For a Few Demons More (24 page)

“At the very least, you can get a proper necropsy,” I offered. “The body has been moved. The I.S. has to admit that murder is a possibility. You'll find a link to Mr. Ray's secretary.”

“And it might give the I.S. time to fabricate whatever evidence they want,” Glenn said bitterly, pulling a pack of wipes out from a breast pocket and handing me one.

I hadn't touched the body, but I took it since Glenn obviously felt I should. “He'll have needle marks. Someone killed him. I mean, how do you tear yourself up enough to kill yourself but leave your feet clean and smelling of alcohol?”

Glenn's eyes were on the Were. “I have to prove it, Rachel.”

I shrugged, wanting to get home and shower before my meeting
with Mr. Ray. Prove it, shmove it. That wasn't my job. Just point me at someone to bring in and I'm there. “If we can find out who is doing it, we'll have a better idea how to find the proof,” I said, but I wouldn't meet his eyes. I had a bad feeling the
why
they'd been killed was sitting in my freezer, and the
who
was a short list of Cincy's finest: Piscary, Trent, Mr. Ray, and Mrs. Sarong. I think I could cross Newt off the list. She wouldn't bother to cover anything up.

“Do you need me anymore?” I said, handing the used wipe back to him.

Glenn's eyes had lost their sparkle and were tired again. “No. Thank you.”

“Why did you have me come out here, then?” I chided him. “I didn't do a flipping thing.”

His dark neck reddened, and I followed him to the FIB vehicle. Behind us was the chatter of the ambulance guys getting to their feet to move the body to the city morgue. “I wanted to see Denon's reaction to you,” he muttered.

“You got me out here because you wanted to see Denon's reaction?” I exclaimed, and several heads turned. The FIB officers were smiling like it was a joke—and I was the butt of it.

Inclining his head in amusement, Glenn took my arm. “Cut me some slack, Rachel,” he said. “You saw him in the morgue. He didn't want you there and was afraid you'd see something us poor humans would miss. That points to obstruction of justice. Someone is looking for that statue you have, and you're damned lucky they aren't looking at you. Is it still in the mail system?”

I nodded, thinking it would be a mistake to do otherwise. Glenn's grip tightened as he walked us forward. “I could force you to give it to me,” he said.

Ticked, I jerked away from him and stopped. “I brought that jar of salsa you wanted,” I said, almost loud enough for the surrounding FIB officers to hear, and the man went gray. It wasn't my threat of withholding it but that I'd make public he liked tomatoes. Yeah, it was that bad.

“That's low,” Glenn said, his eyes coming back to mine.

“Then find someone else to pimp your ketchup,” I said, guilt making me flush.

Jenks dropped from the trees, startling the FIB officer. “Rache,” the
pixy said, giving no indication of what he thought of my blackmail, “I'll get you home, then go to the morgue. I want to see if the body has needle marks. I can be back before you go to talk to Mr. Ray.”

I might have to be at the church alone with Ivy,
was my first thought. “Sounds good,” I said, then feeling bad, I whispered to Glenn, “I was serious about the salsa. You want it now?”

He tightened his jaw, clearly angry, and Jenks laughed. “Give it up, you lousy cookie,” the pixy cajoled. “You have no right to the focus, and you know it.”

“It's jalapeño,” I coaxed. “Burn your freaking eyeballs out of their sockets.”

Glenn's irate look faltered, and when Jenks nodded in encouragement, Glenn licked his lips. “Jalapeño?” he murmured, his focus blurring.

“A gallon,” I said, feeling the thrill of the deal. “Do you have any zip-strips?”

Glenn's awareness abruptly cleared. “I'm working on them, but it's going to take some time. Do you want a pair of cuffs in the meanwhile?”

“Sure,” I said, though they wouldn't stop a ley line witch. “I lost the first pair you gave me in the ever-after.” Man…I missed my old cuffs with the charms and everything. Maybe I could put the right spells into the decorative charms Kisten had given me with my bracelet. I'd have to ask what kind of metal they were.

Glenn looked guilty as he scanned the people behind me collecting data. “I need a few days,” he said, his lips barely moving as he slipped me his cuffs. “Can you hold on to it for me?”

I nodded as I tucked the sliding metal in my bag, then turned my attention to Jenks. “Ready?”

The pixy rose up. “See you at the car.” His wings blurred, and then he was gone, heading across the cemetery at head height, dodging tombstones like a hummingbird on a mission.

