Every Which Way But Dead (26 page)

David glanced at the empty doorway and the light spilling in. Jenks flew to land on his shoulder as the Were unzipped his backpack. “I've got something that might help,” David said. “My old partner used to swear by it. Begged me for some when he partied-too-hearty.”

“Whoa!” Hand over his nose, Jenks flitted upward. “How much bane you got in there, Johnny Appleseed?”

David's smile grew sly. “What?” he said, his brown eyes innocent. “It's not illegal. And it's organic. No carbs, even.”

The familiar spicy scent of bane rose thicker in the small room, and I wasn't surprised when David brought out a cellophane bag with a zippy top. I recognized the name brand: Wolf's Head Organic. “Here,” he said as he took the cup out of my hand and set it on my bedside table.

Hiding what he was doing from the hallway, he shook a good tablespoon into my drink. Running his eyes over me, he shook in a little more. “Try it now,” he said, handing it to me.

I sighed. Why was everyone giving me stuff? All I wanted was a sleep charm or maybe one of Captain Edden's strange aspirins. But David looked so hopeful, and the smell of bane was more appealing than rosehips, that I stirred it with my pinky. The crushed leaves sank to leave the tea a richer color. “What good will this do?” I asked as I took a sip. “I'm not a Were.”

David dropped the bag into his backpack and zipped it shut. “Not much. Your witch metabolism is too slow for it to really work. But my old partner was a witch, and he said it helped with his hangovers. It's got to taste better, if nothing else.”

He stood to leave, and I sipped again, agreeing. My jaw relaxed; I hadn't even known I had been clenching it. Warm and smooth, the bane tea slipped down my throat with a mixed taste of ham broth and apples. My muscles seemed to unknot, like taking a shot of tequila. A sigh slipped from me, and the soft weight of Jenks landing on my arm pulled my eyes to his.

“Hey, Rache? You okay?”

I smiled and took another swallow. “Hi, Jenks. You're all sparkly.”

Jenks's face blanked, and David looked up from working the buttons closed on his coat. His brown eyes were questioning.

“Thanks, David,” I said, hearing my voice slow, precise, and low. “I owe you, okay?”

“Sure.” He picked up his backpack. “You take care of yourself.”

“I will.” I gulped half my tea, and it slid down to make a warm spot in me. “I don't feel too bad right now. Which is good, seeing as I have a date with Trent tomorrow, and if I don't go, his security officer is gonna kill me.”

David jerked to a stop in the threshold. From beyond him came the
tap-tap-tap
of Keasley hammering a blanket over the door. “Trent Kalamack?” the Were questioned.

“Yeah.” I took another drink, swirling the tea with my pinky until the bane made a whirlpool and shifted the brew even darker. “He's going to talk to Saladan. His security officer is making me go with him.” I squinted up at David, the light from the hallway seeming bright but not painful. I wondered where David's tattoos were. Weres always had tattoos, don't ask me why.

“Have you ever met Trent?” I asked.

“Mr. Kalamack?” David rocked back into the room. “No.”

I squirmed under my afghan and focused on my cup. David's partner was right. This stuff was great. I didn't hurt anywhere. “Trent is a prick,” I said, remembering what we were talking about. “I've got the goods on him, and he's got the goods on me. But I don't have anything on his security officer, and if I don't do this, he's going to tell.”

Jenks hovered, making an uncertain swoop from David to the door and back to me. David eyed him, then asked, “Tell what?”

I leaned closer, my eyes widening as my tea threatened to slop when I moved faster than I thought I should. Frowning, I finished it off, not minding the bits of leaves that came with it. Smiling, I leaned close, enjoying the smell of musk and bane. “My secret,” I whispered, wondering if David would let me hunt for his tattoos if I asked. He looked great for an older guy. “I've got a secret, but I'm not going to tell you.”

“I'll be back,” Jenks said, swooping close. “I want to know what she put in that tea.”

