A Perfect Blood (The Hollows #10)
Page 20Chapter Twenty
The foyer was dark, seeing that it still had no lights or windows, and I smiled blandly at David as I almost pushed him out the door, my band of defunct silver making a dull bump in my pocket. He'd been reluctant to leave since bringing me back from Trent's, and though having a self-assured, handsome man in the church was always a pleasure, I was just about at my wit's end trying to get my curses made with him hanging around sneaking glances at my recipes. I kept telling him everything was okay, but he knew it wasn't, even if a zing of excitement ran through me every time I reached for a ley line and found it waiting for me.
I'd known that breaking Trent's charm wasn't the magic pill that would make everything better, and indeed, now that the excitement had worn off, I found myself dealing with a moody vampire who was worried about keeping Nina out of jail, and Wayde sulking in his room because I'd gotten snagged a hundred feet from him. At least Jenks had forgiven me for having broken Trent's charm without him. And I still didn't know why I had touched Trent so . . . familiarly.
But what was bothering me the most was the demon texts open on my kitchen counter, making me wonder what I might have to do to keep my promise to myself. Was it okay to use a demon curse to catch a person committing a horrendous crime? What if the curse looked benign? Was using "dead-man's-toe" morally okay if the man's relatives had knowingly sold him for parts? Was it okay if they hadn't, but using it would keep a sick wacko organization from making more tragedies such as Winona? I didn't know, and I was too tired to figure it out. No wonder Trent always looked stressed under his facade of cool. Finding effective curses that didn't violate my moral code was getting harder, but I wasn't going to succumb to fast, easy, cheap, morally wrong magic. I was a demon, but I was not demonic.
"Thanks again for bringing me home, David," I said as I leaned into the early evening, one hand on the door frame. Cold air spilled in, holding the hint of rain yet to fall. The sun was near setting, and the sky was fabulous with pink and blue and white, the wind pushing the darkness before it. The street itself was gray and silent - expectant, maybe, and I was stuck in the church making curses while everyone was looking for HAPA. Maybe that's why David hadn't left sooner, wanting to make sure I wasn't headed out after them alone.
Sure enough, David eyed me in suspicion as he hesitated on the stoop, his long coat touching his toes and his hat on his head, looking yummy and delish in a lone-wolf kind of way.
"Really, we're all good here," I lied, wincing when the pixies flowed out of the church over us in a shrill wave to test their cold tolerance.
Shrugging his coat higher up his neck, David squinted at me. "Just don't go out alone," he said, glancing behind me and into the sanctuary, bright with electrical light. "Even with your magic, you need to be more careful, not less. That guy . . . Eloy. He's a sniper. You can't protect yourself against that. Bullets travel faster than sound."
I frowned at his sharp gray sports car, at the curb, wishing he'd get in it and go away so I could make my curses in peace. "You're right. I'll be careful."
He shifted his shoulders, uncomfortable. "Watch the I.S. and the FIB, too."
"Glenn?" I said, surprised, and he shook his head.
"Not Glenn. The I.S. and the FIB. They're watching you tighter than HAPA now that you have access to your full range of magic. They don't trust you, and probably for good reason. Why do you think they wanted that list of magic you could do?"
My gaze went down, hearing the truth of it.
"Promise me you'll stick with Ivy or Jenks," he said, touching my sleeve to bring my eyes back to his. "Outside your pack, you're vulnerable. Friends are there to watch your back."
Friends. Again my eyes couldn't meet his as I remembered why I'd faced down Al with Trent, not Ivy and Jenks. I hadn't wanted to risk my friends. Trent wasn't my friend. I didn't know what he was, but he wasn't my friend.
David squinted in distrust, and I plastered on a fake smile. "Rachel," he said, a small but sturdy hand landing on my shoulder. "I know you're capable, but perhaps you should let the I.S. and the FIB handle this from here on out. You've done your part for home and country."
"That's funny. I don't feel like I've done anything except get caught, get shot, and limp away with nothing to show for it." My jaw clenched when the pixies streamed back in, shouting about invaders coming. Must be the Were Scouts canvassing again for pop bottles. "The FIB is outclassed, and the I.S. keeps making stupid mistakes. I need to be at the next take - if only to prove they can trust me. That's what I'm aiming for. Trust."
