by Kim Harrison
Trent reached for his coffee, his brow furrowed. “How so?”
I shrugged as Jenks gave me a salute and hummed off. “Dali is slinging coffee, and Al consults for the FIB.” My breath caught. I couldn’t bear thinking of him locked up somewhere waiting for the baku. “I think the rest are waiting to see if anyone tries to lynch them again.”
“We didn’t make much of a first impression, did we,” Trent said, and I stifled a shudder. I’d been dragged up on the stage at Fountain Square, lined up with Al and Newt to be executed by a mob. Helpless before thousands of people screaming for my death because of whom I called kin had been the most terrifying thing I’d ever endured. If not for the mystics, they would have succeeded.
“You don’t think Dali offering to teach is a publicity ploy, do you?” Trent asked.
“I think it’s real,” I said, eyes on Jenks as he came back. The heavy gold dust he was laying down told me he was plenty warm. “I’m guessing he’s been watching Al and thinks he can do a better job.” I held out my hand, and Jenks landed on it, his sparkles making tingles. “Glenn here?”
“Yep.” Jenks nodded to the door. “And he brought a friend,” he finished sarcastically.
“Friend, eh?” Jenks took to the air when I stood, and my gut tightened at the sight of Glenn trailing along behind a barrel-chested, dark-skinned man, his thick arms swinging and biceps bulging from under his black polo. A silver medallion in the shape of an eagle hung around his neck, and I grimaced when I felt every ounce of ley line energy sort of . . . drain away.
“I forgot about that,” Trent said, frowning as he shifted out from behind the table to stand beside me.
“You know that guy?” Jenks said, and I nodded, my expression stiff.
The captain halted steps inside the door, head swiveling to look at everything and everyone. My excitement at seeing Glenn utterly vanished. It was as I had thought, but worse. He’d obviously left the FIB to work with them, but just as obvious, they’d put him in a subservient position. Glenn was too smart to be anyone’s lackey.
“You know him, too,” Jenks said to Trent, his dust shifting to an ugly brown. “And you really don’t like him. What did he do?”
“He tried to dose Rachel and me into forgetting we had apprehended the head of HAPA,” Trent said, voice tight.
Wings clattering, Jenks put his hand on the hilt of his garden sword. “Why would bringing in the leader of a humans-only hate group be something you shouldn’t remember?”
“That was my question, too.” My stomach hurt. I think that had been the night I’d begun to care about Trent, not simply understand him. To forget that would have changed my life for the worse.
Finally the captain slapped Glenn companionably on his shoulder and pushed him our way before giving me a cautious nod and sauntering to the order window. My smile was stiff as Glenn neared. There was guilt in his eyes. Guilt, and maybe . . . embarrassment?
“Rachel,” the wide-shouldered man said, his blush hard to see behind his dark skin. He was shaving his head again, and his cheeks were smooth apart from a tiny goatee as if to say he was capable of far more if given the chance. “Jenks. Mr. Kalamack.”
“It’s just Trent.” Trent offered his hand, and the two men shook.
“Hi, Glenn,” I said guardedly, and then gave in and pulled the man into a hug. He smelled like coffee and electronics, and my eyes closed as I breathed him in. Last time I’d given him a hug, he’d smelled like Ivy. I pushed back, my smile real again. “Tell your dad. Now,” I said, and he stepped back out of my grip.
“I can’t,” he said, panic rising behind his eyes.
“If he finds out you’re in Cincinnati and haven’t told him, he’s going to be crushed,” I said, and Glenn’s expression eased.
“Oh, that,” he said, making me wonder what he thought I’d meant. That he quit the FIB to work for the men-who-don’t-belong, maybe? That he was in Cincinnati stealing zombies from the zoo? Or perhaps that he was here chasing the same serial killer that we were?
“He knows I’m in town,” Glenn said with a nervous nod. “I’m staying for Thanksgiving.”
“Good.” I shifted to make room for Mr. Captain-Bench-Press coming over with two coffees. Behind him, Mark had a hand to his head as if fighting off a headache. I knew my head wasn’t feeling all that great, either.
