Chapter 5

Chapter

5

The mid-November wind pushed on the church, scattering the last of the leaves and swirling them to beat against the sanctuary's stained-glass windows. The heat was on for the first time of the season, and I could smell the dust burning off the furnace as I sat on the couch and went through the last box of Newt's things.

"I'm fine, woman!" Jenks barked from the lampshade, and Getty rose, a flush pinking her cheeks.

"You didn't wear the scarf I gave you, did you!" the dark-haired pixy yelled back, her gossamer wings invisible as she hovered. "I'm not your wife, but you will, by the Turn, try out my weavings. I twisted those stitches so they would better block the wind and keep you warm with maximum mobility. I can't keep the garden alone, and if you kill yourself by falling into a hibernation stupor, I will dump your body over the wall and leave you to the sparrows!"

"I wore your scarf," he griped, wings a fast blur. "It worked great. I'm just trying to get warmed up, okay?"

"You wore it?"

I smiled at the pixy woman's surprise, my head down as I pushed to the bottom of the box, fingers tingling. "Perhaps you should explain to her why you're so cold, Jenks."

"Because I'm not going to ride in your purse like a package of gummy trolls!" Clearly peeved, Jenks left the heat of the lamp, still trailing a faint blue dust as he darted over to me and landed on my shoulder. "Tell her the scarf is pretty, will you?" he whispered.

"You tell her," I said, and he slumped as Getty bobbed up and down before darting out of the sanctuary, silver sparkles of indecision coloring her dust.

"Last time I told her something was pretty, she cried," he said, and I began to rummage again. Getty was desperately in love with him, but her upbringing left her feeling as if she didn't deserve love in return, especially from Jenks, whose heart still beat for his deceased wife. It had become just as obvious that Jenks could love her but that he wouldn't allow himself, worried it might mean he loved Matalina less. All I knew was that the two of them had better figure it out, or it was going to be a very long, tumultuous winter.

A sudden cramp of magic jolted through me, and I jerked my hand away from a sealed black envelope before cautiously taking it up and setting it on the low slate table. This was the last box that Al had inherited from Newt when she became the elven Goddess in my stead, my last chance for finding that damned mirror. I wasn't happy that Elyse was hiding behind definitions like a lawyer, and sure, I was furious that she had kept my book. But what really burned my toes was that Elyse had known exactly what button to push to get me to do something stupid.

Kisten.

Jenks's wings rasped as he landed atop the edge of the box and looked down, his pixy curiosity getting the better of him. Getty was banging about in the kitchen. And seeing as she was only four inches tall and weighed less than an ounce, that took some doing. "Ah, we are going to get your book?" he asked, clearly reluctant to go into the kitchen and make everything right quite yet.

"Tonight, yes." I carefully shook out a silken dusting cloth. It had the glyph for purity on it, and I set it aside to keep for myself.

Jenks hesitated for a moment. "So why are you mad?"

I couldn't bring myself to look at him, and I opened a wooden box to see neatly arranged puzzle-like shapes. Snapping it shut, I set it on the table to continue to search. "I didn't appreciate Elyse dangling Kisten before me as if he was a carrot," I muttered. Kisten was gone. I had mourned him and moved on. And yet…

"Yeah, that was kind of a jerk-ass move," Jenks said. "You fell right for it."

"Hey," I protested, my words faltering when I felt an odd draw on the ley line out in the graveyard. A soft bong came from the steeple, and I froze, senses reaching. Someone had done something magical, and it wasn't me.

"That was Al." Jenks dropped into the box to look under another silk scarf. "He's trying to reinstate that toadstool ring around the church."

"For protection?" Curious, I stood and went to peer out of one of the stained-glass window's lighter panes and stare at his colorful wagon parked in the graveyard. It had to be over twenty-five feet long, and would need a team of oxen to pull it. Maybe two teams. Not that it would ever move. He may as well take the wheels off and burn them for firewood. "How is it coming?"

Jenks's wings rasped. "Slowly. Apparently mushrooms have a natural connection to the ley lines. It's like making a circle without actually being connected to the line. Or at least that's how he explained it to me."

I turned, surprised not that Al had attempted to circumvent his current lack of ability to do ley line magic, but rather that he was using his limited skills to protect the church and, in turn, me. A demon who couldn't tap a ley line was vulnerable—more than one who couldn't jump the lines. It felt bigger than that, though.

