Every Which Way But Dead (27 page)

I jumped when she brought her hands together to make a loud pop, simultaneously saying,
“Consimilis.”

Similar,
I thought, thinking it might be a catch phrase for sympathetic magic. And the pop might be an audible show of air molecules undergoing friction. In sympathetic magic, it didn't matter how nebulous the relationship was as long as it was real.

“Cold to hot, harness within,” she continued, making another unfamiliar gesture, but I recognized the next finger movement from when I used a ley line charm to break the Howlers' bat in practice. Perhaps it was the motion that tapped into the focal object for direction. Huh. Maybe there was some sense to this ley line stuff after all.

“Calefacio!”
she said happily, invoking the charm and setting it all into motion.

I felt a mild drop through me as the charm pulled energy from the line to excite the water molecules in the cup, warming the coffee. “Wow,” I breathed when she handed me back my mug, softly steaming. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome,” she said. “You have to regulate the ending temperature yourself by how much line energy you put into it.”

“The more energy, the hotter it gets?” I took a careful sip, deciding it was perfect. It must have taken her years to gain this much proficiency.

“Depending on the amount you have to warm up,” Ceri whispered, her eyes distant in memory. “So be careful with your bathwater until you know what you're doing.” Visibly pulling herself back to the present, she turned to me. “Are you settled now?”

Adrenaline zinged through me, and I set my warm coffee down.
I can do this. If Ceri can warm her tea and spindle line energy in her head, then so can I.

“Fill your center,” she encouraged. “Then pull some from it as if you're going to work a spell as you say your invocation word.”

I tucked a curl behind my ear and settled myself. Exhaling, I closed my eyes and I tapped the line, feeling the pressures equalize in an instant. Setting my mind to the poised calmness I cultivated when I said a ley line charm, a curious, new sensation tingled through me. A tinge of energy flowed in from the line, replacing what I had unconsciously pulled from my chi.
Tulpa,
I thought, hope bringing me tight.

My eyes flew open as a wash of force flowed in from the line to replace what had darted from my chi to my head. In a torrent, the line raced through me and settled in my thoughts. My enclosure expanded to take it in. Shocked, I did nothing to stop it.

“Enough!” Ceri cried, rising to her knees. “Rachel, let go of the line!”

I jerked, pulling my focus from the ley line. There was a brief swish of warmth through me as a dribble of force back-washed from my thoughts to my chi, topping it off. Breath held, I froze in my chair, staring at her. I was afraid to move, there was so much energy in my head.

“Are you all right?” she said, not settling back down, and I nodded.

From the kitchen came a faint, “You okay in there?”

“We're fine!” I carefully shouted back, then looked at Ceri. “We're fine, right?”

Green eyes wide, she bobbed her head, not dropping my gaze for an instant. “You're holding a lot of energy outside your center,” she said. “But I've noticed your chi doesn't hold as much as mine. I think…” She hesitated. “I think an elf's chi can hold more than a witch's, but witches seem to be able to hold more in their thoughts.”

I could taste the energy in me, tinfoil-like on my tongue. “Witches make better batteries, huh?” I quipped weakly.

She laughed, her clear voice going up to the dusky rafters. I wished there were pixies up there to dance amid the sound. “Maybe that's why witches abandoned the ever-after sooner than elves,” she said. “Demons seem to prefer witches over elves or humans for their familiars. I thought it was because there were so few of us, but maybe not.”

“Maybe,” I said, wondering how long I could hold all this force without spilling it. My nose tickled. I desperately didn't want to sneeze.

Ivy's boots in the hallway intruded, and we both turned as she strode toward us with her purse over her shoulder and a plate of cookies in her hand. “I'm headed out,” she said lightly, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Want me to walk you home, Ceri?”

Immediately Ceri stood. “That's not necessary.”

Ire flickered in Ivy's eyes. “I know it's not necessary.”

Ivy's plate of steaming cookies hit the desktop before me in a harsh clatter. My eyebrows rose, and I swung my feet to the floor. Ivy wanted to talk to Ceri alone—about me. Bothered, I tapped my fingernails in a sharp staccato. “I'm not eating those,” I said flatly.

“It's medicinal, Rachel,” she said, her voice heavy with threat.

