by Kim Harrison
I took a ragged breath. Even Jenks’s dust spilling down my front seemed too hot. But we were there, or here, rather, and the deep quiet of a radio studio muffled my ears. Coffee. They have coffee at radio stations, don’t they? Coffee can fix anything.
My head felt as if it was going to split open, but when I saw Landon sitting with his back to me at the little table with its overhanging mics, my anger pushed the pain down. A man who could only be Mac, the host, had his head down over his notes as the last of the commercial played out. Al was beside me, holding my elbow as I caught my breath. He looked like that elf kid as he made a bunny-ear kiss-kiss to the technician in the adjoining sound room. The tech stared at us in slack-jawed amazement, frozen as Mac, oblivious to us, tidied his papers and opened his mic.
“This is Mac, and we’re back with Sa’han Landon of the elven dewar. Landon, thank you again for talking with us today. It’s not just the vampires who have been impacted by the new ley lines. Weather control at the track has been iffy. There have been issues at the hospital requiring secondary spells and charms. Can you tell us more about your theory that Kalamack is responsible for the problems elven magic has been experiencing lately?”
Behind the glass in the control room, the technician finally broke out of his shock, looking frazzled as he flipped open his mic and said something. Mac’s head snapped up, lips parting as he saw us in the room with them, and beside me, Al grinned like a demented sixteen-year-old.
Eyes wide, Mac stood up, fumbling for a headset for me as Landon said, “The magic misfires began when Kalamack forced the demons to reality. The demons are causing the issues. They’re interfering in the normal function of our charms. Targeting us.”
Al cleared his throat, and Landon whipped around, the stunned expression on his face worth all the pain it had taken to get here. “If demons were targeting you,” Al said softly, “you would know it, little man.”
Landon’s mouth moved, but nothing came out. The elven priest’s eyes narrowed at my sarcastic smile, shifting from me to Al. “Zack,” he almost growled, a hand over his mic. “What are you doing with Morgan and that pixy? Sit down and wait for me,” he demanded, pointing to a chair against the foam-covered acoustic wall. “Sit and do nothing. I’ll deal with you later.”
Zack? I thought in understanding. The kid had been a Landon spy. Son of a fairy fart.
“Excuse me.” Al’s grip on me eased, and confident that I had my balance, he let go. “I have been asked to sit.” Looking like a sullen teenager, he sat down.
Mac’s eyes were wide, his hands shaking as he pointed in invitation to a mic opposite Landon. “Ah, Rachel Morgan has unexpectedly joined us,” he said, his expression showing his excitement where his smooth words did not. “Ms. Morgan, what can you tell my listeners about Sa’han Landon’s claim that the demons are behind the elves’ trouble with their magic?”
Giving Landon a dry look, I eased into the chair and adjusted the mic. “The demons are not responsible for the elves’ magical issues,” I said, and Landon scoffed. “Elf magic sucks right now because the Goddess no longer favors them.” I hesitated, and across the table, Landon narrowed his eyes, daring me. “Probably because Landon tricked her into destroying the ley lines and her easy access to reality. I know that would really quirk my quarks.”
“You interfered in the spell,” Landon accused.
“Damn right she did, you moss wipe of an elf,” Jenks interjected, his wings moving better now that we were out of the cold.
“Because your spell was destroying the ever-after and taking the demons with it,” I said.
Landon leered, four feet of table between us. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It is, you slimy, lying sack of toad scrotum!” I exclaimed.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Mac raised his hand. “Can we say that on the radio? We can?” His eyes were on the technician, who gave him a thumbs-up. “Even so, let’s take it down a notch.”
Landon took a breath, his expression too satisfied to live, and I interrupted. “I have listened to you spouting your lies for the last two months, Landon,” I said, and he sat back. “I can’t take it anymore. You destroyed the lines to throw the undead into a dysfunctional chaos, not to help them, but to step into the power vacuum.”
Arms crossed, Landon leaned in to the mic. “I did it to keep the souls of the undead in reality so they might join with their undead bodies. Heal them and end their curse. You tampered with it, thereby breaking the curse that kept demons where they belonged in the ever-after. I wouldn’t have had to destroy the lines at all if you and Kalamack hadn’t interfered.”
