by Kim Harrison
"No!" I said, shrinking back, my fear real. "I want due process!" Anywhere other than an FIB cell, and I was dead or lobotomized. And Trent smiled, the bastard. I hope you choke on it, elf boy.
The newscaster held her mike higher, flushed. "Mr. Coven Leader, has a member of the coven been demon-napped in conjunction with Morgan's assassination attempt?"
Oliver hesitated. It was his downfall. Guilty or not, he looked it. Smooth as silk, Trent stepped forward. "I'm sure the coven leader will give you a statement in due time." Turning his back to the crowd, he hissed, "Will you get her out of here?"
Oliver tugged on me, and I pressed into Glenn. "I didn't want to do it!" I shrieked. "I didn't want to break into Trent's vault. I don't care if I go to jail, but don't let the coven take me. They put me in Alcatraz with no trial. They sent fairies to burn my church. And they summoned a demon to kill me!"
And of course the newswoman's amulet stayed a nice, beautiful green. Eyes bright, she stood on tiptoe, her mike above her head. "Sir! Is there any connection between Ms. Morgan's claims of an attack and the 911 call to the Hollows at 1597 Oakstaff yesterday morning?"
Innocent as a lamb, the man stammered, "I wasn't aware of an explosion."
Her ring glowed red. Trent's head bowed and he started distancing himself. I felt a glimmer of hope. Oliver had lied, and the reporter knew it.
"Sir, is it coven policy to take contracts out on shunned witches?" she insisted as if sensing blood. "Did you tell Morgan to steal for you to escape such a punishment?"
"Uh..." He hesitated, then shouted, "I'm taking custody. She is a black-arts witch! Look, I have the paperwork."
Crap. I'd forgotten that the coven loved red tape as much as David. "Glenn," I said, my fear very real, "don't let them take me. Please!"
But he could do nothing as a wheezing, red-faced Oliver handed him a paper. Damn it, I was not going to die from paperwork. "Ah, Rachel...," Glenn said, his face becoming concerned as he looked up from it. "We might have a problem here."
"Glenn," I breathed, knees going weak. "They'll kill me! Don't let them take me!"
Oliver made a satisfied huff. This was not happening. This was not happening!
As if in a dream, I heard Glenn promise he'd get me back, but it wouldn't matter. In five minutes, I'd be in a van, hopped up on drugs. An hour after that, I'd be on a surgery table.
Someone took my elbow and tugged me to the steps. "No!" I shouted, and the crowd responded. In a panic, I yanked out of Oliver's grip. Three more men grabbed me. I struggled, but sheer body mass overcame me, and I hit the floor, awkward with my hands bound behind me with that damned charmed silver. Tears started from the impact, and my breath huffed out when one of them landed on me.
"Rache!" Jenks shrilled, inches from my face and almost under someone's shoes. "Pierce says he's sorry! He can't allow the coven to take you!"
My heart sank. It was over. Pierce was going to do something. It was going to be powerful, wonderful, and completely cook my ass and label me black for sure. "I'm sorry, too," I whispered, hearing Glenn shouting about due process, stalling. "I really thought this would work." Oh God. I was going to have to spend the rest of my life in the ever-after. Damn it! Damn it back to the Turn.
Jenks flashed me a grin, shocking me. "No, you idiot. He's going to magic your zip strip off. He's sorry because it's going to burn."
He's going to what? I was yanked up, the flash of Jenks darting away was almost lost amid the shouting crowd and the reporters demanding statements. My shoulder hurt, and I spit the hair out of my mouth. I inhaled sharply as my wrists flashed into flame.
Over? I thought, gritting my teeth in a savage smile as the men flashed papers at each other and argued over who was to have me. It wasn't over yet.
Glenn was blocking the stairs, his compact bulk not backing down from a black-eyed living vamp insisting he get out of the way. I had the fleeting thought that his time with Ivy was serving him well. Behind my back, hidden by the overly long sleeves of my borrowed coat, my wrists burned where the metal touched me. Taking a breath, I pulled. And damn me back to the two worlds colliding if the charmed silver didn't give.