“You’re looking good,” Trent said as the captain handed Glenn a coffee before spinning a chair around and taking the head of the table as his own. Seeing us standing, he gestured for us to sit. My jaw clenched. The last time I’d sat with him, he’d held me to a bench seat and injected me with a memory blocker. But my back was to the wall this time, and finally I sank down, Trent a heartbeat behind.
“You too. I mean it,” Glenn said as he sat as well. “You look really good together.”
Concern creased his brow, and even my fake smile faded. Why would Trent and me looking good together worry Glenn?
“So what are you and tight pants here doing with my zombie?” Jenks said, and the captain grunted in surprise.
“You saw that, huh?” Glenn said. “The gas station camera, right? I knew we should have taken that one out.”
“That was never your zombie,” the captain said, and Jenks bristled.
“It was in my graveyard,” the pixy said, hands on his hips.
“Your dad made me sign a paper taking ownership.” I sipped my coffee, trying to look nonchalant. “Then another giving it to the zoo. You took Mr. Z. You and those . . . guys. What are you called anyway?”
Glenn looked at the captain as if for permission, and my ire rose. “Most times they’re called the Order,” Glenn said, his words so formal I could almost see the capital letter.
“They?” Jenks landed on the table, head tilted. “I thought you worked for them.”
Again Glenn glanced at the captain. “I do,” he said. “But I’m . . . It’s complicated.”
The captain smiled, showing off his beautiful white teeth. I swear, humans were more dangerous than vampires sometimes. “Glenn has been helpful to us in the past. But he hasn’t been with the Order long enough to identify with it yet. Soon.” He grinned, making me distrust him more. “I’m sure.”
Nodding, Trent held out his hand and I wondered if that gleam in his eye was him wanting to sell them some of his toys. “It’s good to see you again, Captain . . .”
“Weast.” The man took Trent’s hand briefly. His gaze lingered on Trent’s pointy ears as if they were wrong, and it irritated me. “You shouldn’t remember seeing me the first time.”
“We know how to keep our mouths shut.” I didn’t offer my hand. No way. Not when that amulet around his neck was cutting off my access to the ley lines and giving me a headache. “Personally, I’ve found the odd well-kept secret or two have extended my life several times over.”
“No doubt,” Weast said, his gaze now on Jenks.
“But I also know how to ask for help.” I leaned back against the wall, coffee in hand and trying to look as if I was in control. “Isn’t that right, Trent?”
“Well, she’s getting better at it,” Jenks said, ruining it.
Grimacing, I pushed forward. “So you’ll understand my curiosity. Did you lose the baku when the lines went down?”
Weast’s small sound told me I was right. As if Glenn’s shocked expression wasn’t enough.
“I told you she could help—,” Glenn said, his words cutting off at Weast’s suddenly pressed lips.
“You will keep your nose out of this, Ms. Morgan,” the man said evenly, but my pulse was racing. We’re right. They lost it. But if they lost it, they probably knew how to catch it again despite Hodin’s belief that it wasn’t possible. Someone had been holding it for the last two thousand years.
“The pixy piss, we will!” Jenks said for all of us. “Whatever this baku is, it’s in our city. Th
at makes it our business.”
“Your city?” Weast smiled at Jenks as if he were a toy.
“The last time I turned a blind eye to a citywide threat, they let Piscary out of prison, so yes, my city,” I said, and Jenks shifted to my shoulder in a righteous huff.
“Glenn, what are you doing with this pixy-dusted excuse of a troll turd?” Jenks said, and Glenn’s eye twitched. “Your dad taught you better than this.”
“Mmmm.” Weast crossed his arms over his chest to make his biceps bulge. “Do we have an issue?”
“There’s no issue,” I said, and Trent smiled and sipped his coffee, more than willing to let me do the talking. “We can work together to bring in the baku. What can you share with us?” By the lack of information coming from Ivy, it was a good bet that the I.S. knew what was going on and was sitting this one out. They knew all the victims had similar auras, but had suppressed the knowledge. Weast had probably chased the I.S. off the task, which made me want to text Ivy right this second to be careful. If anything pissed off the I.S., it was digging into things they wanted buried. Sort of a dead-vamp thing.
