Pale Demon. Kim Harrison
capable than I in magic. It’s why I wanted to hire you in the first place,” he said, making it sound like an insult. “The deal was that I give you until the witches’ conference to resolve this issue.” I made a “well?” face at him, and he snarkily added, “We aren’t there yet. You’ve got a day or two before I start trying to kill you again.”
My mouth dropped open. From behind me, Jenks coughed, covering up a laugh. “I just saved your life!” I said loudly, anger spilling into my voice. “Again!”
“Will you two stop bickering?” Ivy suddenly said, and I flicked a look at her, seeing her about ready to lose it. The blood, the anger, it was adding up. Trent had pissed me off, and I was filling the car with it. I wasn’t done, but for Ivy, I’d shut my mouth.
“Screw you, Trent,” I said as I flopped back into my seat. In hindsight, it might not have been the best thing to do since Ivy took a deep breath and shuddered.
“I’m just saying—” Trent started, his voice cutting off as Ivy put on the blinker. We hadn’t seen a car in miles, but she flicked it on and took the exit ramp, right before the interstate rose to go over a grass-covered road running north and south.
“Uh, Ivy?” I asked. Trent, too, had put both feet on the floor and sat up straight. I’d almost say he was worried.
“I’m good, Ivy,” Jenks chimed in. The guy had a bladder the size of a pinhead.
“I’m not.” Ivy looked at Trent through the rearview mirror. “You stink.”
I looked over the seat, wincing at the sight of his blood-soaked shirtsleeve and the wad of red tissue he had pressed against his ear again. “Sorry,” he said sourly. “Didn’t mean to offend.”
“You’re not offensive,” she said shortly. “You’re turning me on. Get out. Clean up.”
I turned back around, mouth shut. Tires popping on pebbles, Ivy pulled onto a seldom-used road bracketed by two deserted gas stations and a derelict fast-food joint. Slowing, she made a beeline across the grassy pavement to the station with the least weeds. She brought the car to a halt, sideways to the faded parking lines, and put it in park. Sighing, she turned the engine off.
Silence and crickets took over. It was four according to my cell phone, but it felt like five. Somewhere we’d crossed a time line. “Where are we?”
Jenks looked up through the strip of blue-tinted glass at a faded sign. “Saint Clair?”
The sound of Trent’s door opening was loud, and above us, a car drove by on the interstate. “Good,” he said as he got out, with a wince, to peer at it. “That’s 47 going under the expressway. If we take that, we can hit I-70 in an hour and cut twenty hours out of the drive.”
Ivy leaned back and closed her eyes. “I’m not driving on a two-lane road. Not out here in the abandoned stretches. And not after dark.”
“You’re afraid?” Trent mocked.
Jenks rose up and down in nervousness, but Ivy just settled deeper into the sun. “Absolutely,” she said softly, and I bobbed my head, totally agreeing with her. I didn’t want to get off the interstate, either. There were bad things in the empty stretches, especially out west, where there’d been less of a population to begin with.
“Release the trunk, will you?” Trent said, clearly not going to push the issue.
While Trent shuffled to the back of the car, I began gathering the trash. I don’t remember anyone buying Milk Duds …
“Be quick about it!” Ivy said loudly as she reached for a lever and popped the trunk. “And don’t go in the building for water. I’ve got wet wipes in the outside pocket of my bag.”
“I know better than to knock on doors,” Trent said, feeling his jaw as he pulled his suitcase out and moved to the back of the car.
I watched him in the side-view mirror until the lid of the trunk lifted, blocking my view. Fidgeting, I finished shoving trash into one bag. I didn’t believe his crack about trying to kill me, but I was going to have to make good on our deal at some point. Here in the middle of nowhere might be better than in the middle of San Francisco with witches breathing down my neck. I didn’t trust him, but now was better than later. It might get him to shut up, too.
“Ivy,” I said as I grabbed my shoulder bag. “Do we have twenty minutes?”
“You gotta pee, too?” Jenks guessed, darting outside the window to warm himself in the sun. “Tink’s panties, I don’t know why it takes you women so long,” he said from outside.
“Maybe because we don’t have to do it every twenty minutes,” I suggested.
“Hey!” he said indignantly, but Ivy had opened her eyes, waiting for an explanation.
“I want to take care of his familiar mark,” I said, almost angry.
“Feeling guilty?” she said, eyes closing.
“No,” I said quickly. “And I’m not afraid of him killing me, but it will give him one less thing to bitch about.”
Ivy’s lips quirked, and the sun hit her fully. “If it will shut him up, take an hour.”
“All I need is twenty minutes.” Sublimely aware of Trent rustling in the back, I got out with my bag in one hand, the trash in the other, using my foot to shut the door. Jenks lifted high to do a perimeter, and looking at the abandoned gas station, I sighed. Yellowed weeds grew in the cracks, but there was a nice bit of concrete under the gas station overhang. That was likely the best spot to make a circle, and I did want this done in a circle.
“Rachel?” Ivy called, and I turned to see her leaning across the front seat, to my window. “Find out why the Withons are trying to kill him, will you?” she whispered, her brown eyes going darker. “We’re going to hit desert soon. That’s a lot of space for bad things to happen in.”
Squinting from the sun, I followed her gaze to the lifted trunk lid and settled my bag on my shoulder. The memory of the attack outside St. Louis sifted through me, and then my nearly succumbing to wild magic. And then the arch falling on us? It was a far cry from the “assassins” in my kitchen, and I wanted to know myself. It was times like this when I missed Pierce. He’d probably threaten Trent with a curse and be done with it, which wasn’t much better than Trent, but I did appreciate his results. I had to be more circumspect for my answers.
Nodding, I started for the back of the car. Jenks was sitting on the rim of the upraised trunk talking to Trent, and upon seeing the man, I stopped, blinking in appreciation.
Trent had his shirt off, wadded up and in a pile at his feet. His suitcase was open, but he quickly shut it when my shadow touched him. A wad of wet towelettes was in his hand, and his skin was glistening in the sun where he’d wiped himself down. Damn, he looked good. Lots of definition and not a single tan line. Not to mention the six-pack abs disappearing into a pair of faded jeans. Murdering drug lord. Bio-drug dealer. Pretty like a toxin.
His expression cross, Trent dropped the used wipes on his bloodstained shirt and snatched up the one draped over my garment bag. “What?” he said shortly, and I flushed.
Sitting on the highest part of the hood, his feet dangling down, Jenks sighed.
“I need something from my bag,” I said as I dropped the trash into the nearby fifty-five-gallon drum and edged closer. Shoving Trent down with my mere presence, I pulled my scrying mirror from the side pocket of my carry-on. The rest of the curse—five candles, magnetic chalk, finger stick, transfer media, and stick of redwood—was in my bag. It was a simple curse, really.
“I’m tired of you bitching at me,” I said, jamming my carry-on bag back where it had been. “I’m going to take care of your familiar mark. Right now.”
“Here?” Trent said, the sun making his surprise easy to see.
“That’s generally