American Demon

by Kim Harrison

  But even as I leaned in, breath held and anticipation simmering, he froze.

  “What?” I said, the scent of cinnamon and ozone plucking something deep in me.

  “Um, the car is here,” he said.

  I froze as I suddenly realized that yes, a black car had pulled up, idling patiently as it spewed hot exhaust to warm my ankles. Of course it is. My grip on him tightened, and after a shared flash of annoyance, Trent let go, his fingers reluctantly leaving me with a wash of tingles.

  Frustrated, I slumped against the wall as Trent opened the door and, after a brief word with the driver, shifted so I could get in first. “Jenks!” I called as I rolled down the window, and he zipped in with the scent of dead geraniums, immediately going up front to talk to the driver.

  Over the past months, Trent’s natural reserve in public had gratifyingly thawed, but full-mouth kissing on Central Parkway was probably too big a stretch. No matter. I’d found the more reserved he was in public, the more tactile and aggressive he was when alone, and I smiled, willing to wait. Besides, it was just Trent and me in the back now, and I settled against him, content as he held my hand and drew communication glyphs one by one in my palm as we drove away.

  Sure, I’d blown his gentleman’s agreement with Landon all to hell, but an uneasy truth was better than a beautiful lie, especially when that lie had Trent looking like a callous, power-hungry dictator in the making. I didn’t like that half of Cincinnati thought he was, thanks to Landon.

  But then again, he’d been one when I’d first met him.

  CHAPTER

  9

  I smiled, not fully awake when Trent carefully rolled from where he’d been spooned up behind me. Cold replaced warmth, and then a soft tug of the blanket being snuggled in behind me. It was a familiar pattern, and I dozed at the almost unheard sounds of him getting ready for the day: the click of the bathroom door closing, the tap of his razor, the hum of his toothbrush.

  It was the rasp of dog nails that woke me when Buddy nosed the bedroom door open and went to sit before the bathroom, tail swishing. We both heard the snap of the light going off, and I smiled when Trent came out and gave the dog a soft greeting. “What time is it?” I whispered, and the dark shadow headed for the main room hesitated and came back.

  “I didn’t want to wake you.” Trent knelt to put his eyes level with me. His hand found mine, and he brushed the hair from my eyes before giving me a kiss. “It’s early. Go back to sleep.”

  “It’s our weekend,” I said, and Buddy whined. He smelled of outside, evidence of Jon taking care of him, but it was Trent the raggedy fifteen-pound dog looked to.

  “It’s six in the morning,” Trent countered, and I groaned, not wanting to start my day at such an ungodly time. Trent had delayed his usual midnight nappies to go to bed with me around one in the morning. It was a little early for me, a little late for Trent. He’d been stretching his schedule, and I’d been tweaking mine, until now there were just a few hours where they didn’t mesh. But that was okay, seeing as we both needed time alone to feel balanced. Mine was around noon, and his was at six in the morning.

  “I’m going to go over the public reaction to you calling Landon a liar,” he said, and my eyes closed. “I’ll be done by the time you get up.” I smiled, eyes closed when he kissed me again. “And then my day is yours.”

  My hand tightened on his. “I’m sorry about that,” I said, and his motion to rise halted.

  “No, it was a good thing. I couldn’t take it any longer. Go to sleep.”

  “Leave the door open a crack?” I asked so I could hear him, and he nodded and stood. Buddy followed him out, and I thought that the jingling of a collar was the most comforting sound in the world. I’d never had a dog, and Trent hadn’t wanted one, but the mutt had taken to him, and the pound was not an option when his owners had fled, abandoning him. I had a suspicion that the only reason Trent had originally taken him in was to irritate Ellasbeth.

  I drowsed amid the rising scent of coffee and the domestic sounds of Trent settling in with his laptop and papers in the sunken central living room that the four bedrooms and small efficiency kitchen surrounded. Two entire days spread before us, and I had no idea what to fill them with now that I wasn’t going to help Edden. I’d been banned from Trent’s favorite golf course, but it might be fun to try to sneak me on for a leisurely eighteen. Or we could go for a ride on his horses. Riding in the fall was glorious, and if it got too hot, we could take the trails through the woods.