"You told him about the coven's threat?" I said, shoulders slumping when a burst of dust blew up and over the top of the box. "Jenks," I complained, and he rose, wings laboring, and his arms wrapped around a knife as long as he was tall. "I feel bad enough as it is that he can't tap a ley line because of me. This just points it out."

"It's winter. I'm not going to say no to a little extra protection," he said, and I took the knife before it brought him down. "You can see your reflection in it," he said. "Maybe it's an Atlantean mirror."

"It's possible." I set it aside to ask Al. As much as I complained about the demon being this close, it did make teasing information out of him easier. I wasn't his student, but I did learn from him. He wasn't my protector, but he gave protection just by being in the garden—his current lack of ley line magic aside. He'd once been the demons' premier supplier of fine familiars, which meant he had been both a slave trader and an instructor all wrapped up in one. Now he wasn't much of anything—even as he was still rightfully feared. He was tired, as they all were, of maintaining the mystique of all-powerful. Especially when it kept him alone.

Which might be why I had made only a token protest when his RV/wagon had shown up in my garden a few weeks ago, parked right in the ley line to make a fast getaway if needed.

Jenks rose from the box at the sound of the porch door opening. I don't think I'll ever get used to him using the door instead of popping in via the ley lines, I thought as Getty's voice sounded in a tart greeting and I went back to shuffling through Newt's things.

"Hey, Al. Was that you pulling on the line?" I said as the demon's boots scuffed to a halt at the top of the hall. "I didn't think you could get toadstools to grow this time of year."

"Their roots are in the ever-after," Al said, his slightly supercilious voice still holding a remnant of his affected proper British accent. "It's warmer there. At the mo-o-oment."

My attention rose at the drawn-out word, expecting him to be dressed in his crushed green velvet frock coat with the long tails, lace at his cuffs and throat, or perhaps his ornate spelling robes with bells on the sash and an odd, flat-topped hat. But apart from his boots, he was going twentieth-century businessman casual today, and I gave the tall demon a nod of appreciation at his black slacks, vivid red silk shirt, and elaborately embellished vest. No hat, but he had stuck his blue-tinted glasses on his hawkish nose, either to hide his red, goat-slitted eyes or, more likely, to peer over at me when I was being, in his words, "uncommonly stupid."

"Well, thanks for the extra protection," I said as I returned to shuffling around in the box. "If the coven was going to do anything, they would've done it while I was standing in their offices. I might need it later, though."

Jenks grinned, his young face brightening as he touched the hilt of his sword. "Let's hope they are that stupid."

"Mmmm." Al inched closer, his stylish boots skirting the body-size pentagram burned in the old oak flooring. I hadn't made it, and Al wasn't the only one who refused to walk over it. I knew I'd seen Vivian's visage appear from it, and seeing as she had died there…

Al settled in behind me. A short cane I was sure held a purchased spell or two thumped in accusation, and he peered over my shoulder. "You are wasting your time. The mirror is not in there."

His low voice rumbled about my thoughts, and I stifled a shiver. "Doesn't hurt to look," I said, then jumped, startled when he took the black glass globe I was scrutinizing right out of my hand.

"Look, no. But touching might," he said as he tucked the orb into a pocket. "That shouldn't have been left in there for you. It can burn you to ash where you stand when startled."

Whatever. I scooted closer to the box, wondering why he was here. Asking wouldn't convince him to tell me, but if I pretended indifference, he might spill—if only because I was ignoring him. "This is the last box, isn't it?" I said, frowning when he stuffed the silk scarf that I had wanted into his sleeve. "The coven thinks that Newt had the only Atlantean mirror."

"She is the only one of us who both recognized and utilized it," he said, enunciating every syllable with a biting precision. He leaned forward to put his attention more deeply in the box. "You shouldn't have this, either," he added, plucking a silver-coated bowl engraved with Latin from the mess. "Too dangerous."

Jenks's wings hummed. "She's madder than a jilted troll that Elyse tricked her."

I sat back with a huff as Al began pawing through the box, taking an interest in things now that I was threatening to do the same. "I showed them the curse I used on Brad in exchange for seeing their spell that Elyse said would return the undead."

"And will it?" Al squinted through a flat stone with a hole in it.

