A Fistful of Charms th-4

by Ким Харрисон

  My eyes darted to her, but she didn't notice my fear. God, how…disgusting. And tragic for both the woman and child. The shame of dealing with a demon would never fade, always tied as it was to the love of a child. I'd often wondered how the Weres had gotten started, since they weren't from the ever-after like witches and elves.

  "Would you like me to make it for you?" Ceri asked, her green eyes placid.

  I jerked, my focus sharpening. "It's okay to use?"

  Nodding, she reached under the counter for my smallest copper spell pot. "I don't mind. I could do this one in my sleep. Making curses is what demon familiars do. It will take all of thirty minutes." Seemingly unaware of my bewilderment, she casually moved the curse book to the island counter. "Demons aren't any more powerful than witches," she said. "But they're prepared for anything, so it looks like they're stronger."

  "But Al morphs so fast, and into so many things," I protested, leaning against the counter.

  Tiny boots clicking, Ceri turned from one of my cupboards, a wad of wolf 's bane in her hand. The stuff was toxic in large doses, and I felt a twinge of worry. "Al is a higher demon," she said. "You could probably best a lesser, surface demon with the earth magic you have in your charm cupboard, though with enough prep work a surface demon is as powerful as Al."

  Was she saying I could best Al with my magic? I didn't believe that for a second.

  With a preoccupied grace, Ceri lit the Sterno flame canister from a taper she started from the gas burner. The stove served as my "hearth fire," since the pilot light was always burning, and it made for a stable beginning to any spell. "Ceri," I protested. "I can do this."

  "Sit," she said. "Or watch. I want to be useful." She smiled without showing her teeth, sadness clouding her clear eyes. "Where do you keep your blessed candles?"

  "Um, in with the big silver serving spoons," I said, pointing. Doesn't everyone?

  Jenks swooped in, gold sparkles sifting from him in agitation. "Sorry about the lamp," he muttered. "They will be washing the windows inside and out tomorrow."

  "That's okay. It was Ivy's," I said, thinking they could break every light in the place if they wanted. It was more than nice having them back—it was right.

  "Al is a walking pharmaceutical," Ceri said, flipping to an index to check something, and Jenks made a hiccup of surprised sound. "That's why demons want familiars experienced in the craft. Familiars make the curses they use, the demons kindling them to life, taking them internally, and holding them until invoking them with ley line magic."

  With the first inklings of understanding, I pulled another demon book out and rifled through it, seeing the patterns in Al's magic. "So every time he morphs or does a charm…"

  "Or travels the lines, he uses a curse or spell. Probably one that I made him," Ceri finished for me, squinting as she snatched one of Ivy's pens and changed something in the text, muttering a word of Latin to make it stick. "Traveling the lines puts a lot of blackness on your soul, which is why they're so angry when you call them. Al agreed to pay the price for pulling you through the first time, and he wants information to compensate for the smut."

  I glanced at the circular scar on my wrist. There was a second one on the underside of my foot from Newt, the demon from whom I'd bought a trip home the last time I found myself stranded in the ever-after. Nervous, I hid that foot behind the other. I hadn't told Ceri because she was afraid of Newt. That she was terrified of the clearly insane demon and not Al made me feel all warm and cozy. I was never going to travel the lines again.

  "May I have a lock of your hair?" Ceri asked, surprising me.

  Taking the 99.8 percent silver snippers I'd spent a small fortune on that she was extending to me now, I cut a spaghettisized wad of hair from the nape of my neck.

  "I'm simplifying things," she said when I handed it to her. "And you probably noticed he has a few shapes and spells that he enjoys more than others."

  "The British nobleman in a green coat," I said, and a delicate rose color came over Ceri. I wondered what the story behind that was, but I wouldn't ask.

  "I spent three years doing nothing but twisting that curse," she said, fingers going slow.

  From the ladle came Jenks's attention-getting wing clatter. "Three years?"

  "She's a thousand years old," I said, and his eyes widened.

  Ceri laughed at his disconcertion. "That isn't my normal span," she said. "I'm aging now, as are you."

  Jenks's wings blurred into motion, then stilled. "I can live twenty years," he said, and I heard the frustration in his voice. "How about you?"