My heart leapt as the silver parted with a soft ping. The two I.S. officers at my shoulders were oblivious as the ever-after flooded in from the university ley line. My head snapped up, and I took a huge breath, palming the still-warm metal. Trent saw my expression, and somehow he knew. He touched Quen's arm, leaning to whisper in his ear. Quen's eyes flicked to mine, and I swear if he didn't smile, even as he started pulling Trent away, jumping to the pavers and almost yanking him down.
You'd better run, I thought dryly. Right to the FIB building to wait for me. Glenn had the statue, and I knew Trent would come for it. No one watched their retreat, the ring of reporters trying to get quotes from the much louder drama Oliver was making. All, that is, but the one reporter watching Quen drag Trent through the crowd, her eyebrows raised in speculation.
Over the noise and swirling motion, I found Pierce, standing alone and apart in the sun at the edge of the square, his feet spread wide and his hat pulled low to put his face in shadow. Looking at me from under its brim, he smiled, and it was as if everything else melted away.
"Thank you," I whispered, feeling my heart pound. He could have saved me with black magic. He could have blown in with spells flashing and outrage as his sword—but he didn't. He trusted me to save myself—the way I wanted to.
"That woman is a black witch!" Oliver shouted, red-faced as he waved his paper in front of me. "She is coming with me!"
I could have reached out and smacked him, but instead I clasped my hands behind my back, preserving the illusion that I was bound. My gaze went over the crowd, over the strung lines and amplifiers to the fountain, silent and still but still holding water. I needed a focusing object; my spit would be enough.
"Jenks!" I shouted, and the one reporter at the front met my eyes. "Go to ground!"
I flung out a hand, the ever-after in me a ripple of warmth down my arm and to my fingers. "Consimilis calefacio!" I shouted, willing the energy to flow. It was a charm to warm water, utterly innocuous and unable to work on living things with an aura. The fountain, though...
With the force of the university ley line behind the simple spell, the water in the fountain erupted in a thunderous boom of sound. All heads turned, but it wasn't just the noise that I wanted, and shouts rang out when the water turned to harmless steam. In an instant, the square was lost in fog.
Fear rose, and the officers moved to hold me. They didn't know I was free, though, and with a few well-placed knees and elbows, they went down. I didn't want to escape. I wanted my FIB cell. Smiling, I reached out for Oliver.
"You... h-how?" the older man stammered as I grabbed his shirt and yanked him to me.
"Look, Oliver," I said, just the two of us lost in the fog for a few seconds more. "Either you let me go and come see me at the FIB, or the next thing I vaporize will be your blood. Got it?"
His mouth opened and closed. "You are a demon!" he said, and I saw fear flicker. "That's a black curse!"
Crap, scaring him this much wasn't what I wanted. If he was scared, then he'd fight me. "I'm a demon only if you call me one," I said as I eased my hold. "If you call me a witch, then I'm a witch, and a witch doesn't know the curse to boil blood." I eyed him, letting his front go and rocking back. "Wouldn't me being a witch make everything a hundred times easier?"
His fear shifted to anger as the wind rose, scattering the mist. We were alone no more, and I rocked back.
The crowd was frightened, the people on the outskirts making a hasty retreat. Pierce, too, was no longer there when I looked. Here at the stage, however, no one had moved. There was a slight stir at the two downed officers, but I was standing passively, hands behind my back. The reporter knew, though, watching me with a knowing glint.
"Mr. Coven Leader!" she shouted, loud over the surrounding calls. "Is Ms. Morgan going with you, or to the FIB for due process
as she clearly requested?"
The crowd hushed somewhat as Oliver clenched his jaw and tugged his clothes straight. He glanced at my arms, held behind my back, and I wondered which had scared him more, that I might know a curse to boil his blood, or that I got out of a pair of charmed handcuffs.
"It won't ever be said that the coven wrongfully denied an accused witch due process," he said sullenly. "I will accompany her to the FIB to be sure that she doesn't escape, but she may officially enter the FIB's custody."
Someone in the crowd actually cheered, and relief took the strength from my knees. I would have fallen if Glenn hadn't caught my arm, and, as the crowd became noisy, he escorted me down the stairs to a waiting FIB car, Oliver lagging behind. Everyday people wanting to know about the fog pressed close, and Glenn had to force his way through. I felt small beside him, and damn it if a tear didn't well up. I'd done it. No, wed done it.
