Holidays are Hell

Chapter 1

I stuck the end of the pencil between my teeth, brushing the eraser specks off the paper as I considered how best to answer the employment application, WHAT SKILLS CAN YOU BRING TO INDERLAND SECURITY THAT ARE CLEARLY UNIQUE TO YOU?

Sparkling wit? I thought, twining my foot around the kitchen chair and feeling stupid. A smile? The desire to smear the pavement with bad guys?

Sighing, I tucked my hair behind my ear and slumped into the kitchen chair. My eyes shifted to the clock above the sink as it ticked minutes into hours. I wasn't going to waste my life. Eighteen was too young to be accepted into the I.S. intern program without a parent's signature, but if I put my application in now, it would sit at the top of the stack until I was old enough, according to the guidance counselor. Like the recruiter had said, there was nothing wrong with going into the I.S. right out of college if you knew that's what you wanted to do. The fast track.

The faint sound of the front door opening brought my heart to my throat. I glanced at the sunset-gloomed window. Jamming the application under the stacked napkins, I shouted, "Hi, Mom! I thought you weren't going to be back until eight!"

Damn it, how was I supposed to finish this thing if she kept coming back?

But my alarm shifted to elation when a high falsetto voice responded, "It's eight in Buenos Aires, dear. Be a dove and find my rubbers for me? It's snowing."

"Robbie?" I stood so fast the chair nearly fell over. Heart pounding, I darted out of the kitchen and into the green hallway. There at the end, in a windbreaker and shaking snow from himself, was my brother Robbie. His narrow height came close to brushing the top of the door, and his shock of red hair caught the glow from the porch light. Slush-wet Dockers showed from under his jeans, totally inappropriate for the weather. On the porch behind him, a cabbie set down two suitcases.

"Hey!" I exclaimed, bringing his head up to show his green eyes glinting mischievously. "You were supposed to be on the vamp flight. Why didn't you call? I would've come to get you."

Robbie shoved a wad of money at the driver. Door still gaping behind him, he opened his arms, and I landed against him, my face hitting his upper chest instead of his middle like it had when we had said goodbye. His arms went around me, and I breathed in the scent of old Brimstone from the dives he worked in. The tears pricked, and I held my breath so I wouldn't cry. It had been over four and a half years. Inconsiderate snot had been at the West Coast all this time, leaving me to cope with Mom. But he'd come home this year for the solstice, and I sniffed back everything and smiled up at him.

"Hey, Firefly," he said, using our dad's pet name for me and grinning as he measured where my hair had grown to.

"You got tall. And wow, hair down to your waist? What are you doing, going for the world's record?"

He looked content and happy, and I dropped back a step, suddenly uncomfortable. "Yeah, well, it's been almost five years," I accused. Behind him, the cab drove away, headlamps dim from the snow and moving slowly.

Robbie sighed. "Don't start," he begged. "I get enough of that from Mom. You going to let me in?" He glanced behind him at the snow. "It is cold out here."

"Wimp," I said, then grabbed one of the suitcases. "Ever hear about that magical thing called a coat?"

He snorted his opinion, hefting the last of the luggage and following me in. The door shut, and I headed down the second, longer hallway to his room, eager to get him inside and part of our small family again. "I'm glad you came," I said, feeling my pulse race from the suitcase's weight. I hadn't been in the hospital in years, but fatigue still came fast. "Mom's going to skin you when she gets back."

"Yeah, well I wanted to talk to you alone first."

Flipping the light switch with an elbow, I lugged his suitcase into his old room, relieved I'd vacuumed already. Blowing out my exhaustion, I turned with my arms crossed over my chest to hide my heavy breathing. "About what?"

Robbie wasn't listening. He had taken off his jacket to show a sharp-looking pinstripe shirt with a tie. Smiling, he spun in a slow circle. "It looks exactly the same."

I shrugged. "You know Mom."

His eyes landed on mine. "How is she?"

I looked at the floor. "Same. You want some coffee?"

With an easy motion, he swung the suitcase I had dragged in up onto the bed. "Don't tell me you drink coffee."

Half my mouth curved up into a smile. "Sweat of the gods," I quipped, coming close when he unzipped a front pocket and pulled out a clearly expensive bag of coffee. If the bland, environmentally conscious packaging hadn't told me what was in it, the heavenly scent of ground beans would have. "How did you get that through customs intact?" I said, and he smiled.

"I checked it."

His arm landed across my shoulders, and together we navigated the narrow hallway to the kitchen. Robbie was eight years older than me, a sullen babysitter who had become an overly protective brother, who had then vanished four-plus years ago when I needed him the most, fleeing the pain of our dad's death. I had hated him for a long time, envious that he could run when I was left to deal with Mom. But then I found out he'd been paying for Mom's psychiatrist. Plus some of my hospital bills. We all helped the way we could. And it wasn't like he could make that kind of money here in Cincinnati.

Robbie slowed as we entered the kitchen, silent as he took in the changes. Gone was the cabinet with its hanging herbs, the rack of dog-eared spell books, the ceramic spoons, and copper spell pots. It looked like a normal kitchen, which was abnormal for Mom.

"When did this happen?" he asked, rocking into motion and heading for the coffeemaker. It looked like a shrine with its creamer, sugar, special spoons, and three varieties of grounds in special little boxes.

I sat at the table and scuffed my feet. Since Dad died, I thought, but didn't say it. I didn't need to.

The silence stretched uncomfortably. I'd like to say Robbie looked like my dad, but apart from his height and his spare frame, there wasn't much of Dad about him. The red hair and green eyes we shared came from Mom. The earth magic skill I dabbled in came from Mom, too. Robbie was better at ley line magic. Dad had been topnotch at that, having worked in the Arcane Division of the Inderland Security, the I.S. for short.

Guilt hit me, and I glanced at the application peeking out from under the napkins.

"So," Robbie drawled as he threw out the old grounds and rinsed the carafe. "You want to go to Fountain Square for the solstice? I haven't seen the circle close in years."

I fought to keep the disappointment from my face—he had been trying to get tickets to the Takata concert. Crap. "Sure," I said, smiling. "We'll have to dig up a coat for you, though."

"Maybe you're right," he said as he scooped out four tablespoons, glanced at me and then dumped the last one back in the bag. "You want to go to the concert instead?"

I jerked straight in the chair. "You got them!" I squealed, and he grinned.

"Yup," he said, tapping his chest and reaching into a pocket. But then his long face went worried. I held my breath until he pulled a set of tickets from a back pocket, teasing me.

"Booger," I said, falling back into the chair.

"Brat," he shot back.

But I was in too good a mood to care. God, I was going to be listening to Takata when the seasons shifted. How cool was that? Anticipation made my foot jiggle, and I looked at the phone. I had to call Julie. She would die. She would die right on the spot.

"How did your classes go?" Robbie said suddenly. His back was to me as he got the coffeemaker going, and I flushed. Why was that always the second thing out of their mouth, right after how tall you've gotten? "You graduated, right?" he added, turning.

"Duh." I scuffed my feet and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I'd graduated, but admitting I'd flunked every ley line class I had taken wasn't anything I wanted to do. "Got a job yet?"

My eyes flicked to the application. "I'm working on it." Living at home while going to college hadn't been my idea but until I could afford rent, I was kind of stuck here, two-year degree or not.

Smiling with an irritating understanding, Robbie slid into the chair across from me, his long legs reaching the other side and his thin hands splayed out. "Where's The Bat? I didn't see it in the drive."

Oh… crap. Scrambling up, I headed for the coffeemaker. "Wow, that smells good," I said, fumbling for two mugs. "What is that, espresso?" Like I knew? But I had to say something.

Robbie knew me better than I knew myself, having practically raised me. It had been hard to find a babysitter willing to take care of an infant prone to frequently collapsing and needing shots to get her lungs moving again. I could feel his eyes on me, and I turned, arms over my chest as I leaned back against the counter.

"Rachel…" he said, then his face went panicked. "You got your license, didn't you? Oh my God. You wrecked it. You wrecked my car!"

"I didn't wreck it," I said defensively, playing with the tips of my hair. "And it was my car. You gave it to me."

"Was?" he yelped, jerking straight. "Rache, what did you do?"

"I sold it," I admitted, flushing.

"You what!"

"I sold it." Turning my back on him, I carefully pulled the carafe off the hot plate and poured out two cups. Sure, it smelled great, but I bet it tasted as bad as the stuff Mom bought.

"Rachel, it was a classic!"

"Which is why I got enough from it to get my black belt," I said, and he slumped back, exasperated.

"Look," I said, setting a cup beside him and sitting down. "I couldn't drive it, and Mom can't keep a regular job long enough to get a month's worth of pay. It was just taking up room."

"I can't believe you sold my car." He was staring at me, long face aghast. "For what? To be able to dance like Jackie Chan?"

My lips pressed together. "I was mad at you, okay?" I exclaimed, and his eyes widened. "You walked out of here after Dad's funeral and didn't come back. I was left trying to keep Mom together. And then everyone at school found out and started pushing me around. I like feeling strong, okay? A car I couldn't drive wasn't doing it, but the gym was. I needed the money to get my belt, so I sold it!"

He looked at me, guilt shining in the back of his eyes.

"You, ah, want to see what I can do?" I asked hesitantly.

Robbie's breath came in fast, and he shook himself. "No," he said, eyes on the table. "You did the right thing. I wasn't here to protect you. It was my fault."

"Robbie…" I whined. "It's not anybody's fault. I don't want to be protected. I'm a lot stronger now. I can protect myself. Actually…" I looked at the application, my fingers cold as I reached for it. I knew he wouldn't approve, but if I could get him on my side, we might be able to convince Mom—and then I wouldn't have to wait. "Actually, I'd like to do more than that."

He said nothing as I pulled the paper out like a guilty secret and shoved it across the table. My knees went weak, and I felt the hints of lightheadedness take over. God, how could I ever hope to be a runner if I didn't have enough nerve to bring it up with my brother?

The sound of the paper rasping on the table as he picked it up seemed loud. The furnace clicked on, and the draft shifted my hair as I watched his gaze travel over the paper. Slowly his expression changed as he realized what it was. His eyes hit mine, and his jaw clenched. "No."

He went to crumple the paper, and I snatched it away. "I'm going to do this."

"The I.S?" Robbie said loudly. "Are you crazy? That's what killed Dad!"

"It is not. I was there. He said so. Where were you?"

Feeling the hit, he shifted to the back of the chair, "That's not fair."

"Neither is telling me I can't do something simply because it scares you," I accused.

His brow furrowed, and I grabbed my cup of coffee, sliding it between us. "Is this why you're so hell bent on those karate classes?" he asked bitterly.

"It's not karate," I said. "And yes, it puts me ahead of everyone else. With my two-year degree, I can be a full runner in four years. Four years, Robbie!"

"I don't believe this." Robbie crossed his arms over his chest. "Mom is actually letting you do this?"

I stayed silent, ticked.

Robbie made a derisive noise from deep in his chest. "She doesn't know," he accused, and I brought my gaze up. My vision was blurring, but by God, I wasn't going to wipe my eyes.

"Rachel," he coaxed, seeing me teetering in frustration. "Did you even read the contract? They have you forever. No way out. You're not even twenty yet, and you're throwing your life away!"

"I am not!" I shouted, my voice trembling. "What else am I good for? I'll never be as good as mom at earth magic. I've tried flipping burgers and selling shoes, and I hated it. I hate it!" I almost screamed.

Robbie stared, clearly taken aback. "Then I'll help you get a real degree. All you need is the right classes."

My jaw clenched. "I took the right classes, and I have a real degree," I said, angry. "This is what I want to do."

"Running around in the dark arresting criminals? Rachel, be honest. You will never have the stamina." And then his expression blanked. "You're doing this because of Dad."

"No," I said sullenly, but my eyes had dropped, and it was obvious that was part of it.

Robbie sighed. He leaned to take my hand across the table, and I jerked out of his reach. "Rachel," he said softly. "If Dad was here, he'd tell you the same thing. Don't do it."

"If Dad was here, he'd drive me to the IS. office himself," I said. "Dad believed in what he did with his life. He didn't let danger stop him; he just prepared for it better."

"Then why did he let himself get killed?" Robbie said, an old pain in his pinched eyes. "He'd tell you to expand on your earth witch degree and find something safe."

"Safe!" I barked, shifting back. Damn it, now I'd never convince Mom. I needed her signature on the application, or I'd have to wait until I was nineteen. That meant I'd be twenty-three before I was actually making money at it. I loved my mom, but I had to get out of this house. "If Dad was here, he'd let me," I muttered, sullen.

"You think so?" Robbie shot back.

"I know so."

It was silent apart from my foot tapping the chair leg and the ticking of the clock. I folded up the application and snapped it down between us like an accusation. Reaching for my coffee, I took a swig, trying not to grimace at the taste. I don't care how good it smelled, it tasted awful. I couldn't believe people actually enjoyed drinking this stuff.

Robbie stood, startling me as the chair scraped and bumped over the linoleum. "Where are you going?" I asked. Not home for five minutes, and we were arguing already.

"To get something," he said, and walked out. I could hear him talking under his breath, and the harsh sound of a zipper as he opened his suitcase. His bedroom door slammed shut and the familiar stomp of his feet in the hall as he came back was loud.

I knew I was wearing that same unhappy, ugly look he had when he dropped a heavy book on the table in front of me. "Happy solstice," he said, slumping into his chair.

I waited, not knowing what to say. "What is it?"

"A book," he said shortly. "Open it."

I scooted closer and tucked my hair behind an ear. It was as big as a dictionary, but the pages were thick, not thin. The stark brightness told me it was a new book, but the charms in them… I'd never even heard of them.

"That's an eight-hundred-level textbook from the university in Portland," he said, voice harsh. "Now that you have your two-year degree, I wanted to ask if you would come out with me to take classes."

My head came up. He wanted me to go out to the West Coast with him?

"Mom too," he added, and then his expression shifted to pleading. "Look at those spells, Rachel. Look what you can do if you apply yourself and invest some time. If you go into the I.S., you won't ever be able to do charms like that. Is that what you want?"

Lips parted, I looked at the pages. I was okay with earth magic, but these looked really hard. "Robbie, I—"

My words cut off and I stared at the page. "Oh wow," I breathed, looking at the charm.

"See," Robbie coaxed, his voice eager. "Look at that stuff. It's yours if you want it. All you have to do is work for it."

"No, look!" I said, shoving the book across the table and standing to follow it around. "See? There's a charm to summon the wrongfully dead. I can ask Dad. I can ask Dad what he thinks I should do."

Robbie's mouth dropped open. "Let me see that," he said, bending over the book. "Holy shit," he breathed, long fingers trembling. "You're right." He was wearing a smile when he pulled his gaze from the pages. "Tell you what," he said, leaning back with a look I recognized, the one he used to wear when he was getting me into trouble. "You do this spell to summon Dad, and ask him. If it works, you do what he says."

My pulse quickened. "You said it was an eight-hundred-level spell."

"Yeah? So what?"

I thought for a minute. "And if he says I should join the I. S.?"

"I'll sign the application myself. Mom gave me your guardianship right after Dad died."

I couldn't seem to get enough air. It was a way out. "And if I can't do it? What then?"

"Then you come out to Portland with me and get your master's so you can do every single charm in that book. But you have to do the spell yourself. Front to back. Start to finish."

I took a deep breath and looked at it. At least it wasn't in Latin. How hard could it be?

"Deal," I said, sticking my hand out.

"Deal," he echoed. And we shook on it.

Chapter 2

Squinting, I crouched to put my gaze level with the graduated cylinder, knees aching with a familiar fatigue as I measured out three cc's of white wine. It was this year's pressings, but I didn't think that mattered as long as the grapes had been grown here in Cincinnati, in effect carrying the essence of the land my dad had lived and died on.

My mom's light laughter from the other room pulled my attention away at a critical moment, and the wine sloshed too high. She was cloistered in the living room with Robbie under the impression that I was making a last-minute solstice gift and the kitchen was totally off limits. Which meant I was trying to figure out this crappy spell without Robbie's help. See, this was why I wanted to be a runner. I'd be so damn good, I could afford to buy my spells.

I grimaced as I straightened and looked at the too-full cylinder. Glancing at the hallway, I brought it to my lips and downed a sip. The alcohol burned like my conscience, but when the liquid settled, it was right where it was supposed to be.

Satisfied, I dumped it into Mom's crucible. She had gone over it with a fine-grit sandpaper earlier this afternoon to remove all traces of previous spells, as if dunking it in salt water wasn't enough. She had been thrilled when I asked to use her old equipment, and it had been a trial getting everything I needed amid her overenthusiastic, wanting-to-help interference. Even now, I could hear her excitement for my interest in her area of expertise, her crisp voice louder than usual and with a lilt I hadn't heard in a long time. Though Robbie being home might account for that all on its own.

I leaned over the textbook and read the notes at the bottom of the page, WINE AND HOLY DUST ARE INVARIABLY THE BUILDING BLOCKS OF CHOICE TO GIVE SPIRITS SUBSTANCE. Scratching the bridge of my nose, I glanced at the clock. This was taking forever, but I'd do anything to talk to my dad again, even if the spell only lasted until daybreak.

It was getting close to eleven. Robbie and I would have to leave soon to get a good spot at Fountain Square for the closing of the circle. My mom thought Robbie was taking me to the Takata concert, but we needed a whopping big jolt of energy to supplement the charm's invocation, and though we could find that at the concert, the organization of a several hundred witches focused on closing the circle at Fountain Square at midnight would be safer to tap into.

I had really wanted to go to the concert, and sighing for the lost chance, I reached to snip a holly leaf off the centerpiece. It would give the spell a measure of protection. Apparently I was going, to open a door, and holly would insure my dad's essence wouldn't track anything bad in on the soles of his feet.

Nervousness made my hands shake. I had to do this right. And I had to do it without Mom knowing. If she saw Dad's ghost, it would tear her up—send her back to the mess she was in almost five years ago. Seeing Dad was going to be hard enough on me. I wasn't even sure by the description of "desired results" how substantial a ghost he'd be. If we both couldn't see him, Robbie would never believe that I'd done it right.

Standing at the table, I used my mom's silver snips to cut the holly leaf into small segments before brushing them into the wine. My fingers were still shaking, but I knew it was nerves; I hadn't done enough to get tired, low fatigue threshold or not. Steadying the crucible with one hand, I started grinding the holly leaves with all my weight behind it. The lemon juice and yew mix I had measured out earlier threatened to spill as I rocked the table, and I moved it to a nearby counter.