“It's Brimstone, Ivy,” I shot back. Ceri shifted from foot to foot in obvious discomfort, but I didn't care. “I can't believe you gave me Brimstone,” I added. “I arrest people who do Brimstone; I don't share rent with them.”
I was not going to tag Ivy. I didn't care if she broke every law in the I.S. handbook. Not this time.

Ivy's stance went aggressive, her hip cocked and her lips almost bloodless. “It's medicinal,” she said sharply. “It's specially processed and the amount of stimulant in it is so low you can't even smell it. You can't smell Brimstone, can you? Can you?”

The ring of brown about her pupils had shrunk, and I dropped my gaze, not wanting to trip her into pulling an aura. Not now, with the sun almost down. “There was enough in it to jerk the bane into play,” I said sullenly.

Ivy, too, calmed, knowing she had reached her limits. “That wasn't my fault,” she said softly. “I never gave you enough to even trigger a Brimstone dog.”

Ceri raised her narrow chin. There was no remorse in her green eyes. “I apologized for that,” she said tightly. “I didn't know it was illegal. It wasn't the last time I gave it to someone.”

“See?” Ivy said, gesturing to Ceri. “She didn't know, and that insurance guy was only trying to help. Now shut up, eat your cookies, and stop making us feel bad. You've got a run tomorrow and you need your strength.”

Leaning back in my swivel chair, I pushed the plate of vamp cookies away. I wasn't going to eat them. I didn't care that what I had kept down yesterday had upped my metabolism so my black eye was already turning yellow and my cut lip was healed. “I'm fine.”

Ivy's usually placid face clouded over. “Fine,” she said sharply.

“Fine,” I shot back, crossing my legs and turning so I was eyeing her askance.

Ivy's jaw clenched. “Ceri, I'll walk you home.”

Ceri glanced between us. Face empty of emotion, she bent to get her teapot and cup. “I'll take care of my dishes first,” she said.

“I can do that,” I rushed to say, but Ceri shook her head, watching her feet so as not to spill as she made her way to the kitchen. I frowned, not liking her doing domestic work. It was too much like what I imagined Algaliarept had forced on her.

“Let her do it,” Ivy said when the sound of Ceri's steps ended. “It makes her feel useful.”

“She's royalty,” I said. “You do know that, don't you?”

Ivy glanced into the dark hallway as the sound of running water filtered out. “Maybe a thousand years ago. Now she's nothing, and she knows it.”

I made a puff of air. “Don't you have any compassion? Doing my dishes is degrading.”

“I have a lot of compassion.” A flicker of anger set Ivy's thin eyebrows high. “But the last time I looked, there weren't any openings for princesses in the want ads. What is she supposed to do to give her life meaning? There aren't any treaties for her to make, no rulings to judge, and her biggest decision is to have eggs or waffles for breakfast. There's no way to give herself a feeling of worth with her old royalty crap. And doing dishes isn't degrading.”

I leaned back in my chair in a show of acquiescence. She was right, but I didn't like it. “So you have a run?” I prompted when the silence stretched.

Ivy sent one shoulder up and down. “I'm going to talk to Jenks.”

“Good.” I met her eyes, relieved.
Something we could talk about without arguing.
“I stopped at that Were's house this afternoon. The poor guy wouldn't let me in. The pixy girls had been at him. His hair was solid cornrows.” I had woken up one morning with my hair braided into the fringe of my afghan. Matalina had made them apologize, but it took me forty minutes to untangle myself. I would give just about anything to wake up like that again.

“Yeah, I saw him,” Ivy said, and I sat up from my slouch.

“You've been over there?” I asked, watching Ivy get her coat from the foyer and return. She slipped it on, the short leather jacket making a soft hush of silk against silk.

“I've been over there twice,” she said. “The Were won't let me in, either, but one of my friends is taking him out on a date so Jenks will have to answer the door, the little prick. Typical little man. He has an ego the size of the Grand Canyon.”

I chuckled, and Ceri came in from the back. Her borrowed coat was over her arm and the shoes that Keasley bought her were in her grip. I wasn't going to tell her to put them on. She could walk in the snow barefoot as far as I was concerned. Ivy, though, gave her a pointed look.