Glenn's lips pressed, and, seeing a coming argument, I warmed. “Jenks is running vanguard for me,” I said, tossing my hair behind my shoulder. “We got it covered.”
I have to get to that class. This is really getting old.

“Rachel?”

I halted my motion to leave, turning to arch my eyebrows at him.

“Take it easy,” he said, a hand in the air in surrender. “Call me if you need bail.”

My smile deepened. “Thanks, Glenn,” I said, glad the ugly scene about the focus had been averted. “I'm going to class tonight. Really.”

“Do that,” he said, then turned back to his team, calling for some guy named Parker.

I felt funny walking across the grass between the grave markers to the car, plodding in Jenks's lightning-fast wake. My steps were small as I trudged up the hill, my head down to look for those flat markers. I swung my bag around and dug for my zebra-striped car key, but when I came around the corner of the large marker my car was behind, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Someone was messing with my backseat.

“Hey!” I said belligerently, and the jeans-clad man looked up from where he'd been leaning into the backseat, messing with Glenn's salsa. It was Tom, and my jaw dropped. “What are you doing?” I came forward, wobbling on one of those flush grave markers.

Tom stepped from the car, and I halted before him, puffing. There was a hint of anger and a lot of disdain in his blue eyes. I was looking into the sun to see him, and it ticked me off.

“I've been asked to talk to you,” he said, and I snickered.
Now he wants to talk?
He was standing before my car, though, and didn't look like he was going to move without a little encouragement. But when I saw Jenks unconscious on the dash with his dragonfly wings splayed out in the sun, I was more than ready to apply said encouragement.

My pulse leapt, fueled by anger and fear. “What did you do to Jenks?”

The man started at the threat in my voice. Moving back a step, he almost got out of the way. “I didn't want him to overhear our conversation.”

My stomach clenched in fear. “You knocked him out? You knocked Jenks out to get rid of him?” I took a step forward, and Tom retreated. “You son of a bastard.”

Yeah, I was mixing my phrases, but I was really mad.

Eyes wide in surprise, Tom took another step back.

“He's a person, you know!” I said, my face hot. “He would have left if
you asked.” Worried, I leaned into my car and carefully edged Jenks into my palm before his wings burned from the hot dash. His small body was limp and felt far too light. I remembered him carrying me when I'd been weak from blood loss, and a panicked fear slid through me. Horror joined it when I saw that he was bleeding. “What did you do?” I exclaimed. “He's bleeding from his ears!”

The ley line witch stood before me, three feet back with his hands behind him. “Rachel Morgan, I would like to ask—”

Tension pulling tight through me, I held Jenks close. “What did you do to Jenks! Do you know how dangerous it is for a pixy to lose blood?”

“Ms. Morgan,” Tom interrupted, “this is more important than your backup.”

I couldn't seem to get enough air. “He is my friend!” I exclaimed. “He's not a tissue!”

I stepped forward, and Tom retreated. “Don't touch me,” he warned.

But I got in his face, shouting, “I care more about this pixy's hang-nail than your whole stinking life, you sanctimonious little prick. What did you do to him?”

“Stay back,” he said, backing away even farther with his hands in front of him.

“I'll touch my foot to your face if you don't take off that spell!” With Jenks held carefully to my middle in my cupped hand, I took another threatening step. The hair on my arms pricked when Tom tapped a line, and before he could say or do anything, I lunged forward, betting he was setting a circle. A circle can't form through a person coated in an aura but will slide to either the front or the back of him or her. I had a fifty-fifty chance. I would either make it into his circle or crack my nose open running into it as Minias had.

I jolted, the electric taste of tinfoil stabbing through my teeth. Gasping, I hunched over Jenks. Tom's power iced through me, and for an instant the world went black. My chi filled from him to me in an eerie sensation of wrongness. It overflowed, the excess running to spindle in my mind, rolling the power of the line into storage. I jerked, trying to break the connection.

It snapped with a twang that felt so sharp it had to be audible. I opened my eyes, finding Tom staring at me. I was inside his circle. It wasn't that big either.

The witch's eyes narrowed. His fingers moved, and I shot my fist out, smacking him in the gut.
Good going, Rachel,
I thought, seeing the breath explode from him as he fell, his butt landing on the grass and his back hitting the wall of the circle. He'd probably file charges for assault now, but he
had
threatened me with ley line magic first.

