by Kim Harrison
“You don’t want to know.”
Chapter Fourteen
The teakettle was whistling. It had been for some time. Angry, I shoved my chair back from the table, leaving the demon spell book open as I went to the cupboard. Muttering under my breath, I grabbed the first cup I touched, only to realize it had blue butterflies on it.
“Who in hell bought a mug with blue butterflies on it!” I shouted, slamming it on the counter beside the stove. “We are serious people doing serious things! I don’t have time for butterflies!”
Chamomile. That’s supposed to be soothing, right? I thought as I ripped the individual package open and dropped it into the cup. I didn’t drink tea often, but it was getting late and I was going to have a hard enough time getting to sleep as it was. Gone. Bis was with that monster, and I was more than livid; I was panicked.
Unthinking, I reached for the teakettle, jerking my hand away and shaking it as the steam hit my fingertips, burned from trying to break Ku’Sox’s circle. “Damn it!” I exclaimed, slamming drawers until I found the potholder and, more carefully this time, filled my cup. Bits of herbs floated up, and the fragrant steam bathed my face. Crap on toast, the bag was broken.
My shoulders slumped, and I stopped. From the hallway came the tiny whispers of the pixies—fresh from their midnight nap—watching my tantrum. Sniffing, I pushed my hair out of my face and tried not to cry into my tea as I imagined Bis trapped with Ku’Sox. The little guy was my responsibility. He was probably terrified.
Staring at my stocking feet with one hand over my middle and the other holding my forehead, I forced myself to breathe. Then I put my arms down, exhaling slowly. I could panic later. Right now, I had to concentrate. The sun would be up in a few hours, and if I didn’t have a plan by then, I’d never get any sleep.
My hands shook as they encircled the mug. The ceramic was hot on my burned skin, and I changed my grip as I carried it back to the big farm table. I had to shove my spell and curse books to the side, and they threatened to spill off. There was nothing in them. I was coming up empty.
Depressed, I set the tea down with a soft thud. Elbows on an open book, I stared at the yellowed pages. The plop of a tear on the faded print surprised me, and I wiped it away, sitting up and away from it.
Bis was gone. Lucy was gone. Ceri was gone. Quen was with us again but unable to do magic. I had until Friday midnight to fix the line and prove to the demons that I could keep Ku’Sox from killing them. I knew how to fix the line, but I couldn’t do it without Bis. If I told the demons what Ku’Sox was doing, Ku’Sox would turn everything around onto me. I didn’t have any demon-magic-invoking babies for them to escape the dying ever-after with. They wouldn’t help me. The truth didn’t matter. It was all about perception.
I jerked, my head nearly exploding as, in shrill shrieks, six pixies skated in from the hall on my slipper. Scoot-the-shoe could usually make me laugh as five or six pixies jammed into my slipper; their screaming like they were on a roller coaster and being chased by an orange cat was hilarious. But tonight . . .
“Jenks!” I shouted, my frustration finding a convenient outlet.
Jenks darted in, his voice hushed as he corralled his kids, almost unheard as his kids complained, fussed, and finally left, flying my slipper out three feet above the floor. “Sorry, Rache. They’ll leave you alone.”
I looked up. He was hovering miserably in the dark threshold, a faintly glowing yellow dust slipping from him. Immediately a layer of guilt slathered itself over my already bad mood, making me even more depressed. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my hand gesturing uselessly as it sat on the table. “Your kids are okay.” God help me, I’d only made things worse.
He drifted up and down, looking as helpless as I felt. “We’ll get him back,” he finally said, then darted out when someone yelled at her brother to leave her alone.
I turned to the book, not seeing the print. Flipping a page, I felt the tingle of black magic stab my burned fingers. Hissing, I curled my hand into a fist and shoved the book away. I flopped back angrily into the chair, almost knocking myself backward. I knew how to fix the line, but not without Bis. I could get Bis back, but only if I fixed the line.
Jenks and Belle were in the hall, Belle’s lisping whispers obvious but not clear enough to decipher. Depressed, I slumped. I was ruining everyone’s day. Yay, me. I was still staring at the faded demon print when Jenks edged into the kitchen, looking as meek as a flying man capable of lobotomizing fairies in his sleep could. “Ah, how you doing, Rache?”
