American Demon

by Kim Harrison

“Plenty, thanks,” Zack said as he hunched over his bowl and inhaled his cereal. “I swim laps at the dewar’s pool a lot, but someday, I’m going to learn to surf.” His expression shifted, part anger, part anticipation, and enough fear to worry me. “Now that I’m not going to be a dewar stooge,” he added. “I lived above Black’s Beach. Did you know that? And I’ve never been allowed to dip a toe in,” he finished angrily. “Do you know what it’s like seeing half of San Diego on the beach and not being allowed to even go out because some old fart thinks you might get a sunburn?”

  He’s been in a prison, I thought, seeing by Trent’s closed expression that he’d felt those same bars of circumstance and expectation. Never allowed to risk anything in the pursuit of self, never allowed to be normal: skin your knee, break a bone, eat too much chocolate. I knew how that felt, but it must have been worse when there wasn’t a medical reason for the invisible bars.

  “I don’t swim.” Jenks sat on the edge of my cup, the two sticks of maple cotton candy in his grip dripping. “The water makes my wings heavy. Besides, I’d freeze my nubs off out there.”

  Zack’s gaze flicked to me as he slowed down. “Rachel says you might enclose it.”

  Trent’s expression cleared, and he sipped his coffee. “I might. Still deciding. The waterfall makes it tricky, but if we manage it, we could make the window wall more permeable and up the humidity in the main house. I know everyone would appreciate that.”

  Zack searched the bottom of the bowl to find a wad of soggy flakes. “Why not move the ward on the window? If you set the anchor out far enough, the natural arc from the top floor down should enclose it.”

  “Perhaps.” Trent ran his gaze across the top of the window, wincing. “I was thinking something more permanent.” Zack hesitated, clearly waiting for more, and Trent added, “It only takes someone with the right know-how to bring down a ward.”

  “Yeah.” Jenks snorted. “The first time Rachel touched it, she turned the whole thing gold.”

  “Jenks, maybe you should get those sticks to Jumoke and Izzy before they drip all over Trent’s table,” I said, and the pixy rose up, saluting me with one hand.

  “Back in a sec,” he said, wings humming as he darted off.

  Buddy’s collar jingled as he watched Jenks, then the dog inched closer to Zack, begging with wide brown eyes. I settled back with my coffee, thinking the ward was a dangerous topic. Zack sitting there eating cereal like any other kid was dangerous. Everything was dangerous. Trent had defenses, but everything could collapse with the right word, and he knew it. So why was he being so free with himself? Trent was more cautious than that.

  Unless he is trying to draw Zack into a mistake? Even more dangerous, and I eyed Zack in speculation as he shook more Raisin Bran into his milk to use it up.

  “Rachel . . . ,” Trent drawled, and I jumped, not realizing I’d been glaring. “I’ve been giving it some thought.”

  “What?” I asked, putting my attention on my own cereal.

  “The curse Hodin taught you. The one that separates an aura into its constituent parts?”

  “Ah, yes?” I said, wondering about his timing when Zack slowed his spoon on its way to his mouth.

  “Do you think the baku might have left a residue aura on its victims?” Trent asked, cup held so the steam bathed his face. “And if so, would it show if you parceled their aura out?”

  I hesitated, remembering that weird purple-and-orange aura on me when the baku had attacked. Curses before breakfast. I bet that was not how they did things in the dewar. And I wasn’t so innocent as to not suspect that everything we said might land in Landon’s ear along with a description of the casual openness of it all.

  But then Trent made a barely perceptible head nod to Zack. He wanted Zack to be included, wanted him to see that our goals were lofty even if our methods involved demons. He wanted Zack to see that you could get more done sharing knowledge than hiding it. Sure, why not?

  My tension eased. “Maybe.” I turned to Zack. “What do you think, Zack? You said you could see the baku in Landon’s aura.” Please don’t say it was purple and orange, please.

  “Um.” Zack hesitated, clearly thrown by our conversation that up until recently would have gotten you branded a black witch and thrown into Alcatraz. “It’s not what you see in Landon’s aura that indicates the baku is in him. It’s what you don’t.”

  Which didn’t make much sense, and I leaned in. “But you can see the difference.”

