by Kim Harrison
“Maybe a ten-pointed star,” I muttered as I took up a stick of magnetic chalk and drew one for practice right on the table. Ten points ought to double the sensitivity of the original curse, but going from a pentagon to a ten-pointed star would be tricky. I could draw a ten-pointed star easily enough, but the space made from the star’s lines was too large and disconnected from the center point, where the lines running point to point touched.
Unless I add a pentagon inside it, I thought, drawing one in the center of the star, the ten crossed lines marking the points and midsections. And like that, I had it. It wasn’t a ten-pointed star I wanted, but two five-pointed stars, one shifted a few degrees widdershins. The curse would use the original pentagon start point, and if I could manage to turn it without losing the first star, I’d get a ten-pointed star.
“Oh, this has potential,” I muttered, wondering how I could get it to turn. There were lots of ley line charms to turn things—just as many earth-magic fixes to do the same. Between the ley line stuff in the belfry and the herbs in the garden, I bet I could do it.
Hunched over the table, I began to make a grocery list of possibilities, listing on the slate everything I had that turned or evolved. Cedar, I thought, chalk whispering. It was a sun plant, and it was good for getting rid of bad dreams, too. I could use that as a stylus. Chicory, which also belonged to the sun and was good in charms that unlocked doors and hearts. The moon turned. We had wintergreen out there, and wintergreen was linked to the moon. It was good for breaking hexes. I wasn’t breaking a hex, but splintering an aura might be close, and I added it to the list. Dandelion because of its tenacity and divided nature, a straw from a broom for its nature to push together, and a drop of water from a spiderweb, as it reflects the world. All good choices.
From the ley line side of things, I probably had a crystal in the belfry to refract my desires. And there was the glyph itself, the ten-sided figure stemming from a five-sided glyph. Combine that with the blood samples Ivy was bringing over, and it might be enough. But even as I finished my list and began to think about how to put it all together, I wondered if maybe trying to use a dollop of elf magic might be in order. Not that I was lazy, but asking a deity to mesh everything together would make it easier. More powerful, too. I’d already modified the spell Trent had once used to temporarily contain my soul to capture Nina’s so as to give it to Ivy. But I wasn’t sure it was safe to swim in that pool anymore.
I looked up at Jenks’s soft wing hum to see his low, dully glittering path just above the sanctuary floor. He was cold, and I held out my hand to give him a warm place to land. “Damn, it’s like Tink’s titties after a snow out there. Is this enough, Rache?”
A handful of long rootlets was in his grip, and I nodded. “Plenty. Thanks. Are you going to give me any flack about sitting tight as I get the rest?”
Jenks looked at my list, his brow furrowed. I cleared my throat, and he hesitated. “No,” he finally grumbled, and I smiled.
“Good.” I stood, and he settled on the rim of my cooling coffee. “Back in a minute.”
“Slug snot. I’m guarding the church,” Jenks said morosely as he sat on my cup, heels thumping and dust making an oily sheen on the bitter brew.
“At least you’re not the librarian!” I said over my shoulder as I strode to the front door, snips and black gathering scarf in hand. My heels clunked on the old wood in a familiar sound as I skirted the hole in the floor and slipped outside. The street was quiet as I hustled down the steps, arms about my middle as I dodged the plates of food and vases of flowers. The slate path leading to the back gate was covered in leaves, and the squeak of the hinges went right through my head. But then I was in the garden, and a smile found me as I worked my way through the traditional witches’ garden and into the more traditional witches’ garden among the tombstones. This was where I’d harvest the dandelion and cedar, where death and transition made them stronger.
I lost myself among the fallen leaves smelling of both earth and sky as I lifted soggy, cold, stunted plants to find the still potent sheltered rosettes, gathering what I wanted and folding them into the scarf. A soft glint of gray turned out to be one of my stone spoons, and pleased, I rubbed it clean and dropped it in a pocket. I’d probably be finding stuff for years, scattered when the vampires of Cincinnati had blown up my kitchen.
