A Perfect Blood With Bonus Material

by Kim Harrison

  “I have to twist some charms,” she said, her apparent confidence ringing false.

  “You mean curses,” Algaliarept all but leered.

  Trent glanced at his watch, then the hall. It was quiet out there, too quiet.

  “Curses,” she affirmed. “I have to find HAPA or I’ll get blamed for several murders. But I broke the charm so that I could fix Winona.”

  Al looked at the door as well. “Winona? A new friend of yours?”

  Rachel nervously took a step forward. “They cursed her, Al, with my stolen blood. I can’t hide behind what I want to be anymore. It’s hurting too many people. I’m a demon, and I won’t let fear keep me from being a demon anymore.”

  Perhaps she listens to me after all, he thought, amazed, but she’d taken another half-step forward, and he inched up to stay with her.

  “She needs my help,” Rachel said as if asking Algaliarept for understanding. “It’s my fault she’s the way she is, and no one is going to fight my battles anymore. Even if it scares me.”

  Trent stood ready to grab her at the first hint of provocation. “HAPA has a vial of her blood,” he said. “Once they get done analyzing it, they’re going to try to duplicate it and use it to eliminate Inderland one species at a time.”

  One thick eyebrow rose over a goat-slitted eye. “Let’s all hope they start with the elves,” the demon said drolly. “How very careless of you, Rachel, giving out free curses.”

  Rachel stiffened, clearly hurting. “It wasn’t my idea.”

  Squinting up at the red sun, Algaliarept seemed to soften. “Demon,” he scoffed. “You may be a demon, but you don’t have two curses to rub together to protect yourself. You’re coming with me where you will be safe.”

  Alarmed, Trent backed them to the edge of the line, Rachel pliant under his hand.

  “No,” Rachel warned the demon, and Trent put a hand out.

  “She doesn’t want to go with you,” Trent said. It wasn’t a threat. No, it was more of a promise. She wouldn’t leave unwillingly while he breathed. It was that simple.

  And wonders of wonders, the demon stopped, brow furrowed as he thought that over. “Rachel can’t protect herself,” Algaliarept said, and Trent shivered as he spoke to him alone. She had been right. Trust, though foolish, made the demon listen. “You know it better than she does. If you truly care about her, let her go. I’ll keep her safe. Fill her with curses until she can stand on her own.”

  Shaking, he leaned over Rachel’s shoulder. “Safe? The same way I kept her safe by hiding her? I nearly killed her trying that, and hiding with you will do the same. No. She will have the sun and shadow both.”

  Algaliarept’s eyes narrowed, and Trent shrugged when Rachel pulled away from him to stare at him. Nervous, he shifted his soggy feet on the soggy carpet.

  With a fast motion, the demon smacked his cane against a rock. It wasn’t aimed at him, but Trent jumped anyway. “Sun and shadow. Sun and shadow!” the demon shouted. But it felt like a tantrum, not an ultimatum. “There is no both. There is one or the other, and you will come with me now!”

  Algaliarept reached, but it was Rachel who pulled the line first, flooding Trent with the strength of it since he still held her shoulder. Grunting in pain, he held his breath to ride it out. “Oh, crap. I’m sorry, Trent!” she exclaimed.

  “My fault,” he almost gasped. “It’s okay.”

  Algaliarept was eyeing them both, his hands behind his back. He was stymied, and hope spun through Trent like a sunbeam. “It’s down to pride, Rachel,” the demon said. “Even if I could get the rest of them to accept that you are sun and shadow both, there’s the undeniable fact that you broke the balance of ever-after. I’m paying Ku’Sox through the ass to keep it quiet. I need a source of income, and you’re it.”

  Rachel’s smile made Trent sourly wonder if she was enjoying herself. “What if I sign my income from my tulpa over to you?” she said, and the demon grunted in surprise. “You can pay him from that until I fix it.”

  “Tulpa?” Trent questioned, and she beamed at him.

  “I’ll tell you later,” she said brightly. “That might buy a few groceries until I can work out something with Trent in lifting that elven curse.”