Lemon juice was used to help get the spirit's attention and shock it awake. The yew would help me communicate with it. The charm wouldn't work on every ghost—just those unrestful souls. But my dad couldn't be resting comfortably. Not after the way he died.

My focus blurred, and I ground the pestle into the mortar as the heartache resurfaced. I concentrated on Robbie's voice as he talked to my mom about how nice the weather was in Portland, almost unheard over some solstice TV cartoon about Jack Frost. He didn't sound anything like my dad, but it was nice to hear his words balanced against Mom's again.

"How long has Rachel been drinking coffee?" he asked, making my mom laugh.

Two years, I thought, my arm getting tired and my pulse quickening as I worked. Crap, no wonder my mom quit making her own charms.

"Since you called to say you were coming," my mom said, unaware it was my drink of choice at school as I struggled to fit in with the older students. "She is trying to be so grown up."

This last was almost sighed, and I frowned.

"I didn't like her in those college classes," she continued, unaware that I could hear her. "I suppose it's my own fault for letting her jump ahead like that. Making her sit at home while she was ill and watch TV all day wasn't going to happen, and if she knew the work, what harm was there in letting her skip a semester here or there?"

Brow furrowed, I puffed a strand of hair out of my face and frowned. I had been in and out of the hospital so often the first four years of public school that I was basically home-schooled. Good idea on paper, but when you come back after being absent for three months and make the mistake of showing how much you know, the playground becomes a torture field.

Robbie made a rude noise. "I think it's good for her."

"Oh, I never said it wasn't," my mom was quick to say. "I didn't like her with all those damned older men is all."

I sighed, used to my mom's mouth. It was worse than mine, which sucked when she caught me swearing.

"Men?" Robbie's voice had a laugh in it. "They're not that much older than her. Rachel can take care of herself. She's a good girl. Besides, she's still living at home, right?"

I blew a strand of my hair out of the mix, feeling a tug when one caught under the pestle. My arm was hurting, and I wondered if I could stop yet. The leaves were a gritty green haze at the bottom. The TV went loud when a commercial came on, and I almost missed my mother chiding him. "You think I'd let her live in the dorms? She gets more tired than she lets on. She still isn't altogether well yet. She's just better at hiding it."

My shoulder was aching, but after that, I wasn't going to stop until I was done. I was fine. I was better than fine. Hell, I'd even started jogging, though I threw up the first time I'd run the zoo. All those hills. Everybody throws up the first time.

But there was a reason there were very few pictures of me before my twelfth birthday, and it didn't have anything to do with the lack of film.

Exhaling, I set the pestle down and shook my arm. It hurt all the way up, and deciding the holly was pulped enough, I stretched for the envelope of roots I'd scraped off my mom's ivy plant earlier. The tiny little roots had come from the stems, not from under the ground, and the book said they acted as a binding agent to pull the lingering essence of a person together.

My head came up when the TV shut off, but it was only one of them turning on the stereo. Jingle Bells done jazz. One of my dad's standbys.

"Look, it's snowing again," Robbie said softly, and I glanced at the kitchen window, a black square with stark white flakes showing where the light penetrated. "I miss that."

"You know there's always a room here for you."

Head bowed over the mortar as I worked, I cringed at the forlorn sound of her voice. The spell had a pleasant wine-and-chlorophyll scent, and I tossed my hair out of the way.

"Mom…" Robbie coaxed. "You know I can't. Everyone's on the coast."

"It was just a thought," she said tartly. "Shut up and have a cookie."

My knees were starting to ache, and knowing if I didn't sit down they'd give way in about thirty seconds, I sank into a chair. Ignoring my shaking fingers, I pulled my mom's set of balances out of a dusty box. I wiped the pans with a soft rag, then recalibrated it to zero.

The wine mixture needed dust to give the ghost something to build its temporary body around, kind of like a snow cloud needs dust to make snowflakes. I had to go by weight since dust was too hard to measure any other way. Robbie had collected some from under the pews at a church while out shopping for a coat, so I knew it was fresh and potent.

My breath made the scales shift, so I held it as I carefully tapped the envelope. The dust, the wine, and the holly would give the ghost substance, but it would be the other half with the lemon juice that would actually summon him Yew—which was apparently basic stuff when it came to communing with the dead, the ivy—to bind it, an identifying agent—which varied from spell to spell, and of course my blood to kindle the spell, would combine to draw the spirit in and bind it to the smoke created when the spell invoked. There wasn't anything that could make the situation permanent, but it'd last the night. Lots of time to ask him a question. Lots of time to ask him why.

Guilt and worry made my hand jerk, and I shook too much dust from the envelope. Please say I should join the I.S., I thought as I alternately blew on the pile of dust and held my breath until the scales read what they should.

Moving carefully to prevent a draft, I got the tiny copper spell pot with the lemon juice and carefully shook the dust into it. I breathed easier when the gray turned black and sank.

The box of utensils scraped across the Formica table, and I dug around until I found a glass stirring rod. It was almost done, but my pleased smile faltered when Robbie asked, "Have you given any thought to coming out with me? You and Rachel both?"

I froze, heart pounding. What in hell? We had a deal!

"No," she said, a soft regret in her voice, and I stirred the dust in with a clockwise motion, paying more attention to the living room than to what I was doing.

"Dad's been gone a long time," Robbie pleaded. "You need to start living again."

"Moving to Portland would change nothing." It was quick and decisive. When she used that tone, there was no reasoning with her. "Rachel needs to be here," she added. "This is her home. This is where her friends are. I'm not going to uproot her. Not when she's finally starting to feel comfortable with herself."

I made an ugly face and set the stirring rod aside. I didn't have many friends. I'd been too sick to make them when younger. The girls at the community college treated me like a child, and after the guys found out I was jail bait, they left me alone too. Maybe moving wasn't a bad idea. I could tell everyone I was twenty-one. Though with my flat chest, they'd never believe it.

"I can get her into the university," Robbie said, his voice coaxing. I'd heard him wield it before to get both of us out of trouble, and it usually worked. "I've got a great two-room apartment, and once she's a resident, I can pay her tuition. She needs to get into the sun more."

We had a deal, Robbie, I thought, staring at the empty hallway. He was trying to work an end around. It wasn't going to work. I was going to do this spell right, and he was going to sign that paper, and then I was going to join the I.S.

"No," my mom said. "Besides, if Rachel wants to pursue her studies, Cincinnati has an excellent earth magic program." There was a telling hesitation. "But thank you."

"Did she tell you she's taking martial arts?" she said to change the subject, and I smiled at the pride in her voice. The lemon half was done, and I reached for the mortar with the wine and holly mix.

"She got her black belt not long ago," my mom continued as I stood to grind it up a little bit more, puffing over it. "I wanted her to tell you, but—"

"She sold The Bat to pay for it," Robbie finished glumly, and I grinned. "Yeah, she told me. Mom, Rachel doesn't need to know how to fight. She is not strong. She never will be, and letting her go on thinking she can do everything is only setting her up for a fall."

I froze, feeling like I'd been slapped.

"Rachel can do anything," my mom said hotly.

"That's not what I mean, Mom…" he pleaded. "I know she can, but why is she so fixated on all these physical activities when she could be the top witch in her field if she simply put the time in. She's good, Mom," he coaxed. "She's in there right now doing a complicated charm, and she's not batting an eye over it. That's raw talent. You can't learn that."

Anger warred with pride at his words on my skill. My mom was silent, and I let my frustration fuel the grinding motions.

"All I'm saying," he continued, "is maybe you could get her to ease up on trying to be super girl, and point out how some guys like smart chicks wearing glasses as much as others like kick-ass ones in boots."

"The reason Rachel works so hard to prove she's not weak is because she is," my mom said, making my stomach hurt all the more. "She sees it as a fault, and I'm not going to tell her to stop striving to overcome it. Challenge is how she defines herself. It was how she survived. Now shut up and eat another damned cookie. We get along just fine here."

My throat was tight, and I let go of the pestle, only now realizing my fingers had cramped up on it. I had worked so hard to get my freaking black belt so the I.S. couldn't wash me out on the physical test. Sure, it had taken me almost twice as long as everyone else, and yeah, I still spent ten minutes at the back of the gym flat on my back recovering after every class, but I did everything everyone else did, and with more power and skill than most.

Wiping an angry tear away, I used the stirring rod to scrape every last bit off the pestle. Damn it. I hated it when Robbie made me cry. He was good at it. 'Course, he was good at making me laugh, too. But my shoulders were aching beyond belief, and a slow lethargy was taking hold of my knees once more. I had to sit down again. Disgusted with myself, I sank into a chair, elbow on the table, my hair making a curtain between me and the rest of the world. I wasn't that much stronger now than when they kicked me out of the Make-A-Wish camp. I was just getting better at feeling it coming on and covering it up. And I wanted to be a runner?

Miserable, I held my arm against the ache, both inside and out. But the spell was done apart from the three drops of witch blood, and those wouldn't be added until we were at the square. Mom and Robbie had lowered their voices, the cadence telling me they were arguing. Pulling a second dusty box to me, I rummaged for a stoppered bottle to put the potion in.

The purple one didn't feel right, and I finally settled on the black one with the ground glass stopper. I wiped the dust from it with a dishtowel, and dumped the wine mix in, surprised when I found that the holly and the ivy bits went smoothly without leaving any behind. The lemon half was next, and my fingers were actually on the copper pot before I remembered I hadn't mixed in the identifying agent.

"Stupid witch," I muttered, thinking I must want to go to the West Coast and bang my head against the scholarly walls. The spell wouldn't work without something to identify the spirit you were summoning. It was the only ingredient not named. It was up to the person stirring it to decide. The suggested items were cremation dust, hair… hell, even fingernails would do, as gross as that was. I hadn't had the chance to get into the attic this afternoon where Dad's stuff was boxed up, so the only thing I'd been able to find of his was his old pocket watch on my mom's dresser.

I glanced at the archway to the hall and listened to the soft talk between Mom and Robbie. Talking about me, probably, and probably nothing I wanted to hear. Nervous, I slipped the antique silver watch out of my pocket. I looked at the hall again, and wincing, I used my mom's scissors to scrape a bit of grime-coated silver from the back. It left a shiny patch, and I rubbed my finger over it to try to dull the new brightness.

God, she'd kill me if she knew what I was doing. But I really wanted to talk to my dad, even if it was just a jumbled mess of my memories given temporary life.

My mother laughed, and in a sudden rush, I dumped the shavings in. The soft curlings sank to the bottom where they sat and did nothing. Maybe it was the thought that counted.

I gave the potion another quick stir, tapped the glass rod off, and poured the mess into the glass-stoppered bottle with the wine. It was done.

Excited, I jammed the bottle and a finger stick into my purse. The book said if I did it right, it would spontaneously boil when I invoked it in the red and gray stone bowl I'd found in the bottom of a box. The spirit would form from the smoke. This had to work. It had to.

My stomach quivered as I looked over the electric-lit kitchen. Most of the mess was from me rummaging through mom's boxes of spelling supplies. The dirty mortar, graduated cylinder, plant snips, and bits of discarded plants looked good strewn around—right somehow. This was how the kitchen used to look; my mom stirring spells and dinner on the same stove, having fits when Robbie would pretend to eat out of what was clearly a spell pot. Mom had some great earth magic stuff. It was a shame she didn't use it anymore apart from helping me with my Halloween costume, her tools banished to sit beside Dad's ley line stuff in the attic.

I dunked the few dishes I had used in the small vat of salt water used to purge any remnants of my spell, setting them in the sink to wash later. This had to work. I was not going to the coast. I was going to join the I.S. and get a real job. All I had to do was this one lousy spell. Dad would tell me I could go. I knew it.

Chapter 3

The temporary lights of Fountain Square turned the falling snow a stark, pretty white. I watched it swirl as I sat on the rim of the huge planter and thumped my heels while I waited for Robbie to return with hot chocolate. It was noisy with several thousand people, witches mostly, and a few humans who were good with ley lines or just curious. They spilled into the closed-off streets where vendors sold warmth charms, trinkets, and food. The scent of chili and funnel cakes made my stomach pinch. I didn't like the pressing crowd, but with the fridge-sized rock that the planter sported at my back, I found a measure of calm.

It was only fifteen minutes till midnight, and I was antsy. That was when the lucky seven witches chosen by lot would join hands and close the circle etched out before the fountain. The longer they held it, the more prosperous the following year was forecast to be. My name was in the hat, along with Robbie's, and I didn't know what would happen if one of us was drawn. It would have looked suspicious if we hadn't added our names when we passed through the spell checker to get into the square.

I had known about the spell checker, of course. But I'd never tried to sneak a charm in before, and had forgotten about it. Apparently a lot of people tried to take advantage of the organized yet unfocused energy that was generated by having so many witches together. My charm was uninvoked, undetectable unless they searched my pockets. Not like the ley line witch ahead of me that I had watched in horror while security wrestled him the ground. It was harder to smuggle in all the paraphernalia a ley line spell needed. All I had was a small stoppered bottle and a palm-sized stone with a hollowed-out indentation.

My heels thumped faster, and in a surge of tension, I wedged my legs under me and stood above the crowd. Toes cold despite my boots, I brushed the snow from the ivy that grew in the small space between the rock and the edge of the planter. I searched the crowd for Robbie, my foot tapping to Marilyn Manson's "White Christmas." He had set up on the far stage. The crowd over there was kind of scary. Fidgeting, my gaze drifted to the only calm spot in the mess: the circle right in front of the fountain. Some guy with CITY EVENT blazoned on his orange vest darted across the cordoned-off area, but most of the security simply stood to form a living barrier. One caught my eye, and I sat back down. You weren't supposed to be on the planters.

"Take a flier?" a man said, his voice dulled from repetition. He was the only person facing away from the circle as he moved through the crowd, and I had prepared my no-thanks speech before he had even gotten close. But then I saw his "Have you seen me" button and changed my mind. I'd take a stinking flier.

"Thanks," I said, holding out my gloved hand even before he could ask.

"Bless you," he said softly, the snow-damp paper having the weight of cloth as I took it.

He turned away, numb from the desperate reason for his search. "Take a flier?" he said again, moving off with a ponderous pace.

Depressed, I looked at the picture. The missing girl was pretty, her straight hair hanging free past her shoulders. Sarah Martin. Human. Eleven years old. Last seen wearing a pink coat and jeans. Might have a set of white ice skates. Blond hair and blue eyes.

I shoved the flier into a pocket and took a deep breath. Being pretty shouldn't make you a target. If they didn't find her tonight, she probably wouldn't be alive if and when they did. I wasn't the only one using the power of the solstice to work strong magic, and it made me sick.

A familiar figure captured my attention, and I smiled at Robbie in his new long coat. He had a hesitant, stop-and-go motion through the crowd as he tried not to bump anyone with the hot drinks. Besides the new coat, he now sported a thick wool hat, scarf, and a pair of matching mittens that my mom had made for him for the solstice. He was still in his thin shoes, though, and his face was red with cold.

"Thanks," I said when Robbie shuffled to a halt and handed me a paper and wax cup.

"Good God it's cold out here," he said, setting his cup beside me on the planter and jamming his mittened hands into his armpits.

I scooted closer to him, jostled by some guy. "You've been gone too long. Wimp."

"Brat."

A man in an orange security vest drifted past, the way opening for him like magic. I busied myself with my drink, not looking at him as the warm milk and chocolate slid down. The bottle of potion felt heavy in my pocket, like a guilty secret. "I forgot tapping into the communal will was illegal," I whispered.

Robbie guffawed, taking the top off his drink and eyeing me with his bird-bright eyes brilliant green in the strong electric lights that made the square bright as noon. "You want to go home?" he taunted. "Come to Portland with me right now? It's freaking warmer."

He was getting me in trouble, but that's what he did. He usually got me out of it, too. Usually. "I want to talk to Dad," I said, wiggling my toes to feel how cold they were.

"All right then." He sipped his drink, turning to shield me from a gust of snow and wind that sent the crowd into loud exclamations. "Are you ready?"

I eyed him in surprise. "I thought we'd find a nearby alley or something."

"The closer, the better. The more energy you can suck in, the longer the magic will last."

There was that, but a noise of disbelief came from me. "You really think no one's going to notice a ghost taking shape?" It suddenly hit me I was stirring a white charm in a banned area to get into the I.S. This will look really good on my employment essay.

Robbie gazed over the shorter people to the nearby circle. "I think you'll be all right. He's not going to be that substantial. And that's assuming you do it right," he added, teasing.

"Shut up," I said dryly, and I would've bobbed him but that he was drinking his hot chocolate.

Marilyn Manson finished his… really odd version of "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" and the people surrounding the stage screamed for more.

"They're drawing names," Robbie said, watching the circle instead of the stage.

Excitement slithered through me, and as the crowd pressed closer, I levered myself back up onto the planter wall. No one would make me leave now for standing on it. Robbie moved so I could steady myself against his shoulder, and from the new vantage point, I watched the last of the names pulled from the informal cardboard box. I held my breath, both wanting to hear my name blared from the loudspeaker and dreading it.

Another man with a city event vest put his head together with an official-looking woman with white earmuffs. The two spoke for a moment, her head bobbing. Then she took the wad of names and strode to the stage where Marilyn was blowing kisses and showing off his legs in black tights. The crowd turned like schooling fish, the noise growing as a path parted for her.

"Can you see?" Robbie asked, and I nodded, bumping my knee against his back.

A wave of expectation grew to make my fingertips tingle. With my back to that huge rock and standing above everyone, I had a great view, and I watched the woman stand at the stage and peer up at the band. Someone extended a hand to help her make the jump to the plywood. A laugh rippled out when she made the leap, and the woman was clearly flustered when she tugged her coat straight and turned to face the crowd. Marilyn handed her a mike, giving her a word or two before the straitlaced woman edged to the middle of the stage.

"I'm going to read the names now," she said simply, and the square filled with noise. She glanced shyly behind her to the band when the drummer added to it.

Robbie tugged at my coat and I missed the first name-but it wasn't me. "You should start now," he said as he peered up, his cheeks red and his eyes eager.

Adrenaline spiked through me to pull me straight, and my gloved hand touched the outside of my pocket. "Now?" "At least set it up while everyone is looking at the stage," he added, and I nodded.

He turned back around and applauded the next person.

