A Perfect Blood (The Hollows #10)(131)
Author: Kim Harrison

Someone was coming out of the bland-looking building, and I ran the last few steps, reaching out with my gloved hand to catch the door and missing. The man looked up from buttoning his coat, his eyes going over my shoulder and widening. Behind me reflected in the door’s glass was a ruddy square face, a hunter-green top hat, and a wicked, smiling grin.

"Al!" I shouted, spinning to put my back to the door, heart pounding. I hadn’t realized the sun was so close to setting. "What are you doing here? I’ve got to finish this before they close. I’ll meet you in the garden in twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes," the demon scoffed, peering over my shoulder at the line still stretched to the door. "Not likely. Let me have a go," he said petulantly. "Scaring civil servants is beyond all but the most depraved demons, and you, itchy witch, are not nearly nasty enough."

He was reaching around behind me to the door handle, and I put a hand on his chest. "No. I’m trying to be a part of society, not get my way out of fear."

Startled, he looked down at my hand and Trent’s ring still glinting on my pinkie. Behind me came the snick of the lock being slid into place, and I slumped. Damn . . .

Smiling over his glasses, he reached for my hand and I slid out from his reach. "Same difference," he said lightly, swinging his walking cane as he looped his arm in mine and escorted me back to the parking lot. It was cold enough to snow, and I jammed my free hand in my pocket, depressed, as Al walked jauntily at my side with a walking cane and a hat. Not much had changed in the month since putting HAPA away, but then not many people remembered that HAPA had been responsible for the murders.

"Anyway, we don’t have time for you to practice scaring civil servants," he said as we made our way back through the cars. "I want you to try that curse. The marvelously complex one rife with risk that you’ve been avoiding. We have a party to attend later tonight."

Swell. Head down, I reclaimed my hand and dug through my shoulder bag for my keys as we neared my car. "Al, I’m not ready to fix Winona. What if I get it wrong?"

But he had put a heavy, white-gloved hand on my shoulder, and even as I reached for my car door, my outsides seemed to pull inward with a rush of ever-after, and I snapped a bubble of protection around me as I felt the line take me. It held the icy sensation of frost, and my mind seemed to relax into an om of a hum. I had missed this.

They’re going to impound my car if it’s still here in the morning, I thought at Al flatly, but the world was already materializing around us, damp and green. I had no idea where we were. It was cold and snowy outside in Cincinnati.

Al’s hand slipped away, and I looked up to see a plate-glass ceiling. Tired ferns edged the slate path we were standing on, and moss. Benches lined the way, most having clay pots on them with even more ferns and flowerless orchids. I peered through the vegetation, deciding that we were in a huge hothouse, the ground cold and gray beyond the glass and the heaters that I could now hear humming. The greenhouse was large enough for trees, and it smelled like vermiculite.

Ahead were more trees, and behind us was a small table and two wire chairs with comfortable, plush cushions. It was vaguely familiar, and I looked up into the dark, silent canopy high overhead.

"Where are we?" I asked. "Trent’s interior gardens?"

The demon tilted his head, giving himself a devilish mien. "Of course. Popping right into Trenton Aloysius Kalamack’s house would be rude."

It must be something else, because Al had never before been interested in what was rude.

"Mmm, where is my little bitch?" he murmured, his buckled boot grinding into the slate as he turned.

"Winona?" I asked, my anxiety swelling.

"Not Winona. Ceri." Al breathed deeply. "Bloody-hell wench was easier to deal with when I had control of her soul. She’s gotten positively uppity. Wait here. I’ll fetch her." He hesitated, his head spinning to look down the trail. "That way, I think. I can smell baby shit."

"Al!" I called, not wanting to be caught in Trent’s hothouse alone, but he had vanished in a cascading wash of black ever-after.

I slumped. I was probably on-camera, somewhere. "Hello?" I called, going to sit in one of the chairs. A rustling at the edge of the ferns caught my attention, and I looked down expecting to see a rodent or maybe a bird, but my lips curved up in a smile when I found a gaunt fairy, silver and pale, standing guard with a hand-carved spear pointed at me. She didn’t have any wings, telling me she was one of the fairies who had attacked me last summer.

"Hi," I said, my eyes widening when the fairy made a stabbing motion at me, snarling. "Um, I know your sister Belle. I’ll take her something if you like."

Immediately the fairy straightened and stood her spear up to point at the sky. Giving me a long-toothed, scary smile, she ran into the brush. I watched the slowly swaying vegetation grow still, wondering what Trent felt about having become the first year-round landlord of a clan of fairies. They couldn’t migrate, and this was far better than inviting them inside the house. Maybe I should set up a little hothouse of my own. Nah, I liked the pixies too much.

I dropped my keys into my bag, and seeing my phone, I pulled it out to text Ivy that I was at Trent’s with Al and that my car was parked at the DMV. There were soft steps on the slate walk, and I looked up, dampening down an unexpected wash of feeling at the sight of Trent. He was moving at a confident pace, but his stance was wary as he came forward, unbuttoning his suit’s jacket to show a soft linen shirt and a gray tie. I had no doubt that I’d tripped some sort of alarm, but the fact that it was Trent coming to see me, not Quen or a faceless security guard, did a lot to ease my mind.

The memory of tagging HAPA at Junior’s swam up, and I flushed. It wasn’t that I was embarrassed, but I had felt so free with him, talking about memory charms while having pie, and now everything was awkward again. I didn’t know why.

"Rachel?" he said as he came to a stop beside the table, a long, narrow hand coming to rest atop the tiled surface. "When did you get here? Is Ceri with you?"

I pulled my eyes from his hand, still bare of any ring save the one, twin to my own, on his index finger. "Uh, hi. No. Hey, I’m sorry, but Al is wandering around, looking for her."

Trent’s face lost its expression, a ribbon of fear sliding behind his eyes before he mastered it. "You’re joking, right?" he said, his hand with the missing fingers going behind his back.

Wincing, I pulled my shoulder bag closer to me on my lap. "I wish I was. I’m sorry about this. He thinks that charm, uh, curse for Winona is ready. Trent, I’m sorry. If I’d had any warning, I would’ve called. He snagged me from the DMV parking lot thirty seconds ago."