  The woods he tried to run me down in.

  A flash of old fear and anger struck me, and I tapped a line, snapping awake with a jerk.

  Gasping, I sat up, heart pounding. Eyes wide, I took in Trent’s silent bedroom, the clean lines and sparse furniture done in soothing shades, the pillows piled on the floor, and the long curtains blocking the light from the attached patio. The door to the walk-in closet was cracked, and a childhood fear made me shudder as I clenched my hands, feeling them ache from the gathered power that surged through me.

  “What the hell?” I whispered, looking to the door when Buddy padded in, collar jingling. I’d tapped a line. While sleeping?

  I’d done the same thing yesterday in the car outside my church, and shaken, I let go of the line. Raw energy spilled out to leave me feeling like a spent tube of toothpaste. “What the devil was that, Buddy?” I whispered as I draped a hand over the edge of the bed, and he sat, panting, with my hand on his head.

  The sound of Trent slurping his coffee struck through me, as familiar now as his voice. But even that failed to dispel the feeling of disjointed unease. I was awake, and feeling like a ten-year-old afraid of thunder, I got up.

  I was still stuffing my arms into my robe when I pushed open the door to the common room. Trent was on the couch exactly where I thought he’d be with his feet on the coffee table and his laptop open. “You’re awake,” he said as he looked up.

  Nodding, I shuffled into the sunken living room. Good God, even the expansive lower level past the stairs was dark, no sun coming in the floor-to-ceiling window that took up most of one wall. I was dead tired, but going back to that cold bed where I might fall asleep was not an option.

  “Bad dream,” I said as I dropped down to sit with him on the couch.

  He shifted his papers to hide them. It was a casual move, but it rang through me like a shot. “Same one?” he asked, his voice rumbling through me as I slouched into him.

  “Different.” I breathed him in, feeling loved when he pulled the afghan up and over me.

  “Then it’s probably okay,” he said. “You’ve got a lot on your mind.”

  Snuggled in, I slowly lifted the top paper to see Quen’s latest bad-news PR report. Trent’s chest moved as he sighed. “It used to be so easy,” he whispered as we looked at the dismal stats. “I would make a call, say a word, and everything would be settled. Now it’s a fight. Every time.”

  “It’s getting better,” I said, but according to that graph Quen had so helpfully put together, it wasn’t. The papers rustled as I gathered them up and set them on the table, but they were still there. Eyes closing, I leaned deeper into Trent, listening to his heartbeat as he ran a hand across my hair, soothing me. “Have you ever tapped a line when you were sleeping?”

  Trent’s motion stopped. “No,” he said, and I sat up at the concern in his voice. “Did you? Because of your bad dream, maybe?”

  I nodded. “I didn’t use it or anything,” I said, and he drew me back into his warmth. He was worried, which made me nervous. What if Trent had been beside me at the time? I might have given him an accidental shock. Or worse.

  “I’m sure it’s okay,” he said, but I wasn’t. “Mind if I turn on the news?”

  “Go ahead.” Suddenly I was reminded of the morning at my mom’s on the West Coast, watching the undead souls pulled from the ever-after to reality as the sunset travel
ed from east to west. That same sort of impending something soured my gut even as I slumped deeper against him. His arm tightened around me as he stretched for the remote, and I squinted when the TV brightened to the news and he lowered the volume to a background nothingness. It was all traffic and bake sales, and slowly my worry eased.

  “Nina is cooking Thanksgiving this year,” I said when they went to a commercial and a loud family strolled into Grandma’s house and complained about the Internet. “You want to come over with Jenks and me? The girls are invited, too.”

  Trent shifted uncomfortably. “Ellasbeth wants Thanksgiving at the top of the Carew Tower,” he said, clearly not excited about it.

  I sat up, remembering Landon’s claim about barren women and Ellasbeth wanting to be a larger part of the girls’ lives. “I think Ellasbeth at Thanksgiving is a great idea,” I said, and he made a surprised guttural sound. “Bring her along. One more won’t matter.”

  “Ellasbeth,” he said flatly, and I leaned into him again, not wanting him to see my guilt.