Here on our side of the square, there were already two people standing in the middle of the circle, flushed and excited as they showed their IDs to security. I glanced at the people nearest to me, heart pounding. Actually, Robbie had picked a really good spot. There was a narrow space between that big rock and the edge of the planter. No one else could get too close, and with Robbie in front of me, no one would see what I was doing.

The snow seemed to swirl faster. My breath left me in little white puffs as I dropped the egg-shaped red and white stone to the ground and nudged it into place. The shallow dip in it would hold a potion-sized amount of liquid. It was one of my mom's more expensive—and rare—spelling utensils, and I'd be grounded for a year if she knew I had it.

The last name was read, and the crowd seemed to collectively sigh. Disappointment quickly turned to anticipation again as the last lucky few made their way to the circle to sign their name in the event book and become part of Cincinnati's history. I jumped when the big electric lights shining on the square went out. Expected, but still it got me. The tiny, distant lights from the surrounding buildings seemed to shine down like organized stars.

Tension grew, and while the noise redoubled, I dropped to a crouch before the stone and pulled my gloves off, jamming them into a deep pocket. I had to do this right. Not only so Robbie would get me into the I.S., but I didn't want to go to the West Coast and leave my mom alone. Robbie wouldn't be so mean, would he?

But when he frowned over his shoulder, I didn't know.

My fingers were slow with cold, and in the new darkness, I twisted the ground-glass stopper out, gave the bottle a swirl, then dumped the potion. It silently settled, ripples disappearing markedly fast. I couldn't risk standing up and possibly kicking snow into it, so I could only guess by the amount of noise that the seven lucky people were now in place.

"Hurry up!" Robbie hissed, glancing back at me.

I jammed the empty bottle in a pocket and fumbled for the finger stick. The snap of the plastic breaking to reveal the tiny blade seemed to echo to my bones, though it was unheard over the noise of the crowd.

Then they went silent. The sudden hush brought my heart into my throat. They had started the invocation. I had moments. Nothing more. It was in Latin—a blessing for the following year—and as most of the people bowed their heads, I jabbed my index finger.

My fingers were so cold, it registered as a dull throb. Holding my breath, I massaged it, willing the three drops to hurry. One, two, and then the third fell, staining the wine as it fell through the thinner liquid.

I watched, breathing in the heady scent of redwood now emanating from it. Robbie turned, eyes wide, and I felt my heart jump. I had done it right. It wouldn't smell like that if I hadn't.

"You did it!" he said, and we both gasped when the clear liquid flashed a soft red, my blood jumping through the medium, mixing it all on its own.

Behind us, a collective sound of awe rose, soft and powerful. I glanced up. Past Robbie, a bubble of power swam up from the earth. It was huge by circle standards, the shimmering field of ever-after arching to a close far above the fountain it spread before. In the nearby distance, the faint resonating of Cincinnati's cathedral chimes swelled into existence as the nearby bells began resonating from the magic's vibration, not the bells' clappers.

We were outside the circle. Everyone was. It glittered like an opal; the multiple auras of the seven people gave it shifting bands of blues, greens, and golds. A flash of red and black glittered sporadically, red evidence of human suffering that made us stronger, and black for the bad we knowingly did—the choice we all had. It was breathtaking, and I stared at it, crouched in the snow, surrounded by hundreds, but feeling alone for the wonder I felt. The hair on the back of my neck pricked. I couldn't see the collective power rolling back and forth between the buildings—washing, gaining strength—but I could feel it.

My eyes went to Robbie's. They were huge. He wasn't watching the stone crucible. Mouth working, he pointed a mittened hand behind me.

I jerked from my crouch to a stand and pressed my back to the stone. The liquid in the depression was almost gone, sifting upward in a golden-sheened mist, and I held a hand to my mouth. It was person-shaped. The mist clearly had a man's shape, with wide shoulders and a masculine build. It was hunched in what looked like pain, and I had a panicked thought that maybe I was hurting my dad.

From behind us, a shout exploded from a thousand throats. I gasped, eyes jerking over my brother's head to the crowd. From the far stage, the drummer beat the edge of his set four times to signal the start of the all-night party, and the band ripped into music. People screamed in delight, and I felt dizzy. The sound battered me, and I steadied myself against the stone.

"Blame it all to the devil," a shaky, frightened voice said behind me. "It's Hell. It's Hell before she falls. Holy blame fire!"

I jerked, eyes wide and pressing deeper into the stone behind me. A man was standing between Robbie and me—a small man in the snow, barefoot with curly black hair, a small beard, wide shoulders… and absolutely nothing on him. "You're not my dad," I said, feeling my heart beat too fast.

"Well, there's one reason to sing to the angels, then, isn't it," he said, shivering violently and trying to cover himself And then a woman screamed.

Chapter 4

"Streaker!" the woman shouted, her arm thick in its parka, pointing.

Heads turned, and I panicked. There were more gasps and a lot of cheers. Robbie jumped onto the planter beside me and shrugged out of his coat.

"My God, Rachel!" he said, the scintillating glow from the set circle illuminating his shock. "It worked!"

The small man was cowering, and he jumped at a distant boom of sound. They were shooting off fireworks at the river, and the crowd responded when a mushroom of gold and red exploded, peeking from around one of the buildings. Fear was thick on him, and he stared at the sparkles, lost and utterly bewildered.

"Here. Put this on," Robbie was saying. He looked funny in just his hat, scarf, and mittens, and the man jumped, startled when Robbie draped his coat over him.

Still silent, the man turned his back on me, tucking his arms into the sleeves and closing the coat with a relieved quickness. Another firework exploded, and he looked up, mouth agape at the green glow reflected off the nearby buildings.

Robbie's expression was tight with worry. "Shit, shit, shit," he muttered, "I never should have done this. Rachel, can't you do a damned spell wrong once in a while?"

My heart dropped to my middle, and I couldn't breathe. Our bet. Damn it. This wasn't Dad. I'd done something wrong. The man hunched before me in bare feet and my brother's new coat wasn't my dad.

"I speculated hell was hot…" he said, shivering. "This is c-cold."

"It didn't work," I whispered, and he fixed his vivid blue eyes on me, looking like a startled animal. My breath caught. He was lost and afraid. Another distant boom broke our gaze as he looked to the snowy skies.

From nearby came a shrill, "Him. That's him right over there!"

Spinning, I found the woman who had screamed earlier. Security was with her, and they were both looking this way.

"It's an outrage to all decent folks!" she said loudly in a huff.

My eyes went to my brother's. Crap. Now what?

Robbie jumped off the planter. "We have to go."

The small man was scanning the crowd, a look of wonder replacing his fear. At my feet, Robbie grabbed my mom's stone crucible and jammed it in his pocket. "Sorry everyone!" he said with a forced cheerfulness. "Cousin Bob. What an ass. Did it on a dare. Ha, ha! You won, Bob. Dinner is on me."

I got off the planter, but the man—the ghost, maybe—was staring at the buildings. "This fearsome catastrophe isn't hell," he whispered, and then his attention dropped to me. "You're not a demon."

His accent sounded thick, like an old TV show, and I wondered how long this guy had been dead.

Robbie reached up and grabbed his wrist, pulling. "It's going to be hell if we don't get out of here! Come on!"

The man lurched off the planter. All three of us stumbled on the slick stone, knocking into people wearing heavy winter coats and having red faces. "Sorry!" Robbie exclaimed, all of us in a confused knot as he refused to let go of my wrist.

I squinted as the wind sent a gust of snow at me. "What did I do wrong?" I said, too short to see where we were going. The fireworks were still going off, and people in the square had started singing.

"Me, me, me," Robbie cajoled, shoving the ghost ahead of us. "Why is it always about you, Rachel? Can you move it a little faster? You want to end up at the I.S. waiting for Mom to pick you up?"

For an instant, I froze. Oh, God. Mom. She couldn't find out.

"Hurry up! Let's go!" I shouted, pushing on the man's back. He stumbled, and I jerked my hands from him, the sight of his bare feet in the snow a shocking reminder of where he had come from. Holy crap, what have I done?

We found the blocked-off street with an abrupt suddenness. The smell of food grew heavy as the crowd thinned. My lungs were hurting, and I yanked on Robbie's sleeve.

His face was tight in bother as he turned to me, but then he nodded and stopped when he saw me gasping. "Are you okay?" he asked, and I bobbed my head, trying to catch my breath.

"I think they quit following," I said, but it was more of a prayer than a true thought.

Next to me, the man bent double. A groan of pain came from him, and I lurched backward when he started in with the dry heaves. The people nearby began drifting away with ugly looks. "Too much partying," someone muttered in disgust.

"Poor uncle Bob," Robbie said loudly, patting his back gingerly, and the man shoved him away, still coughing.

"Don't touch me," he panted, and Robbie retreated to stand beside me where we watched his hunched figure gasp in the falling snow. Behind us, the party continued at the square. Slowly he got control of himself and straightened, carefully arranging his borrowed coat and reaching for a nonexistent hat. His face was almost too young for his short beard. He had no wrinkles but those from stress. Silently he took us in as he struggled to keep his lungs moving, his bright blue eyes going from one of us to the other.

"Robbie, we have to get out of here," I whispered, tugging on his sleeve. He looked frozen in his thin shirt with only his mittens, hat, and scarf between him and the snow.

Robbie got in front of me to block the man's intent gaze. "I'm really sorry. We didn't mean to… do whatever we did." He glanced at the square, arms wrapped around himself and shivering. "This wasn't supposed to happen. You'll go back when the sun comes up."

Still the man said nothing, and I looked at his bare feet.

Over the noise came an aggressive, "Hey! You!"

My breath hissed in. Robbie turned to look, and even the man seemed alarmed.

"We need a cab," my brother said, grabbing my arm and pushing the man forward.

I twisted out of his grip and headed the other way. "We won't get a cab five blocks from here. We need a bus." Robbie stared blankly at me, and I yelled in exasperation, "The main depot is just over there! They can't close it off. Come on!"

"Stop!" a man's voice shouted, and we bolted. Well, Robbie and I bolted. The guy between us was kind of shoved along.

We dodged around the people with little kids already leaving, headed for the bus stop. It took up an entire block length, buses leaving from downtown for all corners of Cincy and the Hollows across the river. No one seemed to notice the small man's feet were bare or that Robbie was drastically underdressed. Song and laughter were rampant.

"There," Robbie panted, pointing to a bus just leaving for Norwood.

"Wait! Wait for us!" I yelled, waving, and the driver stopped.

The door opened and we piled in, my boots slipping on the slick rubber. Robbie had shoved the man up the stairs ahead of me, falling back when the driver had a hissy about the fare. I stood a step down and fumed while Robbie fished around in his wallet. Finally he was out of my way, and I ran my bus pass through the machine.

"Hey," the driver said, nodding to the back of the otherwise empty bus. "If he blows chunks, I'm fining you. I got your bus pass number, missy. Don't think I won't."

My heart seemed to lodge in my throat. Robbie and I both turned. The man was sitting alone beside a center pole, clutching it with both hands as the bus jerked into motion. His bare feet looked odd against the dirty, slush-coated rubber, and his knees were spread wide for balance to show his bare calves.

"Uh," Robbie said, making motions for me to move back. "He's okay."

"He'd better be," the driver grumbled, watching us through the big mirror.

Every block put us farther from the square, closer to home. "Please," I said, trying not to look desperate. "We're just trying to help him get home. It's the solstice."

The driver's hard expression softened. He took one hand off the wheel to rummage out of sight beside him. With a soft plastic rustle, he handed me a shopping bag. "Here," he said. "If he throws up, have him do it in there."

My breath slipped from me in relief. "Thank you."

Shoving the bag into a pocket, I exchanged a worried look with Robbie. Together we turned to the back of the bus. Pace slow, we cautiously approached the man as the city lights grew dim and the bus lights more obvious. Thankfully we were the only people on it, probably due to our destination being what was traditionally a human neighborhood, and they left the streets to us Inderlanders on the solstice.

The man's eyes darted between us as Robbie and I sat down facing him. I licked my lips and scooted closer to my brother. He was cold, shivering, but I didn't think he was going to ask for his coat back. "Robbie, I'm scared," I whispered, and the small man blinked.

Robbie took his mittens off and gripped my hand. "It's okay." His inhale was slow, and then louder, he said, "Excuse me, sir?"

The man held up a hand as if asking for a moment. "My apologies," he said breathily. "What year might this be?"

My brother glanced at me, and I blurted, "It's nineteen ninety-nine. It's the solstice."

The man's vivid blue eyes darted to the buildings, now more of a skyline since we weren't right among them anymore. He had beautiful, beautiful blue eyes, and long lashes I would have given a bra size for. If I had any to spare, that is.

"This is Cincinnati?" he said softly, gaze darting from one building to the next.

"Yes," I said, then jerked my hand out of Robbie's when he gave me a squeeze to be quiet. "What?" I hissed at him. "You think I should lie? He just wants to know where he is."

The man coughed, cutting my brother's anger short. "I expect I'm most sorry," he said, taking one hand off the pole. "I've no need for breathing but to speak, and to make a body accept that is a powerful trial."

Surprised, I simply waited while he took a slow, controlled breath.

"I'm Pierce," he said, his accent shifting to a more formal sound. "I have no doubt that you're not my final verdict, but are in truth…" He glanced at the driver. Lips hardly moving, he mouthed, "You're a practitioner of the arts. A master witch, sir."

The man wasn't breathing. I was watching him close, and the man wasn't breathing. "Robbie," I said urgently, tugging on his arm. "He's dead. He's a ghost."

My brother made a nervous guffaw, crossing his legs to help keep his body heat with him. We were right over the heater, but it was still cold. "That's what you were trying to do, wasn't it, Firefly?" he said.

"Yes, but he's so real!" I said, hushed. "I didn't expect anything but a whisper or a feeling. Not a naked man in the snow. And certainly not him!"

Pierce flushed. His eyes met mine, and I bit back my next words, stunned by the depth of his bewilderment. The bus shifted forward as the driver braked to pick someone up, and he almost fell out of his seat, grabbing the pole with white hands to save himself.

"You drew me from purgatory," he said, confusion pouring from him even as he warily watched the people file on and find their seats. His face went panicked, and then he swallowed, forcing his emotions down. "I suspected I was going to hell. I suspected my penance for my failure was concluded, and I was going to hell. I'll allow it looks like hell at first observance, though not broken and lacking a smell of burnt amber." He looked out the window. "No horses," he said softly, then his eyebrows rose inquiringly. "And you bricked over the canal, nasty swill hole it was. Are the engines powered then by steam?"

Beside me, Robbie grinned. "He sure uses a lot of words to say anything."

"Shut up," I muttered. I thought he was elegant.

"This isn't hell," Pierce said, and, as if exhausted, he dropped his head to show me the top of his loose, black curls. His relief made my stomach clench and burn.

I looked away, uncomfortable. Thoughts of my deal with Robbie came back. I didn't know if he would think this was a success or not. I did bring a ghost back, but it wasn't Dad.

And without Dad saying yes to the I.S., Robbie would probably take it as a no. Worried, I looked up at Robbie and said, "I did the spell right."

My brother shifted, as if preparing for an argument. My eyebrows pulled together, and I glared at him. "I don't care if it summoned the wrong ghost, I did the freaking spell right!"

Pierce looked positively terrified as he alternated his attention between us and the new people calmly getting on and finding their seats. I was guessing it wasn't the volume of my voice, but what I was saying. Being a witch in public was a big no-no that could get you killed before nineteen sixty-six, and he had clearly died before then.

Robbie frowned in annoyance. "The deal was you'd summon Dad," he said, and I gritted my teeth.

"The deal was I would do the spell right, and if I didn't, I would come out to Portland with you. Well, look," I said, pointing. "There's a ghost. You just try to tell me he isn't there."

"All right, all right," Robbie said, slouching. "You stirred the spell properly, but we still don't know what Dad would want, so I'm not going to sign that paper."

"You son of a—"

"Rachel!" he said, interrupting me. "Don't you get it? This is why I want you to come out with me and finish your schooling." He gestured at Pierce as if he was a thing, not a person. "You did a eight-hundred-level summoning spell without batting an eye. You could be anything you want. Why are you going to waste yourself in the I.S.?"

"The I.S. isn't a waste," I said, while Pierce shifted uncomfortably. "Are you saying Dad's life was a waste, you dumb pile of crap?"

Pierce stared at me, and I flushed. Robbie's face was severe, and he looked straight ahead, ticked. The bus was moving again, and I sat in a sullen silence. I knew I was heaping more abuse on Robbie than he deserved. But I had wanted to talk to my dad, and now that chance was gone. I should've known I wouldn't be able to do it right. And as much as I hated myself for it, the tears started to well.

Pierce cleared his throat. Embarrassed, I wiped my eyes and sniffed.

"You were attempting to summon your father," he said softly, making nervous glances at the people whispering over Pierce's bare feet and Robbie's lack of a coat. "On the solstice. And it was I whom your magic touched?"

I nodded fast, struggling to keep from bawling my fool head off. I missed him. I had really thought I could do it.

"I apologize," Pierce said so sincerely that I looked up. "You might should celebrate, mistress witch. You stirred the spell proper, or I expect I'd not be here. That I appeared in his stead means he has gone to his reward and is at peace."

Selfishly, I'd been wishing that Dad had missed me so much that he would have lingered, and I sniffed again, staring at the blur of holiday lights passing. I was a bad daughter.

"Please don't weep," he said, and I started when he leaned forward and took my hand. "You're so wan, it's most enough to break my heart, mistress witch."

"I only wanted to see him," I said, pitching my voice low so it wouldn't break.

Pierce's hands were cold. There was no warmth to him. But his fingers held mine firmly, their roughness stark next to my unworked, skinny hands. I felt a small lift through me, as if I was tapping a line, and my eyes rose to his.

"Why…" he said, his vivid eyes fixed on mine. "You're a grown woman. But so small."

My tears quit from surprise. "I'm eighteen," I said, affronted, then pulled my hand away. "How long have you been dead?"

"Eighteen," he murmured. I felt a growing sense of unease as the small man leaned back, glancing at Robbie with what looked like embarrassment.

"My apologies," he said formally. "I meant no disrespect to your intended."

"Intended!" Robbie barked, and I made a rude sound, sliding down from my brother. The people who had just gotten on looked up, surprised. "She's not my girlfriend. She's my sister." Then Robbie's expression shifted. "Stay away from my sister."

I felt the beginnings of a smile come over my face. Honestly, Pierce was a ghost and too old for me even if he was alive. At least twenty-four, I'd guess from the look at him. All of him.