  “Oh, yeah. Big one.” Zack looked at the box of cereal, and Trent pushed it closer to him.

  “Then maybe I can quantify it as Trent suggests,” I mused aloud as Zack filled his bowl a third time, this time adding more milk. “If we can find it on the suspects, we can prove they were possessed and not to blame.”

  “Perhaps.” Trent sipped his coffee. “The I.S. appears to have turned a blind eye, and the FIB doesn’t have the right tools. If not us, then who?”

  “Yea-a-ah,” I said, echoing Trent’s thoughts. The Order had probably threatened the I.S. to back off, and seeing as the I.S. likely didn’t care one way or the other, it was no skin off their nose. That the baku had taken out a living vamp wouldn’t mean much to the old undead. But bringing that up in front of Zack wasn’t a good idea. “It might be worth a try,” I added. “If we can prove they were forced into attacking someone in their sleep, the I.S. would have to let the suspects go.”

  Trent smiled. “I’m sure they’d appreciate that. What can we do to help?”

  We? I glanced at Zack, wondering if Trent wanted me to entertain/babysit/evaluate. “Ah, I’m not sure. I have to modify the curse to show the inner shells. It’s going to take some time.”

  “Why?” Zack asked.

  “Because it’s a new curse, and modifying curses can get you killed if you aren’t careful,” I said shortly. My worry came out as anger, and Zack wiped the milk off his chin.

  “No,” he said, ears red. “I meant, why do you need to look at the inner shells?”

  “Oh.” I hid behind a sip of coffee, embarrassed. “Ah, I think the baku attacked me twice,” I said, more determined than ever to keep this morning’s attack a secret when Trent stiffened. “Once when I nodded off outside my church, and then yesterday morning. If there was anything out of the ordinary in my outer shells, Bis would have said so when Hodin did a spectrograph on it yesterday. Whatever we’re looking for must be in the inner shells. The ones we haven’t seen.” The ones that color our personalities with past experiences and make us truly individuals.

  “Rachel . . .”

  Guilt pinched my forehead as I hid the truth from him. He’d only tell me to sit this out, and that might prove to be fatal. “I’m okay,” I insisted, but Hodin had said the more you were attacked, the easier it would be to attack you again. “I thought they were just nightmares at the time. Nothing happened. I woke up. It went away.” I smiled thinly, hiding behind a sip of coffee. “I should call Ivy,” I said, ignoring Zack’s wide eyes. “See if she can get me some blood samples from the suspects. There’s probably a way I can store the prep in the collective to make it faster.”

  “Mmmm.” Trent eyed me suspiciously, the worry clear in his eyes. “Do you think you could modify the curse to actively seek out the baku’s presence within Landon’s aura?”

  “Probably not,” I said. “But if we had a vial of Landon’s blood, we might be able to see if there’s any damage to his inner shells.”

  Zack poured the last of his sweet milk into his coffee, turning it even lighter. “I could do that,” he said, and immediately Trent shook his head.

  “No,” he said before I could, and Zack frowned. “I mean, I’m sure you could,” Trent amended. “But until we can get elf magic working enough to at least make a decent circle, I’d prefer it if you stay here.”

  Zack leaned back, chair creaking as his arms went over his chest. �
��I can take care of myself,” he said, but being still wet behind his ears and in a borrowed robe kind of ruined it.

  “No question about it,” Trent said, ignoring Zack’s ire. “Anyone who can live on the streets for a week in the Hollows has enough smarts and skills to take care of themselves.”

  It seemed to satisfy Zack, but I had my doubts. The I.S. had probably had a pool going as to when I’d find Zack squatting in my church and how badly I’d break his nose. Honestly, the entire I.S. force was pretty loose on what laws it enforced when there was no one complaining.

  “But the real reason is that I don’t want you anywhere near Landon until I know you’re not working with him to bring me down,” Trent said, and Zack’s expression fell.

  “Oh.” Zack eased his chair back onto four legs. “That would be easier to prove if you let me do something.”

  “True.” Trent glanced at me, and I shook my head. I wasn’t going to have him with me when I was spelling. Mistakes happened, especially when you thought you had everything under control. “I could use some help in trying to get the Goddess to look on us more favorably,” Trent said, and Zack made a sour face. “Being from the dewar, you might have a few ideas I’ve not thought of.”

