Ever After th-11

by Kim Harrison

The church felt empty with Ivy still gone and the pixies asleep or out in the garden. I’d been dogged by a growing feeling of unease since I’d gotten back from the ever-after, and not all of it could be lain at the feet of my current problems. Something was brewing with the vampires. Felix had asked after Ivy twice. And I knew Rynn Cormel, Ivy’s master vampire, did not like that Ivy had left the state, even temporarily. At least he wasn’t sending assassins this time.

  “You sure you don’t want to wait until Jenks and Trent get here?” Bis said. “What’s to stop Dali from just snatching you?”

  “Nothing. That’s why he won’t try. Besides, he knows I’m Al’s student. What would be the point? You sure you don’t want to wait in the garden? It’s okay.”

  Bis shook his head, trying to hide his slight shiver.

  If it had been Ku’Sox I was calling, I’d have used circles, traps, maybe waited for Trent. Dali, though, was like Al in that he got a kick out of those weaker than him trusting him to behave—as risky as it was.

  “I hope he knows how to help you,” Bis almost whispered. “I don’t like demons.” His red eyes darted to mine. “I like you, just not them. I mean, if Dali knew how to get Ceri and Lucy back, wouldn’t he have done it already?”

  I smiled faintly and nudged the teacups back from the edge. “No.” A sliver of unease slid into me. The demons couldn’t control Ku’Sox. If I couldn’t, then they’d give me to him as a bribe to save them. Yay, me.

  Bis looked toward the curtained window, then me. Turning slightly lighter, he nodded, his clawed feet shifting. “Okay. I’m ready.”

  “Me too.” Nervous, I pulled out a chair and sat in it, reaching across the narrow space to where I kept my scrying mirror under the center counter. It felt cool on my knees, the glass seeming to sink into me. The ache at the back of my neck became more pronounced as I rested my fingers on the wine-stained glass. I really needed to make a smaller one I could carry in my shoulder bag, and I vowed if I ever got a weekend where I wasn’t saving the world, I would.

  There was a faint, unusual tingling from my wrist, and I turned my hand over. The raised circle of scar tissue there tied me to Al, a visible mark that I owed him a favor for bringing me home the night we’d met. I’d never gotten around to settling it, and that it was tingling now was curious. Maybe it was responding to his ailment. Slowly my frown deepened. “Tell Ivy I’m sorry if this doesn’t go well,” I said as I placed my fingers on the proper glyphs.

  “Roses on your grave. Right.” Bis dropped to the chair nearest me, his craggy feet denting the back as he caught his balance. He really was a good kid.

  The coolness of the mirror ached into me, and a new, slight discord blossomed into an irritating whine at the back of my ears. Dallkarackint? I thought in my mind, avoiding saying the demon’s true calling name aloud. It wasn’t that I had a problem saying it, but Dali wouldn’t appreciate my speaking his name on this side of the lines, seeing as anyone who heard it would be able to summon him. Dali had taken great pains to keep his name secret.

  Almost immediately the cloud of buzzing seemed to hesitate, part, and with a surprising suddenness, I had a second presence beside mine.

  Rachel?

  It was Dali, and I warmed in embarrassment. I didn’t often talk to demons through my scrying mirror apart from Al, and having Dali in my thoughts was unnerving. Whereas Al used bluster and show to hide his true self, Dali was like a steel pillar, everything seeming to slide off him. “Um, I’m sorry to bother you,” I said, my thoughts carrying through the mirror to him.

  Irritation predictably joined my embarrassment in our shared thoughts. I’m busy. Make an appointment with my secretary.

  He was about to break the connection. I was kind of surprised I’d gotten him at all and not one of his subordinates. “Dali, wait. I have to talk to you, and Al is . . .”

  I stopped, not knowing who might be listening in.

  Al is what? Dali asked, interest coloring his thought.

  I hesitated, looking up at Bis’s drooping wings. “I’ve made some tea,” I started.

  Outrage flooded me, and I almost yanked my hand from the mirror. You’re summoning me! Dali exploded, and I scrambled to assert myself before he drowned me.