"I don't know. It was in ancient elven. I can't read ancient elven."

Al eyed me over his glasses as he slid the stone into a tiny vest pocket. "Your dealmaking is usually so tight," he said sourly, having been on the wrong side of it a few times. "Did you take a picture?"

"They wouldn't let me."

A smile, almost proud, quirked the corners of his lips. "They? You met with all of them? Four coven members against my itchy witch. Your reputation is serving you well."

"Yeah, well, it's five now. They pulled some old guy out of retirement. I'm going in tonight to get my book. I'll take a picture of the spell to bring back the undead then."

"You left your book with them?" Al said dramatically, and I glared at Jenks. The pixy beat a hasty, dust-ridden retreat to the kitchen, but it was probably better that Al had heard it first from Jenks. I pushed deeper into the couch, planting my arches on the table and crossing my arms over my chest.

"Yes, I let them keep my book," I said, peeved, as Al continued to sort and sift. "I left before I did something stupid, like blow a hole through Trent's building. I'll get it tonight."

"This is all junk," he said as he straightened. "You may keep what's left."

"Gee, thanks," I muttered as he primly sat on the couch across from me.

"About the curse to recover the undead," he started, and my focus sharpened on him.

"You already know it?" I blurted, angry that he hadn't told me, and he shook his head.

"One hears rumors," he said lightly. "I suspect Elyse is either lying or it will not work as you wish it to." Al settled himself, reclining indolently along the length of the couch to gaze at the heavy beams at the ceiling. "Still, as much as I would appreciate someone coming between you and your…mmmm…understandable infatuation with elf flesh—"

"That's not why I'm doing this," I interrupted, and his gaze darted to mine.

"As you say," he mocked, then turned back to the old-oak beams. "Let's assume the curse is bastardized from the one you used to bring Pierce's soul from purgatory. True, he would have mass, mobility, and a sense of purpose. But you would have to perform the curse nightly because I am not going to provide him with a real body as I did with Pierce." Al fussed with his collar as if to try to convince me that he really didn't care how far up shit creek I was. "I only did so with Pierce because I needed a skilled familiar." His eyes met mine mockingly. "And I doubt you will perform the needed curse yourself as it requires you to outright kill someone for a body. Not if you are bending yourself into knots to avoid the coven's wrath."

"I'm not hiding in the ever-after," I started, and Al huffed, interrupting me.

"Let's agree that Kisten's nightly ghost will be solid enough to serve as master of the city. True, it would solve the problem of Constance, but have you considered the carnal pull—"

"I'm not trying to bring my old boyfriend back," I said, face warming.

"No-o-o?" he drawled, his thick fingers clasped and an exaggerated expression of wonder on him. "I just assumed —"

"No," I said again. "I was an idiot when I was dating Kisten. I was an idiot the entire time I was living with Ivy. I mean, I do love her, but I do dumb things when I'm around her too much, and it's not Ivy's fault." It was my own. It had always been my own. I simply didn't do well around vampires. They smelled too delicious to resist. That's how they survived: convincing smart people to make dumb decisions.

A small noise of disbelief escaped Al as he stretched out on the couch and stared at the ceiling, watching the swirl of descending pixy dust. Jenks was up there, eavesdropping. "And you think that by recovering Kisten's ghost, you won't return to said dumb state?" he asked.

My brow furrowed. "He never should have died like that. Piscary made him into a party favor." I tilted the box, and a handful of marbles rolled. It was all that was left. "Killed him because he had become better at managing the living vampires than Piscary had ever been. He wasn't a threat until he said no to Piscary, and Kisten never would have stood up to him if not for me." I took one of the marbles in hand, and then dropped it back into the box with a rolling rattle. "I owe him everything."

"Mmmm." Gaze on the ceiling, Al dipped his fingers into that tiny pocket of his vest. "And the curse to do so is in elven?"

My pulse quickened. This was why he'd come in from the garden. "Can you read it?"

Al snorted. "Who do you think was responsible for teaching it to their brats? Tell me why you let the curse to wake Kisten's ghost leave your hands?"

"Because they had the book to uncurse Brad and I was standing thirty-three floors up."

He sat up. "People heal. Stone can be rebuilt," he scoffed.