His expression was just shy of pity, and I looked past David to the diesel truck, COOLE'S POOLS AND TABLES on the side, that was squeaking to a stop at the curb. I'd forgotten that I'd made the appointment, and I'd almost canceled when Ivy had reminded me of it. But the need to have something, anything, done and accomplished, even if it was nothing more than having Kisten's pool table fixed, had stayed my hand. David eyed the truck, then me, his hands in his pockets.
"I will not go out alone," I said as the truck's door slammed and three scruffy Weres got out. Apparently their numerous tattoos gave them protection against the cold as they had no coats. The tidiest had a clipboard, and the others a satchel of tools each.
Seeing them, David seemed to relax. "Promise?" he said dryly, and I winced.
From my shoulder came a tiny "Promise, promise!" as Jrixibell, one of Jenks's youngest daughters, mocked the serious Were. The curses to find HAPA were sitting on the kitchen counter waiting for Ivy to take them to Glenn. Apart from getting in a car and driving around the city, there wasn't much I could do until one pinged on HAPA. I could sit and watch nature documentaries with Jenks and the kids the rest of the night if I wanted. And trust me, watching a dozen pixies scream as a crocodile chomped on a zebra was something not to be missed. They invariably cheered for the crocodile, not the zebra.
"Promise," I said with a sigh, and Jrixibell squealed and took off, leaving a bright spot of sunshine that slowly faded from my shoulder.
"That's my girl," David said. Ducking his head at my puff of annoyance, he went out, turning back when he was only one step down. "The tattoo looks good. You like it?"
I couldn't help my smile as I remembered Trex from the bus. "Yes," I blurted out as I briefly covered it with my hand. "Thanks. For everything, David. You're too good to me."
He tugged his hat down over his eyes, but I could still see his smile. "I could say the same thing," he said softly as the three pool table repair guys started up the walk.
"See you later," I said, fidgeting as I breathed in the coming night, wanting only to be out in the pink and blue - hunting. The FIB didn't trust me?
David headed for his car, nodded to the Were with the clipboard in passing, sort of a nonthreatening threat that one Were gives to another entering his territory. The two behind the first slid to the side to give David lots of room on the sidewalk. I waited for them, leaning against the door frame when the Were with the clipboard hesitated, watching David get in his car. Turning to me, the rough man cleared his throat.
"Ah, Ms. Morgan?" He glanced at his clipboard. "I'm Chuck, from, ah, Coole's Pools and Tables. We're here for a table repair?"
He looked understandably confused. It was a church. "I'm Rachel." I slid backward into a cloud of pixies. "You've got the right place," I said, trying not to sneeze at the cloud of pixy dust. "Come on in. The table is just inside." I held my breath and stiffened as the pixies swirled and retreated deeper into the church. The light coming in was eclipsed as the Weres followed, shuffling. "Sorry about the pixies," I added as one shut the door.
Weres generally didn't like sanctified ground, and the three repair guys shifted their shoulders as if trying to fit into a new skin while they looked the space over. The pews had been removed long ago, leaving the worn oak floors, but you could still see where the shadow of a cross had once hung over the altar up front. Tall ceiling-to-knee-high windows of stained glass let in light when the sun was up. Ivy's baby grand piano was just inside the entrance, and my unused rolltop desk sat alone at the opposite far end where the pulpit used to be. Across from it was a coffee table, chairs, couch, and TV making up sort of a makeshift waiting room. In the middle of the high-ceilinged space was the pool table, under a long light, almost making an altar to Kisten's memory.
The three guys took it all in with their mouths hanging open. The pixies playing in the open rafters didn't help. There'd probably be a gargoyle up there when the sun went down. God, my life was weird.
"Shit, man," the dark-haired Were with the starburst tattoo said when he finally looked at the torn and battered pool table. "Who burned your table?"
"Shut up, Oscar," the Were with the clipboard growled.
"We had an incident," I said, looking at the ring of burnt felt and wishing I'd fixed it sooner. But stuff kept interfering.