I flushed as I recalled his short stature, firmly muscled and lean, like a small horse used to hard labor. Glancing up, I was embarrassed to see Pierce as red as I felt, carefully holding his coat closed.

"If the year is nineteen ninety-nine, I've made a die of it for nearly a hundred and forty-seven years," he said to the floor.

Poor man, I thought in pity. Everyone he knew was probably gone or so old they wouldn't remember him. "How did you die?" I asked, curious.

Pierce's gaze met mine, and I shivered at the intensity. "I'm a witch, as much as you," he whispered, though Robbie and I had been shouting about spells for the last five minutes. But before the Turn, being labeled a witch could get you killed.

"You were caught?" I said, scooting to the edge of the bus seat as we swung onto a slick, steep road, captivated by his air of secrecy. "Before the Turn? What did they do to you?"

Pierce tilted his head to give himself a dangerous air. "A murder most powerful. I'd have no mind to tell you if you're of a frail constitution, but I was bricked into the ground while breath still moved in my lungs. Buried alive with an angelic guard ready to smite me down should I dare to emerge."

"You were murdered!" I said, feeling a quiver of fear.

Robbie chuckled, and I thwacked his knee. "Shut up," I said, then winced at Pierce's aghast look. If he'd been dead for a hundred and forty years, I'd probably just cursed like a sailor.

"Sorry," I said, then braced myself when the bus swayed to a stop. More people filed on, the last being an angry, unhappy woman with more of those fliers. She talked to the bus driver for a moment, and he grumbled something before waving her on and letting the air out of the brakes. Leaning back, he shut his eyes as the woman taped a laminated flier to the floor in the aisle, and two more to the ceiling.

"Take a flier," she demanded as she worked her way to the back of the bus. "Sarah's been missing for two days. She's a sweet little girl. Have you seen her?"

Only on every TV station, I thought as I shook my head and accepted the purple paper. I glanced down as she handed one to Robbie and Pierce. The picture was different from the last one. The glow of birthday candles was in the foreground and a pile of presents in the back, blurry and out of focus. Sarah was smiling, full of life, and the thought of her alone, lost in the snow, was only slightly more tolerable than the thought of what someone sick enough to steal her might be using her for.

I couldn't look anymore. The woman had gotten off through the back door to hit the next bus, and I jammed the flier in my pocket with the first one as the bus lurched into traffic.

"I know who has her," Pierce said, his hushed, excited voice pulling my attention to him. The lights of oncoming traffic shone on him, lighting his fervent, kind of scary expression.

"Driver!" he shouted, standing, and I pressed into the seat, alarmed. "Stop the carriage!"

Everyone looked at us, most of them laughing. "Sit down!" Robbie gave him a gentle shove, and Pierce fell back, coat flying open for a second. "You're going to get us kicked off."

"I know where she's been taken!" he exclaimed, and I glanced at the passengers, worried. The driver, though, already thought he was drunk, and everyone else was snickering about the peep show.

"Lower your voice," Robbie said, shifting to sit beside him. "People will think you're crazy."

Pierce visibly caught his next words and closed his coat tighter. "He has her," he said, shaking the paper at Robbie. "The man, that… beast that murdered me to death. The very creature I was charged to bring to midnight justice. He's taken another."

I could tell my eyes were round, but Robbie wasn't impressed. "It's been almost two hundred years."

"Which means little to the blood-lusting, foul spawn from hell," Pierce said, and my breath caught. Vampire. He was talking about a vampire. A dead one. Crap, if a vampire had her, then she was really in trouble.

"You were trying to tag a vampire?" I said, awed. "You must be good!" Even the I.S. didn't send witches after vampires.

Pierce's expression blanked and he looked away. "Not good enough, I allow. I was there on my own hook with the belief that pride and moral outrage would sustain me. The spawn has an unholy mind for young girls, which I expect he satisfied without reprisal for decades until he abducted a girl of high standing and her parents engaged my… midnight services."

Robbie scoffed, but I stared. Figuring out what Pierce was saying was fascinating.

Seeing Robbie's disinterest, Pierce focused on me. "This child," he said, looking at the paper, "is the image of his preferred prey. I confronted him with his culpability, but he is as clever as a Philadelphian lawyer, and to pile on the agony, he informed the constables of my liability and claimed knowledge of the signs."

Pierce's eyes dropped, and I felt a twinge of fear for the history I'd missed by a mere generation. Liability was a mixed-company term for witch—when being one could get you killed. I suspected spawn was pre-Turn for vampire. Midnight services was probably code for detective or possibly an early Inderlander cop. Philadelphian lawyer was self-explanatory.

"Truly I was a witch," he said softly, "and I could say no different. The girl he murdered directly to protect his name. That it was so fast was a grace, her fair white body found in solstice snow and wept over. She could no more speak to save me than a stick. That I showed signs of liability about my person and belongs made my words of no account. They rowed me up Salt River all night for their enjoyment until being buried alive in blasphemed ground was a blessing. This," he said, shaking the paper, "is the same black spawn. He has taken another child, and if I don't stop him, he will foul her soul by sunrise. To stand idle would be an outrage against all nature."

I stared at him, impressed. "Wow."

Robbie crossed his arms over his chest. "Kind of poetic, isn't he?"

Pierce frowned, looking at Robbie with a dark expression.

"I think he's telling the truth," I said, trying to help, but the small man looked even more affronted.

"What would I gain from a falsehood?" he said. "This is the same sweet innocence looking at me from my memory. That damned spawn survived where I didn't, but being dead myself, mayhap I can serve justice now. I expect I have only to sunup. The charm will be spent by then, and I'll return to purgatory. If I can save her, perhaps I can save my soul."

He stopped, blinking in sudden consternation at his own words, and Robbie muttered something I didn't catch.

"I need to study on it," Pierce said softly as he looked out the windows at the tall buildings. "Spawn are reluctant to shift their strongholds. I've a mind that he is yet at his same diggings. A true fortress, apart in the surrounding hills, alone and secluded."

Apart in the hills, alone and secluded was probably now high in property taxes and crowded, right in the middle of a subdivision. "I have a map at home," I said.

Pierce smiled, his entire face lighting up as he held onto the pole. The gleam in his eyes had become one of anticipation, and I found myself wanting to help him until the ends of the earth if I could see his thanks reflected in them again. No one had ever needed my help before.

Ever.

"Whoa, wait up," Robbie said, turning to face both of us. "If you know this vampire and think you know where he is, fine. But we should go to the I.S. and let them take care of it."

I took a fast breath, excited. "Yes! The I.S.!"

Pierce's enthusiasm faltered. "The I.S.?"

Robbie looked out the window, probably trying to place where we were. "Inderland Security," he said, pulling the cord to get the driver to stop. "They police the Inderlanders, not humans. Witches, Weres, vampires, and whatever." His look slid to me and became somewhat wry. "My sister wants to work for them when she grows up."

I flushed, embarrassed, but if I couldn't admit it to a ghost, maybe I shouldn't even try.

Pierce's free hand scratched at his beard in what I hoped was simply a reflexive action. "That was what my midnight profession was," he said, "but it wasn't called such. The I.S."

The bus swayed and squeaked to a stop. Pierce didn't move, holding tight to the pole as Robbie and I stood before the bus had halted. I waited for Pierce, letting him walk between Robbie and me as we got off.

The cold hit me anew, and I squinted into the snowy night as the bus left. "You want to wait for a bus going back into town?" I said, and Robbie shook his head, already on his cell phone.

"I'm calling a cab," he said, looking frozen clear through.

"Good idea," I said, cold despite my coat, mittens, and fuzzy hat.

"We need to go to the mall," Robbie said, "and I don't want to waste a lot of time."

"The mall?" I blurted as we dropped back deeper into the Plexiglas shelter. "What for?" Then I winced. "You need a new coat."

Phone to his ear and his face red from cold, Robbie nodded. "That, and it's going to be hard enough getting the I.S. to believe we're not nuts coming in with a naked man in a coat."

Pierce looked mystified. "The mall?"

I nodded, wondering if he'd let me pick out his clothes. "The mall."

Chapter 5

Bored, I sat in the comfy brown fabric chair beside Pierce and shifted my knee back and forth. The mall had been a success, but Robbie had pushed us from store to store inexcusably fast, getting us in and out and to the I.S. in about two hours. Pierce was now respectably dressed in jeans and a dark green shirt that looked great against his dark hair and blue eyes. He still had on Robbie's coat, and I swear, he had almost cried when he was able to shift up a half size of boot with the ease of simply pulling another pair off the rack.

But for the last hour, we had been sitting on the third-floor reception area doing nothing. Well, Pierce and I were doing nothing. Robbie, at least, was being taken seriously. I could see him down the open walkway at a desk with a tired-looking officer. As I watched, Robbie took off his new, expensive leather jacket and draped it over his lap in a show of irritation.

Pierce hadn't said much at the mall, spending a good five minutes trying to locate the source of the mood music until he got brave enough to ask. I made sure we passed an electric outlet on the way to get him some underwear. The food court had amazed him more than the electric lights, though he wouldn't try the blue slurry I begged off Robbie. The kiddy rides made him smile, then he stared in astonishment when I told him it wasn't magic but the same thing that made the lights work. That was nothing compared to when he saw a saleslady in a short skirt. Becoming beet red, he turned and walked out, his head tilted conspiratorially to Robbie's for a quiet, hushed conversation. All I caught was a muttered, "bare limbs?" but Robbie made sure we went past Valeria's Crypt so he could see the same thing in lace. Men.

Pierce's silence deepened after finding an entire building devoted to Inderland law enforcement, but even I was impressed with the I.S. tower. The entryway was a fabulous three floors high, looking more like the lobby of a five-star hotel than a cop shop. Pierce and I had a great view of the lower floors from where we sat. It was obvious that the designers had used the techniques of cathedral builders to impart awe and a feeling of insignificant smallness.

Low lights on the first floor created dark shadows that set off the occasional burst of light. Acoustically, the space was a sinkhole, making what would be a loud chatter into a soft murmur. The air carried the faint scent of vampire, and I wrinkled my nose wondering if that was what was bothering Pierce, or if it was that we were three stories up.

A minor disturbance pulled our attention to the street-level entrance as two people, witches, I guess, brought in a third. The man was still fighting them, his arms securely behind his back and fastened with a zip-strip of charmed silver. It looked barbaric, but bringing in a violent ley line witch was impossible unless they were properly restrained. Sure, there were ways to prevent magic from being invoked in a building, but then half the officers would be helpless, too.

Pierce watched until the witch was shoved into an elevator then he turned to me. His expressive eyes were pinched when he asked, "How long have humans known about us, and how did we survive giving them the knowledge?"

I bobbed my head, remembering Pierce's shock when two witches started flirting in the mall, throwing minor spells at each other. "We've been out of the closet for about forty years."

His lips parted. "Out of the closet…"

A grin came over my face. "Sorry. We came clean… uh… we told them we existed after a virus hiding in tomatoes—a sort of a plague—started killing humans. It dropped their numbers by about a quarter. They were going to find out about us anyway because we weren't dying."

Pierce watched my moving foot and smiled with half his face. "I've always been of the mind that tomatoes were the fruit of the devil," he said. Then he brought his gaze to mine and gestured to take in the entire building. "This happened in four decades?"

I shrugged, twisting my boot toe into the tight-looped carpet. "I didn't say it was easy."

Crossing his knees, he rubbed his beard as if noticing not many men had them. Though very quiet since our shopping trip, he had clearly been taking everything in, processing it. Even his words, few as they had been, were starting to sound… less odd.

"Your brother," he said, gesturing at him with his chin, "said you want to devote your life to this?"

I smiled somewhat sheepishly. "The I.S. Yes." A sudden worry pulled my brows together. "Why? You think I shouldn't?"

"No," he rushed. "A daughter's wish to follow in her parent's occupation is proper."

Startled he knew my dad had worked for the I.S., I caught my breath until I remembered our conversation in the bus, "Oh. You heard that."

He ducked his head. "Yes, mistress witch. And who am I to tell you the profession of protecting the helpless is too dangerous? I live for it."

I felt a quiver of connection, that he might really understand. Pierce, though, gave me a wry look. "Lived for it," he amended sourly.

Used to arguing about my chosen profession, I lifted my chin. "I'm stronger every year," I said as if he had protested. "I mean, markedly stronger."

"You suffered an illness?" Pierce asked, seemingly genuinely concerned.

I nodded, and then feeling some honesty was due, added, "I still am sick, sort of. But I'm doing much better. Everyone says so. I have more stamina all the time. I attend classes to keep from slipping back, and I haven't been in the hospital for about four years. I should have died, so I really don't have any cause to complain, but I want to do this, damn it. They can't keep me out because of my health. I got a black belt and everything."

I stopped, realizing not only was I babbling to the first understanding person I'd found, but I was swearing, too. "Sorry," I said, twisting my foot again. "That's probably gutter talk for you."

Pierce made a soft sound, neither accusing nor affirming. He was looking at my middle in a soft puzzlement. "You're passionate," he finally said, and I smiled in relief. I knew he would be gone by sunrise, but I didn't want to alienate him. I liked him, even if he was a ghost. Oh God, I was not crushing on him.

"I'm in the medical books, you know," I said, trying to get his mind off my bad mouth. "The only survivor of Rosewood syndrome."

He started, turning from where he had been watching Robbie argue with his interviewer. "You… Rosewood? You survived? I lost two sisters and a brother to that, passed before they were three months. Are you sure that's what ailed you?"

I smiled because there was no pain in him. The hurt, apparently, was old. "That's what it was. Is. Modern medicine I suppose, or all the herbal remedies they gave me at that Make-A-Wish camp for dying kids. I was there for three years until they kicked me out when I quit dying so fast."

The wonder was stark in his gaze as he settled back as if not believing it. "You're a wonder, mistress witch."

I scoffed and ran my fingernails to bump over the chair's fabric. "I'm not really a witch yet. I haven't gotten my license. You can call me Rachel."

Pierce's subtle fidgeting ceased and I looked up to find him staring. In sudden understanding, I warmed. Crap, giving him my first name might be extremely intimate. He certainly didn't seem to know how to react.

Embarrassed, I focused on Robbie. "I, uh, am sorry for bringing you from your rest," I said. "I was trying to call my dad. See, I had this bet with Robbie. I said Dad, my father, would want me to put my application into the I.S., and Robbie said if he were still alive, he'd want me to get a higher degree in my earth witch studies. So Robbie challenged me to call him and ask. If I could do it, I promised I'd do what Dad said, if not, I'd go with Robbie and go to school for four more years. I didn't figure on him being at peace. I suppose I should be glad," I said, feeling guilty. "But I really wanted to talk to him."

"Miss Rachel," Pierce said, and my head came up when he took my hand. "Don't weep for your father. I expect he's at rest, watching you and wishing you happiness."

"You don't know that," I said contrarily, pulling away. "You're stuck in purgatory."

But instead of taking that as a brush-off, he nodded as if he liked it.

"You do know the intent behind your brother's challenge was to prove to you how skilled you are at earth magic, so you will follow that path?"

My mouth dropped open and I looked at Robbie. "The dirt bag," I whispered. "Well, I'm not doing it," I said while Pierce puzzled over the modern phrase. "We don't know if my dad would have approved or not, so the deal is off. I'm not going to Portland. I'm going to stay here with my mother and become the best damned runner since my dad."

Crap, I'm swearing again, I thought, then gave Pierce an apologetic smile. "What do you think I should do?"

The small man leaned forward, startling me with his intensity. "I believe," he said, inches away, "that if you don't follow your passions, you die slowly."

He was holding my hand again. A slow quiver built in me, and I pulled my hand away before I shivered outright. The office chatter seemed to grow loud, and Pierce resettled himself.

"My apologies," he said, clearly not sorry at all. "I've overstepped my boundaries."

Yeah, like I don't want you to? "It's okay," I said, boldly meeting his gaze. "I've held hands with guys before." And kissed them. I wonder what it's like to kiss a ghost? God, he had a beard. It would probably be all prickly and nasty. But maybe it was soft?

Yanking my thoughts back where they belonged, I looked down the open walkway to Robbie. He was clearly upset as he talked to the man, his arms moving in sharp angry motions. "I wonder what they're saying," I murmured.

Pierce still had that devilish look, but I liked it.

"Let me see if I can commune with the ever-after," he said. "I've a mind to speak a charm to hear them, though it's wicked to do so." But almost immediately his enthusiasm faltered. "I can't find a line," he said, touching his beard as if nervous. "Being a spectre, one might think it would be easier, not forbidden."

Well, nuts to that. I want to know what Robbie is saying. In a spontaneous motion, I grabbed Pierce's wrist My focus blurred as I searched for the nearest ley line, finding the university's glowing in my thoughts: a dusky red ribbon of power all witches could tap into regardless of where their talents lay.

Reaching out a thought, I connected to it. Warmth spilled into me in a slow trickle, running to my chi and making my skin tingle. Forcing my vision to focus, I looked at Pierce. My pleased smile faded. Crap, I'd done it again. The small man was staring at me as if I had just taken off all my clothes and was dancing naked on the desks.

"So you can do the spell…" I said in a small voice, and took a breath as if only now remembering how to breathe. "Didn't you share lines in your time?"

"Not often," he said, setting a hand atop mine so I wouldn't let go. "But I'm not there anymore. Thank you. Let me… do the spell."

He steadied himself, and while I felt like a whore on the corner, he flicked a nervous gaze at me with his beautiful, deep blue eyes. "Well?" I prompted.

"I'm not of a mind to hurt you," he admitted.

"Then don't pull so much," I said, glancing at Robbie. God, did he think I was a child?

"Um, yes," he stammered, and I shifted my shoulders when I felt a soft draw through me.

"You're fine," I encouraged, and he pulled more until my hair was floating from static. Intrigued, I watched Pierce close his eyes as if. trying to remember something. His lips moved and I heard the faintest hint of Latin, dark and alien sounding. His free hand sketched a quick figure, and then my ears popped.

"A moment," he said, his hand atop mine tightening to keep me from breaking the link.

My gaze shot to Robbie. "Oh, wow," I breathed as his voice came clear, as if I was listening to a phone.

"Wow. Yes," Pierce repeated, smiling from behind his beard, and we turned to listen.

"But I know he took her," Robbie said forcefully, his lips moving in time with the spoken words. "Can't you just get a car out there or something?"