  Twirling his walking cane in wide circles, Al eyed her, more than a hint of satisfaction in him. “And you think you’re not one of us.”

  “Oh, but I do,” she shot back at him, but she was starting to shake, and Trent held her up to help her hide it.

  “Sun and shadow,” the demon grumbled, but both of them heard his defeat, and Rachel exhaled, her tension leaving her. “Sign it,” Algaliarept demanded as he snapped his fingers and snagged the piece of paper that had appeared, drifting down to them.

  Trent reached to take it before Rachel could. “She’s not signing anything until my people look at it.”

  But Rachel snatched it, a gleam in her eye. “Why? If it’s not what I agreed to, I will burn Al’s gonads off the first chance I get. Turn around. I need to use your back for a second.”

  Was she serious? He thought, but Algaliarept had cleared his throat, nervously shifting as he held out a new contract.

  “Ah, hold on a tick. How silly of me. This is the one. Here.”

  Rachel smugly crumpled the first, and Trent felt a tweak on the lines as she dropped it and it burst into flame. “Mmmm, hum,” she said, making a spinning motion at Trent to get him to turn around.

  Nervous, he did, jumping when the paper slapped on his back, and then the light, sure pressure of a pen. He turned back when the paper slid from him, and with a shocking suddenness, he realized he was three feet from the same demon who had mauled him twice. Not only that, but the demon was smiling at him.

  “Thank you, Rachel,” Algaliarept said, the paper vanishing in a wash of black sparkles, and Trent stiffened when he reached for her hand. The picture of elegance, the demon brought it to his lips, flicking a look at Trent to not interfere. “Welcome back, my itchy witch.”

  Rachel squirmed in pleasure to make Trent frown, but Rachel was safe. For the moment.

  “Bye, Al,” she said happily, and Algaliarept stepped back, eyeing her over his glasses.

  “If I ever see you in sweats again, I swear by Bartholomew’s balls I will flay you,” he said, and in a wash of burnt-amber tainted air, the demon vanished.

  Rachel’s sigh jerked through him. “Signing an unread contract with a demon wasn’t very smart,” he said, dropping his second sight and shifting is damp feet in the soggy carpet. His lion fish was dead, his vid screen a gray empty hole. The lack of the fake spot of sun seemed to make the room dark.

  “Oh, I beg to differ.” Clearly in a good mood, Rachel dropped her crutch on the rolling chair and walked to his desk. She set her feet gracefully into the wet carpet, mesmerizing him.

  He looked away before she could notice, frowning at remains of his fish tank. “My office is trashed,” he grumped as he squished across his damp carpet and took his coffee that Rachel was holding out to him. “Why are you smiling? My fish are dead.”

  “Because Al and I are okay,” she said as she eyed him over her mug and took a sip, becoming shockingly sexy when she licked the coffee from her lips. “That’s important to me.”

  The fading adrenaline made him shaky, and he dropped into his chair before his desk. “You think that was okay?”

  Shifting her shoulders, she leaned against his desk to look even more sexier, sweats and all. “Yup. He fixed my leg.”

  Trent’s eyes widened as she gave it a smack, and he looked at the chair where she’d dropped her crutch. When did he do that? When he kissed her hand?

  “He could have taken me anytime he wanted, but he listened. I told you not to do anything. That show you put on for him told him one thing, and one thing only.”

  Bothered, Trent set his cup down. He let his eyes travel up her cur
ves, and he swore he saw her shiver. “What’s that?” he said flatly.

  She took a sip, and again his attention was captured by her mouth. “You’re willing to risk death to help me.”

  “Your hair is a tangled mess,” he said, thinking he liked it that way, like a lion’s mane.

  “Is it? You have ever-after dust all over your face.”

  He couldn’t move as she slid from his desk. Setting her coffee down, she leaned over him and brushed her thumb under his eye.

  Passion spiked through him. Almost without his volition, he reached up and grabbed her wrist, wanting to pull her down to him and kiss her soundly. But he stopped, unable to draw her down that last few inches. “What are you doing?” he whispered, wishing she would tilt her head in invitation.

  The clatter at the door pulled their attention to the door, and his heart pounded at the snick of a key.

