The Outlaw Demon Wails

Eight

I cut a sharp left into the carport, taking it fast because of my lingering anger at Trent. Habit alone kept the paint unscratched. I loved my car, and though I was jamming the gearshift like an Indy 500 driver, I wasn't going to do anything to hurt my mobile icon of independence. Especially after finally getting my license back and the dent I didn't remember putting in the car repaired. Fortunately the church was in a quiet residential area, and only the sixty-year-old oaks lining the street saw my ugly temper.

I hit the brakes sharply, and my head swung forward and back. A perverse sense of satisfaction filled me. The grille was four inches from the wall. Perfect.

Grabbing my bag from the backseat, I got out and slammed the door. It was edging two. Ceri was probably still asleep, seeing as elves kept the same sleeping habits as pixies when they could, but I had to talk to her.

I heard the dry clatter of pixy wings when my feet hit the walk, and I swung my hair out of the way for whomever it was. My money was on Jenks; it was his habit to stay awake with the few kids on sentry duty, sleeping odd hours when everyone else was up.

"Rache," Jenks said in greeting, his swooping dart to land on my shoulder shifting at the last moment when he saw my sour expression. Hovering, he flew backward in front of me. I hated it when he did that. "Ivy called you, huh?" he said, his attitude one of affronted righteousness. "It's in the eaves in the front. I can't wake the damn thing up. You need to use a spell or something."

My eyebrows rose. It's in the eaves? "What's in the eaves?"

"A gargoyle," Jenks said angrily, and my alarm vanished. "A clumsy-ass, pimply-faced, big-footed gargoyle."

"Really?" I said as I stopped right there and peered up at the steeple, not seeing the gargoyle. "How long has it been here?"

"How the hell should I know!" he shouted, and I realized that was where his anger was coming from. Someone had slipped through his lines, and he didn't like it. Jenks saw my smile, and he put his hands on his hips as he hovered backward. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing." I pushed myself into motion, making a left on the sidewalk to go to Keasley's instead of the church. Jenks's wings hummed when I took the unexpected direction, and he hastened to catch up. "We'll talk to him or her tonight, okay?" I said, wanting to get Ivy's take before we made any sweeping decisions. "If it's young, it's probably just looking for somewhere to hang."

"They don't hang, they lurk," he muttered, wings clattering aggressively. "Something's wrong with it, or it would be with its kin. They don't move, Rachel, unless they did something really bad."

"Maybe he's a rebel like you, Jenks," I said, and the pixy made a tiny huffing sound.

"Where are we going?" he asked shortly as he turned to look at the church behind us.

Immediately my bad mood returned. "To talk to Ceri. I ran into Trent trying on costumes."

"What does that have to do with Ceri?" Jenks interrupted, as protective of the small but self-assured woman as I was.

Toes edging the drop off of the curb, I pulled myself to a stop so I could watch his expression. "He got her pregnant."

"Pregnant!"

The shrill shout was punctuated by a flash of dust I could see even in the strong afternoon light. "It gets better," I said, stepping into the empty street and heading for the tired, sixty-plus-year-old house Ceri and Keasley shared. "He wants me to go into the ever-after to get a sample so their child will be born without any effects of the curse. Tried to guilt me into it." And it almost worked.

"Pregnant?" Jenks repeated, his angular face showing his shock. "I gotta smell her."

The scraping of my boots on the pavement faltered. "You can smell it when someone's pregnant?" I said, somewhat appalled.

Jenks shrugged. "Sometimes. I don't know about elves." He darted to the sidewalk, then back to me. "Can you walk a little faster? I'd like to get there before the sun sets and that thing in the eaves wakes up."

My gaze went three houses down to find Keasley outside enjoying the fall weather, raking leaves. Great, he'd seen me tear into here like a bunny on fire. "Jenks," I said suddenly. "I'm going to do the talking. Not you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said, and I fixed my gaze on him with a threatening sharpness.

"I mean it. Ceri might not have told him yet."

The hum of his wings dropped in pitch, though he didn't lose a millimeter of height. "Okay," he said hesitantly.