The I. S. officer he was with had his back to us, but I could see he was typing. "Mr. Morgan. I assure you we're giving the matter our full attention."

"Are you?" my brother said. "She'll be dead by sunup if you don't do something. He's done this before. He just made the mistake of taking someone who would be noticed this time."

The man in his wrinkled suit clicked a window on his computer closed. One hand on the mouse, he gave my brother a long look. "And you know this how?"

Robbie said nothing, and I looked at the entry way floor when the vampire turned to see Pierce and me.

"Mr. Morgan," the man said, his voice thick with dismissal. "I've taken twelve statements like yours over the past three hours. We're working on them in turn, but you can understand we can't devote all our manpower to one missing child who is angry she isn't getting what she wants for Christmas and has run away to her daddy."

"I'm not a crank," Robbie said tightly. "My father used to work in the Arcane Division, and I know real from fake. This isn't a joke."

I breathed easier when the vampire focused on my brother again. "Monty Morgan?" he said, and I nodded even as Robbie did.

Pierce's grip on my hand twitched when the vampire stood. The ghost's expression of concern surprised me.

"Wait here," the officer said. "I'll be right back."

Pleased, I smiled at Pierce. "See?" I said, feeling like we were getting somewhere.

But Pierce's brow was creased in a deep worry. "Spawn." he muttered, and while I held his one hand, he made a small gesture with the other. I stifled a jump when the energy he was pulling off the line through me shifted. His lips pressed tight, he pointed to the I.S. officer, now bending to speak to another, clearly higher-up, officer.

"Sir, do you have a minute?" Robbie's interviewer said, his voice clear.

I couldn't see the new man's face, but his tone was bothered as he brought his attention up from his paperwork and said, "What?"

"It's the missing girl," the first officer said, fingers moving nervously behind his back.

I caught a glimpse of the supervisor's face when he turned to Robbie. It was smooth and nice looking despite his expression of annoyance. Young. "So?" he said.

Shifting his feet, the older man bent closer. "He knows things not released to the press."

The vampire went back to his paperwork, the pencil skating across the form too fast for a human. "So?" he said again.

"So he's one of Morgan's kids."

I felt a stir of satisfaction when the officer set his pencil down. "Who?"

"The witch in Arcane," Robbie's interviewer prompted. "Died about four years ago?"

But my pride shifted to a stark fear when the vampire looked at Robbie, his pupils swelling to black. Crap, I could see it from here. He was vamping out. But why?

"Morgan's boy?" he murmured, interested, and my pulse quickened. Something was wrong. I could almost taste it. "I thought he was out of state."

Pierce let go of my wrist and I jumped when the connection between us broke. My chi was suddenly overfull, and I forced most of the energy back into the ley line. I didn't let go of the line completely, ready for anything.

"I expect we should leave," the small man said, eyes darting over the three floors to linger on the building's main entrance.

I rubbed my wrist to get rid of the remaining tingles. "What's wrong?"

Pierce eased to the front of the chair and held his coat closed. "It's been my experience that instinct, not what you've been taught, is the clearest indicator of direction. They have a mind that your brother is involved with the girl's abduction and is finding reason to beg clemency by cooperating. We need to pull foot."

"Wait up," I said when he rose and drew me to a stand. "What about Robbie?"

As if having heard me, my brother met my gaze. His face was ashen. Behind him, the two vampires were headed his way. Clearly frightened, he mouthed, "Go!"

"Your brother won't come to any hurt," Pierce said, and I fell into motion when he gripped my elbow and started us toward the wide stairway. "They will give him Jesse until sure of his innocence, but by that time, the sun will be risen. Blame it all, I should have been of a state to fix his flint myself."

I had no idea what he was saying, but Pierce had us on the first step before the first shout. My head whipped around, and I stumbled. Two brutish men were heading our way, and with a little gasp, I pushed Pierce down faster. A chime rang through the air, and my skin prickled. "Lock down!" someone shouted.

"Damnation," Pierce swore, but our feet were still moving, and we had passed the second floor without trouble. My pulse was too fast, and my lungs hurt, but I wouldn't slow down. We wouldn't be caught because of me. Apart from the two guys following us and the uniformed woman standing in front of the doors with her arms crossed over her chest, everyone seemed content to watch. Actually, they were moving back, making room. Swell.

"Mistress witch," Pierce said, his tone terse as we neared the ground floor, my steps barely keeping up with his. "I'd respectfully ask that I might commune a line through you." He glanced at me, shocking me again with how blue his eyes were. "To help make our escape. If there were another way, I would use it."

I slid my hand into his, gripping it firmly. "Pull on a line." He shot a bewildered look at me and I shouted, "Commune with the ever-after!"

My breath hissed in as he did, and I squeezed his hand to tell him it was okay. Power burned like ice as we found the first floor, and I felt my tongue tingle. Pierce gathered himself, and with a shout, a head-sized sphere of ever-after enveloped his free hand.

That came through me, I thought in wonder, even as we continued to head for the doors.

Pierce threw the ball. The witch waiting for us yelped and dove for the floor. Green power edged in red and black hit the glass doors, spreading out like slime. A boom shook the air and almost sent me falling. Glass pushed outward in a silent cascade.

"Are you well, Miss Rachel?" Pierce said earnestly when my ears recovered.

I looked up as he steadied me with his grip tight on my elbow. For an instant we stood, focused on each other, linked by way of the line and our need to escape. My inner ear pulsed from the blast. Behind me, shouts started to make sense. Past the shattered doors came the sound of traffic and the crisp cold of a winter night. The witch on the floor looked up from around her fallen hair, shocked. "Wow," I said, and Pierce's concern eased.

Satisfied I had my balance, he let go of my elbow but kept our fingers entwined. "Allow me, mistress witch," he said gallantly, escorting me through the broken glass.

"Hey! Stop!" someone called. My pulse raced, and knowing my mom was going to "give me Jesse" when she found out, I nevertheless stepped elegantly over the jagged remnants of the door and onto the salted sidewalk.

"A moment," Pierce said, turning, and I felt another strong pull through me when he ran two fingers across both the lintel and threshold of the wide doors and a green sheet of ever-after swam up from the frozen slush sidewalk to seal everyone inside. "Now we may depart," he said exuberantly, the light shining out from the I.S. offices showing his good mood. "Perhaps a carriage is in order," he said, whistling as if he had grown up in Cincy, but he had watched Robbie do the same thing. "I fear we should make an unpleasant haste. The ward won't last long. And we must stay holding hands until then."

I grinned. When he was excited, he didn't stop to think what he was saying and was charmingly elegant. "Maybe we should walk a few blocks so they don't know what cab we take?" I suggested. "Otherwise they'll just radio ahead."

Pierce's brow creased, and he waved away the cab that had pulled up. "Like the music from the boxes?" he said, and I nodded. It was close enough.

"Then we walk," he said. With a last wave to the angry I.S. officers behind the green-tinted sheet of ever-after, he tightened his grip on my fingers, and we strode down the sidewalk.

My pulse was fast and I felt breathless. I'd never done anything like this before, and I felt alive. For the first time in my freaking life, I felt alive—the adrenaline making me light and airy and my steps long and sure. The snow drifted down peacefully, and I wished that I could do this forever—walk with a man's hand in mine, happy and pleasantly warm with this alive feeling running through me. He wasn't much taller than me, and our steps were closely matched.

I glanced behind us at the retreating I.S. building, then shyly at Pierce, but his attention was on the buildings and storefront displays. I eyed the colored lights and the happy people walking in the snow with last-minute solstice and Christmas shoppers finding a final, perfect gift.

"No beggars," he whispered.

"Well, a few," I said, abruptly seeing the street in an entirely different way. "But they're probably at the square, partying."

Pierce pulled our joined fingers up, mine almost blue from the cold. "I can't keep communing with—ah, pulling a line through you," he said softly. "I'm not one born in the woods to be afraid of an owl, yet to save that child with only my fists I expect is a fool's errand. Do you know…" He hesitated, attention flicking from a truck slushing past and back to me. "Do you know a witchy woman or man I might procure ley line charms from?"

"Oh!" I said brightly, determined to keep up with him though my chest was starting to hurt. Of course he'd need something, seeing as he couldn't tap a line himself. "The university's bookstore has an entire floor of ley line stuff. I'm sure they'll have something."

"Magic studies? In the university?" he asked, and I nodded, my free arm swinging. But a frown creased his brow, and leaning to me, he whispered, "I would prefer a smaller shop if you know of it. I don't have even a stick to barter with or a… card of credit," he added hesitantly, as if knowing he hadn't gotten the words in the right order.

My eyes widened. "I don't have much money either. Cab fare, is all."

Pierce took a deep breath and exhaled. "No matter. I will suitably impress upon the proprietor my desperate need." His chin rose and a defiant gleam entered his eyes as we continued forward. "I will beg. If they are honorable, they will help."

Beg, eh? I though, fully believing he would get down on his knees before the night manager at the university bookstore.

who would promptly throw him out, not pleased to be working on the solstice. "I've a better idea," I said, praying my mom would go for it. My dad's stuff was in the attic. I knew my mom wouldn't be happy, but the worst thing she could do was say no. Edging us to the curb, I searched for a cab. "I'll take you home," I said, leaning into the street in the universal language of cabbies. "You can look over my dad's old ley line stuff. He worked for the I.S. He probably has something."

Pierce drew me back from the curb, and I blinked at him, surprised. His expression was pinched as he stood in the puddle of streetlight and falling snow, elegant in his long coat and shiny new boots. "Miss Rachel, no. I'm not of a mind to endanger you anymore. I'll escort you home, then go alone to the university. If there are learned men there, they will assist me."

I winced, imagining all Pierce would find right now would be half-drunk students and solstice parties. "Good God, Pierce," I said, when a passing cab saw us standing there and did a U-bangy. "I'm the one that got you involved. Lighten up."

"But—" he said, and I twined my fingers more surely into his as the cab pulled up.

"I'm involved. You're not getting rid of me, so get used to it."

Pierce's grip tightened on mine, and then he relaxed. "Thank you," he said, and in those two words, I saw how lost he was. He had until sunrise to save both the girl and his soul, and I was the only one who could get him through this nightmare that I lived in.

Chapter 6

The cabbie drove away from my house slowly, the sound of his car muffled from the piled snow. In the Hollows there would be bonfire parties and neighborhood howls, but here, on my street, it was quiet. Pierce's steps were almost silent next to mine as we left prints on the walk to the porch. It had stopped snowing, and I looked up at the red-bottomed clouds through the cold, black branches of the maple tree I had planted for my dad upon his death. My throat closed and I touched it in passing. I was glad he was at rest, but it would have been nice to have had him back again as solid as Pierce was—even if just for the night.

Pierce hung back as I went up the three cement steps and twisted the knob to no avail. "My mom must be out," I said, swinging my bag around to look for my keys. The porch light was on, and her prints showed where she had gone to the garage and not come back. Maybe some last-minute shopping? Maybe down to the I.S. tower to pick up Robbie? I had a bad feeling it was the latter.

"This is a very beautiful house," Pierce said, facing the neighborhood and the bright lights and snowmen keeping guard.

"Thanks," I said as I dug in my jeans pocket for my house key. "Most witches live in the Hollows across the river in Kentucky, but my mom wanted to live here." Finding my keys, I looked up to see a faint bewilderment in his gaze. "Both she and my dad were in high school during the Turn, and I think she likes passively making trouble when she can get away with it—like living in a predominantly human neighborhood."

"As is the mother, so the daughter?" he said dryly.

My key was warm, and I slipped it into the lock. "If you like."

Only now did Pierce come up the steps, giving the street a last look before he did.

"Mom?" I called when I opened the door, but I knew from the dull glow of light in the hall coming from the kitchen that the house was empty. Glancing at Pierce on the threshold, I smiled. "Come on in."

Pierce looked at the gray slush on his boots. "I'm not of a mind to soil your rugs."

"So stomp your feet," I said, taking his arm and pulling him in. "Shut the door before you let all the heat out."

The shadow of the closing door prompted me to flick on the hallway light, and Pierce squinted at it. I hated the green color my mom had painted the hallway and living room. Pictures covered the passage to the kitchen: pictures of me and Robbie, slices of our lives.

I glanced back at Pierce, who was still staring at the light but clearly making an effort to not say anything. I hid a smile and wondered how much longer his efforts to not look unimpressed would win out over his curiosity.

"You have so many rugs," he finally said, following suit as I stomped my feet.

"Thanks," I said, and I shuffled out of my coat His eyes finally hit the walls, and he reached out "And photographs. In color."

"You've seen pictures?" I asked, surprised, and he nodded.

"I've had my picture taken," he said proudly, then reached out. "This is you? It's beautiful," he said in awe. "The expression the artist captured is breathtaking. None of God's landscapes has ever looked so beautiful."

I gazed at the picture he was touching in reverence and then away with mixed feelings. It was a close up of my face among the fall leaves, my eyes as green and vivid as all creation, my hair bringing out all the shades of autumn clustered about. I had just come back from a stint at the hospital and you could see that I was ill by my pale complexion and thin face. But my smile made it truly beautiful, my smile I had given to my dad as the shutter snapped, thanking him for the joy we had found in the simple pleasure of the day.

"My dad took it," I said, looking away. "Come in the kitchen," I said, wiping my eye when I noticed it was damp. I was supposed to die before him, not the other way around.

"I don't know how long my mom will be out," I said loudly, hearing his steps behind mine. "But if we can get what we need and leave, it will be all the better. Forgiveness being easier to get than permission…"

Pierce entered slowly, hesitating by the laminated table and taking in the ticking clock, the cold stove, and the double-pan sink as I dropped my coat and bag onto my chair. "You and your mother are alone?" he asked.

Surprised at the amount of wonder in his voice, I hesitated. "Yes. Robbie is visiting from the West Coast, but he goes back next week."

His deep blue eyes came back from the ceiling. "California?"

"Oregon."

Pierce looked again at the cold stove, undoubtedly guessing its use from the pot of solstice cranberry tea on it, now scrummed over and cold. "Your mother is very brave for raising you alone."

If he only knew how often it was the other way around. "She should, shouldn't she," I said, going to the coffeemaker and peeking into the filter to find unused grounds. "You want some coffee?"

Taking off his coat, Pierce draped it carefully over a chair. He checked his nonexistent tie, then moved his arms experimentally as if taking in how warm it was. "I'm of a mind, yes, but does our limited time allow for it?"

I flipped a switch and the coffeemaker started. I kind of liked his extra words. It made him sound classy. "Yup. You want to help me with the attic?"

Without waiting for an answer, I went down the other hallway to the rest of the house, Pierce right behind me. "That's the bathroom there," I said as we passed it. "My room is at the end of the hallway, and my mom's is across from it. Robbie has the front room, though it's more of a storage room, now."

"And the servants are in the attic?" he asked as I halted under the pull-down stairs.

"Servants?" I asked, gaping at him. "We don't have any servants."

Pierce looked as surprised as I felt. "But the rugs, the photos, the warmth of your home and its furnishings…"

His words trailed off as his hands spread wide in question, and I flushed when I got it. "Pierce," I said, embarrassed. "I'm totally middle class. The closest I've ever come to having a servant is winning a bet and having Robbie clean my room for a month."

The man's jaw dropped. "This is middle class?"

I nodded, stretching up for the pull cord and putting my weight on it. "Most of the city is." The trapdoor barely moved and my arms gave out. It snapped shut with a bang, and I dropped back down on my heels, disgusted.

Pierce smoothly took the cord and stepped under the door. He wasn't much taller, but he had more muscle. "I can do it," I said, but my arms were trembling, and I backed up while he swung the ladder down like it was nothing. But then again, it was.

Pierce looked up into the inky blackness spilling cool air down onto us, jumping when I flicked on the light.

"Sorry," I said, taking advantage of his surprise by pushing past him and up onto the ladder. "I'll be right back," I said, enjoying the cooler air up here smelling of wood and dusty boxes. The shush of a passing car from outside sounded odd and close. Arms wrapped around me, I looked over the past boxed up and piled haphazardly about, like memories in a person's brain. It was only a matter of knowing where a thought was and dusting it off.

My eyes lit upon the stack of carefully labeled tomato boxes that had my stuffed animals. A faint smile came over my face, and I stepped over the Halloween decorations to touch a dusty lid. I must have had about two hundred of them, all collected during my stints in and out of the hospital. I had counted them my friends, many taking on the names and personalities of my real friends that never made it out of the hospital that one last time. I knew my mom wanted them gone, but I couldn't throw them away, and as soon as I got my own place, I'd take them with me.

I lifted the first one and set it aside to find the box hiding under them. It was my dad's, tucked away lest my mom throw it out in a fit of melancholy. Some of his best stuff. I dug my fingernails into the little flaps to get a grip, grunting when it proved heavier than I thought. God, what had I put in here, anyway?

"Allow me," came Pierce's voice from my elbow, and I spun.

"Holy crap!" I exclaimed, then covered my mouth, feeling myself go red. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were up here."

Pierce's shock at my language melted into almost laughter. "My apologies," he said, and I shifted to let him to lift the box with enviable ease. "I like attics. They're as peaceful as God's church. Alone and apart, but a body can hear everything. The past stacked up like forgotten memories, but with a small effort, brought down and enjoyed again."

I listened to the cold night and smiled. "I know exactly what you mean."

Watching my footing, I followed him to the stairway. He took the box from me and gestured I should go before him, and, flattered at the chivalry, I did. My shoulders eased as the warmth of the house slipped over me, and I stood aside when Pierce lightly descended. He handed me the box to fold the ladder back up, but he hesitated at the bare bulb, still glowing in the attic. Without glancing at me for permission, he carefully pushed the light switch down.

Of course the light went out. A delighted smile came over him, and much to his credit, he didn't play with the switch but shoved the collapsible ladder closed and back into the ceiling. I watched his eyes travel over the lines of it as he did, as if memorizing how it worked.

"Thank you," I said as I went before him, back into the kitchen with the box.

The coffeemaker was gurgling its last, and Pierce looked at it, undoubtedly figuring out what it was from the rich scent that had filled the kitchen. "If that doesn't cap the climax," he said, almost missing the table as he set the box down. "It made itself."

"I'll get you some," I said as I hustled to the cupboard. It smelled great as I poured out two cups and I handed him one, our fingers touching. He smiled, and something tight-ened in my chest. God, I am not falling for him. He's dead. But he did have a nice, mischievous smile.

"I hope I'm not making a mistake drinking this," he said "How real am I?"