I cringed as the Weres hesitated. "Ah, we had an incident," I insisted. "Can you fix it?"
Jenks laughed, then flew off, yelling at his kids to get out of their stuff.
Chuck was running his hand on the flat surface, picking the edges of the felt where it had been burned. "We can fill the gouges with a composite, sure. Level it. Wax the cracks. Put some new felt on it." He looked up, then blinked at the three pixies watching him from the overhead light. "Uh, it will take a couple of hours with that gouge. We might have to do two thin layers instead of one thick one."
"Whatever it takes." My fingertips brushed the nicked varnish. Kisten, I still miss you. "I'll tell Ivy you're here. She's probably going to want to watch to make sure you get it level."
"We guarantee it," Chuck said, then stiffened. Two giggling pixies rose up with a piece of equipment from one of the satchels. "Hey!" he shouted, then glared at Oscar, who was staring, transfixed, his hands spread wide but clearly at a loss as to what to do, afraid he might hurt them. "Bring that back!" Chuck yelled, staring at the ceiling where a cloud of pixies hung, screaming at the top of their lungs, fighting over it.
"Jenks!" I said, exasperated. "Will you get your kids under control!"
A piercing whistle just about split my head open, and the kids scattered. The instrument dropped, and I gasped as Jenks darted under it, catching it and falling a good three feet before getting his wings under him and halting his motion. Adrenaline made my head hurt, and I exhaled loudly as Jenks dropped the gadget in Oscar's hands.
"Sorry," he said, looking as frazzled as I felt. "They've been cooped up all day. I'll get them outside now that the rain's quit."
The three Weres had clustered, looking at the finger-size level as if the pixies might have damaged it. "Thanks," I breathed to Jenks. "I didn't mean to yell. I'm just . . ."
Jenks grinned as he dusted. "Don't worry 'bout it, Rache. I yell at my kids all the time."
Still, I felt guilty about the lapse, but he had already zipped to the top of the hallway to shout at his kids about getting their asses outside and cleaning their huts for winter before he bent their wings backward. Things had been different since Matalina died, but seeing him handle his fifty-plus children alone had granted him a new respect from me. He was a good dad, if a little unconventional.
I smiled hopefully at the suspicious Weres as the church emptied of pixies, Jenks included. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything," I said, wanting to make my exit before they decided we were too weird and left. "And thanks for coming out on such short notice. I really appreciate it."
"Yes, ma'am." Chuck had his eyes on the rafters and the single pixy Jenks had let stay.
Spinning on my heel, I stepped lightly down the hall and to the kitchen. Ivy was standing at the table, in her coat, fingering my prepped curses as if trying to figure out how they worked. Her purse was on her chair, and she looked as if she was ready to leave.
"Oh!" she said, flushing as she dropped the charm and it clanked back into the rest. "Ah, are they the pool table guys?"
I nodded and came farther in, still feeling like we were walking on eggshells. Jenks had told me she'd gone scary evil when she'd found out I'd been taken. It had been Nina - Nina, not Felix - who had kept Ivy from hurting herself or anyone else until she'd finally broken down and cried in frustration before focusing her soul on getting me back. I thought it telling that Ivy had been there trying to help Nina, but it was Nina who had helped her.
"Be nice," I suggested. "They aren't keen on being in a church, and Jenks maxed out their 'acceptable weirdness' levels already."
She smiled with her lips closed. "Not a problem. These are done then?" she asked, picking up the one she had dropped, holding it carefully between two fingers.
Nodding, I yanked a chair out and turned it before sitting in it backward. "Yup. Providing they aren't hiding in a ley line, they should work. I had a great focusing object." I frowned, remembering the HAPA knot I'd found while showering, snarled behind my ear. It was my hair, but their knot. It would work.
Tired, I put an elbow on the table, dropping my forehead into my hand and rubbing it. Ivy touched my shoulder, and I jerked my head up. "You're sure you're okay?" she asked, a hint of a smile for having surprised me.
"I'm fine," I said sourly. "Just . . . anxious." Winona was safe, but as soon as HAPA set up shop again somewhere, they'd mutilate someone else. I had to find them first.