He zipped out, and I blinked, watching the sparkles of his pixy dust settle. I'd never seen so many before, and they were the colors of the rainbow. Jenks must have been worried.

“Secret?” David prompted, but I shook my head and the light seemed to brighten.

“I'm not going to tell. I don't like the cold.”

David put his hands on my shoulders and eased me into the pillows. I smiled up at him, happy when Jenks flew in. “Jenks,” David said softly. “Has she been bitten by a Were?”

“No!” he protested. “Unless it was before I met her.”

My eyes had slid shut, and they opened when David shook me. “What?” I protested, pushing at him when he peered at me, his liquid brown eyes too close to mine. Now he reminded me of my dad, and I smiled at him.

“Rachel, honey,” he said. “You been bitten by a Were?”

A sigh came from me. “Nope. Never you and never Ivy. No one bites me but mosquitoes, and I squish them. Little bastards.”

Jenks hovered backward and David drew away. I closed my eyes, listening to them breathe. It seemed awfully loud. “Shhhh,” I said. “Quiet.”

“Maybe I gave her too much,” David said.

Ceri's soft padding of feet seemed loud. “What…What did you do to her?” she asked, her voice sharp, pulling my eyes open.

“Nothing!” David protested, his shoulders hunched. “I gave her some bane. It shouldn't have done this. I've never seen it do this to a witch before!”

“Ceri,” I said, “I'm sleepy. Can I go to sleep?”

Her lips pursed, but I could tell she wasn't angry with me. “Yes.” She tugged the coverlet to my chin. “Go to sleep.”

I slumped back, not caring that I was still wearing wet clothes. I was really, really tired. And I was warm. And my skin was tingling. And I felt like I could sleep for a week.

“Why didn't you ask me before you gave her bane?” Ceri asked sharply, her words a whisper but very clear. “She's already on Brimstone. It's in the cookies!”

I knew it!
I thought, trying to open my eyes.
Boy, I was going to let Ivy have it when she got home.
But she wasn't, and I was tired, so I did nothing. I'd had it with people getting me drunk. I swear, I wasn't going to eat anything I didn't make myself ever again.

The sound of David's chuckle seemed to set my skin to tingle where the coverlet didn't come between him and me. “I got it now,” he said. “The Brimstone upped her metabolism to where the bane is going to do some real good. She's going to sleep for three days. I gave her enough to knock a Were out for a full moon.”

A jerk of alarm went through me. My eyes flashed open. “No!” I said, trying to sit up as Ceri pushed me into the pillows. “I have to go to that party. If I don't, Quen will tell!”

David helped her, and together they kept my head on the pillow and my feet under the afghan. “Take it easy, Rachel,” he soothed, and I hated that he was stronger than I. “Don't fight it, or it's going to come back up on you. Be a good little witch and let it work itself out.”

“If I don't go, he'll tell!” I said, hearing my blood race through my ears. “The only thing I have on Trent is that I know what he is, and if I tell, Quen will freaking kill me!”

“What!” Jenks shrieked, his wings clattering as he rose.

Too late, I realized what I had said.
Shit.

I stared at Jenks, feeling my face go white. The room went deathly still. Ceri's eyes were round with question, and David stared in disbelief. I couldn't take it back.

“You know!” Jenks shouted. “You know what he is, and you didn't tell me? You witch! You knew? You knew! Rachel! You…you…”

Disapproval was thick in David's eyes, and Ceri looked frightened. Pixy children peeked around the doorframe. “You knew!” Jenks yelled, pixy dust sifting from him in a golden sunbeam. His kids scattered in a frightened tinkling sound.

I lurched upright. “Jenks—” I said, hunching into myself as my stomach clenched.

“Shut up!” he shouted. “Just shut the hell up! We're supposed to be partners!”

“Jenks…” I reached out. I wasn't sleepy anymore, and my gut twisted.