I shrugged, and he took a sip, eyeing me over the rim to make my breath catch. God, he had beautiful eyes.

His eyebrows shot up, and jerking, he started to violently cough.

"Oh, golly," I said, remembering not to swear as I took the cup from him before it could spill. "I'm sorry. You can't drink, huh?"

"Strong," he gasped, his blue eyes vivid as they watered. "Really strong."

I set his cup down and took a sip of mine. My mouth tried to pucker up, and I forced myself to swallow. Crap, my mom had filled the filter, and the coffee was strong enough to kill a cat. "Don't drink that," I said, taking his cup and mine to the sink. "It's terrible."

"No, it's fine."

I froze as he caught my hand. I turned, feeling his light but certain grip. A slow quiver rose through me, and I stifled it before it could show as a tremor. I was suddenly very aware that we were here alone. Anything could happen—and as the moment hung, his silence and almost-words ready to be whispered that he was having thoughts, too—I nearly wished it would. He was different. Strong but unsure. Capable but lost. He knew I had been ill, and he didn't baby me. I liked him. A lot, maybe. And he needed my help. No one had ever needed my help before. No one. Especially someone as capable and strong as him.

"It's undrinkable," I said when I found my voice, and he took his cup from me.

"If you made it, it's divine," he said, smiling like the devil himself, and I felt my heart thump even as I knew he was bullshitting me.

His fingers left mine, and my presence of mind returned. I wasn't a fainting debutante to fall for a line like that, but still, to have a man drink nasty coffee to impress me was way flattering. My eyebrows rose, and I wondered how far he would go. I had half a thought to let him drink the nasty stuff.

"Why thank you, Pierce," I said, smiling. "You are a true gentleman."

I turned to open the box, looking over my shoulder in time to see him staring into his mug with a melancholy sigh. Ten to one he was going to spill it, but there was an entire pot to refill his cup with.

The dust made my nose tickle as I unfolded the flaps. A slow smile spread over me as I looked at the stash and saw my dad everywhere. He'd made many of his own ley line charms for work, and being home sick most of the time, some of my earliest memories were of him and me at the table while the sun set and he prepped for a night on the street apprehending bad guys. I had my crayons, he had his chalk, and while I colored pixies and fairies, he'd sketch pentagrams, spill wax in ley line figures, and burn all sorts of concoctions to make Mom wave her hands and complain about the smell, secretly proud of him.

Smiling distantly, I ran a hand over my hair, remembering how it would snarl up from the forces that leaked from his magic as he explained a bit of lore while he worked, his eyes bright and eager for me to understand.

The soft scrape of Pierce setting his cup down by the box jerked me from my memories, and my focus sharpened. "Is there anything here you can use?" I asked, pushing it closer to him as we stood over it. "I'm more of an earth witch. Or I will be, when I get my license."

"Miss Rachel," he said lightly, his attention on the box's contents as his calloused fingers poked around, "only a witch of some repute can summon those at unrest, and only those of unsurpassed skill I expect can furnish them a body." A faint smile crossed his eyes. "Even one as transient as this one."

Embarrassed, I shrugged one shoulder. "It wasn't all me. Most of the energy came from the collective emotions of everyone at the square."

"And whose idea was it to work the charm at the square?" he said, taking out a handful of metallic disks and pins and discarding them into an untidy pile.

I thought back. It had been mine to go to the concert and use the emotion to help strengthen the curse, but Robbie's to use the square's instead. "Robbie's, I guess."

Pierce held a charm up to the light. "Ah," he said in satisfaction. "This I can use."

I looked at the thick silver washer with its pin running through it. Apart from a few ley line inscriptions lightly etched on it, the charm looked like the ones he'd set aside. "What is it?"

The man's smile grew positively devilish. "This likely bit of magic is a noisy lock picker," he said, then set it beside his cup of coffee.

"Noisy?"

Pierce was again rummaging. "It makes an almighty force to jolt the door from its hinges," he said lightly.

"Oh." I peered into the box with more interest and held the flaps out of his way. It was like looking into a box of chocolates, not knowing which ones were good until you took a bite.

A pleased sound escaped Pierce, and he held up another charm, his fingertip running over the symbols etched into it. "This one senses powerful magic. Perhaps it's still working?"

His gaze on the charm, he pulled the pin. The empty interior of the washer-like charm started to glow a harsh red.

Pierce seemed surprised, then he laughed. "Land sakes, I'm a fool. You hold it," he said, handing it over.

I took it, bemused when Pierce backed up, nearly into the hall.

A faint cramping seemed to make my palm twitch, and the harsh red faded to a rosy pink. I glanced at the box of ley line stuff, and Pierce shook his head, coming back and taking it from me. Again it glowed brilliantly.

"It's functioning perfectly," he said, and the spell went dark when he put the pin back in place. "I've no mind to guess how effective it will be if it's glowing like that from me," and he set it gently on the table.

My lips parted, and I looked at him, and then the charms on the table. "You're triggering it? I thought it was the spells."

Pierce laughed, but it was nice. "I'm a spectre, walking the earth with a body that is a faint step from being real. I expect that qualifies as strong magic."

Flustered, I shrugged, and he put his attention back in the box.

"This one is for calling familiars," he said, dropping it onto the table with the discards. "This one for avoiding people who are searching for you. Oh, this is odd," he said, holding one up. "A charm to give a body a hunched back? That has to be a misspelling."

I took it from him, making sure our fingers touched. Yeah, he was dead, but I wasn't. "No, it's right," I said. "It's from a costume. My dad used to dress up on Halloween."

"Halloween?" Pierce asked, and I nodded, lost in a memory.

"For trick-or-treat. I'd be the mad scientist, and he'd be my assistant. We would go up and down the halls of the hospital…" My emotions gave a heavy-hearted lurch, and I swallowed down a lump. "We'd hit the nurse's desk in the children's ward, and then the old people's rooms."

I didn't want to talk about it, and my fingers set it down sliding away with a slow sadness. It seemed Pierce understood, since he was silent for a moment, then said, "You look the picture of health, Miss Rachel. A fair, spirited, young woman."

Grimacing, I picked up the charm and dropped it back into the box. "Yeah, well, try telling my brother that."

Again he was silent, and I wondered what his nineteenth-century morals were making of me and my stubborn determination. He said I was spirited, but I didn't think that was necessarily a good thing back then.

"This is one I'd like to take if I might," Pierce said as he held up a rather large, palm-sized metallic amulet. "It detects people within a small space."

"Cool," I said, taking it from him and pulling the pin. "Does it work?"

Again, that cramping set my hand to feel tingly and odd. The entire middle of the amulet went opaque, two dots showing in the middle. Us, apparently. "Still works," I said, replacing the pin and handing it to him. "You may as well have it. I've got no use for it."

"Thank you," he said, dropping it into his pocket with the noisy lock picker. "And this one? It also creates a distraction."

I grinned. "Another boom spell?"

"Boom?" he said, then nodded, getting it. "Yes, a boom spell. They are powerful effective. I have the understanding to set one unaided, but I need to commune with the ever-after to do it. This one will suffice."

I had a feeling that most of the spells he was putting in his pocket were ones he knew how to do unaided. I mean, he'd blown the doors in the I.S. tower, and then set a ward over them. I hadn't minded his using me to draw off the line. Which made the next step of wanting to go with him easy. I mean, I could really help him, not just this tour-guide stuff.

"Pierce," I said, fingering the charm to make a hunchback.

The man's attention was in the box, but he seemed to know where my thoughts lay as his next words were, "There is no need for you to accompany me, Miss Rachel. It has nothing to do with your health, and everything to do with me resolving this on my own." He pulled out a charm. "This is a likely one, as well."

Momentarily distracted, I leaned until our shoulders touched. "What is it?"

Pierce slid down a few inches to put space between us. "It allows a body to listen upon a conversation in a room set apart."

My eyebrows rose. "So that's how they always knew what I was up to."

He laughed, the masculine rolling sound seeming to soak into the corners of the kitchen like water into the dry sand bed of a stream. The house had been so empty of it, and hearing it again was painful as our lack was laid bare.

"Your father was a rascal," Pierce said, not aware I had been struck to the core and was trying to blink back the unexpected tears.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," I quipped. Why is this hitting me so hard? I thought, blaming it upon my recent hope to talk to him again.

"Oh look," I said, my hand diving in to pull out a familiar spell. "What's this doing in here? This is my mom's."

Pierce took it from me, our fingers touching a shade too long, but his eyes never flicked to me. "It's a ley line charm to set a circle, but unlike the ungodly rare earth magic equivalent, you need to connect to a line to use it."

"My mother is terrible at ley line magic," I said conversationally as Pierce collected all the discards and dumped them in, my mom's included. "My dad used to make all her circles for her. She used to set this when she still made his earth magic charms for him."

I saw him stiffen when I reached back in the box, took out my mom's amulet, and placed it around my neck. "I can tap a line. It will work for me."

"No," he said, facing me. "You aren't coming. I've forbidden it."

My breath came out in a scoff. "You forbid it?" I said, tilting my head up. "Look, Pierce," I said, hand going to my hip. "You can't forbid me anything. I do what I want."

"I have forbidden you from accompanying me," he said as if that settled it. "I'm thankful for what you have done, and that you're letting me borrow your father's spells shows how gracious and honorable your spirit is. Now prove it and stay home as you should."

"You little chauvinistic pig!" I exclaimed, feeling my pulse race and my knees start to go weak. Trying to hide it, I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the counter. "I can help you, and you know it. Just how are you going to get there, Mr. Man From The Past? Walk it? In the snow? It's got to be at least fifteen miles."

Pierce didn't seem to be fazed by my temper, which ticked me off all the more. He calmly shrugged into his long coat and folded the box closed. "May I still take these?" he asked, eyebrows high.

"I said you could," I snapped. "And I'm coming too."

"Thank you," he said, dropping the last into a pocket. "I will try my best to return your father's belongs to you, but it's unlikely."

He turned to go, me tight behind him. "You can't just walk out of here," I said, my legs shaking from fatigue. Damn it, I hated being like this. "You don't know where you're going."

"I know where he was before. It's unlikely he's moved."

We were in the hall, and I nearly ran into Pierce when he stopped short at the door, eyeing the handle. "You're going to walk?" I said in disbelief.

He opened the door and took a deep breath of dry, chill air. "I've a mind to, yes."

The cold hit me, and I held my crossed arms close now for warmth. "The world is different, Pierce. We're out, and it's harder to find just one of us now."

That seemed to give him pause. "I will find him," he said, and he stepped out onto the snowy stoop. "I have to. My soul and the girl's both depend upon it."

"You won't find them before the sun comes up," I called after him. God, what is it with men and their pride?

"Then I expect I should run."

Then I expect I should run, I mocked in my thoughts, then came out on the stoop. "Pierce," I said, and he turned. There was a whisper of hidden heat in his eyes, shocking the words right out of my head. I blinked at him, stunned that it was there and directed at me. He wasn't amused at my temper. He wasn't bothered by it. He respected it, even as he told me no.

"Thank you, Miss Rachel," he said, and I stumbled back, my eyes darting from his for an instant when my heel hit the frame of the open door. "I can't endanger you any farther."

He leaned in, and I froze. My heart pounded. I found my hands against his chest, but I didn't push him away.

"You are fiery and bold," he whispered in my ear, and I shivered. "Like a fey filly who knows her own thoughts and won't be broke but by her will. I don't have a mind to be delicate about it. If I did, I would court you long and lovingly, living for the hour when I would earn your trust and your attentions. I have but this night, so my words must be bold at the risk of offending you and being handed the mitten."

"You didn't," I said, not knowing what my gloves had to do with it. Tension had me stiff, but inside I was a quivering mix of anticipation. "I'd give anything if you'd kiss me," I said. "I mean," I said when his tilted his head to look at me, his eyes wide in shock, "I've kissed guys before. It's like a handshake these days," I lied, just wanting to know what his lips on mine would feel like. "Almost required if you're leaving."

He hesitated, and my shoulders slumped when his fingers began slipping away.

"Ah, the devil take it," he said suddenly, then rocked back. Before I knew what he was doing, he curved an arm around my back, setting his free hand against the door frame by my head. He leaned in, and as I took a startled breath, his lips found mine.

A small noise escaped me, and my eyes flew wide. I stood there on my porch in the cold and electric light, and let him kiss me, too shocked to do anything else. His lips were cool, but they warmed against me, and his beard was soft. His hand at my back kept me to him, protective and aggressive all at the same time. It sent a tingling jolt to dive to my middle, settling low and insistent.

"Pierce!" I mumbled, nearly driven to distraction by the sudden passion, but when he threatened to pull away, I wrapped my arms hesitantly about his waist. Hell, I had been kissed before, but they were bad kissers, all groping hands and sloppy tongues. This was… exquisite, and it plucked a chord in me that had never been touched.

He felt it when my desire rebounded into him, and with a soft sound that held both his want and restraint, he putted away. Our lips parted, and I stared at him, shaken to my core. Damn, he was a good kisser.

"You are a most remarkable woman," he said. "I thank you humbly for the chance you have gifted me to redeem my sins."

Redeem sins. Yeah.

I stood there like an idiot as he took the stairs with a purposeful gait until he reached the shoveled walk. Unhesitating, he turned to the left and picked up the pace to run.

Damn…

I swallowed, trying to shake it off. Arms going around myself, I glanced up and down the quiet, snow-hushed street to see if anyone was watching. No one was, but I imagined Pierce had looked before he pinned me to the door like that… and kissed me senseless.

"Damn," I whispered, then took a deep breath to feel the cold slip in to replace the warmth. He certainly knew what he was doing. Not only had he gotten me to stay, but I wasn't angry with him at all. Must be a charm.

Charm. Yeah, he was charming all right. Like that changed anything?

Pulse fast, I went inside. I flicked off the coffeemaker, and then seeing the dusty box sitting there like a red flag waving in the breeze, I scribbled a quick note for my mom, telling her Robbie was at the I.S. and that I had fled with someone I had met at the square who knew who had taken Sarah. I had the car and was going to help him. I'd be back about sunrise.

I looked at it, then added, LOVE YOU—RACHEL.

I shivered as I stuffed an arm into a coat sleeve. I was going to help a ghost rescue a missing child from a vampire. God! A dead vamp, probably.

"This is what you want to do for a living," I muttered as I snatched up a set of keys, my fingers trembling. "If you can't do it now, you may as well go to the coast with your brother."

No way. I felt alive, my heart pounding, and my emotions high. It was a great sensation, and it stayed with me all the way out to the garage. A spring in my step, I yanked the garage door up and into the ceiling with a satisfying quickness. I usually had to have my mom do it.

As I strode to the driver's side, my fingers traced the smooth lines of the beat-up Volkswagen bug I had bought with what had been left over from selling The Bat. It ran most of the time. I got in, feeling how stiff the vinyl seats were from the cold. The temperatures had been dropping steadily now that the snow had stopped, and I was freezing.

"Please start…" I begged, then patted the steering wheel when it sputtered to life. "Tell me I can't come?" I whispered, turning to look behind me as I backed out with a tinny putt-putt of a sound. Okay, I didn't have a real license yet, but who was going to give me a ticket on the solstice? Scrooge?

Still riding the high, I putted down the street, lights on and scanning the sidewalk. I found him two blocks down. He was still running, but he was in the street now, probably after finding too many of our neighbors hadn't shoveled their walks. I rolled my window down and pulled up alongside of him. He glanced at me, then stopped with a look of ambivalence.

I grinned. "Sorry for ruining your farewell speech. I really liked it. You want a ride?"

"You can drive," he said, his eyes tracing the car's odd shape.

"Of course I can." It was cold, and I flicked the heat on. The almost-warm air shifted my hair, and I saw him look at the drifting strands, making me wonder what it would feel like if he ran his fingers through it.

He stood in the freezing night, not a puff of breath showing as he stood to look charming in his indecision. "It's powerfully difficult to run and not try to breathe at the same time," he finally said. "Do you know the streets to the east hills?"

I nodded, and my grin grew that much wider. His head down dejectedly, he came around the front, the lights flashing bright as they hit him. I stifled my smile when he fumbled for the latch, finally figuring it out and getting in. He settled himself as I accelerated slowly.

"You will stay in the carriage when we get there," he grumbled, stomping the snow from his boots, and I just smirked.

Yeah. Right.

Chapter 7

Faint on the cold air was the singing of Christmas carolers, obvious now that I'd turned the car off. My car door thumped shut, the sound muffed from the mounds of snow the plows had thrown up, and I breathed slowly, pulling the crisp night deep into me. Above, the stars looked especially sharp from the dry air. It had gotten cold, ice-cracking cold. The faint breeze seemed to go right through my coat. It was about four in the morning. Only Inderlanders and crazy humans were up this time of night, which was fine by me.

Pierce's door shut a moment behind mine, and I smiled at him over the car. He didn't smile back, his brow furrowed in an expression of coming nastiness. While he paced around to my side, i leaned against the cold metal and gazed at the house we had parked across from.

We were way up in the hills in the better parts of town where the well-to-do had lived ever since inclined-plane railways had made it easy to make it up the steep inclines. The house in question was older than that, making it remote and lonely in Pierce's time. It was a monster of a house, clearly added to and rebuilt along with the times, with multiple stories, turrets, and a wrap-around porch of smooth river rocks: old money, big trees, and a fantastic view of Cincinnati. Bright Christmas decorations were everywhere, flashing in an eerie silent display.

The sound of Pierce's shoes crunching on the frozen slush jolted me into motion, and I pushed off the car and headed to the wide porch.

"I would request you retire into the carriage and wait," he said from beside me.

I kept my eyes forward as we crossed the street. "It's called a car, and you can request all you want, but it's not going to happen."

We reached the shoveled sidewalk and Pierce grabbed my wrist. I jerked to a stop, startled at the strength he was using.

"Forgive me, Miss Rachel," he said, lips pressed thin and tight. "You're full of grit, but I simply will not be able to live with myself if harm comes to you because of me."

My own anger stirred. "Then it's a good thing you're not alive, huh."

Shaking his head, he started to tug me back to the car. "I'm sorry for using my advantage to force you. Truly I am."

Here comes the him-hoisting-me-over-his-shoulder bit, with me kicking and screaming as he locks me in my own car? Not going to happen. "Let go," I threatened as he pulled me a step. "I mean it, Pierce. Let go, or you're going to be in a world of hurt." But he didn't.