“Yeah, because if the old undead commit suncide, you’d be right on top, wouldn’t you,” I said. I didn’t care that I sounded like an angry redhead. I was an angry redhead.
“Sa’han Landon,” Mac interjected before I could elaborate, “are you implying that Rachel Morgan is responsible for you destroying the ley lines and, therefore, the ever-after?”
My eyes narrowed on Landon. Lie, I thought. I dare you.
Landon set his hands on the table. “She tampered with the spell designed to keep the undead souls in reality. She changed its function, and when the lines went down, the ever-after collapsed. Now we have demons walking in reality whenever they please, immune to summons and banishments. She did it knowingly.”
“Damn straight,” I said. “You broke the lines to destroy the power balance, period. There wasn’t enough support in the enclave to manage it, so you lied to the coven to get them to help, fully knowing there was no way in hell you could reinstate the dead Arizona lines.”
Mac wasn’t listening, intent on something coming over his headphones when Landon exclaimed, “I temporarily cut the lines to prevent Mr. Kalamack’s attempt to free the demons and prevent the undead souls from being forced from reality!”
“Trent had nothing to do with the undead souls being drawn back,” I countered. “It was bad spell casting, Landon. Your bad spell casting. You are a hack! You tampered with a two-thousand-year-old curse, making a loophole that the demons found all on their own. You freed the demons!”
“Sing it, Rache!” Jenks encouraged, and I stood, taking the mic from the stand. “You knew you couldn’t reinstate the Arizona lines. You knew that if the old undead had their souls, they would suncide. And you knew that if the lines went down, the ever-after would fall and take the demons with it, the only faction of Inderland that could curb your imperialistic plotting. You tried to kill the demons and the old undead in one swoop, leaving elves the only people able to practice magic through the Goddess. And you wonder why she’s mad at you.”
Chin trembling, Landon put the flats of his arms on the table. “The lines are still there. The ever-after still exists. How can you say that I destroyed them when they clearly aren’t.”
Frustrated, I made a fist. “Because I was able to steal enough power from the Goddess to not only make a new ever-after, but free the demons entirely from their curse. That’s why!”
Smirking, Landon eased back. “To walk among us, day or night, unsummoned and unbanishable.”
“Uh, Rache?” Jenks said, but I was too angry to think.
“Now you got it,” I said. “You should thank the demons, not hound them. If not for them scraping new ley lines from the new ever-after to reality, there wouldn’t be any magic at all.”
I stopped. Landon was smiling. I’d made a mistake. “Uh, or at least that’s the way I see it.”
And then I shrieked, ducking as Quen blew the door off the studio and Trent walked in, his jaw clenched, his manner stiff, and his barely suppressed anger and magic making his hair float.
Yep, I’d made a mistake.
CHAPTER
8
I backed up, face cold as I ran into Al. The demon had stood; he still looked like that elf. Zack, Landon had called him, though I doubt if Zack had e
ver worn that particular expression of disgust and hatred. My headache eased when his adolescent-thin fingers took my elbow to stop me from stepping on him. Trent’s expression was tight in anger, but it wasn’t at me—I thought. Angry or not, he looked really good, dressed in a comfortable pair of slacks and a lightweight shirt that showed a tantalizing amount of neck and upper chest. It was far away and distant from his usual suit and tie, but he’d been at the park with his girls, not in a boardroom, and a tinge of guilt passed through me. He must have been listening to the same tripe we’d been.
“O-okay,” Mac said, catching his mental balance. “Mr. Kalamack has joined us in the studio as well. Mr. Kalamack, we’re going to take a break while we get you a mic.” Mac gestured at the tech behind the glass, and another commercial spun up, presumably.
“Tink’s titties, it’s about time you got here,” Jenks said as he darted erratically between Quen and Trent. “Rache had to do this all by herself. Where you been, you little cookie maker?”