My boots hit the sidewalk and the dappled pattern of sun that made it through the colored leaves still clinging to the dark branches. Keasley is Leon Bairn? I thought as I looked him over. Leon was the only other person besides me to quit the I.S. and survive, though he'd apparently had to fake his death to do it. I was guessing that Trent knew it because he had helped. He would have been about fifteen then, but just coming into his parents' legacy and eager to show his stuff.

I glanced at Jenks, remembering how mad the pixy had been when I hid from him that Trent was an elf. If Keasley was Leon, then he was a runner. And Jenks wouldn't violate that trust for anything.

"Jenks, can you keep a secret?" I said, slowing when Keasley saw us and stopped his work to lean on his rake. The old man suffered from arthritis so badly that he seldom had the stamina for yard work, despite the pain charms Ceri made for him.

"Maybe," the pixy said, knowing his own limits. I gave him a sharp look, and he grimaced. "Yeah, I'll keep your lame-ass secret. What is it? Trent wears a man-bra?"

A smile quirked my lips before I grew serious. "Keasley is Leon Bairn."

"Holy crap!" Jenks said, a burst of light glowing against the bottom of the leaves. "I take the afternoon off, and you find out Ceri's pregnant and sharing a roof with a dead legend!"

I grinned at him. "Trent was chatty today."

"No fairy-ass kidding." His wings went silver in thought. "So why did Trent tell you?"

I shrugged, running my finger against the thump-bump of the chain-link fence surrounding Keasley's yard as I walked. "I don't know. To prove he knew something I didn't? Did Jih tell you that she's shacked up with a pixy buck?"

"What!"

His wings stopped and my palm darted out with a flash of adrenaline, but he caught himself before he could drop into my palm. Jenks hovered, his face a mask of parental horror. "Trent?" he squeaked. "Trent told you?" And when I nodded, he turned his gaze to the front gardens of the house, just starting to show the grace of a pixy presence even in the fall. "Sweet mother of Tink," he said. "I have to talk to my daughter."

Without waiting for my reply, he darted away, only to jerk to an abrupt halt at the fence. Slipping several inches in height, he yanked a pixy-size red bandanna from a pocket and tied it about his ankle. It was a pixy's version of a white flag: a promise of good intention and no poaching. He'd never worn it before when visiting his daughter, and the acknowledgment of her new husband had to be bittersweet. His wings a dismal blue, he zipped over the house to the backyard where Jih had been concentrating her efforts on building a garden.

Smiling faintly, I raised a hand to Keasley's hail, opened the gate, and entered the yard.

"Hi, Keasley," I called, looking him over with a new interest born of knowing his history. The old black man stood in the middle of his yard, his cheap sneakers almost hidden by leaves. His jeans were faded by work, not distressing stones in the wash, and his red-and-black plaid shirt looked a size too big, probably gotten at discount somewhere.

His wrinkles gave his face texture that made his expressions easy to read. The tinge of yellow in his brown eyes had me worried, but he was healthy apart from old age and arthritis. I could tell that he'd once been tall; now, though, I could look him eye to eye. Age was beating hard upon his body, but it had yet to touch his mind. He was the neighborhood wise old man and the only one who could give me advice without triggering my resentment.

But it was his hands that I liked the most. You could see how he had lived his entire life in them: dark, spare, knobby with stiffness, but not afraid of work, able to stir spells, stitch vampire bites, and hold pixy children. He had done all three in my sight, and I trusted him. Even if he was pretending to be something he wasn't. Didn't we all?

"Good afternoon, Rachel," he called, his sharp gaze coming back from the roofline and Jenks's disappearing trail of pixy dust. "You look like a piece of autumn in that sweater."

I glanced down at the black-and-red pattern, never having thought about it before. "Thanks. You look good out here raking. Your knees doing okay?"

The old man patted the worn spots, squinting in the sun. "They've been better, but they've been a lot worse, too. Ceri's been in the kitchen a lot lately, trying things out."

I slowed, my feet still on the cracked walk to the front porch. Grass had encroached upon it until it was only eight inches wide. "I suppose," I said softly, "chasing bad guys all your life can really damage a person. If they aren't careful."

He didn't move, going still as he stared at me.

"I, uh, talked to someone today," I said, wanting to hear it from him. "He said—"

"Who?" he rasped, and my face lost its expression. He was frightened. Terrified, almost.