The fading scent of zombie among the tombstones brought me up sharp, and I wondered how Glenn was going to deal with this wrinkle. I knew he was withholding information from both me and Ivy. Not to mention from his dad at the FIB. His last words were not inspiring: trust him and keep a low profile? The trust I could handle, but when had I ever kept a low profile?
Thoughts swirling, I spun to go inside, halting when I saw the burned back of the church. The missing kitchen and living room had been added on in the seventies, and the original stone wall was scorched and ugly. Only the fireplace remained, but it was cracked and would have to be torn down. It was easy to see where pipes and conduits ran, and as I picked my way over the low wall separating the graveyard from the more ordered flower garden, I wondered if it might be possible to make an inspection-solid tulpa of my kitchen. If it was like any other tulpa, it would be real. Really real. Permit and inspection real.
But as with all things, I’d pay for it. Making a tulpa the size and complexity of the kitchen would put me out for a week. Al was the only demon I’d trust to pick through my mind and separate the construct from my psyche, not to mention watch over me as I recovered. We hadn’t made a construct since the mystics had talked to me. He seemed okay with how things were, but I wasn’t sure he was comfortable with being in my mind anymore. But as I looked at the ruin of my church, I decided I’d ask him after Thanksgiving.
If we both survive, I thought, my anger with Hodin rising up again. Damn it, I had really believed I’d be able to help Al for a change.
A familiar bumm of sound pulled my attention to the street. It was Ivy’s cycle, and I headed for the gate as the engine died and the soft click of her kickstand going down sounded in the new stillness.
The feeling of Camelot lost pricked my soul as I reached the gate, watching her from over the damp wood. Motions smooth and unhurried, she got off her cycle, scrubbing her long black hair into disarray as she set her helmet on the seat and took a small paper sack from one of the small side trunks. Somehow, even after a night under the I.S. tower dealing with red tape and hungry vampires, she managed to look svelte and sexy. The paper bag crackled as she strode to the church’s door, her long legs eating up the distance and her boots hardly making a sound.
I took a breath to call her, but then she stopped, heel grinding as she turned right to me.
“Hey, hi,” I said as her eyes found mine, and I stifled a shiver as I pushed through the gate and kicked it shut. “I thought that was your cycle.”
“Hi, Rachel.” Her voice was low and throaty, and my pace slowed. She’d had a hard night by the look of it, meaning she’d be on edge, quick to jump to conclusions, and hungry. “Sorry I’m late. It took me more time than I planned to convince everyone involved.”
Hands full of chicory, dandelion, and wintergreen, I halted before her. “You didn’t . . .”
She smiled, flashing her sharp canines at me, and I knew she was fine. “Oh, all the accused were amenable after I told them you were trying to prove they were innocent. It was getting everyone else to look the other way.” She flexed her free hand as if it hurt, and her brow smoothed. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. Nina got a kick out of it. You look tired.”
“I didn’t sleep last night,” I said, deciding not to tell her about the latest baku attack. I’d handled it, and she’d only side with Trent about me sitting this out.
“Six samples.” She handed me the bag, frowning at my dirty fingers. “And six donations to make sure you’re seeing what’s there and not inventing results. They’re all labeled.”
“
Donations?” I questioned, and her expansive smile returned.
“Vampire mostly, but I got a witch and a Were, too.” Stretching her shoulder, she winced.
I peered into the bag to see twelve neatly labeled vials. Ivy knew her job. “Thanks. I’m not getting you into trouble, am I?”
“Not any more than usual,” Ivy said wryly, and I looked up, waiting for the rest of the story. Her gaze went to the steeple after a faint thump from inside, then dropped to me. “I was warned off,” she said, anger marring her complexion. “Told that the situation was being handled and to keep my fangs out of it.”
“Crap on toast,” I whispered. “It’s the Order, isn’t it.”
“That’s the impression I got. They’ve been around long enough to know how to bring down one of the old undead without getting caught, and no one will stick their neck out. Homebody cowards. All of them.” Ivy’s eyes went to the church at the muffled peal of sound from the belfry.
“Bis?” Ivy guessed, and I shrugged. What the Turn is Jenks doing up there?