“Asleep, apparently.” Trent shook his head against the mic Mac was arranging, then turned to give Al an appraising once-over. Thanks to my text, he knew who he was, and just as obvious, he didn’t recognize Zack. Making an almost unheard sound of negation, he came around the table to me. The soft sounds of Quen trying to fix the door made me wince. “I appreciate the chance to talk with you, Mac,” Trent was saying, but his eyes never left mine. “This isn’t a good time, though. Ms. Morgan and I have a previous engagement and we’re already late. Rachel?”
He pulled me stumbling from Al, but I was trying to figure out why the truth was bad.
“Why?” Jenks landed right on a mic. “You going to let that bag of hot air keep squealing his lies like a balloon letting out air? Rachel and I are on a roll!” Jenks gyrated his hips and a silver dust sifted down like a living sunbeam to make the speaker crackle. “Yahoo, baby!”
Trent gestured to the hall, and I went. Quen had given up trying to fix the door and had propped it against the wall. People had clustered in the hall, and I cringed at the thought of going through them. Worse, Landon was far too happy for this to be a good thing. “I made a mistake, didn’t I.”
“Not necessarily.” Trent grimaced at the click of a camera. “I think I owe you a favor or three.”
“You were listening? You heard?” I said, embarrassed at my fiery rant.
“Why do you think I’m here?” His eyes were on the hall as he led me into the crush.
To stop my lips from flapping, I thought as Mac tried to get Landon to sit down. I’d made a mistake. It was in Landon’s satisfaction and Trent’s tight brow. But I couldn’t see it.
“Zack, sit down!” Landon barked as he settled himself, and I spun. Al was following us, still looking like that kid.
“I’m not your lackey,” Al said, and Landon paled when Al removed his sunglasses to show his red goat-slitted eyes. I shuddered at Al’s chuckle as his form misted, thickened, and changed back to his usual smoked-glass, nasty-grin, lace-and-crushed-green-velvet self.
“O-o-okay,” Mac squeaked, clearly thrown. “Ah . . . mmmm . . .”
Al put a finger to his thick lips and made a shhhh sound that chilled me even more.
“Sure,” Mac said faintly, agreeing to stay silent about a demon being in his studio.
The tech hammered on the glass. He was pointing to the mic, and Mac scrambled for it, his smooth professional voice filling in the gap as he put on his headphones.
Al strode out before us, and in the hall, people scattered like roaches panicking in the light.
Trent allowed himself a brief moment of gloating, his hand on the small of my back as we hesitated on the broken threshold. “It’s almost worth the cost to know where his loyalties are,” he said, then pushed me into the hall.
Quen quirked an eyebrow at me as I went by, and the fear I’d done something wrong strengthened. But for God’s sake, I was sick of Landon dragging Trent through the mud.
“Sa’han Landon,” Mac said as we entered the now empty hall, and Trent stiffened at the elven term of respect given to the distasteful man, “would I be correct in assuming from Ms. Morgan’s words that this was a power struggle between the elves and the demons?”
“Rache is right. Landon is a hack,” Jenks said, his voice coming from the hall speaker. “He couldn’t reinstate the lines if he tried. He used the coven and enclave like a fairy’s ass wipe.”
“Jenks!” I shouted, hearing his laughter like wind chimes through the speaker a bare instant before his wing rasp sounded by my ear.
“I’m just sayin’ what you won’t,” he complained, but I breathed easier when we got to the upper lobby overlooking the street lobby below. Lucy’s loud song about spiders and water spouts rose up unseen and my shoulders eased. Ellasbeth’s voice twined beautifully with hers, and I looked over the edge to see Ray and Lucy in their little sunbonnets and dresses. Ellasbeth was in a tasteful pantsuit, her purse matching the diaper bag at her feet. Of course it would.
“And he is a fairy’s moss wipe,” Jenks said, then dropped down, angling for them.
“Ah, strong-minded little girls,” Al said contentedly. “Nothing better in this world or the next. Excuse me.”
“Al,” Trent warned, and the demon winked as he took the curving stairs.
“Jenks! Jenks!” Lucy’s song cut off midphrase, and then her voice rose in question. “Aunt Rachel? Aunt Ra-a-a-a-a-chel!”
“That is so sweet,” I whispered, jerking at Lucy’s sudden earsplitting, delighted squeal.
“Allie!” Lucy screamed, struggling to get off Ellasbeth’s lap and run to the demon. “Mommy, let me go. Let go-o-o-o-o!”