  “Trent,” I whispered, and smiling, he gave my hand a squeeze and let go. Zack had no idea how ruthless Trent could be when pushed. If Zack betrayed him, the kid might end up dead, and that would haunt Trent forever. This wasn’t any safer than spelling with me.

  “I’ll get a fire going in my spelling hut,” Trent said as he folded his napkin and set it aside. “That way, Rachel won’t be in any danger if the Goddess puts in an appearance.”

  Zack laughed, then went ashen when he realized Trent was serious.

  “Give me ten minutes to get a fire started.” Trent stood, his motion slowing when he glanced at the small stack of journals waiting on a side table.

  “Go ahead,” I said as I saw his dilemma. “I’ll ask Ivy to meet me at the church.”

  Trent jerked to a quick halt. “I thought you’d be working here. Do you want the spelling hut? Zack and I can find somewhere else. I’ve got six kitchens on the grounds, and that’s not including the stables.”

  I shook my head, wincing at the thought. Spelling and horses did not mix.

  “What’s wrong with my spelling hut?” Trent rocked back, arms over his front. “It’s a nice area to work in.”

  “In the summer,” I said, loving Trent but not his appreciation for the old ways. “If you don’t mind not having any air-conditioning or running water. Or a bathroom,” I finished, and Zack choked on his last swallow of coffee.

  “You don’t have running water in your spelling lab?” he said when he could talk again.

  Trent’s ears colored. “If it was good enough for my mother, it is good enough for me,” he said. “It’s highly secure. Zack, you wouldn’t even be able to find it if I didn’t show it to you.”

  Zack’s eyes lit up and he stood. “Cool.”

  But I had already made my choice, and I set my bowl of sweet milk on the floor for Buddy. “Thanks for the offer, but no. I probably have everything I need in my old room, salvaged from the kitchen. And the garden is right there if I don’t. Hodin left a slate table in the sanctuary, and there won’t be any Weres since we didn’t pay them last week.” I hesitated, seeing Trent’s misgivings. “Running water in the bathroom,” I added, thinking, Peace and quiet.

  “It’s too cold for Jenks,” Trent warned. “You need someone to watch your back.”

  “The heat is on. Jenks will be fine.” I poured myself a last cup of coffee to take with me. I could leave the mug at the gatehouse, five miles down the road. “I’ll call Ivy before she leaves work and see if she can get me some blood samples from the suspects, and maybe a few ringers to sanction the results. Do a blind study.”

  Trent glanced at Zack, the kid clearly eager to check out Trent’s spelling space. “Then that leaves you with me,” he said, a smile quirking his lips. “You may want to get dressed.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Zack looked at his scrumptious robe, and jiggled on his feet. “Be right back.”

  Zack jogged to the stairs, and Trent tensed as he thundered up them, taking them two at a time, Buddy in hot pursuit. “No running on the stairs,” Trent whispered, and I knew he was echoing something from his childhood.

  Guilt hit me, and I rose, fumbling to stack the dishes. “Thanks for breakfast. Don’t worry about the waffles. This was good.”

  “Rachel . . .”

  His tone was introspective, and his eyes were pinched in worry as he looked at the third floor. I touched his hand, and his gaze returned to me. “Do you think I’m making a mistake?” he said, clearly knowing the threat Zack represented, not just to his life, but perhaps to his heart.

  I shook my head, pulling him close and rocking slowly as I breathed him in, relishing the scent of cinnamon and good coffee. “No,” I whispered, but I thought that maybe I was.

  CHAPTER

  20

  The street was quiet and sunny, homey, with leaves piled at the curb, and I frowned at the truck parked outside of Keasley’s old house. A new sapling had been planted in the front yard, and it somehow made me feel left out. I missed the old man who had stitched up my vamp bites and gave out wise-old-man crap when I needed to hear it, but he’d vanished shortly after I figured out who he really was, which was probably safer—for him. “Have you been to visit Jhi?” I asked Jenks, now huddled on my shoulder for the quick trip from Trent’s borrowed car to the church.

