Pale Demon (The Hollows #9)(55)
Author: Kim Harrison

"Al…," I protested, and Pierce looked at me like I was trash.

"I’d sooner lie with a whore," Pierce said, and I gasped, affronted.

I half-expected Al to smack him again, but all the demon did was brush off the amulet and say, "Well, she’s been called that, so where’s the problem?"

"Al!" I exclaimed, but no one cared.

"Better," Al said, nodding once sharply as he took a step back and looked Pierce over. "All nice and pretty for itchy witch."

Pierce took his new hat off and dropped it to the dusty floor, even though I saw that he liked it. "You’re doing this because I can kill you. I could kill you right this moment."

I gasped as Al reached out and slapped him, the sound of hand meeting flesh giving the fast movement away. Pierce reeled, catching himself against the broken chair that had once belonged to Ceri. "I’m getting rid of you," Al said calmly, "because you’re a clever witch who won’t stay in his box."

Glaring, Pierce straightened from his half fall, looking at me as if I was the source of his woes. Hey, dude, I wasn’t the one trying to kill Al.

"Al. No. This is not a good idea," I said, seeing Pierce’s anger as I backed up a step.

"It’s a capital idea!" Al took three steps to close the distance between him and Pierce. The shorter man tensed, but Al only put an arm over his shoulder. He looked like a dad threatening a date, and I half-expected him to tell Pierce to have me home by ten, but what he said was "Keep her alive. Keep her alive, or I will know about it."

Pierce looked at me, and I remembered his hand, painful against my mouth, forcing me to be quiet as inches overhead Trent’s horses and dogs searched the woods for my blood. He loved me. I was sure of it. But he had tried to kill Al with black magic-and as the memory of him leaning over Al with power leaking from his fingers replayed itself in my mind, I began to question my judgment of him.

My face became cold as I abruptly realized that for all Pierce’s claims of compassion, for his clever mind and quick loyalty, for all his justifications of black magic as acceptable if the cause was good, Pierce truly was a black witch. He had tried to kill with magic. It didn’t matter if the charm was white, black, or polka dotted with silver sparkles. The coven of moral and ethical standards had been right about him. They were right.

And if they were right about him, maybe they were right about me.

"I don’t care if she dies," he said, and I looked away, remembering: And I will cry when I go, because I could love you forever.

Son of a bitch. I’d done it again.

Al smacked Pierce’s face a little too hard. "Then let’s just say you keep her alive, or I will give you to Ku’Sox like a free toaster for opening an account in the bank of degradation."

Pierce shoved Al’s arm off him with an indignant look. "You’ll be dead first."

Al shook his head. "I thought you might say that. You will excuse me and itchy witch for a moment."

Pierce opened his mouth to say something, and Al punched him. Hard.

I blinked, shocked, as Pierce dropped and the demon swore and wrung his hand. "Damn, I forgot how much that hurt!" he said, then reached down and hauled the unconscious would-be demon killer up by his vest front. It was silk and linen. Enough to put even Trent’s wardrobe to shame. I stood there feeling like I should protest at the brutality, but I didn’t know what to think anymore. Pierce was black. Was I?

"Rachel," Al said as he held Pierce like a drowned kitten. "I’m hanging by a thread, both my life and my reputation. Take Pierce and keep him away from me. Ku’Sox is not crazy. He is smart, clever, and has had two thousand years for his hatred of everyone on this side of the ley lines to fester into his chaotic nightmares. He knows everything I do, everything that Newt has forgotten. He can’t be reasoned with or pacified. We’re in trouble, and I can’t have a familiar who is ready to take advantage of a moment’s lapse. Pierce knows more than you, and you’ll need him. Turn your feminine charms on and seduce him if you need to in order to have him save your scrawny witch ass."

God help me, I thought. No wonder the coven wanted to kill me. Pierce was a black witch, and I had been defending him.

Unaware of the confusion swirling through me, Al’s attention lingered on Pierce. "I don’t think he’ll ever forgive you for saving my life. Pride. He’s full of pride." I shivered as his eyes came to me, that same look of evaluation in them-but this time, it was tempered with gratitude. "Thank you," he said as he shoved Pierce at me. "For…helping me."

At a loss, I took Pierce’s weight, staggering until I found a new balance. "No good deed and all," I said, not knowing how to say, "You’re welcome." I was glad I’d done it, but did accepting his thanks mean that I was aligning myself with demons all the more? Did it even matter anymore?

Unaware of my thoughts, Al nodded, looking tired. "Don’t forget your mirror," he said as he handed it to me, and I struggled to hold it and Pierce both. "And don’t let your freed familiar use it again."

Better and better, I thought as I felt Pierce’s weight vanish, and then me, too, dissolve into nothing for the trip back to reality. I hardly had time to form a protective bubble around myself and Pierce before we misted back into reality. My boot heels scraped as I got my balance. I was standing in the sun-drenched parking lot where the car had been. The shadows had shifted, and I let Pierce slide to the pavement, not caring how he hit the hot ground as long as my mirror didn’t break. From a second-story walkway, Ivy, Vivian, and Jenks were collectively yelling at Trent as they looked for their room number.

The soft oof of Pierce hitting the pavement caught Jenks’s attention, and his long whistle pulled everyone to a stop. Ivy’s eyes found me next, and she was smiling as she looked down, leaning against a support pole. Trent was silent, plucking the key from Ivy and vanishing with a bang behind a red-painted door. Vivian stood in openmouthed awe, her small figure looking small next to Ivy.

"You’re back!" she said, eyes wide as she recognized Pierce, just now starting to stir. "Is that…Gordian Pierce?"

I bent to help Pierce rise, and he pulled from me, holding his jaw and not meeting my eyes. "Yup," I said, feeling hurt somehow. We were back. But for how long, I didn’t know.

Chapter Thirteen

If it wasn’t for the lack of an ocean, I would have believed I was in Florida, sitting at a tourist-trap, beach-themed restaurant whose target audience was college kids on spring break. The floor was of gray dock planks. The stairs had stiff rope railings. Fishing nets that had never seen the water were strung under the high ceiling. It was busy, and Trent’s hundred bucks had bought us a booth in front of the stage, bypassing the forty-minute wait. Maybe money couldn’t buy happiness, but it could get you a table that looked like the back end of a deep-sea fishing vessel.