My hand went to my middle, and Ivy began stacking the charms in a small sack with a spell-house logo on it. I felt ill, jittery from the Brimstone and queasy on self-awareness hitting me from all sides. Eyes flicking to the messy counter, I wondered if Trent would still accept a curse from me to give him his fingers back. And why had I touched his face?
Ivy carefully creased the bag closed, the folding paper sounding loud. Her attention went to my jiggling foot. "I wanted to stay while they fixed the table, but if I go now, the amulets can be on the streets at the next shift change. Mind if I take your car?"
"No, go ahead," I said, stopping my foot's motion.
"Thanks. I'm going to see if Nina will talk to me after I drop them off. I'll have my cell on in case Glenn calls."
My gaze flicking to her, I nodded, absently biting a fingernail. The image of Nina choking that man to death flashed through me, and I stifled a shiver. The FIB had been there, making it hard for the I.S. to cover up the incident - and they would cover it up if they could. "Is the FIB prosecuting?" I cautiously asked, and Ivy put the bag in her purse.
"If it's proved that the man she killed is HAPA, then no. That's not what I'm worried about." Ivy looked at my shoulder bag on the table, and I pulled it closer to get my keys for her. "Nina's in trouble," Ivy said as she caught the jingling keys. "Felix, too, and not because they killed a HAPA member. He severely misjudged his impact on her, and she doesn't have the ability to handle alone what he's been pumping into her the last couple of days. He can't simply leave anymore. She'd kill the first person who touched her the wrong way. The longer he's in her trying to give her control, the worse it gets." Ivy's eyes were haunted. "They're both severely unbalanced. I don't see how - "
Ivy's words broke off, and she looked at me, more grief in her eyes than I'd seen in a long time. "They aren't going to make it, are they?" I said, and Ivy closed her eyes as she shook her head. They were bright when they opened back up.
"Felix doesn't have a clue about what to do. Rachel, she's too good to die like that."
"You can help her," I said, and she dropped her head, her long hair hiding her face.
"I can," she said softly. "Rachel . . ."
Chest tight, I shook my head. Ivy had a huge need to give, to nurture. Some of it was her vampiric nature, but most was her heart. She grieved for her own lost innocence, reviling the monster that Piscary had made her into, unable to love without hurting what she most desired. She'd been getting better, but if she could help Nina, it might allow her to see the beauty in her own soul. "If you can help her, you should," I said, both scared for her and loving her for her sacrifices. "You know how to cope with the power and passion. I mean . . . if you want to."
She pulled her head up, refusing to look at me. "I was exactly like her once," she whispered. "It was so hard. I don't know if I can help her without becoming her again."
"I know you can," I said confidently. "You survived. Nina will, too, with your help."
My heart hurt, but I kept smiling. This was a good thing. Ivy needed to feel good about herself, and this might finally prove to her that she deserved positive things in her life. "Go," I said, and she looked down at her hands.
"I'll be with Nina if you need me," she said, and I blinked in surprise as she bent down and gave me a chaste peck on the cheek, like you might see any two friends give each other in parting. In a swirl of vampire incense, she was gone, her boot heels click-clacking in the hall.
"Thank you," I whispered, touching my cheek. There hadn't been a twinge of reaction from my scar. I didn't know if that was a good thing or not. Demons couldn't be bound, so it stood to reason that I couldn't, either. Were the toxins finally wearing off, or had she truly let me go?
I sat where I was, listening to her speak to the Weres for a moment, and then the door shut, leaving only the Weres talking among themselves. My heart ached, but it was an old feeling, one now laced with pride in her. The revving of my car was a faint hint, and then even that faded, leaving the soft rumble of Weres talking and the rising scent of curing polymer.
The kitchen was a mess, as disorganized and jumbled as my thoughts because I hadn't cleaned anything while I spelled, as I usually did. Throat tight, I lurched to my feet. If I hustled, I could get this tidy in ten minutes. Sighing, I looked over the clutter. Maybe twenty.