“No!” he said, a burst of pixy dust lighting my dim room. “You don't trust me? Fine. I'm outta here. I gotta make a call. David, can I and my family bum a ride from you?”

“Jenks!” I tossed the covers from me. “I'm sorry! I couldn't tell you.”
Oh God, I should have trusted Jenks.

“Shut the hell up!” he exclaimed, then flew out, pixy dust flaming red in his path.

I stood to follow. I took a step, then reached for the door-frame, my head swinging to look at the floor. My vision wavered and my balance left me. I put a hand to my stomach. “I'm going to be sick,” I breathed. “Oh God, I'm going to be sick.”

David's hand was heavy on my shoulder. Motions firm and deliberate, he pulled me into the hall. “I told you it was going to come back up on you,” he muttered while he pushed me into the bathroom and elbowed the light on. “You shouldn't have sat up. What is it with you witches? Think you know everything and never listen to a damn thing.”

Needless to say, he was right. Hand over my mouth, I just made it to the toilet. Everything came up: the cookies, the tea, dinner from two weeks ago. David left after my first retch, leaving me alone to hack and cough my way into the dry heaves.

Finally I got control over myself. Knees shaking, I rose and flushed the toilet. Unable to look at the mirror, I rinsed my mouth out, gulping water right from the tap. I had thrown up all over my amulet, and I took it off, rinsing it under a steady stream of water before setting it beside the sink. All my hurts came flowing back, and I felt like I deserved them.

Heart pounding and feeling weak, I splashed water off my face and looked up. Past my raggedy looking reflection, Ceri stood in the doorway, her arms clasped about her. The church was eerily silent. “Where's Jenks?” I rasped.

Her eyes fell from mine, and I turned around. “I'm sorry, Rachel. He left with David.”

He left? He couldn't leave. It was freaking twenty out.

There was a soft scuff, and Keasley shuffled to stand beside her.

“Where did he go?” I asked, shivering as the lingering bane and Brimstone churned inside.

Ceri's head drooped. “He asked David to take him to a friend's house, and the entire sídh left in a box. He said he couldn't risk his family anymore, and…” Her gaze went to Keasley, her green eyes catching the fluorescent light. “He said he quit.”

He left?
I lurched into motion, headed for the phone. Didn't want to risk his family, my ass. He had killed two fairy assassins this spring, letting the third live as a warning to the rest. And it wasn't the cold. The door was going to be fixed, and they could always stay in Ivy's or my room until it was. He left because I had lied to him. And as I saw Keasley's wrinkled grim face behind Ceri's, I knew I was right. Words had been said that I hadn't heard.

Stumbling into the living room, I looked for the phone. There was only one place he'd go: the Were who had despelled my stuff last fall. I had to talk to Jenks. I had to tell him I was sorry. That I had been an ass. That I should have trusted him. That he was right to be angry with me and that I was sorry.

But Keasley intercepted my reach, and I drew back at his old hand. I stared at him, cold in the thin protection the blanket had put between me and the night. “Rachel…” he said as Ceri drifted to a melancholy stop in the hall. “I think…I think you should give him a day at least.”

Ceri jerked, and she looked down the hallway. Faint on the air I heard the front door open, and the blanket moved in the shifting air currents.

“Rachel?” came Ivy's voice. “Where's Jenks? And why is there a Home Depot truck unloading sheet plywood in our drive?”

I sank down onto a chair before I fell over. My elbows went on my knees, and my head dropped into my hands. The Brimstone and bane still warred within me, making me shaky and weak. Damn. What was I going to tell Ivy?

T
he coffee in my oversized mug was cold, but I wasn't going to go into the kitchen for more. Ivy was banging around there, baking more of her vile cookies despite us having already gone over that I wasn't going to eat them and was madder than a troll with a hangover that she'd been slipping me Brimstone.