  Ceri turned her solemn green eyes to me for guidance. That elves were not entirely extinct was a secret I had told her to keep, and while knowing her expected life span wouldn't give it away, it could be used to piece the truth together. I nodded, and she closed her eyes in a slow blink of understanding. "About a hundred sixty years," she said softly. "Same as a witch."

  I glanced uneasily between them while Jenks fought to hide an unknown emotion. I hadn't known how long elves lived, and while I watched Ceri weave my hair into an elaborate chain that looped back into itself, I wondered how old Trent's parents had been when they had him. A witch was fertile for about a hundred years, with a twenty-year lag on one end and forty at the tail end. I hadn't had a period in two years, since things pretty much shut down unless there was a suitable candidate to stir things up. And as much as I liked Kisten, he wasn't a witch to click the right hormones on. Seeing that elves had their origins in the ever-after, like witches, I was willing to bet their physiologies were closer to witch than human.

  As if feeling Jenks's distress, Matalina flitted in trailing three of their daughters and an unsteady toddler. "Jenks, dear," she said, giving me an apologetic look. "The rain has slacked. I'm going to move everyone out so Rachel and Ivy can have some peace."

  Jenks's hand dropped to his sword hilt. "I want to do a room-by-room check first."

  "No." She flitted close and gave him a hovering kiss on the cheek. She looked happy and content, and I loved seeing her like that. "You stay here. The seals weren't tampered with."

  My lower lip curled in to catch between my teeth. Jenks wasn't going to like my next move. "Actually, Matalina, I'd like you to stay, if you could."

  Jenks jerked upward, a sudden wariness in him as he joined her, their wings somehow not tangling though they hovered side by side. "Why," he said flatly.

  "Ah…" I glanced at Ceri, who was muttering Latin and making gestures over my ring of hair at the center of a plate-sized pentacle she had sifted onto the counter with salt. I stifled a feeling of worry; knotting your hair made an unbreakable link to the donor. The ring of twisted hair vanished with a pop, replaced with a pile of ash. Apparently this was okay, since she smiled and carefully brushed it and the salt into the shot-glass-sized spell pot.

  "Rachel…" Jenks prompted, and I tore my gaze from Ceri; she had tapped a line, and her hair was drifting in an unfelt breeze.

  "She might want a say in this next spell," I said. Nervous, I pulled the demon book closer and opened it to a page marked with the silk bookmark Ivy had gotten on sale last week.

  Jenks hovered a good inch above the text, and Matalina gave a set of intent instructions to her daughters. With a whining toddler in tow, they darted out of the kitchen.

  "Ceri," I prompted cautiously, not wanting to interrupt her. "Is this one okay to do?"

  The elf blinked as if coming out of a trance. Nodding, she pushed her sleeves to her elbows and crossed the room to the ten-gallon vat of saltwater I used to dissolution used amulets. As I watched in surprise, she dunked her hands into it, arms coming up dripping wet. I tossed her a dish towel, wondering if I should start a similar practice. Fingers moving gracefully, she dried her hands while she came to peer at the spell book on the table. Her eyes widened at the charm I'd found to make little things big. "For…" she started, her gaze darting to Jenks.

  I nodded. "Is it safe?"

  She bit her lips, a pretty
frown crossing her angular, delicate face. "You'd have to modify it with something to supplement bone mass. Maybe tweak the metabolism so it's not burning so fast. And then you'd have to take the wings into account."

  "Whoa!" Jenks exclaimed, darting to the ceiling. "No freaking way. You aren't doing anything to this little pixy. No way. No how!"

  Ignoring him, I watched Matalina take a slow, steady breath, her hands clasped before her. I turned to Ceri. "Can it be done?"

  "Oh, yes," she said. "Much of it is ley line magic. And you have the earth charm ingredients in your stock. The hard part will be developing the supplemental curses to fine-tune it to limit his discomfort. But I can do it."

  "No!" Jenks cried. "Augmen. I know that one. That means big. I'm not going to get big. You can forget it! I like who I am, and I can't do my job if I'm big."

  He had retreated to where Matalina was standing on the counter, her wings unusually still, and I gestured helplessly. "Jenks," I coaxed. "Just listen."