  “She’s trying,” I said, not knowing why except that she loved the girls, and all children should have the chance to be with the ones who loved them.

  His hand curved round to brush my hair, and I relaxed. “I never thought you’d be the one to try to convince me,” he said sourly. “Why doesn’t she hate you anymore?”

  “Because I understand her,” I said. “I know you’re angry with her for not accepting that she comes after the needs of keeping your people off the endangered species list.”

  “I’m not angry with her,” he lied.

  “Then is it because she hurt you by breaking off the wedding when I hauled your ass to jail?” I questioned, and he winced.

  “No . . . ,” he drawled, but it wasn’t convincing. “I didn’t want to marry her.”

  “You did say you loved her,” I said, eyes on his arm around me. Oh, God. Why was I doing this? Was I so freaked out about commitment that I was self-sabotaging our relationship, or was I making sure there was nothing there to rekindle? After all, he had a baby with this woman. Marrying her would solve all his issues and give him his voice back in the enclave. He’d be the elven Sa’han again. Not to mention the girls would have a more stable situation.

  “I did say that.” Trent’s voice was even. “But I’ve since realized that everything I loved about her was tied to things she could give me, not how she made me feel. That’s not really love.”

  He tugged me closer, and I felt a wash of relief. “Okay. But if you aren’t angry with her, why are you using the girls to hurt her?”

  “Quen asked me the same thing,” he whispered, his fingers tightening in mine until I could feel the energy in our chis try to equalize in darting tendrils of sensation. His brow was wrinkled in worry—worry that he was letting emotion and pride stop him from finding something positive.

  “All she wants is to be a part of the girls’ lives. Not yours,” I said, but I wasn’t sure about that last part. “I think you should invite her to have dinner with us at Piscary’s.” I sat up at his soft complaint. “How many would that be?” I said, thinking this might give us a way to find peace with our troubled joined past. “Me, Ivy, Jenks, Nina, Quen, Jon, the girls, you, Ellasbeth. Ten people. That’s a turkey, right? We could even have a kid table. Make Jon sit there.”

  I beamed at his wince, but I had days to wear him down. “We used to have big get-togethers. Extended family,” I said as I eased back into his warmth. “All of us in a really small house. Not so much after my dad died. I always felt like a bastard child. As if I didn’t really belong.”

  “Because you were in the hospital all the time?” he guessed, and I shivered, liking how his hand moved across my skin—hinting at more.

  I tilted my head to find his eyes. “No, because my mom slept with someone other than my dad to have a kid. Twice.”

  His fingers tracing circles stopped. “I forget that about you.”

  I tugged the blanket back up to cover us, content. “I’ll talk to Ivy, but she already said yes to you and the girls. What’s a few more?”

  Trent made a noncommittal mmmm sound, but I was sure it would happen now, come hell or high water.

  My sneeze came from nowhere, and I jerked hard enough to make Buddy lift his head.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Trent said as I sneezed again, then a third time, a huge spasm of demand. “It’s six fifteen,” he said as I got up and went to get my bag, left out on Ceri’s old rocker. “I thought demons slept till noon.”

  “We do.” I came back with it, bare feet silent. Give me a freakin’ second, I thought as I sneezed again, arms flashing to hold my middle as it ripped through me, hurting my throat.

  Head down, I dug out my mirror and plunked down beside him with the red-tinted glass. Buddy leaned against my leg, eyes mournful as he looked up at me. “Six frickin’ fifteen in the morning,” I muttered as I placed my hand on the cool glass and tapped the line. A shudder rippled over me at the coming connection, and I steadied myself. There was only a fading discomfort from my patchy aura. Sleeping beside Trent had truly done my aura wonders. “Sorry about this,” I said, then lost my connection when I sneezed.

  “Things happen. Besides, I’m your sword, mirror, and shield today.” He hesitated. “Maybe I should call Al,” he added, and I smoothed my hair flat. He’d tapped a line, and the residual energy was slipping from him to me where we touched. It was kind of distracting, and I shifted a few inches down the couch.