Glenn spun his coffee on the table between his thumb and finger. “We haven’t been able to pinpoint who’s hosting the baku. A charm or spell to track it would help.”
Dude. We’re in. A thrill of belonging raced through me as I grinned at Trent and Jenks. That is, until Weast stood in a smooth, unhurried motion.
“Glenn, a word?”
Glenn’s grip on his coffee tightened, and Jenks’s wings rasped in warning. “You’re discounting her ability and desire to help . . . sir. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”
“A. Word?” Weast practically bit the sentence in two.
For three heartbeats, Glenn didn’t move, and then he stood, chair scraping. “Yes, sir.”
I exhaled as they moved away, then lifted my chin to tell Jenks to follow them. The pixy rose straight up, not a hint of dust as he hummed just under the ceiling before easing down behind Weast. Glenn knew he was there, but Glenn also knew not to look at him and give him away.
“You think they’re going to let us in on this?” I asked, and Trent, currently topping off his coffee with the cup we’d bought for Glenn, sighed.
“Not a Turn’s chance,” Trent mildly swore.
“Yeah, that’s what I figure, too.” I sipped my coffee, the sweet drink no longer palatable. “Which is really stupid. I can’t go to sleep until this thing is caught. The demons aren’t doing a damn thing to help Al. Trent, I have to catch it. Whatever it costs.”
Trent turned from Glenn and Weast arguing, about us probably. “If it’s targeting Al, why can’t you safely sleep?” he asked, and I shrugged, not liking the feeling of vulnerability coursing through me. But when had I ever not been vulnerable?
“My aura looks like his,” I said, very glad I had those no-doze amulets in my bag. That flash of nightmare in front of the church couldn’t be a coincidence. It had happened again this morning when I’d been woken by tapping a line in my sleep. The baku had already found me. If I had been its real target, it might have been over right then.
“What a cowardly way to fight a war,” I whispered. “Making your enemies kill the very people they love.” And then I stiffened as Glenn and Weast started back to us, their discussion apparently not falling to our favor. Glenn looked positively pissed, scowling and his hands clenched into fists.
“Your offer of help is appreciated but not necessary,” Weast said, cutting off my protest as he touched that amulet of his in warning. “Glenn spoke out of turn. You will forget our conversation or we will be more aggressive in finding a way for you to forget.” His narrowed gaze found Jenks, the pixy again hovering beside me as if he’d never moved. “Permanently.”
“Please don’t threaten us,” I said, and Weast all but rolled his eyes when Jenks flew backward and flipped him off with both hands.
“Have a good evening, Morgan.” Weast looked at Trent. “Mr. Kalamack.”
Trent stood, but he didn’t offer his hand. “And you,” Trent said as Weast bodily spun Glenn to the door.
“Excuse me.” I stood up. “This baku,” I said loudly, and Mark, behind the counter, perked up. “It’s responsible for the recent murders, yes? What’s your plan for catching it? Do you need bait? I happen to know what type of aura it seems to prefer.”
Weast jerked to a halt. I lifted my eyebrows, not caring that several conversations had ceased. “We have this under control,” Weast said again, and I cocked my hip.
“No, you don’t,” I said. “It’s been what, three murders? Five attacks?” I wasn’t going to bring up Al. The demons were under enough pressure. “How did you catch it the last time? I might be able to help.” Because until it was caught, I wasn’t going to be sleeping.
Weast stiffened. “Don’t interfere.”
“Is it because I’m a girl?” I insisted, not knowing why Trent was softly fidgeting. “A witch?” I said, and Weast spun to leave. “A demon?” I tried again, pushing past Trent and following Weast to the door. “Is it because I don’t belong to your club? Because I’m not human?”
Weast stopped, and I skidded to a halt. My heart pounded as he turned, but I didn’t back down, even if Glenn had real fear in his eyes.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” I said. “You won’t let me help because I’m not human.”
Thumbs in his pockets, Weast rocked back and forth on his heels. “Pretty much.”
“Rachel, be careful,” Trent whispered at my elbow, but I was tired of it.
“Wow.” I lifted my chin. “And I thought all the Neanderthals had died out.”
