A Perfect Blood (The Hollows #10)(91)
Author: Kim Harrison

"Ah, Rachel?" Trent said, but I shrugged out from under his hand and focused on the mirror.

Hey, you sad excuse for a lousy-ass demon, I thought loudly. You broke my friggin’ mirror! It took me all day to make it, and I’m not going to make another! I’m trying to talk to you, so knock it off, moss wipe! I was tired of being afraid. I’d be bitchy instead.

Again, I felt my consciousness expand, and I waited, ready to pull my hand back.

Rachel? Al’s thought came with a hint of his noble British accent. You’re alive?

So far so good. Now it would get tricky. Yes, I’m alive, but if you keep throwing crap at me, I’m going to turn around and –

You’re alive! Al bellowed in anger, and I winced, my bravado vanishing.

Uh, yeah. Hey, um, Al . . .

And you’re with that elf! The force of his thoughts arced through me like fire.

I pulled my hand from the mirror, certain he knew where I was. "Help me up?" I asked Trent. "He’s coming. Get behind me."

"Where is behind you?" Trent grumbled, his hand warm and sturdy in mine as he cupped his second hand under my elbow and steadied me as I rose. "He could pop in anywhere in the line."

"Then just stay close," I said as he kicked the chair out of the way and I wavered on my feet, bringing my second sight into play. I wanted to sleep in my bed tonight, my bed in my church, and I wasn’t going to let Al take me. But inside, doubt trickled and took hold as the red-sheened nightmare of the ever-after wavered into existence, the grass-covered, windblown desert that the imbalance from the elf/demon war had made of the original Eden overlaying the calm orderliness of Trent’s office. If I concentrated, I could see the walls, but it was the horizon my eyes went to, the ever-blowing wind shifting the waves of dried grass that grew outside the broken city center. The scent of burnt amber tickled my nose, more from my imagination than the little bit of ever-after leaking through.

My hair shifted in the gritty wind, and Trent’s grip tightened.

"Rachel Mariana Morgan," Al said softly, and I gasped, almost falling as I spun and pain stabbed through my leg.

The demon was standing not thirty feet away. He was in the ley line in the ever-after, we were in it in reality. It was a middle ground that bent all the rules, and if he wanted, he could drag me from reality and back down into the foul-smelling earth.

"Hi, Al," I said, my resolve shredded and leaving only the cold fear of self-preservation. "Hey, you look good," I offered lamely, and the demon tilted his head to eye me from over his blue-tinted glasses, taking in my bland black sweats. Red, goat-slitted eyes peered at me, his lips curling back in a snarl to show his thick, blocky teeth. His grip on his walking cane tightened, and I noticed he was wearing gloves again, their white starchiness bright against the velvet green of his coat and his brilliant vest and dark trousers. Shiny boots with buckles, and lace at his throat and cuffs, added to his vision of a noble British lord at the height of his glory. A tall hat finished the outfit, shading his eyes from the painful sun.

"I look good?" Al said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Trent’s stance tightened as Al took three steps toward us.

"I look good?" he said louder, his pace quickening and his hand coming out. "I’m broke and living in squalor!"

"Hey!" I shouted as I felt the line seem to collapse into Trent, sucked in as he drew a massive amount of energy into himself and threw it at Al. The demon never slowed, a quickly raised hand deflecting the energy. Behind me, Trent’s fish tank exploded. Suddenly my feet were wet, heavy in thick socks.

"Stop it, Trent!" I exclaimed, pushing away from him and almost falling. "You promised." Oh God, he was going to ruin it. All I had going for me were daring and trust, and Trent was trying to prove how not strong we were?

"No, I didn’t," Trent said grimly, and my skin prickled at the energy gathering in his palms.

"I’m paying Ku’Sox blackmail to keep him quiet about your leaking ley line," Al intoned, flinging the same hand out to block another spell thrown by Trent. It ricocheted to my right, exploding the video screen in a shower of sparks. Al’s magic could not act on anything out of the line, but he didn’t have to if Trent kept throwing stuff at him.

"The elves are breeding true, and everyone’s blaming me!" the demon bellowed, his square face red. "And you think I look good!"

My eyes widened, and I took a deep breath. Al was three feet away, reaching for my shoulder, and I tensed, the shields in my mind down but ready to go up in an instant. "Yes, I do!" I said, face scrunched up, ready to take my lumps as long as he didn’t try to jump me.

I gasped as I felt myself yanked backward, right out of the line.

"Hey!" I shouted again, the image of the ever-after and Al vanishing. I couldn’t see him, but he could probably see me. "What are you doing!" I yelled at Trent, then did a double take. He had let go of me and was darting evil glances at me as he tried to catch his fish, flopping about on his wet carpet. People were pounding on his door, apparently locked. The broken shell of the video screen gaped blackly where once there was sun and a view of the pastures.

"Keeping you out of the ever-after," he almost snarled as he caught a blue damsel and tossed it into the shattered remnants of the fish tank and its two inches of remaining water. The fish darted behind a rock, unhurt.

"Well, stop it!" I said, feeling my leg ache and pushing the chair away. "If you want to help, give me my crutch."

He stood helplessly over his lionfish, knowing he couldn’t touch it lest he get poisoned.

"Give me my crutch!" I demanded, hand outstretched. "I can’t reach it from here."

With a last look at the gasping fish, Trent stomped to the back of my chair, little splashes coming up from his feet. He undid the clasps with unnecessary roughness, and then extended the crutch to me like a sword. From the hall came whispers. "Your crutch," he said dryly.

I took it, arm hurting as my weight landed on it. "Please help me," I whispered, my back to the line so Al couldn’t see what I was saying. "I can’t do this alone."

Trent’s scowl softened. His eyes flicking behind me, he nodded. "I’m fine!" he shouted at the knocking on the door. "I want my old tank brought up out of storage." He hesitated, eyes on mine. "Please," he added as if it hurt.

Scared, I took a quick breath as his hand cupped my free elbow and we squished across the wet carpet. Whoever was at the door was probably calling Quen, not getting his old fish tank. We had to wrap this up fast.