"It was a library," I said, and Al's expression pinched in understanding. "Honestly, though, I was concerned about what a bunch of scared magic users would do," I added, remembering Elyse's smug expression and Scott's worry. "And then blame me for it. Why risk it when I can simply get a picture of the spell I want and walk out with my book? That was the deal: I walk out with it after I showed them mine and they showed me theirs."

"She reneged on a deal? You are within your rights to take every and any action to retrieve it."

Within my rights. Yeah. I was still breaking in, though, and that's not how they would see it in a court of law. Demon logic didn't hold water in a Cincy court. I'd found that out the hard way, and from the rafters came a tiny snort of agreement.

I leaned over the box, staring at those stupid marbles. Depressed, I began to gather them to give to Jenks's grandkids. But as I chased the glass around the dusty bottom, my thoughts drifted back to Kisten.

I hadn't thought of Kisten in weeks, and now, thanks to Elyse, I couldn't get him out of my head. It had really messed Ivy up when Kisten had found his second death on the heels of the first. Usually, when a living vampire dies, his or her soul waits in purgatory until their second, true death and the mind, body, and soul can move on together to whatever waits—purgatory being the ever-after. It had been a shock to find out that what I'd been calling surface demons—the vicious, half-starved, ragtag monsters in the ever-after—were really the tortured souls of the undead vampires. They existed apart and separate, having little agency other than a will to rend and tear. But seeing as the entire species of vampires had been created by the demons, it made sense. They had to put their souls somewhere.

"Al?" I jiggled the marbles in my hand, sending a trace of ley line energy through them to make sure they weren't spelled. Just empty glass. "Where do the souls of the undead go now that the original ever-after is gone?"

Al continued to stare at the ceiling, his hands laced over his middle, boot heels on the armrest. "They are in the bubble of reality you and Bis created. We moved the curse to keep the souls of the undead from rejoining their minds prematurely to forestall the mess you created the last time their souls were pulled into reality."

Yeah, that had been a mistake, and I dropped the marbles into a bowl Al had said I could keep. "How come I've never seen one?"

The demon shrugged. "I expect they are in the mountains, enjoying the reality you and Bis created. It doesn't look like hell, so they probably assume they are in heaven. And when in heaven…" He turned his red, goat-slitted eyes to me, a wicked smirk twisting his lips as he left his last words unsaid.

"You act like an angel," I finished for him. "Not a demon. Is that why—"

"No." Al sat up, his attention going to the front of the church. "Your demonic kin are behaving themselves because they realize they are both outnumbered and embarrassingly out of touch. Give them a hundred years to adapt and they will apply the full force of their presence upon the elves to bring them back under our collective heels."

I sighed, my own gaze going to the double doors at the sound of a motorbike. Al had heard it long before me.

"Personally, I can't wait for them to catch up." Al thumped his boots on the floor and tugged his sleeves down. "Rachel? I have decided that you will indeed retrieve your book tonight. I'll assist you with moving the church to the ever-after if the coven attempts to put you in Alcatraz for recovering what is yours. The toadstool ring is thick enough to handle the shift. Earth magic is amazing. Unfortunate that it takes too damn long to prep it."

Leave Cincy? Is he serious? I thought as Jenks dropped down on wings and sparkles. I was not about to abandon reality. I was Cincy's subrosa. Until June anyway.

"That's Ivy," Jenks said as there was a thud at the door followed by a gust of air blowing through the church.

"Hey, Rachel?" Ivy called as she closed the door behind her. Her low voice brought my shoulders down in a wash of remembrance as the church suddenly felt complete. Her confident steps in the dark foyer scuffed to a halt when Al half turned where he sat, his eyebrows high as he took in her leather-clad svelte form and the pizza box she had in one hand. How she had gotten it here on her bike was a marvel of balance. But that was Ivy.

"Hi, come on in." I stood to brush the rest of Al's rejects from the table into the box to make room for the pizza, my motion faltering when I realized Al wasn't following protocol and leaving, instead settling back with a copy of my Witch Monthly , his glasses pushed low, so he could see over them.

"Getty!" Jenks darted into the kitchen. "We got pizza. You want to split a tomato?"

"I heard you had a rough day." Ivy sauntered in looking like a frat boy's dream in her sexy leather and carrying a boxed pizza. "Al, if I had known you were here, I would have brought two," she added, her voice holding a hint of antagonistic jealousy. I wasn't a cookie for them to fight over, but they each had their claim on me and neither of them shared well.

