The Witch With No Name (The Hollows #13)(80)
Author: Kim Harrison

“A-a-a-a-asleep!” Lucy crowed, throwing her toilet paper banner again and watching it drift down. “Surprise!”

Trent held out his other hand. “Show me?” he asked, and she jumped over to him, her dress flying up to show her tights.

“Come on, Daddy!” she said, dragging him off.

Ray turned before they left, and I made an open-and-closed hand wave to match hers. Ducking her head shyly, she trailed along behind Trent, leaving the door open. I didn’t mind, but I did put on a borrowed robe before I scuffed into my slippers. I could hear Quen talking to Trent, and I wasn’t quite up to more people yet. The morning garden beckoned, a gray patch of solitude and calm after Lucy’s exuberance, and after a look at my phone and the time, I shuffled to the big French doors. I wasn’t going out into the living area until Ellasbeth knew I was here.

Besides, if there was a real problem, Quen or Jon would be on it. It might look as if the girls had been wandering the upper floor unattended, but both Jon and Quen were big on letting the girls explore freely within sharply defined boundaries. Either one wouldn’t have a problem letting them walk in on me and Trent—each for different reasons.

Lucy’s shrill voice was punctuated by masculine rumbles as I hit the code at the box by the door and opened it. The first breath of morning damp cooled my flush as I recalled the pandemonium the first time I’d opened it without the code. Birdsong and what might be the clatter of pixy wings drew me out onto the sheltered patio. There was a small koi pond with steam rising from it, and tidy flower beds carefully raked and put to bed for the coming winter.

I wrapped my arms around myself as the coolness slipped up my legs. A soft scuff yanked my attention to the small patio table for two, and I jerked to a halt. “Al?” I said, fear for being coated in mystics flashing through me. I froze, unbelieving, as he stood, clearly having been waiting for me out of sight of the door. At least I hope he’d been out of sight. “What are you doing here?” I warily shuffled closer in my slippers and robe, having to trust that he wouldn’t come here, out of his way, to choke me to death. “And in a suit?” I added, thinking he looked dashing, though very different. He wasn’t trying to kill me. That was good, right?

He looked up from the hat in his hands. “I didn’t change for you,” he said, his proper British accent only a hint, and I nodded, more nervous yet. The tight pin-striped suit gave him almost a forties look. He’d trimmed his physique as well with a narrower waist and shoulders not as thick. It made him appear younger, less mature, more hoodlum, but not quite a thug—the hairstyle shifted it to professional? Professional what, though? I wondered as my eyes slid from the hat he placed on the table to his shiny shoes. The demon did like his shiny shoes, stylish hats, and glasses that he really didn’t need.

“It’s a different look for you,” I said, and he sniffed.

“Not everything I do revolves around you,” he said quickly, as if I might think he was softening to me. “I have my reasons.”

“It looks great, but I thought you looked good before,” I said, and he hesitated as if never having considered that. Remembering where I was, I glanced back at the open door and inched closer. “What are you doing here?” And how long have you been here? Did you look in the window? Did you see me happy with Trent and his children beside me?

Al’s gaze was on the door when I turned back around, and my eyes narrowed in mistrust. “I want to ask you a few questions,” he said. “Is now a good time?”

It wasn’t, but I went back and shut the door. “You put Ellasbeth to sleep, didn’t you.”

He smiled, and I knew it was the same old Al despite his new look. “Was it you who destroyed the back end of your church?”

“No.” What is his game? I wondered, arms over my middle again.

“Was it . . . Trenton Aloysius Kalamack?”

“No,” I said again, coming closer until only feet separated us.

“Tell me about it in your own words.”

Tell me about it in your own words? I stood before him, head cocked. “Why?” The scent of burnt amber was almost nonexistent, and I wondered how he could lose it so fast when it always took me a week of showers.

“I want to know.” Nose wrinkling, Al flicked something away from me. “Disgusting creatures,” he muttered, and I backed up, thinking he was talking about the mystics.

“I can’t hear them,” I rushed to say. “And I didn’t call them to me.” I shut my mouth, thinking that to tell him they’d showed up when Cormel had threatened Trent was a bad idea.

Al’s jaw tightened, and I felt a pang at his disgust. “Ah, it was one of the vampire camarillas,” I said to distract him. “Cormel made a deal with the elf dewar that if they got rid of Trent and me, the elves would bring their souls back from the ever-after.”

“So it was Cormel’s men?” he said.

I licked my lips, remembering Al had seen Cormel last night outside Junior’s. “No.”

Al sighed and clasped his hands before him. “No proof. That should be your middle name, Rachel Mariana Morgan.”

Why is he even interested in this? “Look,” I said, thinking this was a lame excuse to check on me, but it was better than choking me to death. “They were vampires,” I added, and he made talking motions with his hands. “Bis snagged one and Trent got a confession.”

“A forced confession means nothing,” he said, and I wondered if the demons were working on some point-of-law thing they wanted to use somehow.

“Why are you badgering me?” I asked, and he casually sat, tugging at his sleeves before remembering the lace was gone.

“You’re very defensive,” he said. “I’m simply ascertaining what happened that morning.”

Yes, but why? He waited silently, and I finally said, “There was a mix of vampires from a lot of camarillas. No one took responsibility, but last night Cormel said the attack was his effort to remind Trent and me of our place in life.”

Goat-slitted eyes unfocused in thought, Al steepled his fingers. “This was last night?”

Someone has been watching old Godfather flicks, I thought as I nodded, and then I said, “Yes,” when it became obvious I needed to actually say it. “I didn’t blow up my church, but I did take advantage of it to pretend to be dead.” I leaned one palm against the table, shivering as the cold from the iron seeped into me. “Why are you here?”