Black Magic Sanction (52 page)

"Trent is not my familiar." I leaned over the plate and picked up my sandwich with my bare fingers, wondering why Al didn't want to touch his. "I don't need one, okay? This entire mess is because of him thinking I might use him as a familiar."

Elbow on his knee, Al leaned forward, chewing. "So I gathered."

I watched him for a moment, then looked at the sandwich. It smelled wonderful. "Thank you," I said, then took a bite.
Oh God, it tasted wonderful.

Al seemed pleased when I followed my first bite with another. "Why do you want Nick?" he asked. "Not that I'm agreeing to help you... yet."

I looked for a napkin, hesitating when one misted into existence under my fingers. "I know him," I said, dabbing my lips. This was really weird. Dinner with Al? Kind of like tea in the Sahara. "He's a thief, and a damn good one. Mmmm, this is tasty."
Flattery is always good.

The demon's smile widened. "Trading him in for space would get a fine room for you."

My chewing slowed. " 'Scuse me?"

"Your pet rat. I can get you a good price for Nicky. Trade him for a very nice starter room connected to my space. Unless you really like sleeping in the workroom? Let's bend that request you made of no snag-and-drags of people with you. I pop in on the excuse of checking on you, then trade him in for a space of your very own. What do you owe him anyway? He told me secrets about you. Good ones. Things that only a lover would know. How do you think I got Brooke to let me out?"

I sucked my teeth to get the cheese out of them. Interesting. Twice now he'd asked me to stay, first in his rooms and now in my own. I set the crust down, and Al eyed it. "I'm asking Nick for his help, not his soul. I don't belong here. I like the sun."

"So do I, itchy witch, but here I am."

He leaned back, and I fingered the crust, thinking about living your life underground.

"Be honest, dove," he coaxed, an ankle dropping onto a raised knee. "You don't have it in you to make your sewer rat do what you want. You're not nearly pissed enough at the world."

"I'm going to ask," I countered. "Persuasively."

"He hates you," Al said, his tone returning to his usual pomp and extravagance.

A smile lifted the corners of my mouth as I thought of Treble. "He'll help me. He won't be able to resist. The guy has an ego the size of Montana."

"Well, if you're going to stroke his ego," Al grumbled. "Honestly, this preoccupation you have with nasty little men is going to get you killed."

I eyed the second, untouched sandwich on Al's plate. "That's why I've got you, Al, to keep me alive." I licked my fingers. "Are you going to eat that?"

Motions slow, he carefully slid his plate to me, the china scraping loudly on the wood. This was kind of nice, and I looked around as I filled my stomach, enjoying the crisp bread and the cheese. I couldn't place what kind it was, and frankly, I didn't want to know. "Thank you," I said, lifting the sandwich so he knew what I was talking about. "I like your library."

Al had pushed himself into the corner of his massive chair, scowling, though I think he was secretly pleased that I liked his cooking. "Don't become comfortable in it. I'm not granting you any private peek into my existence. The workroom is messy is all."

I swallowed, washing it down with a gulp of that awful coffee. Memories of my dad's fairy tales lifted through me, but the caution there had been don't eat food with the sidhe or elves, not demons, and I'd already had breakfast with Trent. "Pierce made a mess, eh?"

"Mmmm," was his only answer, but his eyes held amusement when they met mine. "You should have seen his face. I'll beat him soundly when you finally come home for good, no question about it. Maybe I'll let you help. Sell him, and you could buy your own address."

Third offer, a place of my own. Better and better.
"Al, don't start," I said with a sigh, and he laughed. The sound shocked through me, and he quickly sobered when I stared at him. "So... are you going to help me?" I asked.

His eyes shifted everywhere, and I felt like I was on trial. "Perhaps," he drawled. "I want to know why the change of heart. You told the coven you're not a witch. You asked for my help right in front of them. You told them that you shunned
them?