  “I made some tea!” I said, trying to match his anger, and Bis’s eyes grew round. “You want to come over here and drink it or not? It’s Earl Grey. I don’t particularly like it, but most men I know like bergamot. I don’t give a flying flip if we do this here or your office, but if I have to bring the cookies over, they’ll taste like burnt amber and I spent two hours on them!” I took a breath, feeling his anger subside. “I need to talk to you,” I said softly, my thought mirroring the pleading sound I had. “My kitchen isn’t much, but—”

  My words cut off as I felt our connection shift, turning from the light, uppermost thoughts to a more enveloping, place-finding sensation. He was coming over, using the mirror to locate me. My eyes widened at the feeling, and a small noise of I-don’t-know-what slipped from me, part alarm, part surprise, part sexual titillation as he drew a small trace of ley line through me so he’d show up next to me and not in the garden’s ley line.

  “He’s coming,” I said as I lifted my head, flushing because of that weird noise I’d made.

  “Holy sweet seraph,” Bis swore as a swirl of red ever-after coalesced in the corner of the room beside the fridge. I didn’t have a formal circle to mark a spot to jump in at. Maybe I should remedy that if I survived the next couple of days.

  “Earl Grey?” Dali’s Americana businessman accent drawled as he shook off the last of the black-tainted swirls, showing up in a gray suit and a red power tie instead of a toga—thank God. He looked like a slightly overweight mob boss with his expensive dress shoes, tailored pants, and graying, styled hair.

  Uneasy, I stood. Bis shrank back, his red eyes going wide. He held his ground, though, trusting my judgment. “Thank you,” I said, wiping my palms on my jeans. Crap, I should have put on a dress, but it was my kitchen, and I’d have felt stupid wearing a gown—again.

  Dali’s attention had been running over my kitchen, but at my whisper, it returned to me. “You are far too quick in assuming this is a good thing.” He glanced at his watch; then his red, goat-slitted eyes returned to the spell pots and the tea steaming on the table. “You don’t have any wards protecting your spelling area?”

  “I don’t need it.” I looked away, used to dealing with egotistical, powerful people who got a kick out of my apparent total disregard for the danger they represented. “You want to sit down?” I said, looking at the chair kitty-corner to mine.

  My brow furrowed as he stepped forward and eyed the hard-backed chair. “It’s probably more comfortable than it looks,” he said as he gingerly sat, crossing his knees and trying to appear dignified, but he looked even more out of place than Trent usually did in my kitchen.

  A memory of Trent standing at my counter making cookies with me flashed through my thoughts. That hadn’t really happened. I’d been in a coma of sorts, and his mind had been trying to reach mine, but it had been real enough. So had the kiss that had followed.

  Bis’s nervous giggle made Dali frown. This wasn’t going as well as I had hoped, but with the determination I might use on a badly begun blind date, I sat down and began pouring out the tea. “I’m only twenty-seven,” I said dryly. “I’ve not had the time to gather much in the way of luxury possessions.” It was starting to smell like burnt amber, and I wondered if I should’ve cracked the window and risked attracting the pixies on sentry detail.

  Dali’s wandering attention came back to me. “Speaking of time . . .” he said sourly. “You’re rapidly running out of it. Or should I say, Newt is running out of room.” His expression became wicked as he took a gingersnap. “You’re going to make a pauper out of the ever-after’s wealthiest demon. Congratulations. You should rent yourself out by the hour.”

  Not a good start. “I’ve been out to the line,” I said, pouring out my tea n
ow. “I have some ideas.” Seeing as he wasn’t taking his cup, I handed it to him. “This is Bis, my gargoyle.”

  Dali took a sip, his eyes almost closing in apparent bliss he tried to hide. “Bis,” he said, nodding to him, and the gargoyle flashed an embarrassed black. “You’re younger than I thought. Your lack of skill is excused.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Bis said, and I was proud of him.

  “I’m sure it is,” Dali said lightly, his attention on the cookies. “Are those petits fours?”

  Silent, I pushed the plate toward him, and he took another gingersnap.

  “Mmmm,” he said, eating the star in one bite. “Where is Al? He has put a do-not-disturb note on his mirror. Are you thinking of changing teachers . . . Rachel?” His voice was sly, cruel almost. “Think I can save your life? Think again. You’re not going to bankrupt me as well.”

