Ever After (The Hollows #11)(95)
Author: Kim Harrison

"Jenks is a gardener in a savage Eden," I said, believing it. He was a savage gardener with a protective streak. Ivy was just as savage, just as protective, when push came to shove. And me? What was I? What choices would I make when the world hung poised on the arc of the pendulum and I was ready to send it in a new direction?

"You will call your demon now for advice?" Belle asked, and I followed her gaze to my scrying mirror.

"I don’t know," I said, shifting my feet down a step. "He might not be healed enough."

Again, the silence stretched. "I’m sorry about Ceri," Belle said stiffly. "And Pierce."

I almost smiled. The three of us had killed most of her clan and left her wingless, but perhaps it made more sense to her with her warrior mind-set. "Thank you, Belle."

"They were great warriors. Pierce . . . Jenks tells me you were nearly joined with him."

I nodded, bringing up my second sight. Newt’s ley line hung at chest height, a hundred shades of red glowing, mixing, swirling. I desperately wanted to see Pierce there, or even Al. But there was nothing.

"It would have been a good match. You’re both strong."

"Perhaps," I said softly. I’d thought I had loved him once, but after the shine of his uniqueness had dulled, I’d come to dislike his loose morals more than I had been attracted to his power and dark strength.

Steadying myself, I reached for my mirror. Reluctantly, slowly, I lifted Rex down and set the heavy glass on my lap instead. I stared into the wine-colored depths in the sunset shadow-light, seeing the roof of the church rising overhead, the steeple distressingly free of Bis. It had been three days. Al should be healed by now.

"Have Jenks and Ivy summon me if I’m not back in two hours," I said, and Belle nodded, swinging up onto Rex for her warmth. I shivered in my jacket, feeling as if I was being watched as I took a last look over the sunset-gloomed garden. Gargoyles, I thought.

My way home settled, I closed my eyes and put my hand on the mirror, hoping he was healed. Al?

There was only the uncomfortable screeching that the collective had absorbed from the unbalanced line.

Al, I thought again, hope growing since I hadn’t gotten a do-not-disturb notice. Just no response. Algaliarept.

My eyes closed as the unholy chaos of the collective dissolved into the rushing sound of water or wind, and I felt the lofty sensation of having doubled my mind. Relief coursed through me, and I took a slow breath, sensing green trees, old and damp. I’d found him. I think.

In my thoughts, there was a pool of water among the tree roots, only a few inches deep and looking like glass. The air was moist and warm. I could hear water dripping and smell both moss and fog. There was no wind. No grit, no stink of burnt amber. Dancing over the still water were tiny blue butterflies the size of my thumb. It was a forest pool primeval, the light barely making it through the leaves. On the far side of the stone-and-moss-wreathed pool was a black figure hunched and sitting on the largest smooth boulder, his back to me. Al.

At least . . . I thought it was Al. He didn’t look right. He’s dreaming, I thought, but he must have heard me as he turned, scrabbling to hide whatever he was doing on the rock.

"Al?" I said in our shared dream, remembering having done this once before. I wasn’t sure it was him. He was thin-almost malnourished, like a fairy-his skin very dark and his hair a tight curl. He stood, and I realized he had leathery wings draped down over his back like a cloak. His eyes were red-slitted goat eyes, but so wide they looked black. I’d never seen him this thin and spindly, the angular sharpness even in his face, narrowing down to a very small pointy chin. He looked like a creature of the air. Alien.

"Rachel," he said, his voice the same as I remembered, even if it was a shade embarrassed and deeper than it should be for such a slight frame.

Nervous, I focused on his eyes. "Are you okay?" Is this what demons originally looked like?

Apparently not hearing my dream thought, Al turned around to look sadly at the rock he’d been sitting on. "I broke it," he said. "They can’t leave until I fix him, and if they stay, they’re going to die. They need the sun . . . too."

I edged closer, wondering how long this shared dream might last. On the rock was a handful of blue and silver shards as sharp as glass.

"I’ve been trying to put her back together," Al said, gesturing, "but the pieces don’t match, no matter how turned."

"Oh." Okay, this was really weird, but no weirder than the last dream we shared about blue butterflies vanishing into the walls of a maze grown from wheat.

"The edges are torn," he said, gesturing. "I don’t remember when I broke it."

I frowned, bending over the mess. "Look, you’ve got this piece upside down," I said, then jerked when the shard cut me. A drop of my blood glistened on the silver sliver, and then like magic, the splinters just sort of melted together into a whole, the entire butterfly turning red from my blood to look like stained glass.

"Some things can’t be fixed," Al said forlornly as I watched the red butterfly flutter her new wings on the rock and then fly up to join her friends.

Al didn’t look up from the rock, and I wondered if he was still seeing broken shards where there was now nothing. "Al, you’re dreaming," I said, and he brought his eyes up to meet mine. There was an uncomfortable innocence in them, and I started to wish I could back up and start again. "Can you bring me over? I need your help."

His gaze went to the butterflies dancing up through the canopy, blinking in surprise as he looked back at the empty rock. "Sure," he said, clearly preoccupied. "Come on over."

I gasped in pain as the line took me, hearing Al’s bellow as everything vanished in a flash of white-hot agony. I didn’t understand! It had been three days. He should be healed by now, and I hit the ground hard as reality-or the ever-after, actually-re-formed around me.

My face plowed into the black marble floor of Al’s spelling kitchen, and my shoulder gave a twinge as I rolled toward the large circular fire pit with its raised benches. "Ow," I said softly, hearing Al cursing nearby.

It had been a rough landing, but I was here, and with a renewed hope-and embarrassment-I untangled myself and propped myself up on an elbow. My scrying mirror was lying on the floor, and I scooped it up, checking it for cracks before setting in on the bench. The new, ragged hole in the wall gave me pause, Al’s bedroom looking gray beyond it-a door into the once doorless room. Apparently he’d wanted in before he could jump a line. A pained sound jerked my attention to the small hearth at the front of the room.