The clatter of my pain amulet against the complexion charm hiding my bruised eye intruded as I set my mug aside and reached for the desk lamp. It had gotten dusky while Ceri tried to teach me how to store line energy. Cheery yellow light spilled over the plants strewn on my desk, the glow just reaching Ceri sitting on a cushion she had brought over from Keasley's. We could have done this in the more comfortable living room, but Ceri had insisted on hallowed ground despite the sun being up. And it was quiet in the sanctuary. Depressingly so.

Ceri sat cross-legged on the floor to make a small figure in jeans and a casual shirt under the shadow of the cross. A pot of tea sat beside her, steaming though my own mug was long cold. I had a feeling she was using magic to keep it warm, though I had yet to catch her at it. A delicate cup was cradled reverently in her thin hands—she had brought that from Keasley's, too—and Ivy's crucifix glimmered about her neck. The woman's hands were never far from it. Her fair hair had been plaited by Jenks's eldest daughter that morning, and she looked at peace with herself. I loved seeing her like this, knowing what she had endured.

There was a thump from the kitchen followed by the clatter of the oven door shutting. A frown crossed me, and I turned to Ceri as she prompted, “Are you ready to try again?”

Setting my sock-footed feet firmly on the floor, I nodded. Quick from practice, I reached out with my awareness and touched the line out back. My chi filled, taking no more or less than it ever did. The energy flowed through me much like a river flows through a pond. I had been able to do this since I was twelve and accidentally threw Trent into a tree at his father's Make-A-Wish camp. What I had to do was pull some of that energy out of the pond and lift it to a cistern in my mind, so to speak. A person's chi, whether human, Inderlander, or demon, could hold only so much. Familiars acted as extra chi that a magic user could draw on as his or her own.

Ceri waited until I gestured I was ready before she tapped the same line and fostered more into me. It was a trickle instead of Algaliarept's deluge, but even so, my skin burned when my chi overflowed and the force rippled through me, seeking somewhere to puddle. Going back to the pond and river analogy, the banks had overflowed and the valley was flooding.

My thoughts were the only place it could settle, and by the time it found them, I had made the tiny three-dimensional circle in my imagination that Ceri had spent most of the afternoon teaching me how to craft. Shoulders easing, I felt the trickle find the small enclosure. Immediately the warm sensation on my skin vanished as the energy my chi couldn't hold was drawn into it like mercury droplets. The bubble expanded, glowing with a red smear that took on the color of my and Al's aura. Yuck.

“Say your trigger word,” Ceri prompted, and I winced. It was too late. My eyes met hers, and her thin lips twitched. “You forgot,” she accused, and I shrugged. Immediately she stopped forcing energy into me, and the excess ran out in a brief spark of heat back to the line. “Say it this time,” she said tightly. Ceri was nice, but she wasn't a particularly patient teacher.

Again she made ley line energy overflow my chi. My skin warmed, the bruise from where Algaliarept slapped me throbbing. The amperage, if you will, was a touch more than usual, and I thought that it was Ceri's not-so-subtle encouragement to get it right this time.

“Tulpa,” I whispered, hearing it in my mind as well as my ear. The word choice wasn't important. It was building the association between the word and the actions that were. Latin was generally used, as it was unlikely that I would say it accidentally, triggering the spell by mistake. The process was identical to when I had learned to make an instant circle. The word tulpa wasn't Latin—it hardly qualified as English—but how often was it used in conversation?

Faster this time, the energy from the line found my enclosure and filled it. I pulled my gaze to Ceri and nodded for more. Green eyes serious in the dim light from the heat lamp on my desk, she returned it. My breath seeped out and my focus blurred when Ceri upped the level and a flash of warmth tingled over my skin. “Tulpa,” I whispered, pulse quickening.

The new force found the first. My spherical protection circle within my unconsciousness expanded to take it in. Again my focus cleared, and I nodded to Ceri. She blinked when I gestured for more, but I wasn't going to let Al knock me out with an overload of force. “I'm fine,” I said, then stiffened when the bruised skin around my eye throbbed, burning with the sensation of a sunburn even through the pain amulet. “Tulpa,” I said, slumping as the heat vanished.
See,
I told my frazzled brain.
It's an illusion. I'm not really on fire.

