Black Magic Sanction (26 page)

"Bed or couch?" I repeated, frightened by mistakes that I wasn't going to make this time, and when he shifted forward, I lurched out of his path, grabbing the afghan from the back of the couch. It was the same one I'd slept under in Nick's other apartment.

He exhaled, head bowed as he dropped back a step. "I'm of a mind to sit at the table," he said softly. "I don't set store by Nick's words, Rachel. A body would wonder why people think a younger time means a less randy state of mind." His lips curved up into a faint smile as he hesitated, then added, "Circumspect does not mean celibate."

My fingers gripped the afghan tighter. The scent of redwood came from him, strong and heady. I swallowed hard as he hesitated a moment longer, blue eyes nothing like Kisten's holding a hint of a question; then he moved past me, his steps silent on the carpet.

J
think he just made a pass at me,
I thought when he settled himself at the table. Numb, I sank back down on the couch. No way was I going to take the bed.

"I'm not happy with you making me look like a fool just so you can get away from Al for a week or two," I said, reclining with my head on the arm of the couch where I could see him. My knees protested, but it was warm under me where he had been sitting, and I could smell him there. I was so tired. I hadn't slept properly in over twenty-four hours.

"It worked, didn't it?" he grumbled, almost unheard.

"Then you don't think I need watching?" I asked, and he gave me a sideways glance.

Clearly he did, but I was too tired to be mad at him right now. His scent lingered in the cushions, the redwood blending with the whiff of electronics and burnt amber from the corner of the room. My pulse was slowing, and the ticking of four clocks became obvious. There was one on each of the four walls, and I wondered if it was part of a protection charm.

My thoughts were swirling as I tried to relax, the day's events coming back to the forefront of my mind as I finally had a chance to think about them. Until I got my summoning name back, I was vulnerable, whether I liked it or not. Uncomfortable, I wedged off my boots and tucked my feet under the afghan. Much as I wanted it otherwise, having Pierce here was a comfort. Nick might have left us only to betray us, but I doubted it. He had too much to lose by inviting Vivian or anyone else from the coven into his place. They'd clear his apartment out, then give him my old cell in Alcatraz.

"You were a member of the coven?" I asked, my thoughts jumping as sleep demanded its fair share of my day.

"Still am," he said, and I opened my eyes to see him staring at nothing as he slumped. "Once a member, always a member, until death. And I'm not dead anymore."

"They're the ones who blew your cover, aren't they," I said, thinking back to his words—no, his threat—to Vivian. "They gave you to that vampire. Why?"

He turned, straightening when he realized I was watching him. "We disagreed."

Because you do black magic? I'm so surprised.
"Disagreed? They bricked you in the ground," I said, but instead of becoming angry, he chuckled, stretching his legs out under the table, looking nothing like himself as he unbuttoned his vest and relaxed.

"Yes, they did, but here I am. Go to sleep, Rachel."

I slumped farther into the couch to breathe in his scent, lingering in the cushions. "Do you think you can get them to leave me alone?" I asked, eyes closing.

"Not likely," he said, his soft voice clear over the sounds of someone's music coming through the walls. "As you say, they did brick me in the ground."

Snuggling deeper under the afghan, I yawned as I listened to a car beep in the street below. "You're just like me. Nothing but trouble," I murmured, slurring.

"My apologies?" he said, making me smile at the simple sound of it.

I wasn't thinking anymore, and I had to shut my mouth. "Good night, Pierce," I said around another yawn, unable to stop myself.

"Good night, mistress witch." But as I drifted off, I could have sworn I heard him add softly, "We should have taken the bus."

T
he scent of brewing coffee stirred me into a half-awake, half-asleep haze. I hung there, warm and content, feeling yarn under my chin. I liked warm and content, but it had been so long since I'd been such that its very presence was a warning.

Taking a deep breath, I shrugged out of my sleep, sitting up in a smooth motion and holding Nick's afghan to me.
Nick's place,
I thought as my pulse slowed and I listened to the ticking of the four clocks. The blinds were night gloomed, and the plants in the corner of the kitchen were bright under hot spotlights. I'd slept for hours. My attention went to the kitchen table, finding Pierce's coat and vest draped over the chair—but no Pierce.

Instinct turned me to find him standing before the shelf of old books in a spotlight in the otherwise dim room. Faint rhythmic thumps told me the strip club was in full swing, but it was pleasant, sort of like a giant heartbeat. The dagger that Nick had placed on the high shelf was balanced across Pierce's palms, and the greenish-black haze covering it extended up almost to his elbows. It was his aura, and he must be doing something very powerful to make it visible like that. Even so, he probably wasn't seeing it. Auras were like that. I couldn't see mine either, apart from a reflection when I made a circle or threw a chunk of ley-line energy at someone. I had no idea what he was doing, but it looked like he was using a ley line.

"I listened to you wake," Pierce said to the books, not turning. "Hearing that makes a body feel powerfully content. I mean... it was nice?"

The glow about his hands flickered, then renewed itself. Smiling, I put my sock-footed feet on the floor and stretched before I wedged my boots back on. The thought to phone Ivy and Jenks rose and fell. If there was a change, they'd call.

"Nice," I affirmed around a yawn. It seemed odd that here, in Nick's place, I'd be able to find the rest that comes only from feeling safe, but I did. Or had, maybe. The thief had more safeguards than a paranoid psychic with delusions of grandeur. I couldn't help but wonder what Pierce thought of me after seeing my ex. Not that I cared, but Nick was slime. Embarrassed, I eyed Pierce for any signs of distance.

Pierce looked absorbed as he stood before the books with that knife balanced across his hands and his brown shoes edging the spotlight. He had pulled his shirttails from his trousers, and a faint stubble was starting to show. It was the first time I'd ever seen him disheveled. "You look comfortable," I said, and he sighed.