  "No." His voice was shrill as he pointed at me. "You are a freaky, misguided, crazy-ass witch! I'm not doing this!"

  I straightened at the sound of the back door opening. The curtains fluttered, and I recognized Ivy's footsteps. The smell of pizza mixed with the rich scent of wet garden, and Ivy came in looking like a frat boy's fantasy in her rain-damp, sex-in-leather coat and a square box of pizza balanced on one hand. Short hair swinging, she noisily dropped the box on the table, taking in the room with a solemn, quiet face. She moved Ceri's rain cape to a different chair, and the tension ratcheted up a notch.

  "If you're big," I said while Ivy got herself a plate, "you won't have to worry about the temperature fluctuations. It could snow up there, Jenks."

  "No."

  Ivy flipped the top open and took a slice, carefully putting it on a plate and retreating to her corner of the kitchen. "You want to make Jenks big?" she said. "Witches can do that?"

  "Uh…" I stammered, not wanting to get into why my blood could kindle demon magic.

  "She can," Ceri said, skirting the issue.

  "And food won't be a problem," I blurted, to keep the subject to Jenks and off of me.

  Jenks bristled despite the gentle hand Matalina put on his arm. "I've never had a problem keeping my family fed," he said.

  "I never said you did." The smell of the pizza was making me feel ill as my stomach knotted, and I sat down. "But we're talking almost five hundred miles, if they are where I think they are, and I don't want to have to stop every hour for you to fight off roadside park fairies so you can eat. Sugar water and peanut butter won't do it, and you know that."

  Jenks took a breath to protest. Ivy ate her pizza, scooting down in the chair and putting her heels on the table next to her keyboard, her gaze shifting between Jenks and me.

  I tucked a red curl behind an ear, hoping I wasn't pushing our delicate working relationship too far. "And you can see how the other side lives," I said. "You won't have to wait for someone to open the door for you, or use the phone. Hell, you could drive…."

  His wings blurred into motion, and Matalina looked frightened.

  "Look," I said, feeling uncomfortable. "Why don't you and Matalina talk it over."

  "I don't need to talk it over," Jenks said tightly. "I'm not going to do it."

  My shoulders slumped, but I was too afraid to push him further. "Fine," I said sourly. "Excuse me. I have to move my laundry."

  Covering my worry with a false anger, I stomped out of the kitchen, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum and then the hardwood floors as I went to my bathroom. Slamming the white enameled doors harder than I needed to, I shifted Kisten's sweats to the dryer. Jenks didn't need them anymore, but I wasn't going to give them back wet.

  I wrenched the dial to dry, punched the on button, and heard the drier start to turn. Arms shoulder width apart, I leaned over the dryer. Low temperatures would severely limit Jenks after sunset. Another month and it wouldn't matter, but May could be cold in Michigan.

  I pushed myself up, resigned to dealing with it. It was his choice. Resolute, I padded toward the kitchen, forcing the frown from me.

  "Please, Jenks," I heard Ivy plead just before I turned the corner, the unusual emotion in her voice jerking me to a stop. She never let her emotions show like that. "Rachel needs someone as a buffer between her and any vamp she runs into outside of Cincinnati," she whispered, unaware that I could hear. "Every vamp here knows I'll kill them twice if they touch her, but once she's out of my influence, her unclaimed scar is going to make her fair game. I can't go with her. Piscary—" She took a shaky breath. "He'd be really pissed if I left his influence. God, Jenks, this is just about killing me. I can't go with her. You have to. And you have to be big, otherwise no one will take you seriously."

  My face went cold and I put a hand to my scar. Crap. I forgot about that.

  "I don't need to be big to protect her," he said, and I nodded.

  "I know that," Ivy said, "and she knows that, but a blood-hungry vamp won't care. And there might be more than one."

  Insides shaking, I slowly backed up. My fingers felt for the knob of my bathroom door and I yanked it closed, slamming it, as if I'd just gotten out. Then I briskly entered the kitchen, not looking at anyone. Ceri was standing by my smallest spell pot with a finger stick in her hand; what she wanted was obvious. Ivy was pretending to read her e-mail, and Jenks was standing with a horrified look on his face, Matalina beside him. "So, I guess we're stopping every hour?" I said.