Glad now I didn't have on mittens, I yanked him to a stop, spun my wrist with a loop-de-loo motion into a modified acrobat twin-hold on his palm, stepped under his arm, and flipped him into a snowbank.

He hit it with a puff of snow, staring up at me in surprise. "Land sakes, how did you do that?" he stammered, eyes wide in the low street light.

I stood over him with my hands on my hips, utterly satisfied. "Try to lock me in the car again, and I'll show you."

Pierce started to get up, and I reached to help him. Making a grunt, he accepted, rising to brush the snow from his long coat with sharp, bothered motions.

"I'm going in there," I said, nodding at the house.

"Miss Rachel," he started, and I took a step forward, getting into his face.

"This is what I want to do with my life," I said. "I have a circle amulet. I'm not helpless. And you can't stop me."

Shifting on his feet, he started to look annoyed. "Rachel, I'm schooled for this."

"And you still ended up dead," I shot back.

"That's my very argument. A body can see it's too dangerous." I made a face, and he took both my hands in his, adding sincerely, "I know you're of a mind to help. You're a brave, courageous woman, but you mustn't kick. This vampire is several hundred years dead, and you are eighteen. Consider it logically."

I rather liked his fingers in mine, but I pulled away, not wanting him to make me into putty. Again. "Logically?" I said, starting to get cold. "Yes, let's look at this logically. Training or not, you don't have anything but a few trinkets to help you if you can't tap a line. You don't have a chance to rescue that girl without me, and you know it."

He hesitated, and I surged ahead at the worried slant to his eyes. "Tell me you don't need me," I said, pointing. "That being able to tap a line isn't going to make the difference between saving her or not. Tell me that."

Pierce's gaze went to our feet, then rose. "I can't," he said firmly.

"Then I'm coming with you."

Again I started for the door. Pierce walked a step behind, slow and ponderous. "Now I have to watch for you, too," I heard him mutter, but I didn't care. I was going.

I slowed to slip my hand into his. He started, and I tapped a line. Energy flowed coolly into me to make my hair start to float around the edges of my hat, and I gave his fingers a squeeze. "It's going to be all right," I said firmly, and I shivered when he pulled a thin trace of power into himself.

We were almost up to the wide porch with its stylized Christmas tree when I realized his intent was to storm the front. "Uh, shouldn't we go in the back door or something?" I asked, and he smiled.

"You've listened to too many adventure tales. They never expect the front door."

"Still," I said as he knocked briskly.

"The front door," he said, glancing askance at me and tugging his coat straight. "They undoubtedly have made note of our presence, and it looks foolish to be caught skulking behind the trash bins."

I jumped at the rattle of the doorknob. A surge of adrenaline, and my pulse quickened. I stood wide-eyed beside Pierce as the door opened to show Sarah, standing alone and beautiful in an elegant dress of old lace. Her face was pale, but her look of fear set one of my worries to rest. She hadn't been bitten and bound yet.

Pierce saw her, and he smiled. "And sometimes, it's that easy."

Sarah's mouth opened. "It's a trap!" she shrilled, still standing there. "Help me!"

With a thump, my heart tripped into overdrive. I stumbled back when two men in black came from around the doorframe. One yanked Sarah inside. The other reached past the threshold, and before I could find the breath to scream, jerked us over the threshold.

Now I shrieked, finding myself skating across the hardwood floor to slide into the wall in a crumpled heap.

A loud "Ow!" pulled my head up, and I found Pierce askew on the stairway leading to the upper floors. I got to my feet, tense and hunched. Sarah was gone, but I could hear her crying. Her sobs grew fainter, but never disappeared. A door slammed.

Pierce rose and tossed his black hair out of his eyes. His lips were pressed together, and he seemed mad at himself more than anything else. The remaining man, a vampire by the glint of fang and telltale grace, was fronting him. I stumbled to stand against the wall, and he focused on me.

"Don't touch me," I said, feeling a faint pull from his charisma and a lot of fear.

Pierce touched his lip, surprise widening his eyes when his hand came away red with blood. "Inform your master I wish to parlay," he said, his words almost laughably formal. "We have a small gentleman-matter standing between us."

"Where's the girl?" I blurted, thinking I could hear her under my feet somewhere.

The vampire between us and the door smiled, chilling me. "I'd be more worried about your own neck, little witch," he said to me, but looking at Pierce, clearly the greater threat.

"Christopher!" Pierce shouted, and I felt a wash of dizziness. "Come out of your hole, you disgusting spawn. We have a matter of early interment to discuss!"

The vampire moved. I pressed against the wall as he took a too-fast step to Pierce and smacked him.

"Pierce!" I shouted as the small man fell backwards into the stairs again. "Leave him alone!" I shouted at the vampire.

Standing at the foot of the stairs, the vampire smiled. "Do you have a mommy, little girl? Will she cry for you?"

Fear slid down my spine, pushing out the fatigue and the dizziness. I stood, alive for what seemed like the first time.

Too bad it was about to end. Right when it was getting good.

"Pay me mind, not her," said Pierce, picking himself up again.

The vampire took one step to me, and Pierce pulled a charm from his pocket. I had an instant to prepare, and then he pulled the pin.

The front hallway shook in a boom of sound. I cowered as the chandelier swayed, and the windows in the door blew out. Falling into a ball, I crouched in the corner where the wall met the stairway, feeling my ears throb.

Someone touched my shoulder. Panic gave me strength. Wide-eyed, I turned to strike, stopping at the soft pull of ley line running through me.

Pierce.

Exhaling in a wash of relief, I found him close and worried. He crouched beside me and fingered another amulet. "Grit your teeth, and close your eyes," he said. "Forgive me if it's too much."

I nodded. Hunching down, I tried to become one with the floor. My breath caught as a silver-lined ribbon of ever-after iced through me to leave the taste of tinfoil in my veins. The soft presence of Pierce's body covered mine, sheltering me.

A second boom of sound pulsed over us, and in a visible cloud, the scent of dust and broken wood rose. Coughing, I looked up as Pierce slipped his hand in mind and helped me stand. The vampire was out cold against the wall beside the door. But even more startling was the four-foot-wide hole in the floor between us.

Pierce peered into my eyes, striking me silent with how concerned he was. "Are you well? Did I hurt you?"

I shook my head. "There's a hole in the floor."

Pierce pulled me to it. "I'll catch you."

I held my breath as he nonchalantly stepped off the edge of the floor and dropped from sight. From across the room came a soft groan, and the vampire moved.

Pulse hammering, I sat on the floor and dangled my feet. "Here I come!" I warned him, then dropped.

I stifled a shriek, but it came out as a yelp when he caught me and we fell in a tangle of arms and legs. We were in a lower living room with soft carpet and lighting, and expensive paintings on the walls. An entertainment center stood in one corner. There were two doors, one beside us, the other across the room.

"You're heavier than you look," Pierce puffed, and I scrambled off of him.

"Yeah, well you're a lousy catch." I glanced up at the hole in the floor, then back to the TVs. There were a couple of them, and my lips parted when I recognized a black and white shot of my little car looking funny out there against the expensive estates. Closer to the house was the imprint in the drift where Pierce hit. It made me glad we'd come in the front.

A frightened whimper caught my attention. Together Pierce and I looked to a far corner dusky with a soft light. My hope withered to nothing as I saw Sarah in the grip of a small man dressed in casual sophistication. His silk-clad arm was wrapped around her, covering her mouth. Tears marked her face, and she was terrified.

"Gordian Pierce," the vampire said in a soft, almost feminine voice. "You should have stayed dead."

I pressed back into Pierce, then realizing it made me look afraid, I rocked forward. I was still holding his hand. I was telling myself it was so he could do his magic, but the real reason was I was as scared as Sarah.

"You haven't changed," Pierce said, a new accent coloring his words. "Still the same Nancy boy forcing your putrid self on little girls, I see."

Sarah made a heartbreaking sound, and the vampire, Christopher, I guess, stiffened. His knuckles went white where he pressed his hand over her mouth. "I saw you in the ground," he said bitterly. "You shouldn't be here."

Pierce's hand clenched on mine in a bitter anger. "Your first mistake was putting me in blasphemed ground," he said shortly. "It left me in a mind to return. Eliminating your filth of existence is worth postponing heaven for."

Christopher's chin rose, and a snarl curved his lips up. I knew he was several hundred years old, but he looked thirty. Witch magic at its finest.

"Good," he said, shoving the girl to a nearby couch where she collapsed to sob. "I'll enjoy hearing your screams again between the beautiful thumps of dirt hitting your casket."

I felt a chill, imagining it. Pierce's hand on mine went damp with sweat. Mine probably.

"You foul bastard," Pierce said, his voice shaking. "I will not leave without the girl."

Intuition and the shifting of light pulled my attention to the hole in the ceiling. "Look out!" I cried, pulling Pierce and myself back when the two vampires from the front door dropped down. Pierce's free hand started making gestures behind his back, and my pulse raced to make me lightheaded. Smiling like death, they started to advance.

"No!" their master shouted, and they hesitated. "Let them stand." He flicked his eyes to one who had carried Sarah down here earlier. "You, man the outside grounds," he said, then turned a disparaging look at the other. "You mind the stairs. From outside. I don't want to be disturbed."

He turned to Pierce and me, and I thought I heard the small man beside me mutter a curse. "I enjoy trespassers," the vampire said. "The law is going to see you dead again, Pierce. All you have brought to me is more terror to lap up. What a timely gift. Thank you."

He nodded curtly at the two vampires, and they slipped away, one through the door and stair behind us, the other jumping straight up the hole in the floor. Sarah was still crying, and the twin clicks of two doors shutting were ominous. Great. I think it was about to get ugly.

"Believe me," Pierce whispered, his hand giving mine a quick squeeze.

I flicked a look at him, then back to the vampire. "What?"

Pierce angled to get in front of me. "He's going to kill me, but I'm already dead. Trust me. As soon as he thinks I'm dead, I'll move against him. Get the girl out. Please."

I didn't want to leave him here. I wouldn't! "Pierce…"

But his fingers slipped from mine.

A jolt of line energy burst in me as I took the entire line myself. Pierce had been siphoning off of me, and I hadn't even known it. Stumbling back, I barely saw Pierce jump away from me, shouting curses at the vampire.

Lips curled to show his teeth, Christopher went to meet him.

"Pierce, no!" I shouted from where I had fallen to one knee, transfixed when they met. The man didn't have a chance. My heart pounded in fear as they grappled, the vampire finding his neck and sinking his teeth.

Pierce's groan struck through me, and I almost panicked. "This can't be happening," I whispered. "This can't be happening!"

I jumped when the girl darted across the room, a white shadow fleeing. She clutched at me, her tear-streaked face pleading up at me. "Get me out," she whispered, as if afraid he would hear. "Please, get me out!"

I looked at Pierce, slack in the vampire's grip. The animal hung over him, sickening me.

"Help me!" she sobbed, trying to drag me to the door, but I knew what was behind it.

Jaw clenched, I pried her grip off my arm and shoved her behind me. "Give me a minute," I muttered. My heart was pounding too fast, and my knees were going weak. Striding to the nearest wall, I lugged a picture from it, staggering at its unexpected weight.

"Get off him!" I shouted, dropping it on the vampire. Glass cracked and it slid off his back. Snarling, the vampire let Pierce fall, turning with a look on his face to send a ribbon of fear-laced adrenaline through me. Slowly I backed up. Maybe I should've taken my chances with the vampire behind door number one.

His mouth red with Pierce's blood, the vampire started for me, hunched and looking as if he was in pain. "Stupid, foolish witch," he said, wiping his mouth and then licking the blood from his hand. "Your species will thank me for taking you out before you can breed. The too smart and the too stupid are all culled first. I don't know which one you are."

"Stay back," I said, hand raised as I almost tripped on the rug.

From behind me the girl gasped. My gaze darted to Pierce as he moved. Hope surged, and sensing it, the vampire turned around.

"How many times do I have to kill you?" he snarled when Pierce pulled himself upright, and with a dark grimace, tugged his coat straight. His neck was clean. Not a mark on it.

I didn't understand. I had seen blood. But had it been real? He was a freaking ghost!

"Once was enough, and I expect it will be your undoing, God willing," the man said raggedly, and my breath came in with a hiss when a ball of green ever-after swirled into existence between his two hands. He flung it at the vampire. The vampire lunged sideways, and the green, red, and black mass smacked into the wall, harmless.

My short-lived hope vanished, and I looked at Pierce across the living room. I knew it had been everything he had stored in his chi. He had gambled everything on that one throw. There was nothing left. He was helpless unless he could reach me and refill his chi. And there was a vampire between us.

Christopher seemed to know it, and he started to laugh. "I may not be able to kill a ghost," he said in perverted glee. "But I can still tear your fucking head off."

I backed to the door with the girl. Nothing left. Pierce had nothing left but those stupid ley line charms of my dad I felt my expression go slack in thought. The ley line charms.

My hand went up to grip the charm around my neck. It would make a circle only I could break. Sarah and I would be safe, but Pierce…

Pierce saw my hand, trembling as it gripped the spell. "Use it, Rachel," he said, falling into a crouch. "Invoke the amulet!"

I tried to swallow, failing. I pulled the charm from around my neck, the chain catching my hair and tugging free. The vampire lunged to catch Pierce. He cried out in pain.

"Hey, prissy face!" I shouted, voice trembling. "You're a pathetic excuse of a bat, you know that? Can't get your fangs wet without a glass of milk? Come and get me. He doesn't have any blood in him."

The vampire turned and hissed, and my stomach did a flip-flop. Shit.

"Rachel, no!" Pierce cried, but the vampire tossed him into a wall like a rude book. I winced when he hit and slid down to stare at me in fear.

"Trust me," I mouthed, and he scrambled up. But he was too far away, and he knew it.

Pulse hammering, I fell into a crouch and beckoned the vampire to me. "You're nothing but a sorry-assed, hide-in-the-ground, child molester," I taunted, and the vampire went almost choleric.

"I'm going to kill you slow," he said, advancing slowly.

"Great," I said, estimating the distance between us. "But first, catch this!"

His hands flew up as I pulled the pin and threw the amulet. It thumped into the vampire's grip, and he sneered at me. I smiled back, and as smooth and pure as water, a wash of gold-tinted ever-after flowed up and around him, trapping him.

"No!" the vampire screamed, throwing the amulet, but it was too late. My eyes widened and I fell back in shocked awe as the vampire seemed to devolve into a raving lunatic, hammering at the barrier between us, almost spitting in frustration. Howling like a mad thing, he threw himself against it, over and over. And it held.

Shaking, I leaned against the back of a couch. "Stupid ass," I muttered.

"Miss Rachel!" Pierce cried out, and I blinked when he grabbed me, spinning me to face him. His hands were heavy on my shoulders, he looked me up and down, his blue eyes searching me. "Are you well?"

I blinked again at him. The adrenaline was wearing off, and I was feeling woozy. "Sure. Yes. I think so."

The girl screamed, and a vampire dropped into the room through the hole in the ceiling. From behind the other door, the thumping of feet said the other was coming, too, drawn by Christopher's furious shouts.

Pierce took me in a brief, surprising hug. "You're grit, Rachel. Pure grit," he said, rocking me back. "But you should have used it to save yourself and the girl. All they have to do is throw you into the bubble, and it will fall."

"Nonsense," I said, hearing my words slur. "Just pull some more power from me and blast them back to hell."

His eyes widened, and he held me upright as the door behind us opened to show the second vampire. The girl was at our feet, sobbing. I might have joined her, but I had a feeling I was going to pass out soon, anyway. Damn it, I hated this. I was just kidding myself that I could do this for a living.

I pushed from Pierce, unsteady as I put my hands on my hips and looked from one vampire to the other. I felt like I was drunk. Faint through the broken ceiling came the wail of sirens. "You all better go," I said boldly, sounding like John Wayne to my ears. "Or my friend here will blast you all to hell. He can do it. Can't you?"

But Pierce was watching the monitors with the strength of hope in his grip as he held me upright. I wavered as the two vampires exchanged a knowing look. The master vampire trapped in the circle hesitated in his tantrum, going white-faced when his two servants gave him a short, nervous bow. "Don't leave me!" the master vampire shouted, hammering on the invisible barrier. "I will hunt you down and take your last blood, then kill you again!"

I smirked, muscles going slack. Pierce caught me with a little grunt. On the monitor were several I.S. cruisers, a news van, and Lord help me, my mother in her Buick. Robbie got out first, having to be restrained from storming the house on his own. "That's the I.S.," I said, my words running into each other in a soft slow drawl. "I left my mother a note. She's probably got half the force behind her." Blinking, I struggled to focus on the two vampires. "Don't mess with my mom. She'll kick your… ass."

The two vampires looked at each other, and as their master howled, they levered themselves back out through the ceiling. There was a faint thump of feet overhead—and they were gone.

"I think I'm going to pass out," I said, breathless, and Pierce eased me to the carpet. My head lolled, and the edges of my sight grayed. "I'm sorry," I started to babble, feeling light and airy. "I shouldn't have come down here. I'm no good at this."

"You are exceptional at this." Pierce held my hand and fanned me with a magazine. "But please, Miss Rachel, don't pass out. Stay with me. At least a little longer. If you succumb, your circle might fall."

"That's not good," I mumbled, struggling to keep my eyes open, but damn it, I had overtaxed my body and it was shutting down. When the adrenaline had flowed, it had been fantastic. I had been alive and strong. I felt normal. Now all that was left was the ash of a spent fire. And it was starting to rain.

"Rachel?"

It was close, and I pulled my eyes open to find Pierce had cradled my head in his lap. "Okay," I breathed. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," he said, and I smiled, snuggling in so I could hear his heartbeat. Maybe it was mine. "Stay with me," he said. "Just a few minutes more. They're almost here."

Distantly I heard the sound of thumping feet overhead and loud voices. The heater clicked on, and the warm breeze made my hair tickle my face. Pierce brushed it off me, and I opened my eyes, smiling up at him blissfully.

"Holy shit!" a deep voice said. "There's a hole in the floor."

The girl revealed us with a little sob. Standing under the hole she peered up, screaming, "Get me out of here! Someone get me out of here!"

"My God, it's the girl!" another man said. "Damn, he was telling the truth."

"Just a little longer, Miss Rachel," Pierce whispered, and I closed my eyes again. But a icing of fear slid through me, almost waking me up when my mom's voice cut through the babble, high pitched and determined.