"Trent," I said, pulse quickening as I came forward. "Trent Kalamack. He acted like he's known for a long time." My shoulders tensed, and the dog barking nearby made me nervous.

Exhaling long and slow, Keasley replaced his fear with a relief so deep I could just about feel it. "He has," he said, a shaky hand going over his tight, graying curls. "I have to sit down." He turned to his house. It needed new shingles and paint in the worst way. "Do you want to sit for a moment?"

I thought about Ceri, then Marshal. Then there was the gargoyle Jenks was going on about, too. "Sure."

Keasley made his slow way to the sagging porch steps, propping the rake against the rail before easing himself down in stages with a heavy sigh. A basket of cherry tomatoes decorated the railing to be given out for trick-or-treat, and two pumpkins waited to be carved. I gingerly sat beside him, my knees even with my chest. "Are you okay?" I asked hesitantly when he didn't say anything.

He looked at me askance. "You know how to get an old man's heart going, Rachel. Do Ivy and Jenks know?"

"Jenks," I said, guilt pinching my brow, and he raised a hand to tell me it was all right.

"I trust he will keep his mouth shut," he said. "Trent gave me the means to stage my death. Actually, all he gave me was the DNA-doctored tissue to smear over my front porch, but he knew."

Gave him tissue? There's a nice thought. "Then you really are—" My words cut off when his twisted hand landed warningly on my knee. In the street, five sparrows fought over a moth they had found, and I listened to them squabble, hearing in his silence his request that I not even say it. "It's been over a decade," I finally protested.

His eyes tracked the birds as one gained the moth and the rest chased the bird across the street. "It doesn't matter," he said. "Like a murder charge, the file stays open."

I followed his gaze to the church Ivy and I shared. "That's why you moved in across from the church, isn't it?" I asked, remembering the day. Keasley had saved my life by removing a delayed combustion charm someone had slipped me on the bus. "You figured if I could survive the I.S.'s death contract, you might find a way, too?"

He smiled to show his yellowing teeth, and he pulled his hand from my knee. "Yes, ma'am. I did. But after seeing how you did it?" Keasley shook his head. "I'm too old to fight dragons. I'll stay Keasley, if you don't mind."

I thought about that, cold despite the sun on us. Becoming anonymous was just something I couldn't do. "You moved in the same day I did, didn't you? You really don't know when Ivy rented the church."

"No." His eyes were on the steeple, the top hidden behind the trees. "But I watched her patterns close that first week, and I'm guessing she'd been there for at least three months."

My head was going up and down. I was learning a lot today. None of it comfortable. "You're a good liar," I said, and Keasley laughed.

"Used to be."

Liar, I thought, and then my mind drifted to Trent. "Uh, is Ceri up? I have to talk to her."

Keasley shifted to look at me. In his tired eyes was a deep relief. I had learned his secret and freed him of the necessity to lie to me. But what I think he was the most grateful for was that I didn't think any less of him for it.

"I think she's asleep," he said, smiling to tell me he was glad I was still his friend. "She's been tired lately."

I'll bet. Giving him a smile, I stood and tugged my jeans straight. I'd long assumed that Ivy had moved in before me, having only pretended to move in the same day to ease my suspicions. Now that I knew the truth, I might confront Ivy about it. Maybe. It didn't necessarily matter—I understood her reasons, and that was enough. Sometimes, just let sleeping vamps lie.

I extended a hand to help Keasley rise. "Will you tell Ceri I came over?" I asked as I held his arm until I knew he had his balance.

The porch creaked behind us, and I whipped my head around. Ceri was standing behind the closed screen door, in a sweaterdress that made her look like a young wife from the sixties. A jumble of emotions hit me as I took in her somber, guilty stance. She didn't look pregnant. She looked worried.

"Did Jenks wake you?" I said in greeting, not knowing what else to say.

She shook her head no with her arms crossed over her middle. Her long, translucent hair was done up in a complex braid that needed at least two pixies to manage it. Even through the screen I could see her cheeks were pale, her green eyes wide, and her narrow chin raised defiantly. Though delicate and petite, her mind was resilient and strong, tempered by a thousand years of serving as a demon's familiar. Elves didn't live any longer than witches, but her life had paused the moment Al took her. My guess was she'd been in her midthirties. She was barefoot, as usual, and her purple dress had black and gold accents. They were the colors that Al made her wear, though admittedly, this wasn't a ball gown.