From the front, I could hear the guys going in and out, bringing in more tools. I was glad Ivy was moving on. Really. I just wished I wasn't quite so alone.
One of the Weres yelled back, "Red or green, ma'am?"
"Green!" I shouted as I looked down at the open demon texts, my fingers cramping as they skated across the dark, perhaps blood-based print. I'd had a surprising amount of luck with finding a curse to thwart a memory charm. Demons apparently didn't like to forget. It was a communal curse. Say the words and pay the cost, and you were good to go. And since I'd gotten rid of the damn bracelet . . .
Was it easy, like a wish? Or was it using my resources to their fullest potential?
I didn't know anymore. But I did know that I didn't want to be ignorant and oblivious of what happened when all was said and done. The I.S. didn't have a problem using illegal memory charms, and I wanted to remember.
Running a finger under the print, I whispered the words, trying to practice the cadence before I actually tapped a line and did it. I hadn't accessed the collective since taking off the bracelet, and the last thing I needed was to do it wrong and attract attention. Certo idem sum qui semper fui. I am the same as I was before - or something like that. My Latin sucked.
Settling myself at the center counter, I took a deep breath and tapped the line out back in the garden. I couldn't help but close my eyes and smile as it spilled into me, seeming to bring with it the shiny, clean sensation of a thin, new ice. It was different every time, and yet the same. I let the line course through me, humming like the pulse of the universe. Thank you, Trent, I thought. Thank you for taking this away so I would know it for the gift it is.
Slowly my pleased smile faded and my eyes opened. Faint, at the edge of my awareness, something wasn't resonating right, not in this line, but somewhere. The tear, I thought, and my gut clenched. I'd fix it. Somehow.
I looked back down at the words, feeling guilty not for the tear, but that this curse wouldn't work on anyone but a demon. "Stop it," I whispered, head bowed over the print and the energies of the line building in me, demanding action. Guilt. Was I going to feel guilty about everything? I was a demon, damn it. I wouldn't even need this curse if I was a normal witch.
Head up, I shoved the guilt down deep. If the I.S. wiped Jenks's and Ivy's memories, I'd find a way to fix them. The important thing was that someone remembered.
"Certo idem sum qui semper fui," I said softly, shivering as I felt a sliver of my awareness dart from me, arrowing through the theoretical collective of whispering demons' thoughts, down to the dark annexes where no one went. I shivered, my fingers sliding over the textured paper as the sensation of my soul melting around a stored curse shook me. And then, like folding space, my splinter of awareness and my soul merged like water drops, bringing the curse within me forever.
"I accept the cost," I whispered, blinking fast as I felt the curse spread through me with the sensation of burning warmth, tingling through my skin and recoiling at the edges of my aura. It was done. I would never forget again.
Maybe that's why Newt went crazy, I thought as I severed my connection to the line with abrupt haste. Someone had felt me tapping into the collective and had come to investigate.
The soft scuff of shoes in the hallway was like sandpaper over my awareness, and I shut the book, my fingers trembling. Nothing had changed, but I felt different. I'd used curses before, but it had always been with too much soul searching. Now . . . I just used them.
It was Wayde, and I didn't look up as I dropped down to shelve the demon book in with my regular cookbooks. I didn't know if I was going to tell Ivy or Jenks about this. More choices. More guilt.
Wayde had halted in the threshold, and I rose when he cleared his throat. He had been in a snit all afternoon up in the belfry, and I wasn't going to feed his pity party. Yes, I'd gotten snatched, but it hadn't been his fault. It had been mine. Sure enough, he looked irate, his stance stiff. "Done sulking?" I said as I went back to the table and the rest of my demon library.
"It would've been different if I'd been with you," he said, still in the doorway.
"Absolutely." I couldn't make an antimemory charm for Trent, but I had promised to get him his fingers back. I was on a roll, baby. "You might have stopped them completely." I looked up, seeing his surprise. "Did Ivy tell you that their security guy was across the street with a sniper rifle, ready to take out his own people if he couldn't kill everyone holding them?"
Wayde silently rubbed his beard. There were reasons he hadn't been on the scene, and that was just one of them. Uncrossing his arms, he straightened to his full height. "The finding charms are gone?"