Trent’s grip on my arm spasmed, but it was at the word mommy, not at Al, his arms now open wide in invitation as he stood at the bottom of the stairs. Ellasbeth fought with Lucy for a heartbeat, and then, her expression twisted in uncertainty, she let go. The toddler ran to Al, but it was hard to tell who was more delighted as Al scooped Lucy up and threw her into the air to catch her.
Jenks tentatively alighted on Ray’s outstretched hand, and the smaller girl beamed. A frown crossed her face when her sister shouted again and Jenks flew up and away. Attention diverted, Ray toddled to Al as well. Ellasbeth stood alone in her uncertainty. The two girls were only a few months apart, acting more like three- or four-year-olds than the two they almost were. Elves clearly matured faster than witches. According to Jenks, I still wasn’t old enough to be on my own.
“I’m sorry,” I said as Quen joined us and we headed for the stairs. “I should’ve kept my mouth shut. But I couldn’t take it anymore. He said demons were messing with elven magic, and—” I stopped and glanced at Quen, now suspiciously silent. “What did I do?”
“Nothing I don’t approve of, Ms. Morgan,” Quen said, and Trent flashed him a dark look.
Trent hesitated at the top of the stairs, pulling us all to a halt. “Quen, would you mind taking Rachel downstairs? I want to get that tape if Mac is willing to part with it.”
Mistrust drifted behind Quen’s eyes. “I can get the tape, Sa’han.”
Trent’s frown deepened. “Let me rephrase that. I want a word with Landon. Alone.”
My fingers slipped reluctantly from Trent’s hand as Quen inclined his head, a wicked smile turning him from capable bodyguard to highly qualified thief. “Of course, Sa’han.”
Jenks, having been driven upward by Lucy’s noise, hovered close, and I twitched my head for him to go with Trent. With a cheerful thumbs-up and a bright sifting of dust, Jenks darted off. Trent jerked, surprised when the pixy landed on his shoulder, and then the two of them were gone.
“Thank you.” Quen took my arm in a formal gesture to “help” me down the stairs. “Trent deserves more freedom, but I always appreciate someone watching his back.”
“Tell me about it,” I said, pulling my arm from his as we desc
ended the curving stairway. “Jeez, Quen. All I did was tell the truth, and Trent is acting as if I ruined his big plan.” My expression went empty. “Did I? Oh, God. He should have told me if he had a plan.”
Quen stopped my headlong rush of words with a slow shake of his head. “He was simply trying to keep your name out of the news. Landon agreed to not bring up your involvement if Trent said nothing contrary to Landon’s claims. That you survived the Goddess and made the new ever-after isn’t anything you really want publicly known, either. Still . . .” Quen smiled as if pleased. “Now that the truth is out, it’s going to get nasty. And real.”
More like real nasty, I thought as I saw the entire week in a new way. Each interview had been to goad me into breaking my silence. “But everyone knew I was involved,” I said, and Quen nodded, his eyes on Ray as we neared the last step. The little girl was on Al’s hip as he made colored bubbles. Lucy danced about, bursting them as she shouted out their colors. I would’ve thought it was very one-sided except that Ray was telling Al what color to make by pointing at the horses on the blanket tight in her grip.
“True, but Trent was halfway to convincing the city powers it had been Newt who made the new ever-after,” Quen said, clearly proud of Ray. The little girl was his daughter, and he and Trent were raising the two girls—who didn’t share a single drop of blood—as sisters.
My steps down the last few stairs slowed. “And now everyone knows it was me.”
“Exactly,” Quen said, and I finally got it. I had made the new ever-after. I was the one with the immense cosmic powers, and I lived on a boat in the Hollows, vulnerable to anyone who wanted to challenge that. It wouldn’t be a problem if those immense cosmic powers were actually mine, but they weren’t. I’d stolen them from the Goddess, and they were long gone.
“I should have kept my big mouth shut,” I said, and Quen chuckled.
“Perhaps. But hiding the truth behind a lie has its own liabilities. Trent was already beginning to rue his decision, and you’ll survive. You are the demons’ most powerful denizen.”