"Come in," she said softly, vanishing into the dark house.

I glanced at Keasley. He had a wary sharpness to him, having read my tension and the shame she was hiding under her defiance. Or maybe it was guilt.

"Go on," he said, as if wanting us to get this over with so he'd know what was the matter.

Leaving him, I went up the stairs, my tension easing as the shelter of the house accepted me. I didn't think she'd told him yet—which meant I'd been seeing guilt.

The screen door squeaked, and now, knowing Keasley's past, I was sure the lack of oil was intentional. The scent of redwood struck me as I followed the sound of her fading steps down the low-ceilinged hall, past the front room, the kitchen, and all the way to the back of the house and the sunken living room, added on at some point.

The older house muffled outside sounds, and I stood in the middle of the back living room. I was sure this was where she had gone. My gaze traveled over the changes she'd made since moving in: asters arranged in Mason-jar vases, live plants bought off the sale rack and nurtured back to health clustered at the lace-curtained windows, bits of ribbon draped over mirrors to remind wandering spirits not to cross into them, yellowed doilies bought at yard sales decorating the padded arms of the couch, and faded pillows and swaths of fabric disguising the old furniture. The combined effect was clean, comfortable, and soothing.

"Ceri?" I finally called, not having the slightest idea where she was.

"Out here," she said, her voice coming from beyond the door, which was propped open with a potted fig tree.

I winced. She wanted to talk in the garden—her stronghold. Great.

Gathering myself, I headed out to find her seated at a wicker table in the garden. Jih hadn't been tending it very long, but between the enthusiastic pixy and Ceri, the tiny space had gone from a scuffed-up scrap of dirt to a bit of paradise in less than a year.

An old oak tree thicker than I could get my arms around dominated the backyard, multiple swaths of fabric draped over the lower branches to make a fluttering shelter of sorts. The ground under it was bare dirt, but it was as smooth and flat as linoleum. Vines grew above the fence to block the neighbors' view, and the grass had been allowed to grow long past the shade of the tree. I could hear water somewhere and a wren singing as if it were spring, not fall. And crickets.

"This is nice," I said in understatement as I joined her. There was a teapot and two tiny cups on the table, as if she had been expecting me. I would have said Trent had warned her, but Keasley didn't have a phone.

"Thank you," she said modestly. "Jih has taken a husband, and he works very hard to impress her."

I brought my attention back from the garden to focus on Ceri and her anxiety. "Is that where Jenks is?" I asked, wanting to meet the newest member of the family myself.

A smile eased her tight features. "Yes. Can you hear them?"

I shook my head and settled myself in the bumpy wicker chair. Now, what would be a good segue? So, I hear Jih isn't the only one who's been knocked up….

Ceri reached for the teapot, her motions wary. "I imagine this isn't a social call, but would you like some tea?"

"No, thanks," I said, then felt a tug on my awareness as Ceri murmured a word of Latin and the pot began to steam. The amber brew tinkled into her tiny cup, the click of the porcelain sounding loud among the crickets.

"Ceri," I said softly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Her vivid green eyes met mine. "I thought you'd be angry," she said with desperate worry. "Rachel, it's the only way I can get rid of it."

My lips parted. "You don't want it?"

Ceri's expression blanked. She stared wonderingly at me for a moment. "What are we talking about?" she asked cautiously.

"Your baby!"

Her mouth dropped open and she flushed scarlet. "How did you find out…"

My pulse had quickened, and I felt unreal. "I talked to Trent this afternoon," I said, and when she just sat there, staring at me with her pale fingers encircling her teacup, I added, "Quen asked me to go into the ever-after for a sample of elven DNA that predates the curse, and I wanted to know what the rush was. He kind of blurted it out."

Panic filled her, showing as her hand flashed to set her cup down and grip my wrist, shocking me. "No," she exclaimed softly, eyes wide and breath fast. "Rachel, you can't. You can't go into the ever-after. Promise me right now that you won't. Ever."

Her fingers were hurting me, and I tried to pull away. "I'm not stupid, Ceri."