"Mmm-hmm." I didn't see the need to tell him they'd been curses, and I pulled the top book onto my lap and started turning pages. A standard transformation curse ought to do it, as it would return Trent to a pristine state, fingers and all. The question was, turn him into what? A fox, maybe?
Clearly uncomfortable, Wayde picked up a dirty bowl. My head snapped up, and he shrugged. "I'm hungry. Mind if I clean up while you read?"
He's learning, I thought, smiling. Mixing food with spell prep was a bad idea. "Thanks," I said as I shifted pages in earnest. "I'd really appreciate that."
"Cool." His eyes roved over the kitchen, and I could almost see him prioritizing. He really was a smart man, good with his hands and figuring things out. Feeling guilty, he wanted to do something for me, and my expression became weary as he set the largest bowl by the sink.
"My sister was a royal bitch if the bus's kitchen was ever left dirty," he said, and I flashed him another smile before he caught me thinking about him.
Propping an elbow on the table, I dropped my head in my hand. His sister was Ripley, Takata's drummer. I'd found that out just last month. "That must have been a fun way to grow up," I said. "On a bus. Every day being somewhere different. All that creativity around you."
I looked up as the bowls clanked at the sink. "The band?" he said, his back to me as the taps started. "No, not really. It was a bitch in its own special way."
"How could it have been that bad?" I said, trying to imagine it, then blinking as he bent to get the soap from under the sink. Damn, he looked good in tight jeans.
Coming up, he squirted too much soap into the pan and smacked the bottle closed. "People get careless when they lack stability," he said as he set the bowls in the sink to fill. "If you're somewhere new every day, you feel no accountability. You don't care who you hurt. You do what you want and damn the rest because you won't be there for the fallout."
My focus blurred as I thought of the demons. They never moved but had the same attitude. Maybe they were fleeing their past?
I couldn't help my chuckle. "Still," I said, not believing that it could be all bad. "You got to see things. Be a part of something that touches people. The music alone . . ."
Wayde turned the water off. Taking a dishcloth, he wrung it out and started wiping down the center counter. "Takata was cool," Wayde said as he pushed everything to the floor instead of into his hand. "He treated me like a little brother. Watched out for me. Everyone knew my sister would jam her drumsticks up their, uh, noses if they messed with me. But the music?" Wayde lifted a shoulder and let it fall. "Not really. The shine . . . It's fake, you know?" He dropped back to lean against the counter as if it bothered him. "By the time it's been corralled by mixers and synthesizers, packaged into plastic, it's dead. The magic that Takata gave it is mostly gone, even when he's riding the high of a thousand people. His best gigs were always when he was so stoned he forgot there was an audience and just spilled his soul out to the gods as he looked for an answer and happened to take the rest of us along."
Wayde turned away, his back to me as he dunked the rag in the mounds of bubbles. "But mostly it's just a job," he said to the evening-darkened window. "A hard job that left him emotionally and physically drained after every performance."
"I wonder why he didn't quit," I said, thinking of the years between my dad's death and finding out just recently that Takata was my birth father. Having a second parental figure might have been nice. But then, remembering Takata's orange jumpsuits, I questioned my own logic.
Wayde was back at the counter, wiping it down a second time. "The money was a sure thing. Sometimes, the crowd would bring the soul back, make it alive. For a minute or two, the universe made sense. A year of hell is worth three minutes in heaven. Or so they say."
He smiled deviously at me from under his reddish-blond eyebrows and turned away. Rolling up his sleeves, he plunged his hands into the suds and started to clean up my mess. I was silent, the book on my lap forgotten as I thought about what he'd said. My mind started to wander, straying back to him. He looked good there with his hair all over and that sexy butt of his. His sleeves were up to show some of the tattoos I normally didn't get to see.
Stop it, Rachel, I thought, and I put my eyes back on the book in my lap. "So, ah, why did you leave?" I asked. "Tired of spending a year in hell for three minutes in heaven?"
Wayde was digging in the drawers for a dry dish towel, pulling out a gold one that was torn but really soaked up the water. "Takata asked me to," he said as he began to dry the largest bowl. "He said his daughter needed someone to yank her back from the edge of the stage before she fell off."