"No one slicks up anymore," he breathed. "Why should I?"

It didn't sound like him at all, and rising, I went to the window, shifting the blinds to see that some of the cars had their lights on. "Trent dresses up," I said, letting the blind's slat click shut and turning. "Did you sleep at all?"

Still facing the books, Pierce rubbed his bristly chin. "Are you going to call Al?"

I nodded. I had a couple of hours before the sun would set in San Francisco. Time enough to call Al and try to convince him to make good on our deal. But what I really was, was hungry. "How come you look so rested?" I asked as I came alongside him, and the green glow about his hands went out. "You couldn't have had much sleep."

"Perhaps because I made a die of it for so many years I don't need as much."

Eying him, I carefully took the knife off his hands. The tarnished metal was warm, feeling almost like putty, but the sensation quickly faded until it was just cold silver. "This is nasty," I said as I tried to piece together the words engraved around the handle. "What does it say?" Pierce hesitated, and my eyes narrowed. "Don't expect me to believe you can't read it."

With an odd expression, the man shifted uncomfortably as I caught him thinking about lying to me. "It's a delicate matter," he finally said, and I put one hand on my hip, the other carelessly holding the knife askew. "I won't say the words," he said, gaze following the knife as I shifted it about. "I'm not skeerylike, but it's arcane, black magic. I'm not of a mind to... know for sure what it does. The charm is long spent."

I squinted at him, weighing his words against his body language. I mean, he knew I knew he worked black magic. Did he think I couldn't take it? Whatever
it
was? "What were you doing with it, then," I asked, waving the knife around just to irritate him, "if the spell is gone?"

Frowning, he gently grasped my wrist and took the knife. "Ley-line magic in good silver will leave a whisper of the spell after it is spent," he said, eyes on the dagger, not me. "If one is powerful delicate, applying a breath of ley-line potency into the charm can sometimes fill the channels again and bring it back to full stamina. Too much will destroy it, but if enough fills the spell before it overflows, one can make a fist of it. I've a fine enough touch, but I'm not eager to try lest I leave Nick with such an ugly thing."

Curious, I took the knife back, holding it with the right amount of respect. "You just direct a trickle of energy into it? You don't even need to know how to do the original charm?"

"That's the whole pie of it, yes." Pierce took the knife from me again and set it where Nick had left it, out of my easy reach. "It's enough to worry a man that Nick, a mere wizard, has it."

I frowned. If I wanted to look at the knife, I would. "Yeah, well, Nick has a lot of stuff he shouldn't, doesn't he?" I said, and Pierce glanced at the broken trunk. "My dad never told me that," I said to distract him. "About the imprint left on an object."

Pierce nodded. "It's not known to many, and your father was human."

I started, not having told him about that chunk of drama in my life, but then I remembered he'd been there in spirit. There probably wasn't much that had happened in the church in the past year that he didn't know about. And yet... he was here, standing in front of me, his shirt open to show pale skin, stubble on his face, and hair all over and tousled.

Damn it.

"Are you hungry?" Pierce asked, and I turned to the dimly lit kitchen. "Nick won't be back until long after candle lighting."

Candle lighting. I remembered that one. He meant dusk. "Famished." I flicked on the kitchen light and looked for the bathroom. "Can you hold that thought?"

Leaving Pierce to figure out what I meant, I shut the bathroom door behind me and hoped he couldn't hear as I took care of business. God, why did I even care if he might know I'd flushed the toilet, but I slumped when I caught sight of myself in the age-spotted mirror above the tiny white sink.

There were circles under my eyes, and I looked tired despite the sleep. My hair was a mess, and when I used Nick's brush, it only made it frizz out all the more. I contemplated taking my pain amulet off but decided I might need it if I was summoned out and had to fight, so I let it stay tucked under my shirt. The black camisole had been fresh this morning, and the jeans were probably good for another day. Eventually, though, I'd have to risk going home for a change of clothes and a toothbrush or spend a couple of hours at the mall.

How had I gotten here? Shunned and on the run from the coven, unable to go home for a change of undies. What scared me the most was that the coven didn't have to work within the law, or at least they felt they didn't. Maybe I should call Glenn and see if there was a warrant out for my arrest? That would be good news, because if there was, then they couldn't just pack me quietly away in a closet. Okay, so my kids being demons was a problem, but shouldn't the entire witch community have a say in whether I should be shoved in a hole or just castrated?

"Thanks, Trent," I whispered as I cleaned Nick's brush. Dropping the fistful of his and my hair into the sink, I set it alight with a word of Latin. None of this would have happened if Trent hadn't told the council what his dad's tinkering with my mitochondria had done.

I'd been born with a common genetic "defect" that should've killed me before I was two. Thousands of witches were. The truth was that Rosewood syndrome was really an ancient elven biological-warfare device that kicked in when a witch able to invoke demon magic was born.

Turns out the elves had cursed the demons first, causing their children to be born stunted in their ability to do magic. Abandoned by demons as inferior, ancient elves called us witches and told us lies, recruiting us for what magic we retained to help them in their war. They couldn't get rid of the gene that enabled us to invoke demon magic without removing all our ability to do magic, and occasionally it recombined to full strength; hence the little genetic bomb they hooked into our DNA to kill us when the demon enzyme showed.

When Trent's dad tinkered enough, such that I could survive having the demon enzyme, he'd unknowingly fixed what his species had broken. Trent's claim that he hadn't told the coven was crap, especially when the lie that he could control and destroy me followed it.

"Rachel?" came a worried call from the door, and I looked up from the bit of ash that was left of my hair. That and a really nasty stench.

"I'm fine!" I called back. "Just getting rid of potential focusing objects."