"Promise me!" she said loudly. "Right now! You will not go into the ever-after. Not for me. Not for Trent. Not for my child. Never!"

I wrenched my wrist away from her, taken aback at her extreme reaction. I had been in the ever-after before, and I wasn't about to go back. "I told him no. Ceri, I can't. Someone is summoning Al out of confinement, and I can't risk being off hallowed ground after sunset, much less go to the ever-after."

The pale woman caught her emotions, clearly embarrassed. Her eyes flicked to my reddened wrist, and I hid it under the table. I felt guilty about the stand I was taking to stay out of the ever-after, even if it was a smart decision. I wanted to help Ceri, and I felt like a coward. "I'm sorry," I said, then reached for the teapot, wanting a cup of something to hide behind. "I feel like a pile of chicken crap."

"Don't," Ceri said shortly, and my eyes met hers. "This isn't your war."

"It used to be," I said, my thoughts going to the widely accepted theory that the witches had abandoned the ever-after to the demons three thousand years before the elves gave up. Before that, there was no witch history except what the elves remembered for us, and very little elf history either.

Ceri intercepted my reach for the teapot, pouring it out for me and carefully handing me the cup and saucer with the grace of a millennium of practice. I accepted it and took a sip. It wasn't coffee, but I could still feel the caffeine rush, and I eased into the wicker and crossed my legs. I had time, and Ceri, nervous and flustered, clearly was in no state for me to leave yet.

"Ceri," I said, putting a tone of pride in my voice. "You're something else. If I found out that I was pregnant unexpectedly, I'd be falling apart. I can't believe Trent did this to you."

Ceri hesitated over her cup, then took a delicate sip. "He didn't."

I shook my head. "You can't take the blame for this. I know you're a grown woman and you make your own decisions, but Trent is devious and manipulative. He could charm a troll out of her bridge if he tried."

A faint rose color tinged her cheeks. "I mean, it's not Trenton's child."

I stared at her. If it isn't Trent's…

"It's Quen's," she said, her eyes on the swaths of fabric fluttering overhead.

"B-But…" I stammered. Oh, my God. Quen? Suddenly his awkward silences and stiff looks meant something completely different. "Trent never said anything! Neither did Quen. They just stood there and let me believe—"

"It's not their place to say anything," Ceri said primly, then set her teacup down with a sharp clink.

The breeze shifted the wispy strands of her hair that had slipped her braid as I realigned my thinking. That's why Quen had gone behind Trent's back to ask for my help. That's why he'd seemed guilty. "But I thought you liked Trent," I finally managed.

Ceri made a face. On me it would have looked ugly; on her, it looked comely. "I do," she said sourly. "He is kind with me, and gentle. He is clever with words and quick to follow my thoughts, and we enjoy each other's company. His bloodline is impeccable…" She hesitated, her eyes going to her fingers, now sitting still in her lap. A deep breath lifted through her and was gone. "And he won't touch me without fear."

My brow furrowed in anger.

"It's the demon smut," she said distantly, shame in her gaze darting about. "He thinks it's the bloody kiss of death. That I'm filthy and foul, and that it's catching."

I could not believe this. Trent was a murdering drug lord, and he thought Ceri was dirty?

"Well," she said sourly, as if she'd heard my thoughts, "technically he's right. I could slough it off on him, but I wouldn't." Her eyes came up to find mine, dark with unshed misery. "You believe me, don't you?"

I thought back to Trent's reaction to black magic, and my jaw clenched. "Yeah. Yes," I amended. "He won't touch you, huh?"

Ceri's expression went pleading. "Don't be angry with him. Bartholomew's balls, Rachel," she cajoled. "The man has a right to be scared. I'm mean, I'm nasty, overbearing, temper driven, and I'm covered in demon smut. The first time we met, I knocked Quen out with a black charm and then I threatened him."

"The man was trying to drug me with an illegal charm!" I said. "What were you supposed to do? Ask him to play nice?"

"Quen understands," she said, her eyes watching her still fingers. "I don't have to explain myself or my past to him." Her head came up. "I don't even know how it happened."

"Uh," I murmured, sensing a story coming that I really didn't want to hear.

