Every Which Way But Dead. Ким Харрисон
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thick lips pressed together, and the brown wrinkles of his face deepened. Keasley took a slow breath, his arthritic hands making the grocery bag crackle. He nodded, showing me a thinning spot in his tightly curled, graying hair. Blowing in relief, I led him into the kitchen, holding myself back so I could see his reaction to Ceri.
The old witch rocked to a halt as he stared. But upon seeing the delicate woman standing in pink fuzzy slippers beside the microwave in her elegant ball gown with a folder of steaming fries, I could understand why.
“I don’t need a physician,” Ceri said.
Jenks rose from her shoulder. “Hi, Keasley. You gonna check Ceri out?”
Keasley nodded, limping as he went to pull out a chair. He gestured for Ceri to sit, then carefully lowered himself into the adjacent seat. Wheezing, he set his bag between his feet, opening it to pull out a blood pressure cuff. “I’m not a doctor,” he said. “My name is Keasley.”
Not sitting, Ceri looked at me, then him. “I’m Ceri,” she said, just above a whisper.
“Well, Ceri, it’s nice to meet you.” Setting the cuff on the table, he extended his arthritic-swollen hand. Looking unsure, Ceri awkwardly put her hand in his. Keasley shook it, smiling to show his coffee-stained teeth. The old man gestured to the chair, and Ceri arranged herself in it, reluctantly setting her fries down and warily eyeing the cuff.
“Rachel wants me to look you over,” he said while he pulled more doctor stuff out.
Ceri glanced at me, sighing as she nodded in surrender.
The coffee had finished, and as Keasley took her temperature, checked her reflexes, her blood pressure, and made her say “Ahhhh,” I took a cup into the living room for Ivy. She was sitting sideways in her cushy chair with her earphones on, head on one arm, feet draped over the other. Her eyes were shut, but she reached out without looking, taking the cup the instant I set it down. “Thank you,” she mouthed, and still not having seen her eyes, I walked out. Sometimes Ivy gave me the creeps.
“Coffee, Keasley?” I asked as I returned.
The old man peered at the thermometer and turned it off. “Yes, thank you.” He smiled at Ceri. “You’re fine.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ceri said. She had been eating her fries while Keasley worked, and she looked glumly at the bottom of the carton.
Immediately Jenks was with her. “More?” he prompted. “Try some ketchup on them.”
Suddenly Jenks’s zeal to get her to eat french fries became very clear. It wasn’t the fries he was interested in, it was the ketchup. “Jenks,” I said tiredly as I took Keasley his coffee and leaned against the center island counter. “She’s over a thousand years old. Even humans ate tomatoes then.” I hesitated. “They did have tomatoes back then, right?”
The hum of Jenks’s wings audibly dropped. “Crap,” he muttered, then brightened. “Go ahead,” he said to Ceri. “You try working the nuker this time without my help.”
“Nuker?” she questioned, carefully wiping her hands on a napkin as she stood.
“Yeah. Don’t they have microwaves in the ever-after?”
She shook her head, sending the tips of her fair hair floating. “No. I prepared Al’s food with ley line magic. This is … old.”
Keasley jerked, almost spilling his coffee. His eyes tracked Ceri’s grace as she went to the freezer and, with Jenks’s encouragement, pulled out a box of fries. She meticulously punched the buttons, her lip caught between her teeth. I thought it odd that the woman was over a thousand years old but thought the microwave was primitive.
“The ever-after?” Keasley said softly, and my attention returned to him.
I held my coffee before me with both hands, warming my fingers. “How is she?”
He shifted his shoulders. “She’s healthy enough. Maybe a little underweight. Mentally she’s been abused. I can’t tell what or how. She needs help.”
I took a deep breath, looking down into my cup. “I’ve got a big favor to ask.”
Keasley straightened. “No,” he said as he put his bag on his lap and started putting things in it. “I don’t know who—or even what—she is.”
“I stole her from the demon whose work you stitched up last fall,” I said, touching my neck. “She was its—I mean, his—familiar. I’ll pay for her room and board.”
“That isn’t it,” he protested. Bag in hand, his tired brown eyes went worried. “I don’t know anything about her, Rachel. I can’t risk taking her in. Don’t ask me to do this.”
I leaned over the space between us, almost angry. “She has been in the ever-after the last millennium. I don’t think she’s out to kill you,” I accused, and his leathery features shifted to a startled alarm. “All she needs,” I said, flustered that I had found one of his fears, “is a normal setting where she can regain her personality. And a witch, a vampire, and a pixy living in a church running down bad guys isn’t normal.”
Jenks looked at us from Ceri’s shoulder as the woman watched her fries warm. The pixy’s face was serious; he could hear the conversation as clearly as if he was standing on the table. Ceri asked him a soft question, and he turned away, answering her cheerfully. He had chased all but Jih out of the kitchen, and it was blessedly quiet.
“Please, Keasley?” I whispered.
Jih’s ethereal voice rose in song, and Ceri’s face lit up. She joined in, her voice clear as the pixy’s, managing only three notes before she started to cry. I stared as a cloud of pixies rolled into the kitchen, almost smothering her. From the living room came an irate shout as Ivy complained that the pixies were interfering with the stereo reception again.
Jenks yelled at his kids and all but Jih flitted out. Together they consoled Ceri, Jih soft and soothing, Jenks somewhat awkwardly. Keasley slumped, and I knew he’d do it. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll try it for a few days, but if it doesn’t work, she’s coming back.”
“Fair enough,” I said, feeling a huge weight slip off my chest.
Ceri looked up, her eyes still wet. “You didn’t ask me my opinion.”
My eyes widened and my face flamed. Her hearing was as good as Ivy’s. “Um …” I stammered. “I’m sorry, Ceri. It’s not that I don’t want you to stay here—”
Heart-shaped face solemn, she nodded. “I am a stumbling stone in a fortress of soldiers,” she interrupted. “I’d be honored to stay with the retired warrior and ease his hurts.”
Retired warrior? I thought, wondering what she saw in Keasley that I didn’t. In the corner came a high-pitched argument between Jenks and his eldest daughter. The young pixy was wringing the hem of her pale green dress, her tiny feet showing as she pleaded with him.
“Now wait a moment,” Keasley said, curling the top of his paper bag down. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need anyone ‘easing my hurts.’”
Ceri smiled. My slippers on her feet made a hush across the linoleum as she came to kneel before him. “Ceri,” I protested, right along with Keasley, but the young woman batted our hands away, the suddenly sharp look in her green eyes brooking no interference.
“Get up,” Keasley said gruffly as he sat before her. “I know you were a demon’s familiar and this might be how he made you act, but—”
“Be still, Keasley,” Ceri said, a faint glow of ever-after red blurring her pale hands. “I want to go with you, but only if you let me return your kindness.” She smiled up at him, her green eyes losing their focus. “It will give me a feeling of self-worth I truly need.”
My breath caught as I felt her tap the ley line out back. “Keasley?”