Pale Demon (The Hollows #9)(74)
Author: Kim Harrison

As if knowing my thoughts, Jenks’s expression darkened. Trent took off his watch, leaving it on the counter. His wallet was next, and he took most of the money out of it and tucked it in a small slot in the utility belt before setting the smooth leather next to his watch.

I took a slow breath. If I said anything now, Jenks would be insulted. Trust. I had to trust. But it was hard. "Where do you want to be dropped off?" I asked softly.

Trent was giving himself a last look, fussing with the hair about his ears. "Train station," he said shortly. "Preferably on the platform, not the track," he drawled.

Nervous, I pushed myself into motion. "Okay. I’ll call him."

I headed for the living room. Trent followed with Jenks on his shoulder. Pierce was looking through the front closet as we entered, and I couldn’t help but wonder if this was what it would be like working for Trent: amicable conversations in penthouse suites in foreign cities, the excitement of a run coursing through me, and the coming satisfaction of knowing I’d done something no one else had before. Very secret agent. Was this why Nick did what he did?

I sneaked a glance at Trent as I sat on the couch, thinking he looked fantastic standing there-his color high and that calm confidence he always had tightened by excitement. Twice he had called on a demon and survived; admittedly it had been a mistake, but he’d done it. He had the guts-or stupidity-to work with wild magic, elven and dangerous. He had a pixy on his shoulder and was ready to do something clever and dangerous-something that, if he failed, would mean his death. I didn’t know who he was anymore, and I felt a stirring inside.

Feeling my eyes on him, he lifted his head. "What?"

For a moment, I said nothing, tasting the emotions coursing through me as he tried to read my mind. Was I confusing adrenaline with attraction? Was I losing sight of my desire for independence, distracted by quick, clever people who didn’t give a damn about whom they hurt to get what they wanted? Or was I just now seeing who he really was?

Trent’s face lost its questioning expression, shades of mistrust seeping in around his eyes. Jenks buzzed his wings at me, and I shook myself. "Nothing. Be careful, okay?"

Not convinced, Trent stood beside a comfortable chair, waiting.

Pierce scrambled to catch the clothes iron as it fell. Jenks flew up and down at the noise, but neither Trent nor I even looked.

"Okay…" I breathed as I tugged my bag closer and brought out my mirror. Turning halfway to the back of the room, I shouted, "Ivy? I’m dropping Trent off. I’ll be back in five minutes." I thought for a second. "Maybe ten!"

"Okay," came her muffled voice, and I felt a surge of tension.

"Wait!" Jenks exclaimed, "I have to give Ivy my phone. She’s going to call my kids for me while I’m gone."

I glanced at Trent, expecting to find a tired exasperation, surprised when I found only a patient understanding. Maybe they’d been talking more than I thought. Jenks buzzed off, Ivy’s closed door hardly slowing him down as he slipped through the crack.

Pierce finally got the iron back where it belonged, and he shut the sliding closet door with an attention-getting thump. "Rachel…," he warned me, and my blood pressure spiked, pushed by the adrenaline already coursing through me. His blue eyes were pinched, and his jaw was tight, reminding me of when he had once stood in the snow in a borrowed coat and tried to stop me from helping him with a run. I’d flipped him into a snowbank then, and I’d do the same here. Well, minus the snow of course.

"Don’t start with me," I said, and Trent scuffed his foot on the carpet, impatient. "Al owes me for saving his life." The scrying mirror was warming on my lap, and I set a hand on it, feeling a ping of energy equalize. "Thanks for that, by the way. I might be able to milk this for years."

I’d meant it to be funny, but Pierce came closer, sitting on the edge of the chair opposite me, the coffee table between us. The table had expensive-looking picture books on it of the work of local artists, most of which looked too sophisticated for my tastes. "I don’t like this," he said.

"I don’t like it much myself," I said, almost laughing as I exchanged a look with Trent.

From Ivy’s room came an exasperated "I got it, Jenks! Every four hours. Go away and let me sleep!"

Jenks darted out, looking browbeaten, and I turned my attention to my calling circle. It was as beautiful as ever, and I had made it. With a curse.

"Is it going to work?" Trent asked suddenly, startling me. "The salt in the air…"

I slid my fingertips to the cave of the pentagram, touching the proper glyphs. "No reason it shouldn’t. It’s demon, not earth magic." I looked up. "Jenks? Are we clear?"

Jenks landed on Trent’s shoulder, shocking the elf. "Give me a break," he said snidely. "I checked for bugs like three seconds after I came in. What do you think I was doing? Looking through cupboards for no reason like a goober?"

Pierce grimaced, scooting to the back of his chair, looking embarrassed.

"Let’s do it then," I said and reached for a ley line. My face screwed up, and I swear, my eye started twitching. An awful, metallic taste blossomed in my mouth, and my stomach twisted. "Oh God, the lines here are awful!" I said, finding one that was reasonably clean. It was as if they’d been fractured and were picking up rust and dirt. Maybe it was the earthquakes.

My gaze went to the bolts in the wall, and I forced myself to look away.

Steadying myself, I let the awful ley line fill me, reaching out and touching a finger of awareness into the ever-after by way of the calling circle. "Rachel calling Al, come in, Al," I said sarcastically. "Come in, your immenseness…"

Standing across from me, Trent raised his eyebrows in question, and I pressed my hand more firmly, finding it harder than usual to hold the divided awareness. Soon as Al picked up, the interference would vanish, but until then, I was left feeling disoriented.

Abruptly, my focus blurred, and my muscles were suddenly loose. A warm lassitude soaked into me, and I realized that though Al had acknowledged me and made a connection, he wasn’t altogether conscious. He was sleeping.

Al? I pushed into his mind, only to find myself surrounded by tiny slate blue butterflies in a field of amber grass, the tips waving at my waist. Al was trying to catch them, but every time he tried, he’d open his white-gloved hands to find them crushed and stinking like carrion. The grass grew tall until it waved over my head and turned into a maze. Al kept trying to catch the butterflies, and they began vanishing through cracks in the walls.