"I agreed to meet with Trent. I wanted to apologize for threatening him," she said. "I wanted to hear how his genetic treatments are keeping our species alive when magic could not. The afternoon went surprisingly well, and his gardens are so lovely—silent, but lovely—so we had tea the following week, and I told him of my life with Al." A tear spilled over and ran a quick path to her jawline. "I wanted him to know so he'd understand that the demon smut wasn't a sign of one's morals but simply a mark of imbalance upon one's soul. I thought he was beginning to understand," she said softly. "We even laughed at a shared jest, but when I touched him, he jerked back, and though he apologized and turned red, I saw the entire afternoon was a sham. He was entertaining me because he felt he needed to, not because he wanted to."

I could see it clearly in my mind. Trent was slime.

"So I finished our tea, playing the part of a courtesan entertaining the son of a potential ally," she said, and I felt her hurt pride and the shame her words couldn't hide. "I thank God that I saw his true feelings before…my heart softened to him."

Ceri sniffed, and I handed her one of the cotton napkins she had arranged about the teapot. Though she said she didn't care for him, I saw that it had wounded her deeply. Probably too far for Trent to ever make amends to the self-admittedly overly prideful woman.

"Thank you," she said, dabbing at her eyes. "Quen drove me home that afternoon as usual. He had witnessed the entire miserable affair, and when I fled his car to find solace in my garden, he followed me, taking me into his arms and telling me I was beautiful and pure. Everything I wanted to be. Everything I know I'm not."

I wanted her to stop, but she had to tell someone. And I knew how she felt, wanting to be loved, accepted—only to be reviled for things she couldn't control. A hot tear spilled over and ran a quick path to my chin when Ceri's eyes rose to mine, red and swimming.

"I spend time with Trent now simply so that Quen may escort me there and back," she said softly. "I think Trent knows it, but I don't care. Quen is confident and secure in his mind. When I'm with him, I feel beautiful and unsullied. I didn't have the ability to say yes or no to a man's attentions for a thousand years," she said, her voice gaining in strength. "I was a thing to Al, something to teach to showcase his talents, and when Quen stirred my passions after a particularly trying engagement with Trent, I realized I wanted more than his gentle words."

My throat was tight when her gaze found mine. Kisten. I knew what she meant, and he was gone. Utterly gone.

"I wanted to give myself to a man who would give himself in return," she said, pleading for understanding when I had already given it. "Not just sharing the ecstasy our bodies could bring each other, but sharing our thoughts as well. Quen is a good man," she said as if I would deny it. "He will instill my child with a proper frame of beliefs. I'd rather have as my husband a man of mixed birth who accepts me than a pure-blood who, deep in his soul, thinks I'm tainted."

My hand went out, finding hers. "Ceri—"

She pulled away, apparently thinking I was going to argue with her. Nothing could be further from the truth. "Quen is as noble as any man in my father's court," she said hotly.

"And more honorable than Trent," I said, cutting her argument short. "It's a good decision."

Relief cascaded over her, melting the tension and widening her eyes. She went to say something, then stopped. Steadying herself, she tried again, managing a high, squeaky "Would you like some more tea?"

My cup was full, and I smiled back. "Yes, thank you."

She topped it off, and I took a sip, hearing a new understanding in the cricket-filled silence between us. I knew what it was like to seek that feeling of being wanted—though I was going to play it smart with Marshal, I was the last person to say she should have been stronger. Stronger for what? What was she saving herself for? And I knew Quen would be honest with her. He probably needed an understanding soul as much as she did.

"I saw Quen today," I said, and her expression grew eager, telling me she loved him. "He looks good. Worried about you, I think." God, I felt like I was in high school, but who else did Ceri have to bubble and overflow with? The woman was in love and couldn't tell anyone.

"I'm fine," she said, flustered.

Smiling at seeing her in such a state, I settled back with my tea. I had some time yet before I had to go. Marshal could wait. "Have you given any thought to moving closer to him?" I said. "Trent offered to put you up in his…compound."

"I'm safe here," she said softly, eyes lowered, telling me she had considered it.

"I wasn't thinking about safer," I said, laughing. "I just don't want Quen coming over here all the time. Parking his big-ass limo at the curb. Driving in and out at all hours. Waking me up at sunrise when he beeps his horn for you to come out."