Weast’s lip twitched. And then, without a word, he walked off. Glenn hesitated, clearly torn. “It’s not because you’re not human,” he blurted as Weast hit the door and left. “Rachel, please. Stay out of this. Don’t convince Weast that you’re a threat.”
“How is helping them catch a serial killer a threat?” I asked, mystified.
Glenn’s eyes were pinched, and he looked awful. “You need to stop,” he said, hunched as he walked backward to the door. “They don’t like that you have such a close tie to the Goddess.”
“Neither do I,” I said sourly, jumping when Trent’s arm went about my waist.
Glenn backed out through the door. “Lie low for a while? Forget you saw me. Us.”
“Glenn!” came Weast’s voice from the lot, and the frustrated man grimaced.
“I’m trying to make this better,” Glenn said. “Trust me.” And then he turned and jogged to Weast waiting impatiently beside a black Hummer.
“I do trust you,” I whispered. I was angry, but not at him. “Bye, Glenn.” But he was already gone, and I slumped when Trent gave me a little tug into him.
“Excuse me,” Jenks said dryly. “I want to see if Captain Tight Ass bugged your car.”
“Thanks, Jenks,” Trent said, and the pixy darted out before the door even closed.
“That was fun,” I said, not liking that my knees were wobbly. Exhaling, I tapped a line and let it fill me, washing away all the unease.
Trent pulled out a chair, and I flopped into it. Silent, he sat next to me in the middle of the store. In the lot, Jenks’s dust glowed under Trent’s car in a fitful come-and-go light. “Maybe you should sit this one out?” Trent suggested, and I looked askance at him, surprised.
“You too?” I said. “Why?”
He shrugged, an uneasy expression creasing his forehead. “Glenn is right. If Weast decides you’re a threat, he might try to put you in the cell next to the zombies.”
CHAPTER
14
My breath was slow and my fingers were tingling with latent line energy as they rested on one of the books Trent had brought down from the safe room off the girls’ nursery last night. I’d been whittling through them for hours, moving them from one end of the cof
fee table to the other as the sun rose, filled the great room, and now, as it neared noon, began to slip away. That the book on my lap was a demon text went without saying, but if you had to read a demon curse catalog, sitting in the sun was a good place to start.
Tired, I slumped deeper into the indulgent leather couch facing the never-lit fireplace in Trent’s great room. The space itself was huge, being three stories tall, one side all window that looked out onto his pool and patio. It was unusually warm, and I was having trouble staying awake even with the no-doze amulet. I could smell coffee brewing, the heavenly, nutty scent drifting down from the living quarters on the third floor like heaven itself.
Neither Trent nor I had slept, and after a night of looking at ugly curses, I’d had enough. The only charm I’d found that might have been remotely helpful had been one to wake someone up, and I flipped to it. Sleep not, but be awake, I read, translating the Latin. It was demon magic, meaning all I had to do was tap into the collective and say the magic words. “Non sic dormit, sed vigilat,” I whispered, jerking when my heart gave a pound and my hands shook. It was like slamming a venti, and I took off the no-doze amulet before I gave myself an aneurysm.
Breath held against the coming puff of burnt amber, I snapped the book shut. It was the last, and as I dropped it on the spent pile, my gaze went to my handwritten notes. Several of the books now had crisp new sticky notes hanging out of them to mark the charms, spells, or curses that might contain or capture a malevolent energy source, but even though Trent’s library was unique, I doubted anything I’d found hadn’t been tried by the demons before—tried and failed.
Leaning forward, I fingered a slim volume that had been especially disturbing. Just who was Trent’s mom?
Oh, I’d found lots of magic whose intent was to capture, but none lent itself to work on sentient energy, like the baku. How did you catch a sunbeam? With another sunbeam? I thought, shuddering at the memory of the Goddess’s divided mystics, some bent on killing the Goddess and forcing me to take her place, the rest shredding my mind to kill me so I couldn’t. The last thing I wanted to do was engage the Goddess for help. If even one of her mystics recognized me, I might be right back fighting for both our lives. Everyone else they ignored as we used the energy they sloughed off to change the laws of nature and do magic, but I was the one who first taught them how to comprehend an existence that was based on mass, not energy, and that memory died hard.