My teeth were clenched, and I forced them apart. “Fine.” F’ed IN the Extreme, as Ivy would say. I should have called her yesterday, not three hours ago. She was on her way back, but it would take a bit.
Jenks hesitated, then dropped down beside me, wings flat against his back. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. I knew he meant to be encouraging, but it grated like fish scales.
I stared at the wall, my throat closing. Jenks’s kids were soulfully watching from the hallway, sitting on the lintel with their dust like tinsel.
“I’m not Ivy, but I bet we can come up with something,” he said.
I managed to dredge up a smile from somewhere. “I don’t know where to start,” I said as I closed the book. The binding cracked, and I didn’t care.
“When was the last time you ate?”
I listlessly picked at the binding, then quit when I realized it was probably someone’s skin. “I don’t know. Last year, maybe?”
He chuckled, but it sounded forced. “I’ll call for takeout. What sounds good?”
I knew he was trying to be helpful. It bothered him that he couldn’t do anything for me or for Bis, and that the two worlds were about to collide in a big, kind of permanent way. I simply couldn’t find the strength to meet his hesitant smile with my own.
“I’m not hungry,” I said, and his dust faltered as his smile faded. I couldn’t eat knowing that Bis was scared. My failings had put him there. Trent must be frantic about Lucy and Ceri. I didn’t know how he had managed it, remaining calm when he drove me back home.
Silent, Jenks sat on the book, wings unmoving. My chamomile tea grew cold beside me. “I know it hurts,” Jenks said, but I couldn’t look up. “Remember when you told me I’d find a way to live without Matalina?”
My head jerked up. “Bis isn’t dead.”
“Bad example,” he admitted. “But I didn’t believe you, and I should have. It would have made those first few weeks easier. Rache, we will get him back. Believe it.”
But I didn’t know how, and my helplessness welled up.
“Oh, thank God!” Jenks exclaimed suddenly, rising up on a column of gold dust and darting into the dark hallway. I wiped the back of my hand under my eye, then sagged again when I heard the bong of the church’s front bell. The pixies clustered on the lintel peeled off one by one to follow Jenks to the front with the enthusiasm they reserved for elves.
“Swell,” I whispered as I looked down at my socks, jeans, and black tee I’d changed into after crying in the shower. Turning in my chair, I eyed the clock over the stove. It was after four in the morning—just about my bedtime, but an elf would be bright-eyed and fresh. I had nothing for Trent or Quen. Nothing at all.
My heart seemed to quiver as I recognized the soft scuffing of Trent’s shoes. I sat up and tried not to look so bedraggled as pixy excitement grew and Trent strode in, looking calm and focused in his long overcoat spotted with rain. He carried a take-out bag from a doughnut shop and a large paper bag with handles in one hand, a small briefcase in the other. Jenks was on his shoulder, looking as right as snow on a mountain. Trent had lost Ceri and Lucy and was keeping it together. If he could do it, I could do it.
“Rachel,” he said, wincing at the noise the pixies were putting out. “I can’t stay, but I had to come into the city to take care of some legal business and I wanted to drop these off and discuss something with you. I hope you don’t mind me stopping in unexpectedly.”
> “No, that’s fine,” I said, glancing at where the coffeepot had been, wanting to offer him something. I still hadn’t gotten a new one. Stuff kept interfering. My chest hurt, and I looked at the top of the fridge where Bis usually sat.
Jenks gave me a look to pull it together, then lifted from Trent’s shoulder. “Let me get my kids out of here.” His voice rose. “Hey! How many times have I told you to leave the shoelaces alone!”
Head going down, Trent shifted his feet and three pixies flowed out the door at ankle height, giggling and laughing. Jenks was tight on their dust, and the noise level dropped.
His relief obvious, Trent came farther in and set his briefcase down before placing the bag of doughnuts on the center counter and the paper sack on the table with a heavy thump. He was silent, utterly still, and I looked up. “Are you doing okay?”
I closed the demon textbook and shoved it to the center of the table. “No.”