“You can tell Denon he can shove his falsies up his ass,” I said, feeling that something was wrong but unable to stop and think about it. “He can't scare me off this case!” I remembered my splat gun in my bag—somehow still on my shoulder—but it would look really stupid if I hit him with blanks. Besides, it was hard to do anything with Jenks in my hand.

“Not Denon,” the witch gasped, his face red as he tried to catch his breath.

I drew back, the strength of his circle humming over my head. He wasn't speaking for the I.S.?
What in hell is going on?

I tugged my shirt to cover my middle, suddenly wary. Tom looked at me from the ground with his back pushed against the circle, his pained grimace making me retreat a step so he could stand. Looking shaken, stirred, and ticked, the witch got to his feet and brushed the grass clippings off. But then his face went still, and he looked at the arch of ever-after over him. That sensation of
wrongness
in me strengthened, and I followed his gaze to the ugly blackness.

His circle hadn't fallen when I pushed him into it. That wasn't right.

“You took it,” Tom whispered, his eyes tracking the come-and-go, knifelike slices of gold glimmering through the demon smut. “You took my circle!”

My gaze jerked to the arc of power over our heads in fearful recognition. It was my aura reflected there, not his.
I took his circle?
Newt had taken Ceri's, but it had required some effort. I'd simply walked into this one. That was it, I mused. It had been still forming and vulnerable.

Frightened, he backed up until he hit the slice of ever-after. “They told me you were an earth witch. Damn it, you took my circle. I never would have,” he stammered, his cheeks pale. “I mean…God, you must think I'm an idiot for trying to best you.”

Scared at how fast he had gone from cocky to frightened, I said, “Don't worry about it.”

Tom's attention ran over the inside of the bubble. “I didn't mean to
hurt your pixy,” he said, watching Jenks, still cupped in my hand. “He's fine. I stunned him with a high frequency. He'll wake up in an hour. I didn't know he was important to you.”

My pulse had yet to settle, and I didn't like how fast his attitude had changed. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that it was sort of flattering, though. At the very least, it had calmed my anger. I mean, how can you be angry at someone who thinks you're a stronger witch than he is?

“I didn't mean to take your circle, okay?” I said. Uneasy, I touched the circle I hadn't invoked, shivering when it broke and the energy someone else had tapped flowed through me and away. I was too distracted to unspindle the excess in my head, so I let it stay.

Tom swayed to catch his balance when the circle fell. He was clearly glad to be out of the circle, but he was still white under his brown hair.

“What did you want anyway?” I said, feeling Jenks's weight light in my palm.

“I…” Hesitating, he took a deep breath. “You have experience in summoning demons,” he said, and I cringed. “My superiors would like me to extend an invitation to you.”

Disgusted, I let my bag fall from my shoulder. Catching the strap in my hand, I threw it into the backseat. He had said he wasn't working under Denon, but I didn't want to be contracted out to the Arcane either. Reaching for the door handle, I muttered, “I don't work for the I.S. in any capacity, so forget it.”

“This isn't from the I.S.—this is a private group.”

My fingers slipped from the handle, and I stood with my back to him—thinking. The sun was hot—it would probably melt the birthday candles still in my shoulder bag—and I turned to put Jenks in the shade. Hip cocked, I sent my eyes over Tom's comfortable-looking shoes, his new jeans, his tucked-in dress shirt, and his hair drifting in the slight breeze. He was young, but not inexperienced. Powerful, but I had surprised him. He was working in the I.S. Arcane Division yet was speaking for someone else? That didn't sound good.

“This is about summoning demons, isn't it?” I said, and he nodded, too fresh-faced to look sage but trying for it anyway. I leaned against my car, amazed at how the brightest-looking people did the dumbest things. “Despite what you've heard, I don't summon demons. They just show up to irritate the hell out of me. I don't twist demon curses.”
Anymore.
“You couldn't pay me enough to twist one for you. So whatever problem your friends have, you can take it somewhere else.”

“It's not illegal to summon demons,” Tom said belligerently.

“No, but it's stupid.” I reached for the door again, pulling when Tom stepped forward and put his hand on mine. I yanked out of his reach, ticked. Damn it, he was a demon practitioner.

“Rachel Morgan, wait. I can't tell them you didn't even listen.”

I wasn't going to hit him again, but a yelling redhead could usually drive the most persistent person away. I took a breath, then hesitated. This wasn't about the focus, was it?

Exhaling, I eyed him. My gaze fell to Jenks, my hand starting to ache from holding that same stiff position, then back to Tom. “Are you the ones killing the Weres?” I asked flat out.