  Jenks swallowed hard. "I'll do it."

  "Really, Jenks," I said, trying to hide my guilt. "It's okay. You don't have to do this."

  He flitted up, hands on hips while he got in my face. "I'm doing this, so shut the hell up and say thank-you!"

  Feeling miserable and vulnerable, I whispered, "Thank you."

  His wings clattered as he flitted shakily to Matalina with a little huff. She clutched at him, her beautiful angel face looking scared when she turned him so his back was to me and they started to talk, their words so high-pitched and fast I couldn't follow.

  With the practiced silence of a slave, Ceri eased close to set the spell pot with the Were potion beside me. She placed the finger stick next to it with a small click and backed away. Still upset, I fumbled the sterile blade open and glanced at the brew. It looked like cherry Kool-Aid in the miniature copper pot.

  "Thanks," I muttered. White or not, using demon magic wasn't what I wanted to be known for. The prick of the blade was a jolt, and I massaged my finger. Three drops of my blood went plopping into the vat, and the throat-catching scent of burnt amber rose as my blood kindled demon magic. How nice is that?

  My stomach quivered, and I looked at it. "It won't invoke early?" I asked, and Ceri shook her head. Lifting the heavy tome, she moved it in front of me.

  "Here," she said, pointing. "This is the word of invocation. It won't work unless you're connected to a line or you have enough ever-after spindled to effect a change. I've seen what you can hold, and it's enough. This one here"—she pointed farther down the page—"is the word to shift back. I suggest not using it unless you're connected to a line. You're adding to your mass on this second one, not removing it, and it's hard to know how much energy to withhold from your spindle to make up for the imbalance. It's easier to connect to a line and let it balance itself. Saltwater won't break demon magic, so don't forget the countercurse."

  Nervous, I shifted my grip on the little copper pot. It would be enough potion for seven earth charms, but ley line magic was usually one spell per go. I looked again at the word of invocation. Lupus. Pretty straightforward.

  "It won't work unless it's inside of you," Ceri said, sounding annoyed.

  Jenks flitted close, hovering over the pages. His gaze moved from the print to me. "How is she going to say the word to shift back if she's a wolf?" he asked, and a flash of angst burned through me until I guessed it must be like any ley line charm that only required you to think it hard enough. Though shouting a word of invocat
ion definitely added a measure of strength.

  Ceri's green eyes narrowed. "Saying it in her mind will be enough," she said. "Do you want me to put it in a pentagram to keep it fresh, or are you going to take it now?"

  I raised the spell pot, trying to smooth out my brow so I at least didn't look nervous. It was just an elaborate disguise potion, one that would make me furry and with big teeth. If I was lucky, I'd never have to invoke it. I felt Ivy's attention on me, and while everyone watched, I downed it.

  I tried not to taste it, but the biting grit of ash and the bitter taste of tinfoil, chlorophyll, and salt puckered my lips. "Oh God," I said while Ivy grabbed a second slice of pizza. "That tastes like crap." I went to the dissolution vat and gave the empty spell pot a quick dunk before I set it in the sink. The potion burned through me, and I tried to stifle a shudder, failing.

  "You okay?" Ivy asked as I shivered and the pot rattled against the sink before I let it go.

  "Fine," I said, my voice rough. I'd just taken a demon spell. Voluntarily. Tonight I was peachy keen, and tomorrow I would be taking the bus tour of the nicest parts of hell.

  Ceri hid a smile, and I frowned at her. "What!" I snapped, but she only smiled wider.

  "That's what Al said whenever he took his potions."

  "Swell," I snarled, going to sit at the table and pull the pizza closer. I knew it was anxiety that was making me irritable, and I tried to smooth my face out, pretending it didn't bother me.

  "See, Matalina?" Jenks coaxed, and he flew to land beside her on the sill next to my beta. "It's fine. Rachel took a demon spell and she's okay. It will be easier this way, and I won't die of the cold. I'll be just as big as she is. It will be okay, Mattie. I promise."

  Matalina rose in a column of silver sparkles. She wrung her hands and stared at everyone for a moment, her distress obvious and heartbreaking. In an instant she was gone, out into the rain through the pixy hole in the screen.