She blushed delicately. "I'm going to stay with Keasley."

My smile faded, and though I didn't want her to leave, I said, "You could both go."

"Jih and her new husband…," she protested, but I could see her desire to be closer to Quen.

"I bet Trent would let pixies in his garden if you asked," I said with a smirk, imagining the man covered in them. "Quen is trying to convince Trent how good pixies are at detecting intruders." Brand-new gargoyle in our eaves aside. "And Trent is trying to impress you, even if he's as ignorant as a duck." Her eyebrows were high in speculation, and I added, "He insists he's going into the ever-after to get that tissue sample."

"He can do more good in his lab," she said caustically.

"That's where he belongs," I agreed, taking a sip of tea. "Little mouse burger."

Ceri's eyebrows went up, and she lost her stiff, formal stance. "I'm safe here," she reaffirmed. "Nothing will harm me or Keasley. I have defenses that I can raise in an instant."

I didn't doubt it, but demons were able to pop in anywhere but holy ground. "There's Al to think about," I added. "He's gone rogue. Ivy told you, yes?"

She nodded, eyes on the distant vines, and I felt a frown come over me. "Someone has summoned him out of confinement and let him go three nights in a row," I said sourly. "David is checking the incoming claims to see if it's someone local out to get me, or if it's just Al giving some nameless idiot a wish per night to let him go." My lips pressed together and I thought of Nick. My gut said no, and I was going to believe that.

"He tried to kill me last night," I said. "While I was shopping with my mom."

"K-Kill you?"

My attention swung back at her faint stutter. "He says he's got nothing to lose, so he's not going to hold to his agreement to leave me or my kin alone." I hesitated. "Does that mean I can teach anyone how to spindle line energy?" Demon immunity for keeping our mouths shut had been the deal.

"He said he wasn't going to hurt you," she said, looking rightly frightened. "I mean, they aren't going to let him get away with breaking his word, are they? Did you call Minias?"

I let out a puff of air, not eager for the bill from the charm shop to hit my desk. "I didn't have to. He showed up and chased him off," I said, wondering whether, if I asked, if she would come over and sleep in the sanctuary until they found a way to contain Al. "Minias doesn't even care that Al's breaking his word. He's only upset that he's slipping their cell. They pulled Minias off babysitting Newt and put him on demon-catching detail." I looked up, seeing an almost panicked look on her face.

"It's not that Al's breaking his word that's got them in a tizzy," I said. "It's that he's escaping. Minias expects me to exchange names with Al so he can't be summoned out of confinement."

"Rachel, no!" she cried, shocking me as she reached across the table. "You can't!"

I blinked, surprised. "I wasn't planning on it, but if I can't find out who is summoning Al and letting him go, it might be the only way to get my nightlife back."

Ceri drew away, her hands clasped in her lap, sitting very straight.

"Why in the Turn's sake would I take Al's name when all I have to do is kick some demon-summoner's ass?" I muttered, and her narrow shoulders relaxed.

"Good," she said, seemingly embarrassed at her strong outburst. "You don't need to deal with them. I'll help you if you need it. Don't go to the demons even if you need to exchange names with Al. I'll find the curse for you."

Curse. Yeah, it would be a curse I needed to save my neck again. I was really going to have to put some effort into getting Al's get-out-of-jail-free card away from him. "I can't believe they put him in jail just for letting you live knowing how to spindle line energy," I mused, taking a sip of tea and startling myself when it wasn't coffee. "Stripped him of his accumulated potions. Everything. No wonder he wants me dead."

"If it got out, it would limit their pool of familiars," she mumbled, obviously wanting to drop the subject.

"Yeah, well, he's got someone cooking spells for him. He was his usual crushed-green-velvet self. I swear, if it's Nick, I'm going to kick his butt back off the Mackinac Bridge. That is, if Al hasn't chewed it off him by then. That demon is going to kill me if I'm not careful."

"No," Ceri rushed. "Al wouldn't. It's got to be a bluff. He said—"

Her words cut off and my focus sharpened on her suddenly distressed, almost panicked features. My runner training kicked in, and my heart pounded. "He said." Ceri had talked to him? To Al?