  “Sa’han!” Quen said as the door swung, stopping dead in his tracks as his feet squished into the soggy carpet and he saw the broken vid screen and the busted fish tank. Behind him was David. Rachel straightened, her hand that had touched him hidden behind her back.

  “Ah, thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you,” she said, three steps away, her head down and her face a bright red.

  The want for that kiss had shocked him more than the interruption, and he fell back into the chair, cool and nonchalant as Quen came in with his questions and demands. He wasn’t sure if he believed he’d really helped, but one thing was very clear. He wanted that again, that feeling of standing with her against all odds and succeeding. He wanted it so bad, he was going to risk destroying everything he and his father had worked for. He should walk away. Right now. But as she was ushered out the door under David’s arm, all he wanted to do was follow her.

  What the hell was he doing, falling in love with a demon?

  Don’t miss the continuing

  Hollows adventures of Rachel Morgan with

  EVER AFTER

  Coming February 2013

  “This is close enough. Thanks,” I said to the cab driver, and he swerved to park at the curb, a block down from Carew Tower’s drop-off zone. It was Sunday night, and the trendy shops in the lower levels of the Cincinnati high-rise were busy—the revolving door never stopped as laughing couples and groups went in and out. The kids-on-art exhibit had probably brought in a few, but I’d be willing to bet that the stoic pair in the suit and sequined dress getting out of the black car ahead of me were going up into the revolving restaurant, as I was.

  I fumbled for a twenty in my ridiculously small clutch purse, then handed it over the front seat. “Keep the change,” I said, distracted as I tugged my shawl closer, breathing in a faint lilac scent. “And I’m going to need a receipt, please.”

  The cabby shot me a thankful glance at the tip, high maybe, but he’d come all the way out to the Hollows to pick me up. Nervous, I readjusted my shawl again and slid to the door. I could have taken my car, but parking was a hassle downtown on the weekends, and tawny silk and lace lost a lot of sparkle while getting out of a mini-cooper. Not to mention the wind off the river would wreck havoc with my carefully styled hair if I had to walk more than a block.

  I doubted that tonight’s meeting with Quen was going to lead to a job, but I needed all the tax deductions I could get right now, even if it was just cab fare. Having skipped filing a year while they decided if I was a citizen or not had not turned out to be the boon I had originally thought it was.

  “Thanks,” I said as the man handed me the receipt, and I tucked it away. Taking a steadying breath, I sat with my hands in my lap, debating if I should change my mind and go home. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Quen, but he was Trent’s number one security guy. I was sure it was a job offer, but probably not one I wanted to take.

  Curiosity, though, had always been stronger in me than common sense, and when the cabby’s eyes met mine through his rearview mirror, I reached for the handle. “Whatever it is, I’m saying no,” I muttered as I got out, and the driver, a Were by the rough look of him, chuckled, having heard me even over the sound of traffic. The thump of the door barely beat the three loud teenagers dressed in Goth descending upon him.

  My low heels clicked on the sidewalk, and I held my tiny clutch bag under my arm, the other hand on my hair. The bag was tiny, yes, but it was big enough to hold my street-legal splat gun stocked with sleepy-time charms. If Quen didn’t take no for an answer, I was going to shoot him and leave him facedown in his twelve-dollar-a-bowl soup.

  Squinting through the wind, I dodged the people loitering for their rides. Quen had asked me to dinner, not Trent. I didn’t like that he felt the need to talk to me at a five-star restaurant instead of a coffee shop, but maybe the man liked his whisky old.

  One last gust pushed me into the revolving door, and a whisper of impending danger tightened my gut as the scent of old brass and dog urine rose in the sudden dead air. It expanded into the echoing noise of a wide lobby done in marble, and I shivered as I made for the elevators. It was more than the March chill.

  The couple I’d seen at the curb were long gone by the time I got there, and I had to wait for the dedicated restaurant lift. Hands making a fig leaf with my purse, I watched the foot traffic, feeling out of place in my long sheath dress. It had looked so fabulous on me in the store that I’d bought it even though I couldn’t run in it. That I could wear it tonight was half the reason I had said yes to Quen. I often dressed up for work, but always with the assumption that I’d probably end the evening having to run from banshees or after vampires. Maybe Quen just wanted to catch up? But I doubted it.