“If you’re good here, I need to get home,” Ivy said, her thoughts clearly somewhere else. “An old undead is coming in from DC tonight, and I need to clean.”
And there’s the cherry on top of my crap-day sundae, I thought sourly. But with Rynn Cormel less than effective, the old undead would want someone they knew—as in someone they could control—in charge of Cincinnati’s vampires. Paper bag crackling, I put my arm around her and gave her a half hug. “Thanks for this.” It meant a lot that she not only believed in me, but that she was right there supporting me the only way she could.
“Anytime,” she whispered, and then she pulled away, taking the delicious, dusky scent of vampire incense with her. “Let me know what you find out,” she added as she began to walk backward, toe to heel. “I don’t think the I.S. is going to let these people go even if you prove it wasn’t them. My boss nearly popped a vein when I brought up the baku.” She winced, stretching her shoulder again. “Someone really wants this quiet. No more murders last night, though.”
“Really?” I frowned, worried. “That’s good,” I said, but it wasn’t. It meant the baku was done messing around. It was coming for me—had come for me. I’m never going to sleep again.
Ivy hesitated beside her bike. “You okay?”
My wandering thoughts returned. “Yeah . . . ,” I said slowly. “Jenks is with me. Tell Nina there might be one more for Thanksgiving. Zack Oborna. Almost sixteen. Elf. Dewar runaway.”
Hair swinging, Ivy put her helmet back on. “Of course he is,” she said as she fastened it. “See you at home.”
I nodded as she started her bike and tooled serenely down the street, back to her life.
Cold, I turned to the church, my eyes following a sparkle of bright dust that shot from the crack in the boarded-up window and arrowed straight up. From inside, a bellow of anger rose. Someone was in my church, someone pissed by the sound of it, and suddenly the bell sounding earlier took on new meaning.
I whistled for Jenks. Immediately he got a bead on me and dropped like a stone. He was laughing, which wasn’t much comfort when I saw his garden sword in one hand, a tuft of dark hair in the other. “Who’s here? David?” I guessed from the hair, and Jenks grinned.
“Hodin,” he said, laughing merrily. “He showed up, shouting about you stealing his curse. I don’t know what his problem is. His hair grew right back. Almost as fast as his ear.”
“Always making friends, eh, Jenks?” I muttered as he landed on my shoulder. I took the stairs, having to weave through the plates of food and frozen flowers. “Hodin?” I called as I shoved the door open. “I can hear you yelling all the way out to the street. I have to live with these people, you know.” Damn it back to the Turn. He was still spying on me.
The warmth of the furnace going full force hit me, and my hair blew back to send Jenks up in a wash of dust. Hodin was at the stage, clearly angry as he looked from the writing on my table. His long hair was in disarray, and a black-and-gold sarilike garment draped all the way to the floor. His right hand glowed with unfocused energy, and I slowed.
“Where is that pixy?” he snarled. “He cut my hair.”
“Aww, it was just a little chunk, moss wipe,” Jenks taunted, hovering close so Hodin wouldn’t be as likely to throw the ball of unfocused energy at him.
“You little bird smear!” Hodin exclaimed, furious. “Get away from that witch!”
“Yeah?” Jenks hummed forward, slow from the cold but willing as he drew his sword. “Here I am. Smite me, oh powerful demon.”
“Stop!” I barked as Hodin wound up, and much to my amazement, the demon’s hand dropped. “Knock it off, both of you. Or I’ll make both of you leave. Jenks, don’t you have some inventory to do for me in the belfry? I’m sure Hodin and I can have a nice chat without any mashing, pulping, or cutting off of any more parts.”
Jenks sheathed his sword with a noisy flourish. “I’m watching you,” he threatened.
“Do I look as if I care?” Hodin said, and when Jenks’s wings hummed a threat, I pointed at the belfry. Jenks’s laugh sounded like wind chimes as he flew a low path back to the vestibule and vanished up the narrow stair.
“He’s four inches tall—,” I started.
“That is no excuse for cutting off parts of my body,” Hodin interrupted, expression dark as he rubbed his ear.