"You?" I stammered, scrambling to my feet. "You're summoning him?"

"No!" she protested, her face going whiter. "Rachel, no. I'm only making appearance charms for him. Please. Don't be angry."

Aghast, I tried to find words. "He's been loose every night for three days, and you never told me!"

"He said he wouldn't attack you!" she said, standing. "I thought you were safe. He can't attack you! He promised."

"He did attack me," I shouted, not caring if the neighbors heard me. "He's going to freaking kill me because he's got nothing to lose. And you're making him curses?"

"It's a good deal!" she shot back. "For every thirteen, he takes a day's worth of smut off of me. I've already lightened my soul by a year."

I stared at her. She was voluntarily making Al curses? "Well, merry freaking good for you," I snapped.

Her face flashed red in anger. "It's the only moral way I can get rid of the smut," she said, the loose strands of her hair starting to float. "He promised me he wouldn't go after you." Her eyes widened, and she put a hand to her upper chest, her mood shifting like a kite. "They want you to help capture him? Rachel. Don't say yes. No matter what they offer. If Al has gone rogue, he will be as slippery and devious as a stingray. You can't trust him now!"

Like I ever have? "I can't trust him now?" I exclaimed. "What kind of game is this when the rules keep changing!"

Ceri appeared affronted as she looked me up and down. "Well, did he actually hurt you?"

"He picked me up by the neck and shook me!" I shouted. She was defending him. She was defending Al!

"If that was all he did, then whether he broke his word might be open to interpretation," she said sharply. "He is bluffing."

I do not believe this. I freaking do not believe this. "You're siding with him!"

"I am not!" she exclaimed, red spots showing on her cheeks. "I'm telling you how their law system works. If there is a loophole, they'll allow him to use it. And I only made him disguise charms. I would never do anything that might hurt you."

"You're working for Al, and you didn't tell me!"

"I didn't tell you because I knew you'd get angry!"

"Well, you were right!" I yelled, heart pounding. "I got you free of him, and now you're right back at it again. Just another potential familiar who thinks they're smarter than a demon."

Ceri's red face went ashen. "Get out."

"With pleasure."

I don't even remember walking through the house. I do remember storming down to the walk because I jumped when the screen door slammed behind me. Keasley was sitting on the steps, three pixies on his hand. They flew up when the door banged, and he turned to look at me. "All set between you two…ladies?" he said, his eyes widening when I stomped past him and a frustrated scream from the backyard echoed over the neighborhood. There was a booming noise, and the pixies yelped at the sudden pressure shift. Ceri was throwing a tantrum.

"Congratulations, Jih," I said as I jerked to a halt at the bottom of the steps. "I'd like to meet your new husband properly, but I don't think I'm welcome here anymore." I turned to Keasley. "If you need me, you know where I am." Saying nothing more, I left.

My pulse was fast and my breath was short. I felt my expression turn ugly when Jenks joined me, flying at eye height.

"Uh, Rache? What's up? Is Ceri okay?"

"Ceri is ju-u-u-ust fine," I muttered, slamming the latch to the chain-link fence down and chipping a nail. "She's always fine. She's working for Al."

"She's summoning him out of confinement!" Jenks squeaked.

"No, she's making appearance curses for him to get the smut off her soul."

I paced across the street, and at his continued silence, I looked up. His tiny face was pinched and he seemed torn. "You don't see a problem in that?" I said in disbelief.

"Well…," he hedged.

I did not believe this. "That's how it starts, Jenks," I said, recalling my days as an I.S. runner bringing in witches who had gone wrong. "Then it's one black curse that he promises to use for a good reason, and he offers so much in return that you can't resist, then another, then another, and then you're his familiar for real. Well, if she wants to throw her life away again, that's not my problem."

Jenks flew beside me silently, then spoke. "Ceri knows what she's doing."

My feet found the wide, worn steps of the church, and I stopped. Storming in like this with me out of control was asking for trouble. Ivy's blood lust was triggered by high emotions, and I knew better. Turning, I looked across the street at Keasley's house. A red film enveloped the oak tree, making it look like it was on fire. People were coming out of their houses to gape at the phantom flames as Ceri raged, but I knew she wouldn't hurt the tree.

"I hope so, Jenks. I really hope so."