  “It’s probably him,” I said as I put my fingers atop all the glyphs again and dropped myself into the collective. “Rachel here,” I said aloud so I wouldn’t look even more crazy, my words mirrored in the demons’ between-reality “chat room.”

  My breath quickened as my awareness expanded. A masculine flavor spilled into me, domineering and supercilious. Are you okay? The thought rose in me as if it was my own, but that’s how the collective worked. I would have waited until noon, but you tapped a line.

  Dali? I stifled a flash of fear before he felt it. I had tapped a line. It hadn’t just been in my dream. Damn it, I could have killed Trent. What the hell was going on?

  Rachel, are you well? Dali’s thought came again, and I hid my worry before he saw it. This is a courtesy call to ascertain your well-being.

  “At six in the morning?” I said aloud so Trent could be in on half the conversation. “You need to get off Al’s case,” I said as I felt a surprising amount of relief well up. It was from Dali, not me, and I frowned. “Al does a good job keeping me alive. You checking up on him is as irritating as all hell.”

  It’s because of Al that I’m calling, but if you’re well, I’ll untwist the restraining curse and assess our options.

  Whoa. Wait up, I thought, pressing my hand harder into the cool glass. Restraining curse? Dali, what is going on? It was just a simple aura depletion. I’m fine! Is Al okay?

  Dali was silent, his thoughts shielded from me with a thousand years of practice.

  Dali, if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll never make you another tulpa as long as you live, I threatened, and a wisp of Dali’s concern slammed into me, stealing my breath away.

  He tapped a line while sleeping. I never would have known but he opened the weapons vault, Dali thought, and I looked at Trent. Seeing my fear, he scooted to the edge of the couch.

  “Al tapped a line in his sleep?” I said aloud to bring Trent back into the conversation. “Was it a nightmare?” The memory of how I woke sang through me, sour and full of discord.

  He didn’t say, Dali thought. If you agree, I’ll remove the curse that has him immobile.

  “Yes, remove it,” I said, almost panicked. “Why ask me?”

  Dali hesitated, then reluctantly thought, Because you, Rachel, were his target.

  CHAPTER

  10

  Phone to my ear, I sta
red out the front window of Trent’s car as we crossed the bridge into the Hollows. Jenks wanted to pick up a few things from the boat, making it our first stop before starting part two of our weekend. Mood bad, I listened to Al’s phone ring as the sun flashed between the girders. I imagined him taking it out of his pocket, sniffing, and dropping it back in unanswered—and it was starting to tick me off.

  “Damn sensitive demon,” I muttered as I gave up, and Jenks, who was sitting on his favorite spot on the rearview mirror, exchanged a worried look with Trent.

  “I’m sure he’s fine, Rache,” the pixy said, and I shoved my phone away.

  “Well, I’d be a lot finer if he’d answer his phone,” I complained.

  “Did you try him on his mirror?” Trent asked, his musical voice soothing.

  I stared out the window, my fist against my mouth. “Yes. He’s got a do-not-disturb up.” I exhaled, frustrated. “I don’t even know where he lives. Did you know that? He won’t tell me.” I hated that my voice carried my hurt, but there it was.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Trent’s hand touched my knee. A tantalizing dart of energy went through me, and I tried to smile. We had the entire two days before us, and I wasn’t going to let Al ruin it.

  “So what do you want to do this afternoon?” I asked as we angled toward the Hollows waterfront. The streets were almost deserted this early, making it nice. Jenks cleared his throat, and I added, “After we pick up the last of Jenks’s stores and drop him off at the church, I mean.” I lifted my gaze to Jenks, wondering why he was wearing the fancy embroidered suit that Belle had made him. The scrumptious outfit was too posh for the weekend. Maybe it was to impress the fairy clan he’d be sharing the winter with. “What do you need at the church anyway?”

  “Milkweed.” Jenks picked nervously at the suit as I noticed it. “I went through Jumoke and Izzy’s stores last night, and they don’t have any milkweed stalk. There’s some out at the Macis plot, and this will probably be my last chance to gather some. I’d get one from Trent’s gardens, but he doesn’t have any milkweed. God help you, man,” he said to Trent. “Do you know how useful milkweed is?”