Al flipped a page. "Good evening, Ivy Alisha Tamwood," he intoned, his focus firmly on the magazine.

Ivy dropped the pizza onto the still-cluttered table with a loud pop. "I know what using all three of my names means," she said, and I cleared my throat, warning him.

Expression shifting, Al beamed up at her. "Ivy," he said, voice dripping sarcasm. "It's good to see you." Using one finger, he lifted the lid and breathed deep. "Ah," he added as he helped himself to a slice. "The sauce has not been the same since your lover cut Piscary's head from his neck and he truly died, but this smells good enough to sell my soul for."

Ivy shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she eyed me for direction, and I shrugged. Satisfied, she pulled the box away from him and sat beside me. "I take it your meeting with the coven didn't go well?"

Wings humming, Jenks came back in, a pair of tiny chopsticks in hand. "How can you tell?" he said with a little chuckle as he descended upon the pizza.

Ivy glanced at the empty box. "She's looking for something to spell with."

Al turned another page, silent.

"So." Ivy flicked a tomato for Jenks off a slice before angling it between her perfect teeth. "They coming to put you in Alcatraz? I didn't see anything on the news."

Eating anything with a vampire was an unspoken invitation to become dessert. Ivy knew that wasn't the case here, but I was still hesitant in my reach for a slice. "June," I said, and her eyebrows rose in surprise. "Unless I can uncurse Brad. Which will be hard if I can't get my book back from them. I'm going to retrieve it tonight. Want to come?"

Ivy leaned deep into the cushions with her pizza. "That's why I'm here," she said, her network of informants clearly having done their job. "You got to see the spell to recover Kisten, right? Do you need his ashes?"

Al made a low growl, his attention in the magazine.

"Maybe?" I admitted. "It was in ancient elven. I'm going to take a picture of it while we're getting my book back. If Al won't help me decipher it, Bis or Trent will." I shoved the table into Al's knees, and he grunted in surprise. "Well?"

He beamed. "I'm always interested in coven magic."

Which wasn't exactly an answer, but I slid the pizza down the table to make a clear spot. "Okay, let's see it," I said, and Ivy blinked at me. "You wouldn't come here empty-handed."

"She brought pizza," Jenks said as he used his chopsticks to peel a flake of bacon free.

I held a hand out. "I need to see the tower's blueprints so I know what spells to prep."

"Thought you might." Ivy reached behind her jacket for her phone. "I don't have them, but I can get them if you want. I brought the layout of Elyse's short-term rental."

"Not her office?" Worried, I leaned closer as our weights slid us together and the scent of happy vampire washed over me, soaking in like a shot of tequila.

"She's in Circle Bluffs," Jenks said as he dropped down, hands on his hips and his dust blanking the screen when it hit it. "Fancy."

I stifled a shudder and Ivy sort of scooted back a little, the vampire eyeing Al in annoyance that he hadn't left. "It's an easy job," Ivy said, but I was not excited about breaking into someone's home. Business, sure. Lab, why not? Where someone lived and loved and slept? That was a different story.

"Yeah, Ivy's right," Jenks said, expression serious as he used two hands to move the screen. "If the coven took the time to bring you into their offices, show you where the book is, and even give you the word to unlock the cabinet, you can bet it's not there." He chuckled. "Infants."

"You can bet that they will be waiting for you, though," Ivy added.

"Yeah." Jenks's wings rasped as he stood on Ivy's phone. "Elyse is itching for a reason to put you into Alcatraz without that six-month waiting period. It's a setup. Come on, Rache," he coaxed. "If you stole a book from a demon, would you leave it in a library or take it home?"

I glanced at Al. "Home," I admitted, but it still felt wrong—even if Elyse had reneged on our deal. "Circle Bluffs, huh?"

Ivy gently blew Jenks's dust from her phone and scrolled to a screen detailing the security measures for the tenants. "She's renting the visitor bungalow. It has fewer safeguards than most of the homes out there."

"I didn't even know they had a visitor bungalow," I admitted, and Ivy smirked.

"That's what a neighbors' association can get you if you can stomach someone measuring your grass twice a month."

Jenks scrolled to the camera section. "And what color of car you can have."