“That's enough,” Ceri said uncomfortably, and I pulled my chin up from my chest. The fire was gone from my veins, but I was exhausted and my fingers were trembling.

“I don't want to sleep tonight until I can hold what he pushed into me,” I replied.

“But, Rachel…” she protested, and I raised a hand slowly in denial.

“He's going to come back,” I said. “I can't fight him if I'm convulsing in pain.”

Face pale, she bobbed her head, and I jerked as she forced more into me. “Oh God,” I whispered, then said my trigger word before Ceri could stop. This time I felt the energy flow like acid through me, following new channels, pulled by my word rather than finding its way to my bubble by accident. My head jerked up. Eyes wide, I stared at Ceri as the pain vanished.

“You did it,” she said, looking almost frightened as she sat cross-legged before me.

Swallowing, I pulled my legs under me so she wouldn't see my knees tremble. “Yeah.”

Unblinking, she held her cup in her lap. “Let it go. You need to recenter yourself.”

I found my arms were wrapped around myself. Forcing them down, I exhaled. Letting go of the energy spindled in my head sounded easier than it was. I had enough force in me to throw Ivy into the next county. If it didn't flow back to my chi and then the line using the gently seared channels that Ceri had been burning through my nervous system, it was really going to hurt.

Steeling myself, I set my will around the bubble and squeezed. Breath held, I waited for the pain, but the ley line energy smoothly returned to my chi and then the line, leaving me shaking from spent adrenaline. Enormously relieved, I brushed my hair out of my eyes and put my gaze on Ceri. I felt awful: tired, exhausted, sweaty, and shaking—but satisfied.

“You're improving,” she said, and a thin smile crossed me.

“Thanks.” Taking my mug, I took a sip of cold coffee. She was probably going to ask me to pull it off the line by myself next; I wasn't yet ready to try. “Ceri,” I said as my fingers trembled. “This isn't that hard compared to the benefits. Why don't more people know this?”

She smiled, her dusky shape in the shadow of the lamp going sage looking. “They do in the ever-after. It's the first thing—no, the second thing—that a new familiar is taught.”

“What's the first?” I asked before I remembered I really didn't want to know.

“The death of self-will,” she said, and my expression froze at the ugliness in how casually she said it. “Letting me escape, knowing how to be my own familiar, was a mistake,” she said. “Al would kill me if he could to cover it up.”

“He can't?” I said, suddenly frightened that the demon might try.

Ceri shrugged. “Maybe. But I have my soul, black as it is. That's what's important.”

“I suppose.” I didn't understand her cavalier attitude, but I hadn't been Al's familiar for a millennium. “I don't want a familiar,” I said, glad Nick was so distant he couldn't feel any of this. I was sure if he was close enough, he would've called to make sure I was okay. I think.

“You're doing well.” Ceri sipped her tea and glanced at the dark windows. “Al told me it took me three months to get to where you are now.”

I looked at her, shocked. There was no way I could be better than her. “You're kidding.”

“I was fighting him,” she said. “I didn't want to learn, and he had to force me into it, using the absence of pain as a positive reinforcement.”

“You were in pain for three months?” I said, horrified.

Her eyes were on her thin hands, laced about her teacup. “I don't remember it. It was a long time ago. I do remember sitting at his feet every night, his hand soft on my head while he relaxed as he listened to me cry for the sky and trees.”

Imagining this beautiful wisp of a woman at Algaliarept's feet suffering his touch was almost too much to bear. “I'm sorry, Ceri,” I whispered.

She jerked, as if only now realizing she had said it aloud. “Don't let him take you,” she said, her wide eyes serious and solemn. “He liked me, and though he used me as they all use their familiars, he did like me. I was a coveted jewel in his belt, and he treated me well so I would be useful and at his side for a longer time. You, though…” Her head bowed, breaking our eye contact and pulling her braid over her shoulder. “He will torment you so hard and so fast that you won't have time to breathe. Don't let him take you.”