“No,” I said patiently. “I mean, if you want any hope of besting him, you need to shrink down.” Hodin furrowed his brow in thought, and I added, “And if you so much as bend his wing back, I’ll . . . be dead to you, too.”
Hodin glared at me and shook out his black robe. “You will not live long if you keep that much stock in a pixy,” he said, but he wasn’t shouting anymore, and I edged past the hole in the floor and onto the stage. I set Ivy’s bag and my collecting scarf on the table, wary. The faint scent of burnt amber was coming from him, and I breathed it in, finding it pleasantly rich with memory.
“Jenks has saved my life more times than you have rings,” I said, making a fist around the one of his that I still wore. “You did enter his space uninvited. He owns the church.” Standing carefully sideways to him, I shook out the spelling robe he had given me and put it on over my jeans and sweater, doubly glad I’d brought it now. “Or didn’t you know that?” I said, voice muffled.
“No.” Hodin was looking at me as I shimmied the robe into place and tied the sleeves back, bells jingling. My God, it felt nice, all silk and elegance. Sure enough, Hodin’s mood eased even more. The robe was a subtle show that he was needed, appreciated. I was just about desperate for his help now that he was here, but if working with Al had taught me anything, I knew if I asked for it, he’d want something. I was hoping that he’d volunteer out of curiosity.
“Why are you here?” I asked, and Hodin’s anger returned full force.
“You have no right to steal my work,” he said, eyes narrowing.
“I’m not stealing your work,” I said, and when Hodin pointed indignantly at the slate table with my listed ingredients and ten-pointed star, I added, “Drawing a ten-pointed star is not stealing your work. And even if it was, we have a deal. You agreed to stop spying on me.”
I jerked as Hodin strode forward. A wall of haze sprang up between us, and when he walked through it, he came out dressed in black jeans and a T, boots on his feet and wavy hair in disarray. “What are you trying to do?” he said, doing a bad job of hiding his fluster as he stood across the table from me and looked at my sloppy star. “Trying to get a wider spread? It can’t be done. I’ve tried.”
Sitting would have given him the advantage, so I put my hands on my hips and stared down at it. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do, but how did you know I was doing it?” Hodin flushed, and I squinted. “Damn it, Hodin. Stop spying on me!”
“I am not spying on you,” he said shortly, and whe
n I cleared my throat, his eyes met mine. “I’m not, but that’s my work you’re building on. Everyone steals my ideas. First the elves, and now you—everyone taking credit for my innovation and leaving me with not even a footnote of thanks. I’m tired of it. I taught you how to explode a pentagon. What are you doing with it?”
“I’m doing whatever the hell I feel like with it,” I said. “And you are spying on me. I guess that means I can tell Dali about you, then, huh.”
Hodin’s anger shifted to frozen panic. I reached to get my scrying mirror from my bag, and he made an odd gurgling noise. “No, wait,” he said, and I put my arms over my middle. “I’m not spying on you. I, uh, put a mirror on the table when I turned it to slate.”
“A what?”
He sat down, a hand running over his head to muss his hair. “A mirror,” he muttered. “Whatever is scribed on it shows up on the parent table.”
“Which is in your living room, eh?” I said, feeling myself warm. “Take it off.”
“I won’t.” Hodin looked up. “It’s my table. I made it, and you’re stealing my work.”
“Bullshit,” I barked, and Jenks zipped in, drawn by my loud voice. “It’s my table. You turned it to slate, but it is my table. Take it off. Now!”
“Jeez, Rache. Can’t I leave you for five minutes?” Jenks said as he helped himself to another mug from my coffee before perching on the rim to make an oily dust on the surface.
“Tell me what you’re doing to my curse,” Hodin insisted.
“Take the mirror off, and I will,” I countered, and Hodin glared up at me.
“Fine. Speculum speculorum,” he muttered, making a gesture over my table. I would have questioned it, but I felt a drop in the ley line, and the words loosely translated to mirror of mirrors.
“Rache. Look at what he did to my wing,” Jenks said as the caffeine hit him and he rose in a swirl of dust. “Scorched it with his lame-ass line energy. I can hardly fly. See? Look at it.”