Head high, I placed each bare foot precisely, looking neither to the right or left as I crossed Fountain Square. I might be wearing nothing but an I.S. coat and six weeks' worth of hair on my legs, but this was my city, and I'd go to my cell with pride.
The clatter of pixy wings was almost unheard over the din and requests for answers from the press. "Way to go, Rache!" Jenks said as he joined us, flying a good two feet over my head. "Pierce says you did good. He's going to go watch my kids so I can come with you. He says you'll be okay now. You smoked them, Rache!"
"Good," I whispered. "That's good." The tear brimmed and fell, but there was only one, easily wiped away with my shoulder as Glenn opened my door and I got in, carefully so as to not let the coat ride up and show my ass. Jenks slipped in at the last moment, and the crowd became even louder as my door shut.
"Damn, Rachel," Glenn said as he got in the front and put on the lights. "When did you get your cuffs off? I didn't know you could do that."
"I can't," I whispered, not knowing what I felt anymore as I gazed through the tinted glass at the people crowding the car. I was shaky, watching them protest as I sat in peace. "Think they'll come talk to me?" This could still crash down and leave me with nothing.
Glenn chuckled, making his siren whoop twice before pulling out. "Oh yeah. They'll be there. Count on it."
Thirty-five
The scent of subgum rose from the softly steaming takeout box, filling the gray interrogation room at the FIB with the scent of steamed pea pods, sauteed mushrooms, and broccoli. My chopsticks were not the usual splintery pulpwood, but a nice set of olive wood. Apparently Glenn was a regular at whatever Asian eatery he'd placed the order. More than a regular, I'd imagine. The sticks were beautiful.
I wrangled a water chestnut into my mouth, jamming the sticks to stand straight up as I reached for the fortune cookie. I was never one to wait. The snap of the cookie breaking was familiar, and I smiled as I read, KEEP YOUR FRIENDS CLOSE, YOUR ENEMIES CLOSER.
Eating the entire cookie at one go, I pushed back from the scarred table, crossed my ankles, and gazed at the dirty ceiling as I chewed. I was dressed now in a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved top, patterned too brightly for my liking. Flip-flops kept my toes from the tile, and I was sporting brand-new blah underwear from the lockup downstairs. None of what I was wearing was mine, but it was clean and better than an orange jumpsuit. I didn't ask what had happened to the people who used to own these clothes. Someone had my red leather jacket.
I reached for the box of takeout and I rubbed my last demon mark, sore where Pierce's charm had burned me. My eyes drifted to Trent's statue, and I reached for it. Cripes, the thing was graphic. No wonder he hid it underground.
The knock at the door startled me, and I dropped it. Scrambling, I stood it upright. It was Jenks and Glenn, and I wiped my hands on my borrowed jeans as I saw the stack of paperwork in the FIB officer's hand. "Hi, Rache," the pixy said, doing a quick circuit and landing on the tips of my chopsticks, poking out of the takeout box, to enjoy the rising heat. "Trent's here. And the coven guy. Glenn's got your papers to sign first, though."
"Thanks, Jenks. Are you sure your wings are okay?"
Making a face, he sent them humming so fast that the dust from him rose high in a pixy-made draft. "Yeah, they're fine. Bastard I.S."
Glenn was smiling when he slapped the papers down on the table. "David is still stuck on the tarmac," he said as he handed me a pen, "but he had his brother fax everything here."
Nodding in understanding, I flipped to the first flag and signed with my first name, middle initial, and last name. "This is for the trial, yes?" I asked as I found the next flag.
"According to David," Glenn affirmed as I finished. "I won't file it unless you say so or go missing for more than three days." He glanced at Jenks, then me. "Rachel," he said, seeming to lose some of his professional polish, "I'm required by law to inform you that your proposed actions are both risky and prone to landing you in prison, permanently incarcerated if not worse—"
"It's all she's got, Glenn," Jenks said, rising up on a silver column of dust.
Hand raised, Glenn smiled. "Personally, I think it will work," he finished, and the pixy relaxed. "I don't know Oliver well enough to give an accurate estimation of what he might do, but if what you say is true, I think he'll go for it."
"He'll go for it," I said, worried. "Can I keep the paperwork here? Visual aids help."
Glenn nodded. "You signed two originals," he said as he took half the stack and tucked it under his arm. "If you're ready, I'll send them in." His gaze dropped to my dinner as I picked it up. "Good?" he asked.
