray you don't cross them. Or they try to kill you without the press knowing. Double jeopardy?"
I nodded, eying the two sandwiches on that second plate. "It's worth the risk. Either they let me go when I promise to be good..."
"Or they kill you."
The cheese smelled all melty as Al slid the plate with one sandwich in front of me beside the nasty coffee. I looked at it. Al made me dinner? "That's why it has to be spectacular," I said. "I want Trent involved. He started it. He's going to have to call them off. He doesn't want me dead. He wants me to work for him." I thought of that paper he wanted me to sign, wondering whether I'd do it now if given the chance.
Al sat at the far end of the long table, pulling his plate closer and picking his first sandwich up with a napkin that appeared from nowhere. "I've never agreed with this long leash you're giving your familiar. See what he's done? In a mere six months? Bring him in. I can whip him into shape in half that time. Give him back to you as a present. I'll put a bow on him and everything." Al quit waving his toasted sandwich and took a bite.
"Trent is not my familiar." I leaned over the plate and picked up my sandwich with my bare fingers, wondering why Al didn't want to touch his. "I don't need one, okay? This entire mess is because of him thinking I might use him as a familiar."
Elbow on his knee, Al leaned forward, chewing. "So I gathered."
I watched him for a moment, then looked at the sandwich. It smelled wonderful. "Thank you," I said, then took a bite. Oh God, it tasted wonderful.
Al seemed pleased when I followed my first bite with another. "Why do you want Nick?" he asked. "Not that I'm agreeing to help you.
.. yet."
I looked for a napkin, hesitating when one misted into existence under my fingers. "I know him," I said, dabbing my lips. This was really weird. Dinner with Al? Kind of like tea in the Sahara. "He's a thief, and a damn good one. Mmmm, this is tasty." Flattery is always good.
The demon's smile widened. "Trading him in for space would get a fine room for you."
My chewing slowed. " 'Scuse me?"
"Your pet rat. I can get you a good price for Nicky. Trade him for a very nice starter room connected to my space. Unless you really like sleeping in the workroom? Let's bend that request you made of no snag-and-drags of people with you. I pop in on the excuse of checking on you, then trade him in for a space of your very own. What do you owe him anyway? He told me secrets about you. Good ones. Things that only a lover would know. How do you think I got Brooke to let me out?"
I sucked my teeth to get the cheese out of them. Interesting. Twice now he'd asked me to stay, first in his rooms and now in my own. I set the crust down, and Al eyed it. "I'm asking Nick for his help, not his soul. I don't belong here. I like the sun."
"So do I, itchy witch, but here I am."
He leaned back, and I fingered the crust, thinking about living your life underground.
"Be honest, dove," he coaxed, an ankle dropping onto a raised knee. "You don't have it in you to make your sewer rat do what you want. You're not nearly pissed enough at the world."
"I'm going to ask," I countered. "Persuasively."
"He hates you," Al said, his tone returning to his usual pomp and extravagance.
A smile lifted the corners of my mouth as I thought of Treble. "He'll help me. He won't be able to resist. The guy has an ego the size of Montana."
"Well, if you're going to stroke his ego," Al grumbled. "Honestly, this preoccupation you have with nasty little men is going to get you killed."
I eyed the second, untouched sandwich on Al's plate. "That's why I've got you, Al, to keep me alive." I licked my fingers. "Are you going to eat that?"
Motions slow, he carefully slid his plate to me, the china scraping loudly on the wood. This was kind of nice, and I looked around as I filled my stomach, enjoying the crisp bread and the cheese. I couldn't place what kind it was, and frankly, I didn't want to know. "Thank you," I said, lifting the sandwich so he knew what I was talking about. "I like your library."
Al had pushed himself into the corner of his massive chair, scowling, though I think he was secretly pleased that I liked his cooking. "Don't become comfortable in it. I'm not granting you any private peek into my existence. The workroom is messy is all."
I swallowed, washing it down with a gulp of that awful coffee. Memories of my dad's fairy tales lifted through me, but the caution there had been don't eat food with the sidhe or elves, not demons, and I'd already had breakfast with Trent. "Pierce made a mess, eh?"
"Mmmm," was his only answer, but his eyes held amusement when they met mine. "You should have seen his face. I'll beat him soundly when you finally come home for good, no question about it. Maybe I'll let you help. Sell him, and you could buy your own address."
Third offer, a place of my own. Better and better. "Al, don't start," I said with a sigh, and he laughed. The sound shocked through me, and he quickly sobered when I stared at him. "So... are you going to help me?" I asked.
His eyes shifted everywhere, and I felt like I was on trial. "Perhaps," he drawled. "I want to know why the change of heart. You told the coven you're not a witch. You asked for my help right in front of them. You told them that you shunned them?
My eyebrows rose. I shunned them? I'd never thought of it that way. It sort of put me in a position of power. Pride goeth before the fall, Rachel. "I'm tired," I said, and Al made another hum of sound. "I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of trying to be who I think I should be. It's not working. Don't get me wrong," I added when Al's expression shifted. "I'm not stupid. Just because I'm asking for your help doesn't mean I like you."
A black haze of ever-after covered him, and suddenly it was Pierce sitting before me, his slight build making his silk shirt loose and almost falling open. His smile was devious, and something twisted in me. "Are you of a mind to like me now?" he said, hitting the man's accent perfectly, and my heart pounded.