Tom's mouth dropped open in a surprise so genuine I had to believe it was real. “We thought you were,” he said, and I didn't know which was more disturbing, that they thought I was capable of murder or that they thought I was capable of murder and wanted me to join them.

“Me?” I said, shifting my weight to my other foot. “What for? I've never killed anyone in my life!”
Let a demon take them instead of me but never killed them. Ah, except for Peter. But he wanted to die.
Feeling guilty, I searched the horizon.

The tips of Tom's ears went red in embarrassment. “The inner circle has extended an invitation,” he said, struggling to regain my attention. “They request that you join them.”

I'll just bet.
“Excuse me,” I said angrily. “Get your hand
off
my car.”

Tom removed his hand, and I tugged the handle up. He backed up when I got in and settled into the sun-warmed leather seats. This was great. Just freaking great. A wacko fringe organization wanted me as a new recruit. Slamming the door shut, I held Jenks in my cupped palm and dug the box of tissues out of the console. I set it on my lap and carefully laid him in it. Seeing him there motionless, a feeling of panic slid through me and was gone. If he wasn't okay, Matalina would be devastated, and I would be really pissed.

The powerful practitioner of black ley line magic in jeans and sunglasses who could probably turn my blood to sludge wanted me in his little group. Even worse, he seemed to be an underling. Anger cresting,
I looked at Tom squinting in the sun, then with a small thought, willed my second sight into focus to check his aura. It was edged in a faint shimmer of black.

“Your aura is dirty,” I said, my motions sharp as I buckled myself in and let my second sight drop before I saw something I didn't want to; I
was
in a graveyard.

Face red, he boldly said, “My position in the I.S. prohibits me from working with demons as much as I'd like. But I'm committed to the cause and am contributing in other ways.”

Oh, my God. He's apologizing for not having
more
smut on his soul?

Tom misread my expression, his smooth brow tightening in anger. “My cloak may be light, but it serves a purpose. I can move unseen where those more versed in the dark arts can't.” He stepped closer. “That's why we want you, Rachel Morgan. You openly consort with demons. Your cloak is as black as anyone's in the inner circle, and yet you're not afraid to walk proud and unrepentant. Even the I.S. can't touch you.”

Stretching, I reached between the seats and got my bag.
Right. And that's why I don't have a license?
“And because of that, your little club thinks I'm worthy of them?” I said, digging for my keys. My fingers touched my splat gun, and I toyed with the idea of plugging him with a few defunct earth charms just to see him run away.

“It's not a club,” Tom said, clearly insulted. “It's a tradition of witches that stretches back to the beginning of the crossing of the ley lines. A glorious lineage of secrecy and power, pushing the frontiers of our existence.”

Yada-yada-yada…
It had taken on the cadence of empty rhetoric. Wondering if the I.S. knew they had a cultist on their payroll, I jammed the key into the ignition. “You summon demons?”

Tom's stance became defensive. “We explore options that other witches are too timid to venture. And we think you are—”

“Let me guess. I've been found worthy to join your cause and be privy to the inner-sanctum secrets that have been passed down from master to student for two millennia.”

Okay, maybe that had been a little sarcastic, but Jenks wasn't moving, and I was worried. Tom was trying to come up with something, and I started my car. The engine rumbled to life under me, the sound of
security. Hot, I fiddled with the air conditioner though the top was open. The breeze from the vents turned cool, and I relished the tickling of the curls against my face.

Done with him, I jammed the car into first. Tom put his hand on the car, his fingers going white in their grip as his words stumbled over themselves. “Rachel Morgan, you have done great things, survived multiple demon attacks, but no one gives you your due. With us you can find the honor and respect you have earned.”

His flattery meant nothing, and I angled a vent until Jenks's hair shifted. “I survived by luck and my friends. I shouldn't be honored. I ought to be committed for uncommon idiocy.”

I reached for the gearshift, and he pressed closer. “You took my circle,” he stated.

“Because I stepped into it while it was forming! It was a one-in-a-million shot of timing!” Worry pinched his eyes that I was leaving, and I hesitated. “Do yourself and your mother a favor,” I said. “Run away. Tell your boss that I put a spell on you to make you unable to continue your great work. Forget you ever heard of them, or me, and run as fast and far away as you can, because if you play with demons, they will either kill you or take you as their familiar, and believe me, you want the former. And get your hands
off my car
!”