  “No.” Jenks’s wings pressed cold against me. “She wasn’t sure there’d be anyone in the house by winter, much less if that person would like pixies. She’s hibernating this year.”

  His worry was obvious, and I forced a smile. “She’ll be fine. She’s young and in good health.” Fatigue pulled at me as I took the stairs to the front door, weaving through the offerings left by thankful freed familiars. And then I stopped, shocked to see the doors wide-open before I remembered that I’d magicked them that way when catching Zack.

  “Great, they’ve been open all night,” I whispered, grimacing at the coming heating bill. “Sorry about that, Jenks. You want to check for squatters while I get these shut?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, and then he was gone, inside to do a quick perimeter.

  Let go! Let go! I thought as I grabbed one of the doors and tugged, finally unsticking it with a swift yank. Mood bad, I slammed the doors shut behind me, boots crunching on the leaves that had blown in. Frowning, I tapped the thermostat, satisfied when I heard it click on.

  “No squatters downstairs, Rache,” Jenks said as he came back and slammed both feet against the light switch to turn it on. “I’m going to check the belfry.”

  “Thanks,” I said, but he was already in the foyer’s stairway. My bag slipped from my shoulder, jerking the to-go cup of coffee I’d gotten at Junior’s and making it spill. I sighed at the brown puddle among the wet leaves, tempted to leave it, but I could hear Ivy in the back of my thoughts clearing her throat.

  I was tired, and it didn’t help that I’d had to borrow one of Trent’s cars to get here. No-doze amulet swinging, I strode to the stage. My purse and the bag with my new spelling robe went on the couch, and the dripping paper cup on the slate table. There was a sawdust-covered box of tissue on one of the end tables, and after I pulled a few, I went back to blot up the mess.

  There wasn’t enough caffeine to get through today.

  Soggy mess in hand, I headed for the fifty-five-gallon trash barrel only to slide to a halt when Jenks darted right in front of me, wings clattering.

  “Watch the hole,” he said, and I blinked, two feet from walking right into the crawl space.

  “Maybe I should cover that back up,” I said, and Jenks nodded.

  “Belfry is clear,” he said, his dust a dissatisfied gr
een as he rose through the hole in the ceiling to inspect the narrow space between the roof and the false ceiling. “They haven’t done a slug-slimed thing! There’s still only eight inches of insulation up there.”

  “That happens when you don’t pay them.” Depressed, I tossed the soggy tissue into the trash barrel and returned to the stage. It was the story of my life. I was among the most powerful people in Cincinnati, and I was basically broke, had no real job prospects, and was living on my dead, former boyfriend’s boat. “Maybe I’m doing this wrong,” I whispered as I brushed the sawdust off Ivy’s couch and sat down.

  Jenks’s sparkles dimmed as he dropped to the rafters. “There’s no right way to live, Rache. It’s just a bad patch. You need anything from the belfry?”

  “Um, magnetic chalk?” I said, remembering I didn’t have any, and he darted off, content.

  But I was anything but. The silence was oppressive as I unpacked what I’d brought from the boat. The feeling of being displaced was hard on me, and my fingers felt clumsy as I set my snips and hunk of beeswax from Trent’s hives on the table. I should have been able to jump here, not have to borrow Trent’s car. I felt stunted, lacking, and my mood darkened as I ran one of Trent’s silk handkerchiefs over the table to remove stray ions. But feeling as though I wasn’t good enough wasn’t anything new. Deal with it, Rachel, I thought as Jenks returned.

  “There’s a shoebox full of ley line stuff up there,” Jenks said as he skidded to a landing on the table with a broken stick of magnetic chalk. “You want anything from the garden?”

  “Isn’t it too cold?” I asked.

  “Not for a quick trip,” he said confidently, but my phone said it was, like, fifty out there, workable, but not if he got damp. Still, a quick foray would tell me his limits.

  “I’m not sure yet.” I unwrapped my ceremonial knife as I thought about what I might need. “Do you know if the ivy growing by the trash cans survived the fire? I’ve always had good luck with the aerial roots.”

  Jenks rose back up. “I’ll go see.” He touched the hilt of his sword and flew to one of the boarded-up windows and out a crack. Slowly the dust he left behind faded.