I frowned, wondering if Trent would mind being the size of a fairy for a day. He could talk to the newest tenants in his garden. "Gee, thanks," I said sourly.
"Well, what about you?" Wayde leaned over to set the bowl between us on the counter. "Growing up to be a bad-ass runner must have had its perks."
"Right," I said dryly as I rubbed my forehead. "I was in and out of hospitals until I was almost eighteen, or didn't Takata tell you that? Home-schooled most of the time, but with enough public school to know what it's like to get beat up."
Wayde winced, the cloth slowing on the next bowl. "Growing up sucks."
I reached for one of Ivy's sticky notes and started making a list. Ceri knew this curse. She would help make sure I got it right. Me trying out curses on myself was one thing. On Trent, it was completely different. "I would've given a lot to be somewhere new every day where no one knew who I was, that my dad was dead and my mom nuts."
"That bad, huh?"
Suddenly I wished I hadn't said so much. "Not really," I said, trying to back out of my mini pity party. "I'm a drama queen tonight. Ford, the FIB's psych, would say my childhood gave me trust issues, but hiding from my mom that I was getting beaten up and fighting off boys with sticky hands gave me a better perspective of what's really important. I wouldn't change it." Much. I hadn't talked to Ford in ages, and I wondered how he was getting on with Holly. I suddenly realized that a bunch of my friends needed babysitters and vowed to start screening my calls. All I needed was someone else's kid on my hip as I took down a surprise assassin.
Wayde set a third pot inside the stack and dropped down to put them exactly where they belonged on the bottom shelf. "And what is important, Rachel Morgan?" he asked, and I looked at him through the open shelves.
"Friends you can trust." I tapped the pencil against the book. "Maybe Ford was right."
Wayde silently dropped the cloth and returned to the suds to wash the smaller stuff.
"I want these guys, Wayde," I said into the silence, thinking about Chris dancing in delight as Winona withered in agony and turned into a monstrosity. "I want them to know they can't do what they did to Winona with impunity." My hands gripped the demon texts, and I forced them to open. The pages were beginning to glow. Responding to my anger, perhaps, even though I was not tapping a line right now? Damn, I'd missed the weird stuff like this. Everything was connected. I'd forgotten how that felt.
"You'll get them," Wayde said, his back to me and the metal stuff clanking.
"I'm not so sure." Something always seemed to break their way. HAPA was like mint. You could rip it up, and six months later, it was back, healthier than ever. Mint smelled better, though, and you could make juleps out of it. I don't know what I could make out of HAPA. Compost, maybe.
"You want these rinsed in saltwater?" he asked as he held up my spoons.
"Yes, but not until you get the suds off them," I said, looking at the dripping bubbles.
Wayde silently ran the tap, letting the spoons sit on the drying cloth for a moment as he washed the mortar and pestle, actually taking a scrub pad to them. "At least I can tap a line again," I said, rubbing my leg and circling in to where there should be a bullet scar but wasn't. "Trent doesn't think he did anything, but he did."
Why am I telling him this? I asked myself, but I couldn't talk to Ivy or Jenks. They would jump to the wrong conclusion. Fidgeting, I looked past Wayde to the dark night, wanting nothing more than to be out in it.
"I trust him," I said, thinking Ford would be proud of me. "He let me handle Al my way." I chuckled, remembering Trent's ball of magic ricocheting into his fish tank. "Mostly."
"Sex changes people more than wars," Wayde said as he dried his hands, then dunked the spoons in the saltwater.
I blinked. "Where does sex come into this?"
His back to me, Wayde pulled himself to his full height, hesitating, as if to collect his thoughts. From the front of the church, the big farm bell we used as a doorbell gonged.
"Jenks!" I shouted, still wondering where Wayde had been headed with his thoughts. "You want to get that?"
There was a brief silence, and then Jenks exclaimed, "It's Trent! What the hell does he want?"
My eyes widened, and I froze, Wayde grunting as he turned around with a handful of dripping spoons. Trent? Here? Why?