The Outlaw Demon Wails th-6

by Ким Харрисон

  The chatter of the people up front changed when they caught sight of me, and I waved so they'd leave me alone. I stormed to the door, not caring if Jon thought his boss had gotten the best of me. I didn't stop or slow down until my feet reached the sidewalk.

  Street noise hit me, and the sun. Slowing, I remembered where I was and did an about-face. My car was the other way. I didn't look up as I passed the front window, hiding my eyes as I dug my phone out of my bag. Bothered, I hit the return-last-call number to tell Marshal I had a friend emergency and I'd let him know if I couldn't make Fountain Square by three.

  I had to talk to Ceri.

  Eight

  I cut a sharp left into the carport, taking it fast because of my lingering anger at Trent. Habit alone kept the paint unscratched. I loved my car, and though I was jamming the gearshift like an Indy 500 driver, I wasn't going to do anything to hurt my mobile icon of independence. Especially after finally getting my license back and the dent I didn't remember putting in the car repaired. Fortunately the church was in a quiet residential area, and only the sixty-year-old oaks lining the street saw my ugly temper.

  I hit the brakes sharply, and my head swung forward and back. A perverse sense of satisfaction filled me. The grille was four inches from the wall. Perfect.

  Grabbing my bag from the backseat, I got out and slammed the door. It was edging two. Ceri was probably still asleep, seeing as elves kept the same sleeping habits as pixies when they could, but I had to talk to her.

  I heard the dry clatter of pixy wings when my feet hit the walk, and I swung my hair out of the way for whomever it was. My money was on Jenks; it was his habit to stay awake with the few kids on sentry duty, sleeping odd hours when everyone else was up.

  "Rache," Jenks said in greeting, his swooping dart to land on my shoulder shifting at the last moment when he saw my sour expression. Hovering, he flew backward in front of me. I hated it when he did that. "Ivy called you, huh?" he said, his attitude one of affronted righteousness. "It's in the eaves in the front. I can't wake the damn thing up. You need to use a spell or something."

  My eyebrows rose. It's in the eaves? "What's in the eaves?"

  "A gargoyle," Jenks said angrily, and my alarm vanished. "A clumsy-ass, pimply-faced, big-footed gargoyle."

  "Really?" I said as I stopped right there and peered up at the steeple, not seeing the gargoyle. "How long has it been here?"

  "How the hell should I know!" he shouted, and I realized that was where his anger was coming from. Someone had slipped through his lines, and he didn't like it. Jenks saw my smile, and he put his hands on his hips as he hovered backward. "What's so funny?"

  "Nothing." I pushed myself into motion, making a left on the sidewalk to go to Keasley's instead of the church. Jenks's wings hummed when I took the unexpected direction, and he hastened to catch up. "We'll talk to him or her tonight, okay?" I said, wanting to get Ivy's take before we made any sweeping decisions. "If it's young, it's probably just looking for somewhere to hang."

  "They don't hang, they lurk," he muttered, wings clattering aggressively. "Something's wrong with it, or it would be with its kin. They don't move, Rachel, unless they did something really bad."

  "Maybe he's a rebel like you, Jenks," I said, and the pixy made a tiny huffing sound.

  "Where are we going?" he asked shortly as he turned to look at the church behind us.

  Immediately my bad mood returned. "To talk to Ceri. I ran into Trent trying on costumes."

  "What does that have to do with Ceri?" Jenks interrupted, as protective of the small but self-assured woman as I was.

  Toes edging the drop off of the curb, I pulled myself to a stop so I could watch his expression. "He got her pregnant."

  "Pregnant!"

  The shrill shout was punctuated by a flash of dust I could see even in the strong afternoon light. "It gets better," I said, stepping into the empty street and heading for the tired, sixty-plus-year-old house Ceri and Keasley shared. "He wants me to go into the ever-after to get a sample so their child will be born without any effects of the curse. Tried to guilt me into it." And it almost worked.

  "Pregnant?" Jenks repeated, his angular face showing his shock. "I gotta smell her."

  The scraping of my boots on the pavement faltered. "You can smell it when someone's pregnant?" I said, somewhat appalled.

