Every Which Way But Dead. Ким Харрисон
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I was right. She was an elf. If Jenks knew, he would blab it all over Cincinnati the moment the temperature got above freezing and he could leave the church. Trent didn’t want the world to know that elves had survived the Turn, and he would drop Agent Orange on the entire block to shut Jenks up.
Turning, I frantically waved my fingers at Ceri, pantomiming zipping my mouth. Realizing she wouldn’t have a clue what that meant, I put my finger to my lips. The woman eyed me in question, then looked at Jenks. “Ceri,” she said seriously.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jenks said impatiently, hands on his hips. “I know. You Ceri. Me Jenks. But what are you? Are you a witch? Rachel’s a witch.”
Ceri glanced at me and away. “I’m Ceri.”
Jenks’s wings blurred to nothing, the shimmer going from blue to red. “Yeah,” he repeated. “But what species? See, I’m a pixy, and Rachel is a witch. You are …” “Ceri,” she insisted.
“Ah, Jenks?” I said as the woman’s eyes narrowed. The question as to what the Kalamacks were had eluded pixies for the entirety of the family’s existence. Figuring that out would give Jenks more prestige in the pixy world than if he took out an entire fairy clan by himself. I could tell he was on the edge of his patience when he flitted up to hover before her.
“Damn it!” Jenks swore, frustrated. “What the hell are you, woman?”
“Jenks!” I shouted in alarm as Ceri’s hand flashed out, snagging him. Jax, his son, let out a yelp, leaving a cloud of pixy dust as he darted to the ceiling. Jenks’s eldest daughter, Jih peeked around the archway from the hall ceiling, her wings a pink blur.
“Hey! Lego!” Jenks exclaimed. His wings made a furious clatter, but he wasn’t going anywhere. Ceri had his pant leg between her thumb and forefinger. Her reflexes were better than even Ivy’s if she had enough control to be that precise.
“I’m Ceri,” she said, her thin lips tight as Jenks hovered, snared. “And even my demon captor had enough respect that he didn’t curse at me, little warrior.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jenks said meekly. “Can I go now?”
She raised one pale eyebrow—a skill I envied—then glanced at me for direction. I nodded emphatically, still shocked at how quick it had been. Not smiling, Ceri let him go.
“Guess you aren’t as slow as I thought,” Jenks said sullenly.
The ruffled pixy brought the scent of store-bought dirt to me as he retreated to my shoulder, and my brow furrowed when I turned my back on her to poke around under the counter for a teapot. I heard the soft familiar clink of pens, recognizing the sound of Ceri tidying Ivy’s desk. Her centuries of slavery were showing again. The woman’s mix of meek servitude and quick pride had me at a loss for how to treat her.
“Who is she?” Jenks whispered in my ear.
I crouched to reach into the cupboard, pulling out a copper teapot so badly tarnished that it was almost maroon. “She was Big Al’s familiar.”
“Big Al!” the pixy squeaked, rising up to land upon the tap. “Is that what you were doing out there? Tink’s panties, Rachel, you’re getting as bad as Nick! You know that’s not safe!”
I could tell him now. Now that it was over. Very aware of Ceri listening behind us, I ran the water into the teapot and swirled it around to clean it. “Big Al didn’t agree to testify against Piscary out of the goodness of its heart. I had to pay for it.”
With a dry rasp of wings, Jenks moved to hover before me. Surprise, shock, and then anger cascaded over his face. “What did you promise him?” he said coldly.
“It’s an it, not a him,” I said. “And it’s done.” I couldn’t look at him. “I promised to be its familiar if I was allowed to keep my soul.”
“Rachel!” A burst of pixy dust lit the sink. “When? When is it coming to get you? We have to find a way out of this. There must be something!” He flew a bright path to my spell books under the center island counter and back. “Is there anything in your books? Call Nick. He’ll know!”
Not liking his fluster, I wiped the water off the bottom of the teapot. My boot heels made a dull thumping on the linoleum as I crossed the kitchen. The gas ignited with a whoosh, and my face warmed from embarrassment. “It’s too late,” I repeated. “I’m its familiar. But the bond isn’t strong enough for it to use me if I’m on this side of the ley lines, and as long as I can keep it from pulling me into the ever-after, I’ll be okay.” I turned from the stove, finding Ceri sitting before Ivy’s computer, staring at me with rapt admiration. “I can say no. It’s done.”
Jenks came to a sputtering halt before me. “Done?” he said, too close to focus on. “Rachel, why? Putting Piscary away isn’t worth that!”
“I didn’t have a choice!” Frustrated, I crossed my arms before me and leaned against the counter. “Piscary was trying to kill me, and if I survived, I wanted him in jail, not free to come after me again. It’s done. The demon can’t use me. I tricked it.”
“Him,” Ceri said softly, and Jenks spun. I had forgotten she was there, she was so quiet. “Al is male. Female demons won’t let themselves be pulled across the lines. That’s how you can tell. Mostly.”
I blinked, taken aback. “Al is male? Why did he keep letting me call him an it?”
She lifted her shoulder in a very modern show of confusion.
My breath came out in a puff and I turned back to Jenks. I started as I found him hovering right before my nose, his wings red. “You’re an ass,” he said, his tiny, smooth features creased in anger. “You should have told us. What if it had gotten you? What about Ivy and me? Huh? We would have kept looking for you, not knowing what had happened. At least if you had told us, we might have been able to find a way to get you back. Ever think of that, Ms. Morgan? We’re a team, and you just stepped all over that!”
My next outburst died. “But there wasn’t anything you could have done,” I said lamely.
“How do you know?” Jenks snapped.
I sighed, embarrassed that a four-inch man was lecturing me—and had every right to. “Yeah, you’re right,” I said, slumping. Slowly my arms uncrossed. “I’m just … I’m just not used to having anyone I can depend on, Jenks. I’m sorry.”
Jenks dropped three feet he was so surprised. “You … you agree with me?”
Ceri’s head made a smooth turn to the open archway. Her empty expression went even more so. I followed her gaze to the dark hall, not surprised to find it holding Ivy’s lithe silhouette, her hip cocked, hand on her thin waist, looking sleek in her body-tight leather.
Suddenly wary, I pulled myself from the counter and straightened. I hated it when she just appeared like that. I hadn’t even felt the air pressure change when she opened the front door. “Hi, Ivy,” I said, my voice still carrying its chagrin from Jenks.
Ivy’s blank gaze matched Ceri’s perfectly as she ran her brown eyes over the small woman sitting in her chair. She pushed herself into motion, moving with a living vampire’s grace, her boots almost silent. Tucking her long, enviably straight black hair behind an ear, she went to the fridge and pulled out the orange juice. Dressed in her casual leather pants and black tuck-in shirt, she looked like a biker chick gone sophisticate. Her cheeks were red from the cold, and she looked chilled even though she still wore her short leather jacket.
Jenks hovered beside me, our argument forgotten in the more pressing problem of Ivy finding someone unexpected in her kitchen. My last guest she had pinned to the wall and threatened to bleed; Ivy didn’t like surprises. That she was drinking orange juice was a good sign. It meant she had succumbed to that damned blood lust of hers, and Jenks and I would only have to deal with a guilt-strewn vampire instead of an irritable, guilt-strewn, and hungry vampire. She was a lot easier to live with now that she was practicing