The Outlaw Demon Wails (15 page)

I was deep in anticipation when I found the hall, my mind already going over what I'd want to take to confront experienced demon summoners specializing in ley line manipulation. Heavy magic-detection charms…maybe a disguise amulet for that precious moment of distraction that could be the difference between falling down or staying upright…a couple of the zippy strips Glenn had traded me for ketchup that kept ley line witches from tapping a line and using ley line magic. I was going to have a busy night.

The hallway was dark, and I jerked to a halt just past my door, frowning. Ivy had put up a sign dangling by threads from the ceiling; clearly Jenks had assisted her. God help her, she had used a stencil, and I snatched at the yellow poster board, reading
BEYOND THIS POINT, THERE BE DEMONS
in bright red lettering. Crap on toast. I had forgotten about that.

When Jenks had bought the church from Piscary's estates, he had insisted I pay to get it resanctified, and though I had protested, I eventually agreed to keep the back end of the church unsanctified, as it had been originally. Not all of our clients were living, and Ivy said that interviewing the undead on the porch steps was unprofessional. The result was the kitchen and back living room weren't holy. In the past, Al had always seemed to know when I stepped from secure ground, and after my wrist had flamed in agony before he showed up to trash Patricia's charm shop, I figured I knew how he did it.
I have to get rid of this thing
, I thought, gently rubbing the raised scar. As I hesitated in the dark, weighing my risk, the front doorbell rang.

Immediately I spun on my heel. “I got it!” I shouted before Jenks could leave the desk. He and Matalina got precious little time alone as it was. They may have gone into the desk arguing, but I knew they wouldn't end that way. The man had fifty-four kids.

Rex skittered past me when I burst into the sanctuary at an easy jog, the fluffy-tailed cat thinking I was going for her. It was too soon for Marshal, and if it was some early trick-or-treaters, I was going to mess with their minds. I hadn't even gotten my tomatoes yet.

I slapped Ivy's sign down upon her piano for her to find, then padded into the dark foyer in my stocking feet. I paused to let my eyes adjust to the close darkness of the narrow room between the sanctuary and the front door. One of these days, I was going to invest in a drill and peephole.

Ready to give whoever was begging early some grief, I pushed the heavy wooden door open, and the yellow glow of the light illuminating the sign above the door spilled in. A soft scuff of dress shoes drew my attention, and I crossed my arms over my middle as I saw who it was, whose Jag was idling at the curb.

“Well, well, well,” I drawled, seeing Trent in full costume. “It's a little early for trick-or-treats, but I might have a few pennies to give you.”

“Excuse me?” the spell-enhanced, rather imposing man said. His charmed-brown eyes widened, and he turned to his car in a rustle of silk and linen, taking off a smart-looking hat to show off his mid-length black hair, restyled to Rynn Cormel's latest photo. Man, he looked good, slightly older, taller, and somehow more sophisticated. Sort of like the reverse card of himself, dark where he was usually light and vice versa. Same build, though: trim and lean—nice. I liked tall.

The black overcoat he had on went down to his ankles and contrasted beautifully with his new pale complexion, as I'd known it would. He had taken my advice and picked up a charm to change his scent, and the delicious aroma of vampire eased over me, mixing with a hint of expensive cologne. He wasn't wearing the glasses, but they peeked out from the top of an exterior breast pocket of his coat. A gray cashmere scarf fluttered about his neck, and I noticed it matched his shoes, now a nice flat black instead of his usual shiny ones.

“Wow,” I said, cocking my hip and putting my hand against the door frame to prevent him from coming in, “they even did the voice. I didn't think they could do that. How much did that set you back?”

Trent brought his attention down from the bats hanging in the sanctuary to give me a closed-lipped smile from under his raised eyebrows. They were thick and black, very unlike his pale wisps, and it made reading his emotions easier. He looked highly amused as his smile widened, showing a slip of long canine. He'd gone for the more realistic caps, and I felt
an unhelped pulse of adrenaline dive to my middle at the mix of vampiric threat and lure. I wondered if that was why Trent was standing on my doorstep—trying to get a rise out of me. Or maybe he was rethinking his stellar decision to go into the ever-after and thought showing me his twenty-thousand-dollar costume would impress me.

