Pale Demon (The Hollows #9)(81)
Author: Kim Harrison

Not this time, I vowed, my hands in fists as I wiped off the lingering taste of redwood from my lips. He was a black witch who would use forbidden magic to kill those who threatened his life or the lives of those he cared about.

So was I, but that didn’t mean I had to love him for it.

Chapter Eighteen

I’d already used the glass-and-tile shower in the front bathroom, scrubbing my scalp until it hurt as I worked to get the last vestiges of the burnt-amber stink from my hair. The hotel shampoo smelled far too masculine for me, and I thought it irksome that the management assumed only men would be renting the top floor. But then again, they probably hadn’t expected Trent to blow into town with two women. Fortunately I had some of my own shampoo and detangler, and I was again smelling like strawberries and oranges.

I smiled, settling myself deeper into the bubbles. Yes, I had already showered, but there was nothing like a long soak to prepare oneself for a lynching. Especially when you could watch TV while doing it.

Clicking from the Weather Channel to the news, I set the remote next to my plate of crackers. A half-empty bottle of water stood beside it. The scent of coffee slipped in under the door, telling me that Ivy was up. I felt like a prisoner, even after having been a guest at Alcatraz and knowing what true incarceration felt like. Never again, I thought as I adjusted the towel wrapped around my hair. If I couldn’t beat this, I’d go live with Al.

But I didn’t want to.

My gaze drifted to my heavy-magic detector, the disk a flickering, sickly green. It wasn’t working well, and I couldn’t trust it. I felt like Jenks at five thousand feet. Ley-line magic, too, was messed up because of the ley lines, fractured and broken by the seismic activity. This was why the coven had their convention here. Unless you lived here, you were at a disadvantage and didn’t dare use your magic in a pique of anger or implied insult. Demon magic worked, though, I thought bittersweetly as I extended an arm up and looked at the lack of bruises. That curse Al had given me before sending me back had rubbed out every ache.

The TV detailed California’s latest wildfire, and I stretched out all of my five foot four in the water with room to spare. Fires, mudslides, earthquakes, smog, broken ley lines…Why did anyone live here?

I breathed deeply, my eyes flicking to the short dress that Al had given me. I could still detect a whisper of burnt amber drifting from it as it hung on a wooden hanger on the back of the door, and I was hoping that the moist air might help. Apart from the purple scarf, it was all-white leather from the cap to the boots, supple like butter and having a luster that would show off my curves. I knew without trying it on that it would fit. I didn’t want to know how Al knew my size. Apart from the color, I’d look like Cat-woman. Me-ow.

My first reaction when I had shaken it from the paper wrapping had been "Is he kidding?" No one wears white leather, especially not head to toe. But now, after I’d been looking at it for over an hour, I thought why the hell not? Skimpy as it was, leather did have a small resistance to thrown potions.

There wasn’t a clock in here, but the ticker on the bottom of the news said it was getting late, and I sat up. The water fell from me, creating bubbles, and I stood and reached for a fluffy towel. It felt good not to hurt, and I dried myself off, going over every inch of my smooth, unblemished skin that should be aching and purple from fighting first Ku’Sox and then Al. Demon curses. Better than Band-Aids, and they didn’t wash off in the tub, either.

The TV switched to an on-the-scene reporter, yelling as she tried to be heard over the fire trucks. It was a small warehouse fire on the docks of Seattle. Jenks? I wondered. God, I missed him, and I hoped he was okay. They were supposed to be back by midnight, but I doubted they’d make it. So much for Trent’s promises. I was sure he’d have a pixy dust of an excuse.

Wrapped in a white robe embroidered with the hotel’s initials, I undid my hair and tried to go through it again. I could see the TV in the mirror. The woman was going on and on about numerous minor problems all over Seattle, from an elevator becoming stuck in the needle, to a catfight at the international cat show Seattle was hosting, to hundreds of fender benders that seemed to happen simultaneously across the Seattle area. She was asking everyone to be patient. Apparently the 911 system had been scheduled for maintenance, and the load of calls had crashed the backup.

Jenks, you little devil, I thought with a smile, but then changed my mind. Jenks was good, but he couldn’t be in more than one place at a time. This had all the earmarks of a demon.

My motions to comb the detangler through my damp hair grew rough, and I frowned. All this for a wedding band? I didn’t want to believe that Trent had released a dangerous, day-walking demon to be a friggin’ distraction-even if it was to control the direction of the next elf generation. And since elves had their fingers in everything, everyone was going to feel it. Damn it, Trent, you’d better know what you’re doing.

The knock at the bathroom door made me jump, and I set the comb down with a clatter when Ivy’s voice came through the thick door, saying, "Rachel? Can we talk?"

What did she want? "Give me a minute to get dressed?"

"Sure." There was a moment, then from deeper in the room, louder but muffled, "Do you want something to eat?"

I reached for my underwear, then hesitated. "You mean like room service?" God, I felt like a prisoner, and in a sudden decision, I took Al’s outfit off the hanger instead. Might as well make sure the dress fit.

"No," she said, voice softer. "I wouldn’t eat anything they bring up now that they know we’re here. If you don’t want cold cuts or fruit, I’ve got Milk Duds."

Ivy is the one buying the Milk Duds? "Uh, no thanks." I zipped up the side zipper on my hip, gratified that nothing pinched or bunched when I bent to put on my socks. "You want to see my go-to-trial outfit?" White. Was he serious?

"Sure."

She sounded depressed, even through the door, and I became worried as I adjusted the sleeveless top over my bare skin. It laced up the back and had a neckline that would show off what little I had to my best advantage, accentuating instead of hiding what wasn’t there.

"I, uh, had three gallons of syrup sent out to the Petrified Forest," she said, standing by the door by the sound of it.

"You’re kidding! How?"

She was silent, and I imagined her shrugging. "Internet," she said shortly. "Jenks’s freedom cost us $275, but most of that was to pay for someone to deliver it."

I couldn’t help my smile. I hadn’t forgotten my promise to the pixies, but leave it to Ivy to know how to arrange it online.