My eyebrows rose.
I shunned them?
I'd never thought of it that way. It sort of put me in a position of power.
Pride goeth before the fall, Rachel.
"I'm tired," I said, and Al made another hum of sound. "I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of trying to be who I think I should be. It's not working. Don't get me wrong," I added when Al's expression shifted. "I'm not stupid. Just because I'm asking for your help doesn't mean I like you."

A black haze of ever-after covered him, and suddenly it was Pierce sitting before me, his slight build making his silk shirt loose and almost falling open. His smile was devious, and something twisted in me. "Are you of a mind to like me now?" he said, hitting the man's accent perfectly, and my heart pounded.

"Stop it," I said, but I knew I'd given myself away. "I don't trust Pierce either."

I felt a tweak on my awareness as he returned to his usual self. "Good," he intoned, warming our coffee with a gesture. "You just might survive to make history, my itchy witch. It's better hot. Go on, try it."

Yada yada yada. I was done eating, and I wiped my fingers. "You going to help me?"

"You want my help just because?" Al said dramatically. "For the hell of it?"

"Jeez, Al," I complained. "It's only a finding curse.

And the jump to go with it," he added.

"Look. Forget it," I said, then stood to make him blink up at me. "Thanks for dinner. Just send me home. I can do this myself." Nick couldn't be too far. I'd ask around. I could find him. Or Ivy could. "I just have to scare him into it. How hard can it be?"

"You!" It was a bark of amusement, and I frowned at Al. "Yes, do this yourself. You start using demon magic intentionally, and you re going to screw up more than Marie Antoinette on her wedding night. I'll scare him for you."

I paused in my first thought of saying no. Had that been a back-assed yes? I met his gaze, breath held, but he was holding up a thick hand.

"A bet might make this go down my greedy soul easier," he said, and I felt a drop of ice slide down my spine. "I'll find Nick. Even jump you there if you bring me along for shits and giggles. But if you can't get the coven off your back and your shunning removed, you forget all this nonsense and move in with me. Here."

Oh.
I paused, then sighed. Double jeopardy. But if I couldn't do this, then the coven would have my head on a platter. Or maybe my brain scrambled and my ovaries in the fridge. "Deal," I finally said, my heart jumping when he clapped his hands once in delight. "But Nick is not snatched, and I get to play bad cop. I never get to play the bad cop."

Al laughed. "You don't have it in you, itchy witch."

Simpering, I felt a stirring of anticipation. "Try me."

He looked at me, hesitated, then smiled. "I can't cross uninvited, but you can," Al said, standing and grabbing his coat from the back of the chair. "We need something from my kitchen. Won't take but a moment."

Oh God. What am I doing?
I thought, but Al's thoughts had enfolded mine, and we jumped.

I
opened my eyes as I felt myself become solid again, or at least I thought I did. It smelled like wood smoke, burnt amber, and ozone, all characteristic of Al's kitchen. There was a soft scrape of my foot on stone when I moved it, but it was pitch-black, the echo of two people's breathing coming back with an unfamiliar, acidic scent.

"Al?" I ventured, his harrumph beside me coming as small comfort. "A moment," he said elegantly, and I jumped when there was a sliding crash. "Mother pus bucket!" the demon swore, and I wished I could instantly set a light with my thoughts like Pierce. But the spell I knew was a curse, and took me forever and a handful of stuff to do it.

Al, though, could do it, and a small globe of gray light blossomed four feet away to show the demon holding his shin and the shattered remains of the slate table that had been in front of the hearth. What it was doing over here was the question.

Seeing my raised eyebrows, Al brushed himself off and tugged his frock coat straight. I went to say something, then hesitated, staring slack-jawed at the chaos the once orderly room was in. Al's light wasn't bright, but the damage was obvious. One cabinet was a burnt ruin, the books covered with a brown slime. Scorch marks went all the way to the ceiling. Firewood littered the floor among the shattered remains of the slate table. The tapestry of shadowy shapes I swore moved when I wasn't looking was slumped in a corner, exposing the wall it had once hidden. The stone was twisted, as if something had melted the wall trying to get in or out, but I'd bet the damage was old and not from Pierce.