  The elevator dinged, and I forced a smile for whoever might be in it. It faded fast when the doors opened to show only more brass, velvet, and mahogany. Taking a steadying breath, I stepped inside and hit the R button at the top of the panel. Maybe my unease was simply because I was alone. I’d been alone a lot this week while Jenks tried to do the work of five pixies in the garden and Ivy was in Flagstaff helping Glenn and Daryl move.

  The lobby noise vanished as the doors closed, and I looked at myself in the mirrors, tucking away a strand that had escaped the elaborate braid Jenks’s youngest kids had put it in tonight. If Jenks were here, he’d tell me to snap out of it, and I pulled myself straighter when my ears popped. There were ley line symbols carved into the railing like a pattern but were really a mild euphoric charm, and I leaned backward into them. I could use all the euphoria I could get tonight.

  My shoulders had eased by the time the doors opened and the light strains of live chamber music filtered in. It was just dinner, for God’s sake, and in a better mood thanks to the charms, I stepped to the reception desk, smiling at the young host, his hair slicked back and wearing his uniform well. Behind him, Cincinnati spread out in the dark, the lights glinting like souls in the night. The stink and noise of the city were far away, and only the beauty showed. Maybe that’s why Quen chose here.

  “I’m meeting Quen Hanson,” I said, forcing my attention away from the view and back to the host. The few tables I could see were all full.

  “Your booth isn’t ready yet, but he’s waiting for you at the bar,” the man said, and my eyes flicked up at the unexpected sound of respect in his voice. “May I take your shawl?”

  Better and better, I thought as I turned to let him slip the thin silk from my shoulders. I felt him hesitate at my pack tattoo, and I straightened to my full height, proud of it.

  “This way, please?” he said as he handed it to a woman and took the little plastic tag, handing it to me in turn.

  I let a little sway into my hips as I fell into step behind him, making the shift to the revolving circle without pause. I’d been up here a couple of times; the bar was on the far side of the entry, and we strode through tables of upscale, wining-and-dining people. The couple that had come up ahead of me were already seated, wine being poured as they sat clo
se together and enjoyed each other more than the view. It had been a while since I’d felt that, and a pang went through me. Shoving it down, I stepped again to the center, unmoving portion and the brass and mahogany bar.

  Quen was the only one there apart from the bartender, his stance hinting at unease as he stood with a ramrod straightness in his suit coat and tie. He had the build to wear it well, but it probably hampered his movement more than he liked, and I smiled as he frowned and tugged at his sleeve, clearly not seeing me yet. The reflection in the glass behind the mirror showed the lights on the river and beyond it, the Hollows. Seeing him against them, I decided he looked tired—alert, but tired.

  His eyes were everywhere, and his head cocked as he listened to the muted TV in the upper corner behind him. Catching the movement of our approach, he turned, smiling. Last year, I might have felt out of place and uncomfortable, but now, I smiled back, genuinely glad to see him. Somehow, he’d taken on the shades of a father figure in my mind. That we kept butting heads the first year we’d known each other might have something to do with it. That he could still lay me flat out on the floor with his magic was another. Saving his life once when I had failed saving my dad probably figured into it, too.

  “Quen,” I said as he needlessly tugged his dress slacks and suit coat straight. “I have to say this is better than meeting you on the roof.”

  He smiled, the hint of weariness in his eyes shifting to warmth as he took my offered hand in a firm grip to help me onto the perch of the bar stool. Tired or not, he looked good in a mature, trim, security sort of way. He was a little short for an elf, being dark where most were light, but it worked well for him, and I wondered if that was gray about his temples or a trick of the light. A new sensation of contentment and peace flowed from him, one I’d not seen before. Family life was agreeing with him, even if it was probably why he was tired. Lucy and Ray were thirteen and ten months respectively. As Trent’s security advisor, he was powerful in his magic, strong in his convictions . . . and he loved Ceri with all his soul.