I swallowed, feeling cold. “I wasn't planning on it.”

Her narrow chin trembled. “You misunderstand. If he comes for you and you can't fight him off, make him so angry that he kills you.”

Her sincerity struck me to the core. “He's not going to give up, is he?” I said.

“No. He needs a familiar to keep his standing. He won't give up on you unless he finds someone better. Al is greedy and impatient. He'll take the best he can find.”

“So all this practice is making me a more attractive target?” I said, feeling sick.

Ceri squinted apologetically. “You need it to keep him from simply stunning you with a massive dose of ley line force and dragging you into a line.”

I gazed at the darkening windows. “Damn,” I whispered, not having considered that.

“But being your own familiar will help in your profession,” Ceri said persuasively. “You'll have the strength of a familiar without the liabilities.”

“I suppose.” I set my mug aside, gaze unfocused. It was getting dark, and I knew she wanted to be home before the sun set. “Do you want me to try it alone?” I prompted hesitantly.

Her attention flicked to my hands. “I'd advise a small rest. You're still shaking.”

I looked at my fingers, embarrassed that she was right. Curling them into a fist, I gave her a sheepish smile. She took a sip of her tea—clearly willing herself to be patient when I had no control over the situation—and I jumped when she whispered,
“Consimilis calefacio.”

She had done something; I had felt a drop in the line, even though I wasn't connected to it. Sure enough her gaze meeting mine was bright in amusement. “You felt that?” she said around a beautiful laugh. “You're getting very attached to your line, Rachel Mariana Morgan. It belongs to the whole street, even if it is in your backyard.”

“What did you do?” I asked, not wanting to delve into what she had meant by that. She held her cup up in explanation, and my smile grew. “You warmed it up,” I said, and she bobbed her head. Slowly my smile faded. “That's not a black charm, is it?”

Ceri's face lost its expression. “No. It's common ley line magic that acts on water. I will not add to the smut on my soul, Rachel. I'll be hard pressed to get rid of it as it is.”

“But Al used it on David. It almost cooked him,” I asserted, feeling sick. People were mostly water. Heat that up and you could cook them from the inside.
God, I was sick for even thinking of it.

“No,” she reassured me. “It was different. This one works only on things without auras. The curse strong enough to break through an aura is black and needs a drop of demon blood to twist. The reason David survived was because Al was drawing on a line through you, and he knew you couldn't handle the lethal amount—yet.”

I thought about that for a moment. If it wasn't black, there was no harm in it. And being able to warm up my coffee without the microwave would blow Ivy away. “Is it hard to do?”

Ceri's smile blossomed. “I'll walk you through it. Give me a moment; I have to remember how to do it the long way,” she said, extending her hand for my mug.

Oh, gotta slow to the witch's pace,
I thought, leaning forward and handing it to her. But seeing as it was most likely the charm she used three times a day to cook Al's meals, she could probably do it in her sleep.

“It's sympathetic magic,” she explained. “There's a poem to help remember the gestures, but the only two words you
have
to say are Latin. And it needs a focal object to direct the magic where to go,” she explained, and took a sip of my cold coffee, making a face. “This is swill,” she muttered, her words awkward as she spoke around the drop on her tongue. “Barbaric.”

“It's better when it's hot,” I protested, not having known you could hold a focal object in your mouth and still have it be effective. She could do the spell without it, but then she would have to throw the spell at my cup. This was easier, and less likely to spill my coffee, too.

Her face still showing her distaste, she raised her thin, expressive hands. “From candles burn and planet's spin,” she said, and I moved my fingers, mimicking her gesture—I suppose if you used your imagination, it kind of looked like lighting a candle, though how her suddenly dropping hand related to spinning planets was beyond me. “Friction is how it ends and begins.”