"Of course Robbie was telling the truth. You smart-assed agents think you're so clever your crap doesn't stink, but you couldn't spell your way out of a paper bag."

"That's my mom," I whispered, and Pierce's grip on me tightened.

"Rachel?" she called, her voice getting louder, then, "Get your sorry ass out of my way. Rachel! Are you down there? My God, she circled a vampire. Look what my daughter did! She got him. She got him for you, you lazy bastards. Ignore my kids when they come to you, huh? I bet the news crew would like that. You either drop the charges on my kids, or I'm going out there and give them what they want."

I smiled, but I couldn't open my eyes. "Hi, Mom," I whispered, my breath slipping past my lips. And then to Pierce, I added, "Don't mind my mother. She's a little nuts."

He chuckled, raising my head and rocking me. "I expect a body would have to be to raise you properly."

I wanted to laugh, but I couldn't, so I just smiled. There was the brush of wind against me as people moved about us. Someone had finally gotten Sarah out of here, and the sound of two-way radios and excited chatter had replaced her blubbering. "I'm sorry," I said feeling like I'd failed them. "Someone needs to circle him. I'm passing out."

"Rest," Pierce whispered. "They have him. Let your circle down, Miss Rachel. I've got you."

I could hear a faint call for an ambulance and oxygen, and I had a fading thought that I was going to spend the last half of my solstice in the hospital, but we had done it.

And with that, I let go of the line and let oblivion take me, satisfied to the depths of my soul.

Chapter 8

They say when you're ten, you think your parents know everything. At sixteen, you're convinced they know nothing at all. By thirty, if you haven't figured out they really did know what they were doing, then you're still sixteen. After watching my mom work the I.S. like a fish on a line, I was suitably impressed that she knew everything in the freaking world.

Smiling, I tugged the wool blanket tighter around me and scooted my folding chair closer to the small fire Robbie had started in the backyard. My mom was beside me, pointedly between my brother and me as we toasted marshmallows and waited for sunrise. I hadn't been outside very long, and my breath steamed in the steadily brightening day. It was a few hours past my normal bedtime, but that's not why my arms shook and my breath was slow. Damn, I was tired.

I'd fully expected to wake up in the hospital or ambulance, and was surprised when I had come to in the back of my mom's car, still at the crime site. Wrapped in an I.S. blanket, I had stumbled out looking for Pierce to find myself in a media circus. Robbie and I had stood in the shadows and watched in awe as my mother worked a system I hadn't even known existed. Through her deadly serious threats disguised as scatterbrained fussing, she not only managed to get the charges against me for willful destruction of private property dropped, but got them to agree that I didn't have anything to do with their doors being blown out, much less fled their custody with an unknown person. The I.S. personnel were more than happy to give my mom whatever she wanted if she would keep her voice down, seeing as three news crews were within shouting distance.

Apparently the vampire I'd helped bring in had a history of such kidnappings, but because of his clout, he'd been getting away with it for years. I hated to go along with the shush work, but I didn't want a record, either. So as long as my mother, Robbie, myself, and the girl kept quiet—her parents being placated with enough money to put Sarah through the university and therapy of her choice—the vampire would be charged with kidnapping, not the stiffer crime of underage enticement.

It didn't bother me as much as I'd thought it would. He was still going to jail, and if vampire justice was like any other kind, he'd probably wake up one night with a wooden spoon jammed through his heart. Vampires didn't like pedophiles anymore than the next guy.

So Robbie's and my trip to the I.S. had been dulled to an anonymous tip, making the I.S. out to be the heroes. Whatever. Along with, the notoriety went any charges they might file against me. Mom had grounded me, though. God, I was nearly nineteen and grounded. What was up with that?

Of Pierce, there had been no sign. No one remembered seeing him apart from my mom.

A sigh shifted my shoulders, coming out as a thin mist catching the pink light of the nearing sunrise.

"Rachel," my mom said, reaching to tug the blanket closed around my neck, "that's the third sigh in as many minutes. I'm sure he will be back."

I grimaced that she knew where my thoughts were, then searched the sky and the strips of clouds throwing back the sun in bands of pink. I'd known he'd be gone by sunrise, but I wished I'd had the chance to say goodbye. "No," I said, bobbing my marshmallow in and out of the flame. "He won't. But that's okay."

My mom gave me a sideways hug. "He looked like he really cared. Who was he?" she asked, and a hint of alarm slipped through me. "I didn't want to ask in front of the I.S. because he rushed off as if he didn't want to be noticed." She huffed, taking my stick with the now-burning marshmallow. "I don't blame him," she muttered as she blew the little fire out. "They would have probably tried to pin the entire kidnapping on him. I don't like vampires. Always shoving their nastiness under a rug or onto someone else's plate."

Fingers gingerly taking the burnt marshmallow off, she smiled, her eyes brilliant in the clear light. In witch years, she wasn't that much older than me, always dressing down to make herself match the other moms in the neighborhood. But the morning light always showed how young she really was.

"So was he someone from school?" she prodded, a small smile dying to come out.

I gestured for her to eat the sticky black mass if she wanted it, and while she was occupied, I glanced nervously at Robbie. He was ignoring me. "Just a guy I met at the square," I offered.

My mother huffed again. "And that's another thing, missy," she said, but it was Robbie who got the thwack of the back of her hand on his shoulder. "You said you were going to the concert."

Robbie shot me a black look. "Aw, Mom, I had to scalp the tickets to get your solstice gift."

It was a lie, but she accepted it, making happy-mom sounds and giving him a marshmallowy kiss on his cheek. "That's where we met Pierce," I said to give some truth to the story. "If we hadn't helped him, no one would."

"You did the right thing," my mom said firmly. "If I toast you a marshmallow, will you eat it, honey?"

I shook my head, wondering if she knew exactly how we had made his acquaintance. Probably, seeing as by the time I got into the kitchen, all evidence of my spelling had been boxed up and was back in the attic.

Robbie took the stick and put a new marshmallow over the fire. He liked them so light brown it was almost not worth doing. "So, I imagine your little adventure has cured you of wanting to go into the I.S.?" he asked, and my head jerked up.

Shocked he would bring it up in front of mom, I stared at him from across the suddenly still figure of my mom. "No." Silent, my mom eased back into her chair and out of the way of the coming argument.

"Look at you," my brother said after a cautious glance at our mom. "You passed out. You can't do it."

"That's enough, Robbie," Mom said, and I flicked my gaze at her, surprised at her support. But Robbie turned in his seat to face her. "Mom, we have to look at it logically. She can't do it, and you letting her believe she can only makes it worse."

I stared at him, feeling like I'd been kicked. Seeing me floundering, Robbie shifted awkwardly. "Rachel is a damn fine witch," he said, suddenly nervous. "She stirred a level eight hundred earth magic arcane spell. Mom, do you know how hard those are? I couldn't do it! If she goes into the I.S., it's going to be a waste. Besides, they won't take her if she passes out at the end of a run."

It had been an arcane spell? He hadn't told me that. Surprise kept my mouth shut, but it was that damned fatigue that kept me in my seat and not pummeling him into the snow. He told her. He never said he wouldn't, but it was an unwritten rule, and he had just broken it.

"You put a level eight hundred arcane spell in front of her?" my mom said crisply, and I paled, remembering her equipment used without her knowledge.

Robbie looked away, and I was glad I wasn't under her angry expression. "I can get her into a great school," he said to the ground. "The I.S. won't accept her, and to keep encouraging her is cruel."

Cruel? I thought, tears starting to blur my vision. Cruel is throwing my hopes in the dirt. Cruel is giving me a challenge, and when I meet it, telling me I lose because I fell down after it was done.

But he was right. It did matter that I had fainted. Worse yet, the I.S. knew it. They would never let me pass the physical now. I was Weak and frail. A weak prissy face.

I sniffed loudly, and my mom glanced at me before turning back to my brother. "Robbie, can I have a word with you?"

"Mom—"

"Now." Her tone was sharp, booking no complaint. "Get in the house."

"Yes, ma'am." Pissed, he stood, dropped his marshmallow and stick into the fire, and stomped inside. I jumped when the screen door slammed.

Sighing heavily, my mom took the stick out of the fire and rose. I didn't look at her when she handed the marshmallow to me. It was all out now, and I couldn't even pretend I had the ability to do what I wanted, do what made my blood pound and make me feel alive.

"I'll be right back," she said, giving my shoulder a squeeze. "I was saving these for the sunrise, but I want you to open them now—before the day begins."

Her thin but strong hands drew from her coat pocket a card and small present, which she set into my lap.

"Happy solstice, sweetheart," she said, and single tear slipped down my cheek as she followed Robbie into the house. I wiped the cold trail away, heartbroken. It just wasn't fair. I had done it. I had summoned a ghost, though not Dad. I had helped save that little girl's life. So why was mine in the crapper?

Setting Robbie's marshmallow to burn, I took off my mittens and ran a cold finger under the seal of the card. Eyes welling, I opened it up to find my I.S. application, signed by my mother. Blinking furiously, I shoved it back in the envelope. I had permission, but it didn't mean anything anymore.

"And what are you?" I said to the box miserably. "A set of cuffs I'll never get to use?" It was about the right size.

I stared at the brightening pink clouds and held my breath. Exhaling, the fog from my lungs seemed to mirror my mood, foggy and dismal. Setting the envelope aside, I opened the box. The tears got worse when I saw what was in it. Cradled in the black tissue paper was Dad's watch.

Miserable, I glanced back at the silent house. She knew what spell I had done. She knew everything, otherwise why give me the watch?

Missing him all the more, I clenched Dad's watch in my hand and stared at the fire, almost rocking in heartache. Maybe things would have been different if he had shown up. I was glad he was at peace and the spell wouldn't work on him, but damn it, my chest seemed to have a gaping hole in it now.

A warm sensation slipped through me, and startled, I sniffed back my tears and sent my eyes to follow a small noise to the side yard. A pair of hands was gripping the top of the wooden fence, and as I wiped my face, a small man in a long coat vaulted over it. Pierce.

"Oh, hi," I said, wiping my face in the hopes he couldn't tell I'd been crying. "I thought you were gone." I dried my hand on my blanket and folded my hands in my lap, hiding my dad's watch and my misery all at the same time.

Pierce looked at the house as he approached, boots leaving masculine prints in the snow. "After seeing your mother at that spawn's house, I had a mind to heed the better part of valor."

A faint smile brought my lips curving upward despite myself. "She scares you?"

"Like a snake to a horse," he said, shuddering dramatically.

He glanced at the house again and sat down in Robbie's spot. I said nothing, noting the distance.

"I couldn't find your home," he said, watching the fire, not me. "The drivers of the public carriages… ah… buses, won't be moved by pity, and it took me a space to figure the Yellow Book."

I sniffed, feeling better with him beside me. "Yellow Pages."

Nodding, he looked at the still burning wad of Robbie's marshmallow. "Yes, Yellow Pages. A man of color took pity on me and drove me to your neighborhood."

I turned to him, aghast, but then remembered he was over a hundred years dead. "It's polite to call them black now. Or African-American," I corrected, and he nodded.

"They are all free men?"

"There was a big fight about it," I said, and he nodded, eyes pinched in deep thought.

I didn't know what to say, and finally Pierce turned to me. "Why are you so melancholy, Miss Rachel? We did it. My soul is avenged and the girl is safe. I'm sure that when the sun rises, I will go to my reward." A nervous look settled in the back of his eyes. "Be it good or bad," he added.

"It will be good," I said hurriedly, my hands gripping the watch as if I could squeeze some happiness out of it. "I'm thrilled for you, and I know you will land on the good side of things. Promise."

"You don't look thrilled," he muttered, and I scraped up a smile.

"I am. Really I am," I said. "It's just that—It's just that I tried to be who I wanted to be, and I—" My throat closed, as if by admitting it aloud, there was no way it could happen. "I can't do it," I whispered. Fighting the tears, I watched the fire, forcing my breathing to stay even and slow.

"Yes, you can…" Pierce protested, and I shook my head to make my hair fly around.

"No, I can't. I passed out. If you hadn't been there, I would have passed out, and he would have gotten away, and it would have been all for nothing."

"Oh, Rachel…" Pierce slid to my mother's chair. His arms went around me and he gave me a sideways hug. Giving up my pretense, I turned into him to make it a real hug, burying my face in his coat. I took a shaky breath, smelling the scent of coal dust and shoe polish. He had a real smell, but then, I'd heard most ghosts did.

"It's not bravery you lack," he said, his words shifting the hair on the top of my head. "That's the most important part. The rest is incidental. Real strength is knowing you can live with your failure. That sometimes you can't get there in time and that your lack might mean someone dies. It was cleverness that captured the vampire, not brute strength. Besides, the strength will come."

It sounded so easy. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe him so bad, it made my chest hurt. "Will it?" I said as I pulled back to see his own eyes damp with tears. "I used to think so, but I'm so damned weak. Look at me," I said derisively. "Wrapped up like a baby, my knees going shaky when I get up to turn the TV channel. I'm stupid to think the I.S. would want me. I should give it up and go out to Portland to be a earth witch, set up a spell shop and…" My eyes started to well again. Damn it! "And sell charms to warlocks," I finished, kicking a snow clod into the fire.

Pierce shook his head. "That's the most dang fool idea I've heard since having ears to hear with again, and I expect I've seen and heard a few fool things since you woke me up. If I might could talk to the dead, I'd ask your father, and I know what he would say."

His language was slipping again; he must be upset. I looked up from where my kicked snow had melted, dampening out the fire to show a patch of wood. "You can't know that," I said sullenly. "You've never even met him."

Still he smiled, his blue eyes catching the brightening light. "I don't need to. I expect a man who raised a young lady with such fire in her would have only one answer. Do what your heart tells you."

A frown pressed my lips together. "I'm too weak," I said, as if that was all there was to it. "Nothing is going to change. Nothing."

I didn't want to talk about it anymore. My hands were cold, and I dropped the watch in my lap to put my mittens back on.

"Hey!" Pierce said, seeing it. "That's mine!"

My mouth dropped open, but in a moment, I looked at him in understanding. "No wonder the charm didn't work. It's your watch?" I hesitated. "Before it was my dad's? Maybe I can try again," I said. But he was shaking his head, clearly wanting to touch it.

"No," he said. "You're his daughter, and your blood that kindled the charm is a closer bond than a bit of metal and fancy. If he had been in a position to come, he would have." An eager light was in his eyes, and licking his lips, he asked, "May I?"

Silently I handed it over.

Pierce's smile was so beautiful that it almost hurt to see it. "It's mine," he said, then quickly amended. "Pardon me. I meant that it once had been. I expect it was sold to pay for the stone they used to keep me from rising up to avenge my wrongful death. See here?" he said, pointing out a dent. "I did this falling into a post to avoid a nasty-tempered nag of a horse."

I leaned to look, finding a small comfort in his history.

"I wonder if my sweetheart's silhouette is still in it," he said, turning it over. My eyebrows rose when he wedged a ragged fingernail into a tiny crack and whispered a word of Latin. The back hinged open, and a folded paper fluttered to the ground.

"That's not it," he said with a sigh, and I picked it up, handing it to him.

"What is it?" I asked, and he shrugged, handing me my dad's watch to unfold the off-white scrap of paper. But then my heart seemed to stop when the scent of my dad's pipe lifted through my memory, rising from the paper itself.

Pierce didn't see my expression, and he squinted at the words. "My little Firefly," he said, and tears sprang into my eyes as I realized who had written them. "I write this on the evening of our day in the leaves as you sleep. You're still a child, but today, I saw the woman-to-be in you—" Pierce's words cut off, and he brought his gaze to my swimming eyes. "This is for you," he said, extending it. His expression looked tragic as he shared my heartache.

"Read it to me," I said, catching a sob. "Please."

Pierce shifted awkwardly, then began again. "Today I saw the woman-to-be in you, and you are beautiful. My heart breaks that circumstance will probably keep me from seeing you reach your full strength, but I'm proud at your courage, and I stand in awe at the heights you will achieve when your strength builds to match your spirit."

I held my breath to keep from crying, but my head started to hurt and a hot tear slipped down.

"Don't be afraid to trust your abilities," he said, voice softening. "You're stronger than you think. Never forget how to live life fully and with courage, and never forget that I love you." Pierce drew the paper from his nose and set it in my lap. "It's signed 'Dad'."

I sniffed, smiling up at Pierce as I wiped my eyes. "Thank you."

"Little Firefly?" he questioned, trying to distract me from my heartache.

"It was the hair, I think," I said, bringing the paper to my nose and breathing deeply the faded scent of pipe smoke. "Thank you, Pierce," I said, giving his hand a soft squeeze. "I never would have found his note if it hadn't been for you."

The young man smiled, running a hand over my hair to push it out of my eyes. "It isn't anything I did a'purpose."

Maybe, I mused, smiling brokenly at him, the spell to bring my dad into existence had worked after all—the only way it could, his love bending the rules of nature and magic to bring me a message from beyond his grave. My dad was proud of me. He was proud of me and knew I could be strong. That was all I had ever wanted, and I took a gulp of air.

I was going to start crying again, and searching for a distraction, I turned to find my mom's gift. "My mom signed my application," I said, fumbling with the envelope beside me with a sudden resolve. "I'm going to do it. Pierce. My dad said to trust in my abilities, and I'm going to do it. I'm going to join the I.S."

But when II turned back to him with my signed application, he was gone.

My breath caught. Wide-eyed, I looked to the east to see the first flash of red-gold through the black branches. From across the city came the tolling of bells, celebrating the new day. The sun was up. He was gone.

"Pierce?" I said softly as the paper in my grip slowly drooped. Not believing it, I stared at where he had been. His footprints were still there, and I could still smell coal dust and shoe polish, but I was alone.

A gust of wind blew on the fire, and a wave of heat shifted my hair from my eyes. It was warm against me, comforting, like the touch of a hand against my cheek in farewell. He was gone, just like that.

I looked at my dad's watch and held it tight. I was going to get better. My stamina was going to improve. My mom believed in me. My dad did, too. Fingers shaking, I folded up the paper and snapped the watch shut around it, holding it tight until the metal warmed.

Taking a deep breath, I sent my gaze deep into the purity of the morning sky. The solstice was over, but everything else? Everything else was just beginning.

About the Author

Born and raised in Tornado Alley, New York Times bestselling author KIM HARRISON now resides in more sultry climates. She rolls a very good game of dice, hangs out with a guy in leather, and is hard at work on the next novel of the Hollows.

For more information, go to www.kimharrison.net.