  “Good,” I said, trying to shift the conversation to where I wanted it. “You can go to your grave a rich demon. Al is busy renewing his aura,” I said, and Dali’s eyes widened in interest. “He burned it off while finding Ku’Sox’s signature on that purple sludge currently taking residence in my slightly imbalanced line.”

  Dali took a third gingersnap, his stubby fingers sure and slow. “Al’s findings cannot be used in court,” he said, then bit the cookie in half. “He has too much to lose and isn’t a reliable witness. I doubt you can convince anyone else to confirm it if in the doing he burns his aura off.”

  “I know that,” I said, letting my irritation show. “That’s why you’re here. I want to talk to you about the legality of Ku’Sox abducting Ceri. The paperwork hasn’t been filed, but she’s a freed familiar. Ku’Sox is using her as leverage, and I want her and Lucy back.”

  His expression dry, Dali took another gingersnap. “Ku’Sox didn’t abduct Ceri. He abducted Lucy. Ceri volunteered to come with her. When the cookies are gone, so am I.”

  “What!” I exclaimed, falling back in my chair in shock. I glanced at Bis, then back to Dali. My chest seemed to cave in as hope left me. It sounded exactly like something she’d do. Ceri wasn’t afraid of demons. She was afraid of being helpless before them, and with her soul back, she was not. “But Lucy is my godchild!” I said, scrambling. “Ku’Sox and I have an agreement that he leave me and mine alone. Lucy is mine.”

  “File the paperwork for breach of contract, and I’ll see what I can do,” Dali said. It was like that, then.

  “Ku’Sox is a touch . . . erratic. Newt and I are watching him.” Dali’s eyes rose from the plate of cookies. “We’ve known for some time that he was up to something. Hiding his plans from everyone else is the only thing postponing your death.”

  I thought about Newt’s carefully worded question, becoming more frustrated. “Then why are you letting him get away with it?” I said, aghast. “You know I didn’t cause that line to start sucking away ever-after that fast. Why are you picking on me? Ku’Sox did it!”

  Dali wouldn’t meet my eyes. “True,” he said, “but he used your unbalanced line to do so. It’s your responsibility. I’m confident that Ku’Sox knows how to control the leak. He’s trying to eliminate you, making us miserable and reminding us of his power all at the same time, the little prick.”

  There were two gingersnaps left. I leaned forward, a ribbon of anxiety running through me. “Is that what you think?” I said, shoving my cup of tea away from me so hard that it sloshed. I hated bergamot. “You think he’s going to save you after you kill me?”

  Silent, Dali took a cookie. “Ku’Sox has threatened us before, but he’s never gone through with it. He’s young and angry. You cursed his freedom from him.” Dali smiled, showing me his flat, blocky teeth. “Sibling rivalry. Maybe you should uncurse him.”

  “Don’t think so,” I said quickly, wondering how I was going to convince Dali the threat was more than he thought. “Look, letting me die would be a mistake. I’m not trying to kill you. He is, and I don’t think that line can be shut down with that purple sludge in it, even if I am dead. And in case you haven’t noticed, he doesn’t need you anymore. He has Nick, who stole the enzyme that keeps the Rosewood syndrome suppressed enough to survive it, and then you stood by and hid the fact that he circumvented my protection of Trent—the only one who can make the cure permanent and able to pass to the next generation. Ku’Sox doesn’t need you anymore. In ten years, he’s going to have a bunch of demon-magic-using kids to play with.”

  “The Rosewood babies are not for him, they are for us.” Dali washed down his cookie with a sip of tea, and I gaped.

  “Y-you?” I stammered, and he nodded. One gingersnap left. Thirty seconds.

  “They’re life rafts, demon-magic-capable bodies that those loyal to him can slip into and escape a failing ever-after,” Dali said, and I stared, not having considered that.

  “And you believe him?” I said. “Seriously?”

  Dali’s eye twitched, telling me he didn’t, but it did make it easier to understand why no one would help me. “Has it ever occurred to you that without a permanent cure, everyone who escapes on Ku’Sox’s coattails will be completely dependent on him to stay alive?”

  Dali’s thick fingers were on that last cookie. Hesitating, he tapped it on the plate. “Which is why we’re not forcing him to give Ceri back,” he said softly. “We want the permanent cure.”