"Stop it," I said, but I knew I'd given myself away. "I don't trust Pierce either."
I felt a tweak on my awareness as he returned to his usual self. "Good," he intoned, warming our coffee with a gesture. "You just might survive to make history, my itchy witch. It's better hot. Go on, try it."
Yada yada yada. I was done eating, and I wiped my fingers. "You going to help me?"
"You want my help just because?" Al said dramatically. "For the hell of it?"
"Jeez, Al," I complained. "It's only a finding curse."
"And the jump to go with it," he added.
"Look. Forget it," I said, then stood to make him blink up at me. "Thanks for dinner. Just send me home. I can do this myself." Nick couldn't be too far. I'd ask around. I could find him. Or Ivy could. "I just have to scare him into it. How hard can it be?"
"You!" It was a bark of amusement, and I frowned at Al. "Yes, do this yourself. You start using demon magic intentionally, and you're going to screw up more than Marie Antoinette on her wedding night. I'll scare him for you."
I paused in my first thought of saying no. Had that been a back-assed yes? I met his gaze, breath held, but he was holding up a thick hand.
"A bet might make this go down my greedy soul easier," he said, and I felt a drop of ice slide down my spine. "I'll find Nick. Even jump you there if you bring me along for shits and giggles. But if you can't get the coven off your back and your shunning removed, you forget all this nonsense and move in with me. Here."
Oh. I paused, then sighed. Double jeopardy. But if I couldn't do this, then the coven would have my head on a platter. Or maybe my brain scrambled and my ovaries in the fridge. "Deal," I finally said, my heart jumping when he clapped his hands once in delight. "But Nick is not snatched, and I get to play bad cop. I never get to play the bad cop."
Al laughed. "You don't have it in you, itchy witch."
Simpering, I felt a stirring of anticipation. "Try me."
He looked at me, hesitated, then smiled. "I can't cross uninvited, but you can," Al said, standing and grabbing his coat from the back of the chair. "We need something from my kitchen. Won't take but a moment."
Oh God. What am I doing? I thought, but Al's thoughts had enfolded mine, and we jumped.
Twenty-eight
I opened my eyes as I felt myself become solid again, or at least I thought I did. It smelled like wood smoke, burnt amber, and ozone, all characteristic of Al's kitchen. There was a soft scrape of my foot on stone when I moved it, but it was pitch-black, the echo of two people's breathing coming back with an unfamiliar, acidic scent.
"Al?" I ventured, his harrumph beside me coming as small comfort.
"A moment," he said elegantly, and I jumped when there was a sliding crash. "Mother pus bucket!" the demon swore, and I wished I could instantly set a light with my thoughts like Pierce. But the spell I knew was a curse, and took me forever and a handful of stuff to do it.
Al, though, could do it, and a small globe of gray light blossomed four feet away to show the demon holding his shin and the shattered remains of the slate table that had been in front of the hearth. What it was doing over here was the question.
Seeing my raised eyebrows, Al brushed himself off and tugged his frock coat straight. I went to say something, then hesitated, staring slack-jawed at the chaos the once orderly room was in. Al's light wasn't bright, but the damage was obvious. One cabinet was a burnt ruin, the books covered with a brown slime. Scorch marks went all the way to the ceiling. Firewood littered the floor among the shattered remains of the slate table. The tapestry of shadowy shapes I swore moved when I wasn't looking was slumped in a corner, exposing the wall it had once hidden. The stone was twisted, as if something had melted the wall t
rying to get in or out, but I'd bet the damage was old and not from Pierce.
A huge chunk of rock was missing from the circular fire pit, and I searched the mess until I found it against Al's largest, now-dented spell pot. Above it, the candle chandelier was dark, the candles having melted into splattered puddles that had completely ruined the dark cushions running atop the stone bench about the central fireplace.
"Pierce did this?" I breathed as Al tried to yank open a drawer, the tight wood not giving an inch.
"Adaperire!" he shouted, and my hands jumped to my zipper, yanking it back up again as every door, cupboard, and box suddenly opened.
"Your boyfriend is a pain in the ass," he said, looking embarrassed as he plucked three black candles from the drawer.
"He's not my boyfriend." I gingerly touched the goo on the books to find that, like Jenks's dust, it came away cleanly, rolling into a ball and falling to the floor. Where the goo was, the fire hadn't burned. Clearly Al had used it to protect his precious spell library.
Al looked at the empty mantel where the candlestick holders used to be, his expression going tighter yet. "Rachel, be a dear and see if you can find the sconces? I believe they're at the tapestry. That's where he was when I threw them at him."
I couldn't help my smile as I crossed the room. No wonder Al had been ticked.
"There's nothing funny about destroying my kitchen," the demon said as I used my foot to feel the crumpled tapestry and look for the metal candle holders. I didn't want to touch the oily fabric that had been hiding a melted wall.
Finally I found one of the holders, and using a chunk of burnt firewood, I levered the tapestry up, shuddering when the colors shifted to hide underneath. I wasn't going to reach under there, so I flipped it over.
"Got em," I said, breathing easier as I picked my way back across the broken room. Al had placed our chairs back where they belonged, an expanse between them to show where the table ought to go. He had already started a fire in the small hearth, and he tossed the table's legs into the larger, central hearth, adding torn cushions and whatever else he didn't want before muttering in Latin and exploding it into flame.