"Delicious," I said, reaching for it. "Thanks, Glenn. For everything."
The man smiled wickedly. "Any time, Rachel. Have fun."
He left the door open, and I could hear Trent's beautiful voice in the hall. He was talking with Jonathan, and Jenks's wings clattered as my blood pressure rose. I hated the man. "Jenks," I said on impulse as I dug into my dinner. "You go, too."
"What?" Peeved, Jenks confronted me. "Why can't I stay?"
"If you're in here, Trent might want a witness, too. I don't want Jonathan with him."
The pixy turned in midair, hands on his hips. "I could do a little dusting," he said, and my lips curved up in a smile. Jonathan wouldn't know what hit him.
"You do that," I said, then drew back as Trent pushed the door open. Oliver was behind him, all bluster and huff. The two men gave Jenks a cautious look as the pixy laughed, darting out over their heads singing "London Bridge Is Falling Down."
Watching me, Trent shut the door with the tip of his shoe, and the silence of a sort-of-soundproof room soaked into me. "Please, sit down," I said to the two men, gesturing with my chopsticks. "I'm glad you agreed to see me. Do you want anything? Coffee? Subgum?"
Sitting on the green, thinly padded metal chair, Trent clasped his hands and rested them on his crossed knees. His face lacked all emotion, waiting. "No thank you." His eyes shifted from the paperwork to the statue, and I smiled. Thanks, Nick, even if you are a bastard. God! I couldn't believe he went behind my back to work a deal with Trent. On second thought, I could. And what was it with Trent not telling me he thought I might be able to do that elf trick of shifting realities using ley lines?
Oliver stood, his arms crossed. "You are a black witch," he started, his words harsh.
Going back to my subgum, I said mildly, "And the coven of moral and ethical standards is corrupt, having a demon-summoning black-arts practitioner among their number. You sure you don't want a coffee?"
"We do not!" the man exclaimed.
"Wrong!" Taking a breath, I jammed the sticks in the takeout box, thinking they looked too aggressive pointing at him like that. "Brooke tried to make a deal with me to put one of my demon children in her cradle and me off the lobotomy table intact and in her private army."
Oliver's round face looked horrified.
Trent unclasped his hands and tugged his sleeves. "Can we skip this part? I have an appointment in half an hour with the press."
His hand fumblin
g for the back of a chair, Oliver sat. I didn't think he'd known that. Good. Maybe he would listen to me. "Sure," I said slowly, answering Trent's question. "We can come back to it if we need to. Let me tell you what I want." I'm going to make a deal with two men who tried to kill me. Was I stupid or really smart? Sidereal didn't have a problem with it.
Oliver scoffed. "You're in jail. You're in no position to be asking anything."
Trent hid a smile, and I picked through my dinner to find a water chestnut. "I'm in jail because I choose to be. You don't think that performance in Fountain Square was anything other than to get the media's attention and you in front of me, do you? It's safe here, and the food's better than at Alcatraz." I looked up, allowing a sliver of my irritation to show. "Ever try it, Ollie? It's got this really tasty spice in the saturated fats."
Oliver frowned, and Trent interrupted with a brusque "Listen to the woman, or this will take all day. She'll make it quick, and then you can spout off all you want."
Expression cross, the witch leaned back in his chair, and I eyed Trent, thoughts of his Pandora charm and the deal with Nick making me tense. His words about me being honorable had been a surprise, and I'd swear he hadn't known about the bug before then. But lying was one of his skill sets. Bringing my conflicted gaze from Trent, I pointed my chopsticks at Oliver. "I want my shunning removed and the threats to my person stopped."
He huffed, tugging his sleeves, making his cuff links twinkle. "That action requires a full quorum, which we won't have until the next public meeting and we reestablish our number."
Public meeting... the witches' conference? Nice stall. "Give me something," I said, "or my next conversation will be with the press and it will come out that not only does a schism exist in the coven, but that some of you are corrupt and summon demons."
"We're not corrupt!" Oliver exclaimed, making Trent wince. "No one will believe you!"
My eyebrows rose. "Talk to Brooke lately?"
Oliver's bluster evaporated. Honestly, they needed to pick these people more carefully. He might be a crackerjack witch, but he was telegraphing his entire thought process, and my estimation of the coven dropped more.