Pale Demon. Kim Harrison
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not parking, I’m abandoning,” I said, frustrated as I looked at the big, hand-painted sign. My mom would not be happy. She’d been royally pissed off when I’d left her car at a pull-off by the Ohio River last year. At least this time the car was in my name and she wouldn’t be getting the impound notice.
“Ivy, I gotta go,” I said, not able to handle everything I had and my suitcase, too.
“I’m on my way,” she said, and I could hear the hoot of a steamship through the connection before it cut off.
I closed my phone and tucked it away, worry settling in deep as I looked from Trent, standing behind the car with our stuff, to the road. We’d find Ivy, and then we’d be out of here. “Can anything else go wrong today?” I whispered, thinking I could have been sitting on a dock somewhere drinking coffee by now if the coven had let me fly.
“Uh, you gotta stop saying stuff like that,” Jenks said, darting up in a wash of dust. Alarmed, I followed his gaze across the busy street.
“Crap on toast,” I said, the dappled sun going cold on me as I saw three blond men in slacks and polo shirts. They must have left their car on the interstate and walked. It wasn’t that far, and a feeling of ice seemed to slip through me as I took them in.
One had really long hair; the other was short but perfectly proportioned; and the third, in the middle, reminded me of Quen, even though he looked nothing like him. It was his pace, both predatory and graceful. The other two carried themselves with a belligerent swagger, shoulders back, arms swinging, and hands well away from their sides. The Withons had gotten serious.
All three were watching us as they waited for four lanes of traffic to clear, but upon seeing me notice them, the one with the long hair simply stepped out into the street, his hand raised. Horns blew and cars screeched to a halt, the drivers yelling out their windows, ignored.
Trent turned to the noise, his lips parting as he took a deep, resolute breath. Funny, I’d have thought he’d look scared, not determined, and I stifled a surge of what might be a feeling of kinship.
“Well?” he asked me, looking surprisingly calm.
“Find Ivy,” I said, digging through my shoulder bag for a stick of magnetic chalk and reaching out for the city’s ley lines. I sucked my breath in as I found the one the arch was pinning down. Holy cow, it was big and way stronger than the one under Cincy’s university. It felt slippery, being next to so much water, and had a metallic flavor, like fish.
I looked up with the chalk in my hands, surprised to find Trent still standing there with his suitcase, Jenks hovering between us. “Go!” I shouted, pushing the chalk into Trent’s hand and giving him a shove. “Find Ivy. I’ll take care of this and catch you up.” Oh God. I could do this, right? Where was my black-arts bodyguard when I needed him?
“Rache …,” Jenks whined, but Trent looked at the chalk in his hand and nodded. Saying nothing more, he turned and walked quickly away, with his suitcase, headed for the arch.
“Stay with him, will you?” I asked Jenks, my attention on the three guys. They had gotten to the median and hadn’t slowed down. “Maybe get him to run a little?” I added, trying to be funny as I glanced at the worried pixy. “I’ll be right behind you. Piece of cake.”
“I don’t like this.”
My eyes flicked back to him, seeing his worry in the slant of his brow. “Me neither, but who do you think needs you more right now? I’ll catch you up. Go! It’s just three guys. Once you get Trent to Ivy, you can come back and play.”
He made a face, and with a harsh clatter, he bobbed up and down in agreement, then zipped after Trent, telling him to hurry up, that they had things to do today other than play tourist.
I felt better with Jenks watching Trent, but nervousness prickled through me as I turned back to the three blonds, now at the curb. The one with the long hair peeled off and started for Trent.
“Hey, Legolas!” I shouted, my boots grinding the gravel as I shifted. “You want him, you go through me.”
Ignoring me, he continued on. That was just insulting, and gathering up a wad of fish-tasting ever-after, I threw it at him.
The guy with the long hair raised his hand, a protection bubble flashing into existence to deflect the ever-after. Standard move. I hadn’t really expected my first shot to land, and I started backing up more, my feet finding grass as I moved under the huge trees. But the men stopped, and that was all I wanted for the moment.
Side by side, the three men looked at me, traffic passing behind them in an uncaring blur. The guy with the long hair seemed to be the leader, and he frowned at Trent, disappearing through the bushes, before turning back to me. “Whatever he’s paying you, the Withons will double it if you turn your back for ten minutes,” he said loudly, and my face burned.
Why was I not surprised? Elves were elves. “He’s not paying me anything,” I said, just now realizing it. I was either really smart or really stupid.
The short guy on the end snorted his disbelief. “You’re kidding.”
Embarrassed, I backed up until the roots of a thick tree stopped me. “And even if he was, I don’t work like that,” I said. “Obviously you do. Pathetic. I should have known you were amateurs when you tried to take us out on the expressway. You keep that up, and the union is going to come down hard on you. There are traditions for this kind of thing, procedures. Or haven’t you been playing the game long enough to know?”
I was stalling, and the guy with the long hair knew it, taking a moment to tie his hair back and frown at the arch behind me. I glanced back, a knot of worry easing when I realized Trent was gone.
“Who wants the pleasure?” he asked, and the one in the middle, the one who reminded me of Quen, smiled.
“I’ll do it,” he said, and I tensed, shocked when a heavy lassitude filled me. My legs buckled, and that fast, I was on my knees, the tingle of wild magic coursing through me, robbing me of strength. There was music in my head, like green, growing things, and my hands hit the ground, bits of twigs biting into my palms, making them tingle. I gasped, my lungs reluctant to expand.
I fought it, finding strength from the ley line. I pulled it into me, feeling it burn. Teeth clenched, I looked up through the strands of my hair. The man in the middle widened his eyes as if in surprise. And then he started to sing.
My breath escaped me in a rush as his words washed over me, and my head bowed. My elbows trembled, and everything I had won back left me. “Stop …,” I whispered. I couldn’t think, the thick, muzzy blanket swallowing me up as he sang, the lazy words unclear as they became my entire world. My pulse shifted, becoming slower, meeting his song beat for beat. It was too slow, and I fought for control, failing.
I felt myself start to fall, and a warm arm caught me, gently cradling me. I could smell cinnamon and wine, bitter and spoiled. I couldn’t fight the music beating its way into my existence, making me live to a rhythm too slow, and my eyes shut as someone propped me up against the tree. I was losing my hold on the ley line, and in terror, I reached for it, trying to make a protection bubble in my mind to wall the music off. But it was already in my head, and I couldn’t separate it from me. It was too beautiful. I couldn’t help but listen.
“That was easy,” I heard the long-haired elf say derisively, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t fight the lassitude that had become my world, hated and familiar from my childhood.
“You have her then?” the voice asked, and finally the singing stopped. The fatigue lingered as the song echoed in my brain, circling over and over, going more slowly each time. It was killing me.
“Go,” a breathy voice said, and my head landed on a shoulder. “I’ll be done by the time you finish Kalamack.”
Oh God. Trent. But the spark quickly died. My breathing had slowed to a shallow hint. I was faltering. I recognized it. I’d lived this before when I was younger.