“You going to be all right for a while?” Ivy asked as Ceri dropped her shoes to the floor and snugged her feet into them.

“Good God,” I muttered, twisting the chair back and forth. “I'll be fine.”

“Stay on holy ground,” she added as she gestured for Ceri to head out. “Don't tap a line. Eat your cookies.”

“Not going to happen, Ivy,” I said.
Pasta. I wanted pasta in alfredo sauce.
That's what Nick had cooked up for me the last time Ivy was bent on shoving these things down my throat. I couldn't believe she'd been slipping me Brimstone.
Yes, I could.

“I'll call you in about an hour to make sure you're all right.”

“I won't answer,” I said, irritated. “I'm going to take a nap.” I stood and stretched until my sweater and halter top rose to show my belly button. It would have gotten a wolf whistle from Jenks, and the silence in the rafters was depressing.

Ceri came forward with her cushion to give me a hug good-bye. It startled me, and I hesitantly returned it. “Rachel can take care of herself,” she said proudly. “She's been holding enough ever-after to blow a hole in the roof for the last five minutes and has forgotten about it.”

“Holy crap!” I exclaimed, feeling my face warm. “I am, aren't I!”

Ivy sighed as she strode to the church's front door. “Don't wait up for me,” she called over her shoulder. “I'm having dinner with my folks and won't be home until after sunup.”

“You should let it go,” Ceri said as she edged after Ivy. “At least when the sun is down. Someone else might summon him, and if they don't banish him properly, he'll come looking for you. He might try to knock you out by adding to what you're holding now.” She shrugged in a very modern gesture. “But if you stay on holy ground, you should be all right.”

“I'll let it go,” I said absently, my thoughts whirling.

Ceri smiled shyly. “Thank you, Rachel,” she said softly. “It's good to feel needed.”

I jerked my attention back to her. “You're welcome.”

The scent of cold snow filtered in. I looked up seeing Ivy standing impatiently in the threshold of the open door, the fading light making her a threatening silhouette in tight leather. “ 'By-y-y-y-ye, Rachel,” she prompted mockingly, and Ceri sighed.

Turning, the slender woman made her unhurried way to the door, kicking off her shoes at the last moment and going barefoot out onto the icy cement steps.

“How can you stand the cold?” I heard Ivy say before the door shut behind them.

I soaked in the silence and the dusky light. Reaching over, I clicked off the desk lamp and it seemed to brighten outside. I was alone—for what was probably the first time—in my church. No roommate, no boyfriend, no pixies. Alone. My eyes closed, and I sat on the slightly raised stage and breathed. I could smell plywood over the almond scent of Ivy's stupid cookies. A soft pressure behind my eyes reminded me I was still holding that ball of ever-after, and with a nudge of my will, I broke the three-dimensional circle in my thoughts and the energy flowed back to the line in a warm wash.

I opened my eyes and headed for the kitchen, my sock feet soundless. I wasn't going to take a nap; I was going to make brownies as part of Ivy's present. There was no way I could compete with thousand-dollar perfume: I had to take the handmade-goodie track.

Detouring into the living room, I searched for the remote. The smell of plywood was almost an assault, and I glanced at the window Ivy had sketched on the panel, freehanding the view of the graveyard. I clicked on the stereo and Offspring's “Come Out and Play” spilled out. Grinning, I cranked it. “Wake the dead,” I said, tossing the remote and dancing into the kitchen.

While the bouncy music lured me into a better mood, I pulled out my dented spell pot, which I couldn't use for spelling anymore, and the recipe book I had swiped from my mom. Thumbing through it, I found Grandma's fudgy brownie recipe penciled in beside the gourmet recipe that tasted like cardboard. Timing my motions with the music, I got out the eggs, sugar, vanilla, and dumped them on the center island counter. I had the chocolate chips melting on the stove and the evaporated milk measured out when the air shifted and the front door slammed. The egg in my hand slipped, cracking as it hit the counter.

“Forget something, Ivy?” I shouted. Adrenaline stabbed through me as my gaze went from the broken egg to everything scattered over the kitchen. I'd never get it hidden before she made it back here.
Couldn't that woman stay away for even an hour?