  Jenks shrugged. "Sometimes. I don't know about elves." He darted to the sidewalk, then back to me. "Can you walk a little faster? I'd like to get there before the sun sets and that thing in the eaves wakes up."

  My gaze went three houses down to find Keasley outside enjoying the fall weather, raking leaves. Great, he'd seen me tear into here like a bunny on fire. "Jenks," I said suddenly. "I'm going to do the talking. Not you."

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said, and I fixed my gaze on him with a threatening sharpness.

  "I mean it. Ceri might not have told him yet."

  The hum of his wings dropped in pitch, though he didn't lose a millimeter of height. "Okay," he said hesitantly.

  My boots hit the sidewalk and the dappled pattern of sun that made it through the colored leaves still clinging to the dark branches. Keasley is Leon Bairn? I thought as I looked him over. Leon was the only other person besides me to quit the I.S. and survive, though he'd apparently had to fake his death to do it. I was guessing that Trent knew it because he had helped. He would have been about fifteen then, but just coming into his parents' legacy and eager to show his stuff.

  I glanced at Jenks, remembering how mad the pixy had been when I hid from him that Trent was an elf. If Keasley was Leon, then he was a runner. And Jenks wouldn't violate that trust for anything.

  "Jenks, can you keep a secret?" I said, slowing when Keasley saw us and stopped his work to lean on his rake. The old man suffered from arthritis so badly that he seldom had the stamina for yard work, despite the pain charms Ceri made for him.

  "Maybe," the pixy said, knowing his own limits. I gave him a sharp look, and he grimaced. "Yeah, I'll keep your lame-ass secret. What is it? Trent wears a man-bra?"

  A smile quirked my lips before I grew serious. "Keasley is Leon Bairn."

  "Holy crap!" Jenks said, a burst of light glowing against the bottom of the leaves. "I take the afternoon off, and you find out Ceri's pregnant and sharing a roof with a dead legend!"

  I grinned at him. "Trent was chatty today."

  "No fairy-ass kidding." His wings went silver in thought. "So why did Trent tell you?"

  I shrugged, running my finger against the thump-bump of the chain-link fence surrounding Keasley's yard as I walked. "I don't know. To prove he knew something I didn't? Did Jih tell you that she's shacked up with a pixy buck?"

  "What!"

  His wings stopped and my palm darted out with a flash of adrenaline, but he caught himself before he could drop into my palm. Jenks hovered, his face a mask of parental horror. "Trent?" he squeaked. "Trent told you?" And when I nodded, he turned his gaze to the front gardens of the house, just starting to show the grace of a pixy presence even in the fall. "Sweet mother of Tink," he said. "I have to talk to my daughter."

  Without waiting for my reply, he darted away, only to jerk to an abrupt halt at the fence. Slipping several inches in height, he yanked a pixy-size red bandanna from a pocket and tied it about his ankle. It was a pixy's version of a white flag: a promise of good intention and no poaching. He'd never worn it before when visiting his daughter, and the acknowledgment of her new husband had to be bittersweet. His wings a dismal blue, he zipped over the house to the backyard where Jih had been concentrating her efforts on building a garden.

  Smiling faintly, I raised a hand to Keasley's hail, opened the gate, and entered the yard.

  "Hi, Keasley," I called, looking him over with a new interest born of knowing his history. The old black man stood in the middle of his yard, his cheap sneakers almost hidden by leaves. His jeans were faded by work, not distressing stones in the wash, and his red-and-black plaid shirt looked a size too bi
g, probably gotten at discount somewhere.

  His wrinkles gave his face texture that made his expressions easy to read. The tinge of yellow in his brown eyes had me worried, but he was healthy apart from old age and arthritis. I could tell that he'd once been tall; now, though, I could look him eye to eye. Age was beating hard upon his body, but it had yet to touch his mind. He was the neighborhood wise old man and the only one who could give me advice without triggering my resentment.

  But it was his hands that I liked the most. You could see how he had lived his entire life in them: dark, spare, knobby with stiffness, but not afraid of work, able to stir spells, stitch vampire bites, and hold pixy children. He had done all three in my sight, and I trusted him. Even if he was pretending to be something he wasn't. Didn't we all?