Suddenly wishing I'd never helped him, I blanked all the emotion from my face except for a bothered annoyance. “What do you want?” I said snidely. “Is this about Ceri? You know, letting me walk out of there thinking you got her pregnant was low even for you. If I wasn't going to go into the ever-after for you then, I sure as hell wouldn't work for you now.” Yeah, I was mad at Ceri, but I was still her friend.

Trent's eyes fixed on me, his pupils widening slightly in surprise. “I'm very glad to hear that, Ms. Morgan. Avoiding Mr. Kalamack is one of the items I wanted to talk to you about.”

I froze, alarmed. Not only had his voice lacked its musical cadence, but the accent was very New York.

The sound of a car door opening jerked my attention past Trent to the curb. The man getting out of the driver's side wasn't Jonathan or Quen. No, this guy was bigger, with wide shoulders and arms as big as my legs. I could tell by his grace that he was a living vampire. Trent didn't employ vampires unless absolutely necessary. The man in black pants and a stretchy black T-shirt by the car crossed his arms over his chest and fell into a parade rest that looked threatening even at forty feet away.

Swallowing hard, my gaze returned to the man on my stoop. I didn't think it was Trent anymore. “You're not Trent, are you,” I said, and I flushed when he flashed me the beautiful smile Rynn Cormel was known for.

“No.”

“Oh, God, I'm sorry, Mr. Cormel.” I stammered, wondering if I could make this any worse. Ivy's number one was standing on our doorstep, and I'd just insulted him. “Ivy's not here right now. Do you want to come in and wait?”

Looking utterly alive, the man threw his head back and laughed, long and deep. I warmed. Damn it, he was undead. He couldn't come in on
holy ground. And asking him to wait had been stupid. Like he had time to wait for my roommate?

“I'm sorry,” I blathered, wanting to curl up and die. “You're probably really busy. Would you like me to tell her you called? I can try to reach her cell.” My thoughts flashed to the vampire dating guide he had written to help increase a shadow's life expectancy. It was currently shoved to the back of my closet. Ivy had given it to me on our second night sharing the same roof so I'd quit pushing her vampire buttons. Reading it had been an education, one that left me wide-eyed and a little ill. Some of the stuff they did in the name of pleasure…

Rex appeared at my feet, pulled out from the depths of the church by the scent of vampire, something she associated with Ivy. The stupid cat rubbed against me by mistake before going to twine about Cormel's feet. Shaken from my musings, I lunged for her, and when she spat at me, Mr. Cormel picked the cat up, crooning to the animal as he looked at me from between her ears.

Rynn Cormel had run the world during the Turn, his living charisma somehow crossing the boundaries of death to give his undead existence an uncanny mimicry of life. Every move was a careful study of causality. It was highly unusual for so young an undead vampire to be so good at mimicking having a soul. I figured it was because he was a politician and had had practice way before he died.

“Actually,” he said, “it's you I've come to see. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

I choked on my breath, and the corners of his mouth rose in amusement. What did Ivy's master vampire want with me? “Uh…,” I said, backing up into the black foyer. He was an undead. He could ask anything…and if he insisted, I wouldn't be able to say no. Oh, God. Table 6.1. Had he really…I mean, you have to
try
stuff before you can print it, right?

“It will only take two minutes of your time.”

I breathed a little easier. Everything in the guide would take at least twenty minutes. Unless he was working on a sequel.
HOW TO NAIL YOUR SHADOW AND LEAVE THEM BREATHING IN TWO MINUTES.

Letting the cat slip from his arms, he brushed at his somehow immaculate coat. Rex continued to purr and twine. Her attention went behind me, and the clatter of pixy wings became obvious. “Rachel, it's getting late,” Jenks said, his voice high and preoccupied. “I'm moving everyone out to the stump for the night.” But his entire demeanor changed when he came wing to shoulder with me.

“Holy crap!” he swore, pixy dust sifting from him to make sunbeams at my feet. “Rynn Cormel? You gotta be pissing on my daisies! Rache!” he exclaimed, flying an erratic path between us. “It's Rynn Cormel!” Then he stopped as if he'd been nailed to the air. “I'm giving you fair warning, Mr. Cormel. If you bespell Rachel, I'll open up your head for the sunshine to come in.”