Trent dropped his rain-spotted hat on the table and began to unpack the leather-bound books of odd sizes from the paper sack. “It was a hard night.”
I couldn’t stop my sarcastic laughter. His daughter had been dangled before him and he had been given a horrible choice. A minor entrusted to my care had been abducted. Bis was only fifty years old. He shouldn’t have even been there. The tears welled, and I held my breath, not wanting to cry in front of him again. “Look at me,” I said as I dabbed at my eyes, trying to make light of it. “I’m such a baby. I can’t stop crying.”
“It’s okay,” he said as he stood by the table and carefully folded the paper sack.
“No, it’s not,” I protested, and Trent walked over to me and placed his hand on my shoulder. His shoes were untied, and I looked up, startled when he crouched to put our eyes at the same level. His eyes were dark with a shared pain. “I meant it’s okay to cry,” he said, and I remembered to breathe. “You’re wound so tight right now, you need a healthy release.”
I shook my head, glad he wasn’t trying to convince me that everything was going to be okay. It wasn’t. This was bad. Really bad. Knowing that he understood helped. He had lost his child. How could I even come close to his grief? His frustration? I thought again, If he can function, then I can too.
With a surprising touch on my cheek, he stood up and edged away. “We’ll get him back. We’ll get them all back.”
I could feel a tingle where his hand had been, and I gazed at him, numb. “I don’t see how. I can fix the line, but not without Bis. And no one will help me if the line is broken.” It was a trap my mind kept circling, and until I broke from it, I was dead in the water.
Still in his coat, Trent pulled Ivy’s chair out of the corner. His motions held a restrained excitement as he sat down to retie his shoes. “That’s why I’m here. I’ve been thinking about tonight,” he said, glancing up as Jenks flew back in.
“Me too.” My voice was a dull flatness compared to his excited eagerness.
“Ku’Sox did a few things tonight to show what he’s afraid of,” Trent insisted.
“What does it matter? They engineered him to be stronger than everyone,” I said, glancing at the books he’d brought. More books. That ought to help, I thought sarcastically, then I looked closer, sitting up and reaching for one. They all had library stickers on them—from the restricted section.
“Hey, these are from the restricted section,” I said, taking one. “Did you steal them?”
Trent flushed, the rims of his ears going charmingly red. “No, of course not. They let me take them out.”
My eyes slid to the brown paper bag he’d brought them over in. “Out of the restricted section? Of the library?”
“Yes, so please don’t get anything on them,” he said, moving my cup of chamomile tea to the center counter. “Oh, it’s gone cold,” he said softly, standing up and taking his coat off.
I still couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that they’d let him take restricted books from the library grounds.
Clearly discomfited, Trent dropped his coat over Ivy’s chair. Reaching for his bag of doughnuts, he muttered, “It’s amazing what they let you do when you supply a new roof for the children’s wing and pay for the salary of the children’s events coordinator.”
“They let him take restricted books out,” I said to Jenks, and the pixy shrugged.
Behind the counter, Trent rustled in his bag. “Ah, would you mind if I ate? I sent the staff home Monday and haven’t called them back yet. Ellasbeth can boil water but she won’t.” He paused. “You don’t want any, do you?”
The scent of fried doughnuts was strong. Tearing my gaze from the books, I eyed him standing behind the counter, his head almost touching the hanging utensils. His hair was darker than usual in the electric light, and his face was freshly shaven. Tall and unbowed, the calmness he radiated soaked into me, pushing my panic back to the edges so I could think again. “No, go ahead.”
“Jenks, where are the plates?” Trent asked, and the pixy landed on his shoulder to point the cabinet out.
It felt funny with Trent in here, but the pixy kids were keeping it to a dull roar. The scrape of a plate was loud, and Trent put six pastries on it, taking a stark, plain doughnut from the pile when he set the plate before me and moved the books all the way back to the wall.
“Ku’Sox broke our rings,” Trent said as if it was important, and I watched him take a bite from his plain doughnut, thinking it was odd seeing him here in my kitchen in his suit and tie at four in the morning. “I think that is significant. He didn’t know we were using them as a safety net. He said ‘meld your abilities to an elf to best me.’ Ku’Sox thought we were using them to join our skills, to make ourselves stronger.”