Al's harrumph was loud, and again I wondered why he was lingering. He never took more than a cursory interest in my life—unless it was crashing into his.

"It's a very easy-in, easy-out run," Ivy said, her long hair falling like a fragrant curtain between us. "As long as you can get around any safeguards she might have put in. Anything too complex or permanent will violate the lease agreement. It's short-term and very specific."

Which I doubted Elyse cared about. I glanced at my bag by the door. The lethal-magic and strong-magic detection charms on my key ring were old but still worked.

"I'll put the cameras on loop," Jenks said. "No one will ever know you were there."

Ivy froze, and my eyes flicked up to her. As one, we shook our fists, ending with her going for paper, and me rock. Damn it back to the Turn.

"No, you won't," I said, and Jenks predictably bristled. "It's too cold." He rose up, wings rasping, and I tapped a line to make my hair float. "Jenks, it's November. Don't make me say that someone should be here to guard the church!" I shouted, and he backed down, his furtive gaze going to the top of the hall and Getty's bright singing in the kitchen. He must have made up with her already.

"Good. We will wait until after sunset and Bis is awake." Ivy settled deeper with a slice of pizza. "He's gotten good at recognizance."

Al cleared his throat. "And when they discover your book missing? What then?"

"I will laugh in their face and remind them she changed the deal, not me." But I knew that wouldn't stick. Not with the coven. Not if I snuck in and took it.

Thick fingers slow, Al set the magazine down and reached for that tiny vest pocket again. "Or you can take both and they will never know you have either of them," he suggested.

"I only need a photo of Kisten's curse," I said, and Ivy went still.

Jenks snickered. "You saying you're going to help Rachel? For nothing?"

"Oh, not nothing." Al grinned a not-nice smile. "I will help her theft remain unnoticed for a time, but in return I want the book that Madam Coven Leader tempted you with. The one in elven script that contains, as you say, Kisten's curse ."

I bristled. "Why? So you can keep me from doing it?"

Al glanced at Ivy. "No. I have a suspicion that Newt wrote it, elven script withstanding. I want the entire book, not simply the curse." He waved his hand. "Besides, a photo won't do. There's likely hidden text."

I frowned. He was right. A picture would help, but Newt often put a key component under lemon juice, so to speak. "If I steal it, it's my book," I said, and he took a breath to protest. "I will, however, let you hold it in trust for me if you help me twist the curse to raise Kisten's ghost."

Ivy swallowed hard, listening to Jenks whisper something in her ear. Her hands clenched with a white-knuckled strength, and Al studied her carefully before making a slow, deliberate nod.

"Done." Al scooted forward, his fingers dipping into that little pocket to set the flat, round stone with a hole in its center on the table with a loud click. Jenks went to investigate, and I leaned in, interested, when his dust brought a faint scratching of runes into bright relief. My reach for it hesitated, then became surer when Al flamboyantly gestured to have at it.

I picked it up. More runes were on the other side. I could feel it connecting to the ley lines through me, and I wondered what it did. It had a hole. Maybe I could see magical threats through it. "What does it do?"

Al's gaze slid to Ivy and Jenks, the two of them as quiet and unobtrusive as he had been, now that the shoe was on the other foot. "Mmmm," he hedged, clearly uncomfortable talking magic around them. "It overlays the image of one object or person onto another."

"A doppelganger charm?" Jenks scoffed. "Rache knows how to do that."

Al's lip twitched and he took the stone from me. "It is not a doppelganger charm," he said haughtily. "It is a transposition glamour. Like most glamours, it can be seen through with a deliberate scrutiny. It's limited. You cannot disguise a cat as a teacup. But making one cat look like another, or turning a children's book into a demon tome?" He gauged the stone's weight in his hand. "That, it can do. And fast."

"You're saying I could overlay the image of another book onto the one with Kisten's curse? She won't know I took it."

"Until she opens up the false one," Al said. "The stone makes a connection between the curse and your visual cortex, enabling you to perform the transposition glamour as many times as you want as quickly as you can speak it. Right now the stone is sensitized to Newt, but I can link it to you." He hesitated expectantly. "I'm curious. What do you propose to leave in its stead?"

A slow sigh sifted through me. I wouldn't be stealing only my book back from the coven but also one of theirs. The book he wanted. A rude chuckle escaped me as I glanced at Ivy. "I think I know just the thing."