  "Good afternoon, Rachel," he called, his sharp gaze coming back from the roofline and Jenks's disappearing trail of pixy dust. "You look like a piece of autumn in that sweater."

  I glanced down at the black-and-red pattern, never having thought about it before. "Thanks. You look good out here raking. Your knees doing okay?"

  The old man patted the worn spots, squinting in the sun. "They've been better, but they've been a lot worse, too. Ceri's been in the kitchen a lot lately, trying things out."

  I slowed, my feet still on the cracked walk to the front porch. Grass had encroached upon it until it was only eight inches wide. "I suppose," I said softly, "chasing bad guys all your life can really damage a person. If they aren't careful."

  He didn't move, going still as he stared at me.

  "I, uh, talked to someone today," I said, wanting to hear it from him. "He said—"

  "Who?" he rasped, and my face lost its expression. He was frightened. Terrified, almost.

  "Trent," I said, pulse quickening as I came forward. "Trent Kalamack. He acted like he's known for a long time." My shoulders tensed, and the dog barking nearby made me nervous.

  Exhaling long and slow, Keasley replaced his fear with a relief so deep I could just about feel it. "He has," he said, a shaky hand going over his tight, graying curls. "I have to sit down." He turned to his house. It needed new shingles and paint in the worst way. "Do you want to sit for a moment?"

  I thought about Ceri, then Marshal. Then there was the gargoyle Jenks was going on about, too. "Sure."

  Keasley made his slow way to the sagging porch steps, propping the rake against the rail before easing himself down in stages with a heavy sigh. A basket of cherry tomatoes decorated the railing to be given out for trick-or-treat, and two pumpkins waited to be carved. I gingerly sat beside him, my knees even with my chest. "Are you okay?" I asked hesitantly when he didn't say anything.

  He looked at me askance. "You know how to get an old man's heart going, Rachel. Do Ivy and Jenks know?"

  "Jenks," I said, guilt pinching my brow, and he raised a hand to tell me it was all right.

  "I trust he will keep his mouth shut," he said. "Trent gave me the means to stage my death. Actually, all he gave me was the DNA-doctored tissue to smear over my front porch, but he knew."

  Gave him tissue? There's a nice thought. "Then you really are—" My words cut off when his twisted hand landed warningly on my knee. In the street, five sparrows fought over a moth they had found, and I listened to them squabble, hearing in his silence his request that I not even say it. "It's been over a decade," I finally protested.

  His eyes tracked the birds as one gained the moth and the rest chased the bird across the street. "It doesn't matter," he said. "Like a murder charge, the file stays open."

  I followed his gaze to the church Ivy and I shared. "That's why you moved in across from the church, isn't it?" I asked, remembering the day. Keasley had saved my life by removing a delayed combustion charm someone had slipped me on the bus. "You figured if I could survive the I.S.'s death contract, you might find a way, too?"

  He smiled to show his yellowing teeth, and he pulled his hand from my knee. "Yes, ma'am. I did. But after seeing how you did it?" Keasley shook his head. "I'm too old to fight dragons. I'll stay Keasley, if you don't mind."

  I thought about that, cold despite the sun on us. Becoming anonymous was just something I couldn't do. "You moved in the same day I did, didn't you? You really don't know when Ivy rented the church."

  "No." His eyes were on the steeple, the top hidden behind the trees. "But I watched her patterns close that first week, and I'm guessing she'd been there for at least three months."

  My head was going up and down. I was learning a lot today. None of it comfortable. "You're a good liar," I said, and Keasley laughed.

  "Used to be."

  Liar, I thought, and then my mind drifted to Trent. "Uh, is Ceri up? I have to talk to her."

  Keasley shifted to look at me. In his tired eyes was a deep relief. I had learned his secret and freed him of the necessity to lie to me. But what I think he was the most grateful for was that I didn't think any less of him for it.

  "I think she's asleep," he said, smiling to tell me he was glad I was still his friend. "She's been tired lately."

  I'll bet. Giving him a smile, I stood and tugged my jeans straight. I'd long assumed that Ivy had moved in before me, having only pretended to move in the same day to ease my suspicions. Now that I knew the truth, I might confront Ivy about it. Maybe. It didn't necessarily matter—I understood her reasons, and that was enough. Sometimes, just let sleeping vamps lie.