My stomach rumbled at the smell of the fried dough, and hearing it, Trent gestured for me to help myself. I shook my head, eyeing the one with the sprinkles.
“That’s how the demons overpowered him before,” Trent said, still standing in the middle of my kitchen. “He’s afraid of us, demons, elves, anyone, working together. All his actions are to pull the demons apart, break alliances.”
“I can’t argue with that.” Though Trent was clear across the kitchen, I felt as if he was too close, too accessible as he stood there looking good in my church eating a no-frills doughnut.
“And Bis,” he said, making my stomach clench. “He didn’t take him because he wanted leverage on you. If it was only that, he could have twisted the knife and gotten you to take the curse off right then and there.”
I shoved my panic aside. “He took Bis so I couldn’t fix the line,” I said, and Trent nodded.
“Exactly my thoughts,” he said, setting his doughnut with one bite out of it on a napkin from the bag. “He needs it broken. With purple sludge gone, everyone can see the curse he used to damage your line. That’s why he can’t allow you to fix it. But if you could move all the imbalance at once, you might get the same effect. Would you mind if I made something to drink?”
My lips parted at the new thought. “Sure, go ahead,” I said, and he wiped his fingers off on a second napkin, turning to the fridge. Damn, I could move all the imbalance at once. I mean, I knew what my line was supposed to sound like. All I needed to do was bundle up everything that didn’t belong and drop it into another line.
Silent, I jiggled my foot as Trent went to the fridge. Jenks was on his shoulder pointing things out. Trent came out with the milk, surprising me. He likes milk with his doughnuts? You learn something new every day. No, hot chocolate, I decided when Jenks darted around the kitchen and Trent followed, collecting sugar, cocoa, and salt.
“You think I can move the entire wad of imbalance without Bis?” I said.
“The hell she can!” Jenks protested, but I sat up, pulse quickening. “She can’t line jump. That’s what started this!”
“She isn’t line jumping, she’s moving imbalance,” Trent said to Jenks, waving the pixy’s dust from the two cups that Trent had pulled from my cupboards and filled with powdered cocoa. “She’s
already proven she can do that.”
I stood up, coming to stand with the counter between us. “I know the signature of the line in the graveyard. I can dump it all there.”
Trent looked up from pouring milk into two mugs when Jenks whistled. “Newt is going to be pissed,” the pixy said, and my enthusiasm faltered, but only for a moment.
“Ah, is one of those mine by chance?” I asked, and Trent’s smile widened.
“Yes.”
Jenks hovered between us, a bright shimmer of red-tinted dust spilling from him. “I don’t like this,” he said. “It sounds risky.”
“It’s perfect,” I said as Trent’s spoon clinked, stirring them both. “Once it’s moved, anyone can see the curse he used to break it.”
“In which case he’ll just say you were backing out of a deal?” Jenks prompted.
My shoulders slumped, and I chewed on my lower lip. “Maybe I could borrow Al’s wedding rings and we could bind our strength together,” I said hesitantly, and Jenks scoffed.
“They don’t work between demon and elf,” Jenks reminded me, but Trent had set the spoon on the napkin beside his half-eaten doughnut and had gone to his coat.
“We have options,” he said as he triumphantly slapped a museum brochure before me. “That is, if you can reinvoke them.”
Eyebrows high, I pulled the colorful brochure to me with ELVEN ARTIFACT SHOW emblazoned on it in a metallic mythological script. I knew there was no such collection at the Cincy museum. There was none anywhere. The elves had just come out of hiding. It was then that it clicked and I looked for the date. Quen had mentioned a museum outing at the end of the week. Sure enough, it started this weekend and ran for three months before going on the road.
“Jenks, would you get this for me?” Trent asked, standing before the microwave with his two mugs, and the pixy darted away, hitting the door button with a two-footed punch. Apparently the afternoon they spent together stealing Lucy had changed both their attitudes toward each other. They almost looked like friends. Finally the incongruity of a pixy helping a multibillionaire figure out my microwave was over, and Trent came to the table, the microwave a humming background to Jenks’s wings.