  I leaned back in the chair, hard-pressed to not pound my head on the table. “He’s lying to you, Dali, to all of you. He’s never going to allow any of you access to those children, and he’s going to let the ever-after collapse whether you kill me for him or not. Now quit blocking me and give me Ceri and Lucy back so I can figure this out!”

  Dali set the last cookie down and wiped his fingers. With a new stiffness in his manner, he shifted his weight. “You think his intent is annihilation?”

  I nodded, and my shoulders eased. “Before Newt got us back underground, a gargoyle came to see who had been messing around in my ley line.”

  His carefully trimmed eyebrows high, Dali eyed me, but if it was because Newt helped us or that a gargoyle was involved, I didn’t know. “In the daylight?”

  “He had a huge sword that looked like it had been propping up a laundry line for the last fifty years,” I said, angry. “He said the line would fix itself in time, but destroy the ever-after in the doing of it, and that they were going to leave and to save who they could.”

  “The gargoyles are leaving?” It was a soft but alarmed utterance.

  “He also said I wouldn’t find enough time to fix it before it fixes itself. If you can’t give me Ceri, at least give me some time,” I demanded. “Four days,” I added, thinking of Al’s burn.

  Dali’s intent gaze focused on me, considering it. Sighing, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the chair. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking?”

  Adrenaline jerked through me as I realized he’d probably come here with the intent to kill me and be done with it before he left. “I think I can fix the line,” I said, scrambling to find something positive to take away from this. “I just need to borrow . . .” My words trailed off reluctantly, as if not wanting to divulge just what it was, not that I had no clue what I needed. “Something from Al,” I finished, trying to appear cagey, not confused.

  Dali peered at me, his mouth a thin line. “You don’t trust me.”

  “Sure I do,” I said, and Bis snickered, making a weird snuffing sound.

  The older-looking demon frowned. “You don’t have a clue how to fix that line,” he said, but inside, I felt a tiny spot of hope. He was thinking about it.

  Beside him, Bis cleared his throat. “I can see the lines,” he said, flushing a heavy black. “I know I can help. I’m good at auras.”

  Dali ignored him, which made me mad, and I said, “Ku’Sox cursed my line. That purple sludge is demon made. I have yet to find the curse I can’t untwist.”

  His face scrunched up, making him look like the benevolent uncle who wanted t
o give you the quarter of a million dollars to start your chinchilla farm, but those darn investors just didn’t see the potential. “It’s not that I don’t want to believe you,” he said, and I let out a loud, exasperated sigh as he continued. “But belief will be a thin comfort if we get sucked into oblivion waiting for you to figure it out. It’s not like you have much to lose.”

  “If you don’t trust me, we both die, Dali,” I said, not dropping his eyes. “Even if the ever-after vanishes, do you think the coven is going to let me live after the lines disappear and there’s no more magic? I don’t.”

  Goat-slitted eyes unfocused, he nodded.

  “Can’t you choose what gets sucked into oblivion?” I said. “Try bubbling your rooms. Let it pull on the empty spaces for a while.”

  “Perhaps.” Dali’s knees uncrossed as he set his feet on the floor. He was ready to go, and he eyed the last cookie. “No one will want to if they’re being reimbursed by Newt. We’d all like to see her brought down a decimal place or two.”

  “See if you can get them to think about it,” I said, standing up and going to the counter where I had a bag of cookies for Ray. Dali might be a better choice. “I have an idea, but I need four days and your silence that we even had this conversation.”

  Dali’s attention jerked to me. Bright eyed, he stood and took the cookies like the bribe they were. “Really?” he said, the plastic rustling softly. “Secrets, Rachel?”

  I met his gaze squarely. “The fewer who know, the better.”

  Dali’s head cocked suspiciously. “You trust me?”

  My heart gave a thump. I didn’t have a problem asking for things, according to Al, but in this case, I was asking for a lot. “You’re a member of the courts,” I said. “If I fail, go ahead and kill me,” I continued, making Bis rustle his wings. “I don’t want to be around to see the fallout when magic fails on this side of the lines. But if I succeed, I want all my debts slid to Ku’Sox.” Dali began to smile. “Everything to date and any I acquire while resolving the mess he started,” I said, feeling nervous. It was quite a lot. “Newt’s debts accrued because of his tampering, too,” I added. “I want that demon so far in the hole that if we survive, he will be spending the next thousand years as a busboy at your restaurant.”