  I extended a hand to help Keasley rise. "Will you tell Ceri I came over?" I asked as I held his arm until I knew he had his balance.

  The porch creaked behind us, and I whipped my head around. Ceri was standing behind the closed screen door, in a sweaterdress that made her look like a young wife from the sixties. A jumble of emotions hit me as I took in her somber, guilty stance. She didn't look pregnant. She looked worried.

  "Did Jenks wake you?" I said in greeting, not knowing what else to say.

  She shook her head no with her arms crossed over her middle. Her long, translucent hair was done up in a complex braid that needed at least two pixies to manage it. Even through the screen I could see her cheeks were pale, her green eyes wide, and her narrow chin raised defiantly. Though delicate and petite, her mind was resilient and strong, tempered by a thousand years of serving as a demon's familiar. Elves didn't live any longer than witches, but her life had paused the moment Al took her. My guess was she'd been in her midthirties. She was barefoot, as usual, and her purple dress had black and gold accents. They were the colors that Al made her wear, though admittedly, this wasn't a ball gown.

  "Come in," she said softly, vanishing into the dark house.

  I glanced at Keasley. He had a wary sharpness to him, having read my tension and the shame she was hiding under her defiance. Or maybe it was guilt.

  "Go on," he said, as if wanting us to get this over with so he'd know what was the matter.

  Leaving him, I went up the stairs, my tension easing as the shelter of the house accepted me. I didn't think she'd told him yet—which meant I'd been seeing guilt.

  The screen door squeaked, and now, knowing Keasley's past, I was sure the lack of oil was intentional. The scent of redwood struck me as I followed the sound of her fading steps down the low-ceilinged hall, past the front room, the kitchen, and all the way to the back of the house and the sunken living room, added on at some point.

  The older house muffled outside sounds, and I stood in the middle of the back living room. I was sure this was where she had gone. My gaze traveled over the changes she'd made since moving in: asters arranged in Mason-jar vases, live plants bought off the sale rack and nurtured back to health clustered at the lace-curtained windows, bits of ribbon draped over mirrors to remind wandering spirits not to cross into them, yellowed doilies bought at yard sales decorating the padded arms of the couch, and faded pillows and swaths of fabric disguising the old furniture. The combined effect was clean, comfortable, and soothing.

  "Ceri?" I finally called, not having the slightest idea where she
was.

  "Out here," she said, her voice coming from beyond the door, which was propped open with a potted fig tree.

  I winced. She wanted to talk in the garden—her stronghold. Great.

  Gathering myself, I headed out to find her seated at a wicker table in the garden. Jih hadn't been tending it very long, but between the enthusiastic pixy and Ceri, the tiny space had gone from a scuffed-up scrap of dirt to a bit of paradise in less than a year.

  An old oak tree thicker than I could get my arms around dominated the backyard, multiple swaths of fabric draped over the lower branches to make a fluttering shelter of sorts. The ground under it was bare dirt, but it was as smooth and flat as linoleum. Vines grew above the fence to block the neighbors' view, and the grass had been allowed to grow long past the shade of the tree. I could hear water somewhere and a wren singing as if it were spring, not fall. And crickets.

  "This is nice," I said in understatement as I joined her. There was a teapot and two tiny cups on the table, as if she had been expecting me. I would have said Trent had warned her, but Keasley didn't have a phone.

  "Thank you," she said modestly. "Jih has taken a husband, and he works very hard to impress her."

  I brought my attention back from the garden to focus on Ceri and her anxiety. "Is that where Jenks is?" I asked, wanting to meet the newest member of the family myself.

  A smile eased her tight features. "Yes. Can you hear them?"

  I shook my head and settled myself in the bumpy wicker chair. Now, what would be a good segue? So, I hear Jih isn't the only one who's been knocked up….

  Ceri reached for the teapot, her motions wary. "I imagine this isn't a social call, but would you like some tea?"

  "No, thanks," I said, then felt a tug on my awareness as Ceri murmured a word of Latin and the pot began to steam. The amber brew tinkled into her tiny cup, the click of the porcelain sounding loud among the crickets.

  "Ceri," I said softly. "Why didn't you tell me?"