I cringed, but the dignified man clasped his surprisingly ugly hands before him and gave Jenks a respectful nod. “Not at all. I want to talk to Ms. Morgan. That's all.” He hesitated, and I flushed when his gaze dropped to my stocking feet. “Is there a more comfortable place…”

Oh, God. I hate it when this happens.
“Um,” I hedged, then winced. “Would you mind coming around the back, Mr. President? We have two unsanctified rooms for our undead clients. I'm really sorry for asking you to come in the back door, but the majority of our clients are living.”

“It's just Rynn,” he said, smiling as if he were Father Christmas. “I was never sworn in, actually.” He rocked back and glanced at his bodyguard. “I'd be happy to join you in back. Is it just that way?” he asked, leaning to his right.

I nodded, glad Ivy and I had put in a slate walk, then wondered if we had gotten the trash out this week. Crap, I hoped so. “Jenks, if it's warm enough, could you escort Mr. Cormel?”

A flash of dust slipped from him, and he darted outside. “You bet.” He flew down the stairs and then back up. “This way, please.”

His tiny voice was sarcastic, and I wouldn't be surprised if Jenks took the opportunity to threaten him again. He had no respect for titles, law, or anything but a pixy sword, and he took his job of keeping my ass above the grass seriously.

Giving me a smile that would have twitterpated Genghis Khan, the vampire took the stairs. I watched his confident pace as he made his way to the sidewalk, shoes clicking smartly, listening to everything, seeing everything. A master vampire. The master of this city. What did he want with me if it wasn't…blood?

I ducked inside and shut the door, relieved that Cormel had motioned for his bodyguard and driver to stay put. I didn't want them in my church even if Jenks was with me. Three vampires opened the door for a lot of misunderstandings.

“Matalina?” I said loudly as I padded through the sanctuary. “We have a client.” But the pixy woman had already hustled the last of her brood down the hall and out through the chimney in the back living room. It was only the youngest that were giving her trouble, not remembering the drill from last year. They would stay out of the church until Rynn Cormel left, or they'd be cleaning my windows tomorrow.

I scuffed on my slippers by the back door and unlocked it, darting into the kitchen to see if I could do a quick tidy. I elbowed the rocker switch for the lights, already reaching to shove a crumb-strewn plate into the dishwasher before the fluorescent tubes finished flickering to a bright, steady glow. Mr. Fish, my Betta, flipped his tail nervously at the sudden light, and I made a mental note to feed him. Beside him on the sill was a tiny pumpkin that I had bought for Jenks and his kids, hoping that they would go for it instead of the huge pumpkin they'd grown off the compost pile this summer. Chances looked slim since the obnoxious but beautiful vegetable was sitting under the table, warming up. The thing was huge, and I wasn't looking forward to a repeat of last year's fiasco. Pumpkin seeds could be shot with painful accuracy, it turns out.

I loved my kitchen, with its expansive counters, two stoves, and huge stainless-steel fridge that was big enough to hold a goat, at least in theory. There was a heavy antique table against the interior wall holding Ivy's computer, printer, and desk stuff. One side of it was mine, and lately I'd lost all but the last corner of it, having to continually shove her stuff back so I'd have somewhere to eat. I had taken the center island counter for me, though, so fair was fair.

The small island counter was covered in herbs I was experimenting with, last week's mail stacked on a corner and threatening to spill off, and a mishmash of earth-magic spelling hardware. Copper pots and utensils hung over it from a huge rack where the pixies loved to play hide-and-seek among metal that wouldn't burn them. Below the counter was the rest of my spelling stuff jammed together in no particular order, as it was mostly ley line paraphernalia that I didn't know what to do with. My splat gun, with its sleepy-time charms, was nestled in another set of nested copper pots, and my small library of spell books was propped up with my more mundane cookbooks on a low shelf that was open on both sides. Three of them were demon curse books and they gave me the willies, but I wasn't going to store them under my bed.

Everything looked halfway decent, and I flicked on the coffeemaker Ivy had already prepped for breakfast tomorrow. Mr. Cormel probably wouldn't drink any, but the smell might help block the pheromones. Maybe.

Concerned, I put my hands on my hips. The only thing I might have done had I some warning would be to sweep the salt out of the circle etched in the linoleum surrounding the center island counter.