A huge chunk of rock was missing from the circular fire pit, and I searched the mess until I found it against Al's largest, now-dented spell pot. Above it, the candle chandelier was dark, the candles having melted into splattered puddles that had completely ruined the dark cushions running atop the stone bench about the central fireplace.

"Pierce did this?" I breathed as Al tried to yank open a drawer, the tight wood not giving an inch.

"Adaperire!"
he shouted, and my hands jumped to my zipper, yanking it back up again as every door, cupboard, and box suddenly opened.

"Your boyfriend is a pain in the ass," he said, looking embarrassed as he plucked three black candles from the drawer.

"He's not my boyfriend." I gingerly touched the goo on the books to find that, like Jenks's dust, it came away cleanly, rolling into a ball and falling to the floor. Where the goo was, the fire hadn't burned. Clearly Al had used it to protect his precious spell library.

Al looked at the empty mantel where the candlestick holders used to be, his expression going tighter yet. "Rachel, be a dear and see if you can find the sconces? I believe they're at the tapestry. That's where he was when I threw them at him."

I couldn't help my smile as I crossed the room. No wonder Al had been ticked.

"There's
nothing
funny about destroying my kitchen," the demon said as I used my foot to feel the crumpled tapestry and look for the metal candle holders. I didn't want to touch the oily fabric that had been hiding a melted wall.

Finally I found one of the holders, and using a chunk of burnt firewood, I levered the tapestry up, shuddering when the colors shifted to hide underneath. I wasn't going to reach under there, so I flipped it over.

"Got em," I said, breathing easier as I picked my way back across the broken room. Al had placed our chairs back where they belonged, an expanse between them to show where the table ought to go. He had already started a fire in the small hearth, and he tossed the table's legs into the larger, central hearth, adding torn cushions and whatever else he didn't want before muttering in Latin and exploding it into flame.

The light from the two fires was brightening the room to where his dim globe was inconsequential. Without direction, I set the black candles in the holders and lit them myself. I felt kind of bad about the mess, and I swooped about, finding ley-line equipment and trying to put things back to rights. The clatter of Al doing the same seemed loud. It might sound funny, but I'd spent a lot of time here, and seeing the mess Pierce had created made me feel... violated.

Al noticed what I was doing, and with another sheepish look, he touched his dimly lit globe and the light went out.

"Why didn't—," I started.

"I just make a brighter light?" he said, head down as he fingered his five-sided pyramid. Eyes meeting mine, he held my gaze. "It's glowing brighter than the sun," he said. "That's all the light that can get through the smut."

I couldn't hold his gaze, and I turned away. "Sorry," I whispered. "I didn't know."

"No worries, lovey," he murmured, his gloves showing the black of ash as he set the pyramid away. "It's a small thing."

"I meant about Pierce trashing the kitchen," I said, not wanting him to think I cared.

His eyebrows were raised. "As did I." Spinning to make his coattails furl, he crossed the cleared floor to an intact cabinet. "We will find Nicholas Gregory Sparagmos most easily by way of his demon mark," he said as he opened the cabinet, reaching into the back of the clutter for a folded bit of paper. "And for that, I need this."

He turned, handing it to me triumphantly. It was a page from a spell book, the charm handwritten and smelling old. There were spots of black on it, and with a start I realized that they weren't drops of ink, but blood. Nick's blood. My thoughts zinged back to his demon mark, and I looked at Al. "This is from the basement library," I said, and he smiled with his flat, blocky teeth. "From the night you tore my throat out, then sold us a trip to the church to save my life."

"Two demon marks in one night, yes. Clever, clever little witch for you to guess! Capital good instincts!" he said, just about bursting. "What bit of bloodied thing do you have of Trenton to find him? Nothing?" he almost drawled. "What a shame. You should rectify that. Give him a bloody nose next time you see him, and save the hanky."