The Outlaw Demon Wails

Nineteen

The crack of pool balls was pleasant, reminding me of early mornings at Kisten's dance club while I waited for him to finish up with the stragglers and spend some time with me. Eyes shut against the heat of the overhead light, I could almost smell the lingering aroma a hundred partying vampires left behind, mixing with good food, good wine, and just a hint of Brimstone.

No, I didn't have a problem. I wasn't addicted at all. Nope. Not me. But when I opened my eyes and saw Ivy, I wondered.

Doesn't matter, I thought as I went to take my shot and felt the skin around the marks Ivy had put in me pull. This afternoon I might have been scared to tell Ivy she wasn't going to break my skin again, but I'd done it. And it felt good. Like we had really made progress, even though neither of us was going to get what we wanted.

Warming, I focused on the yellow-striped nine as I lined the shot up. So it was Halloween and I was stuck home in jeans and a red top handing out candy instead of wearing leather and lace, bar-hopping with Ivy. At least I was with friends. Holding to my new smart-but-dull-Rachel mission statement, I wasn't ready to trust Tom to do the intelligent thing, and though I was regularly stepping off hallowed ground to raid the fridge, risking a roomful of drunk potential casualties just so I could have a fun night out was a little much.

Ivy agreed, not at all surprised when I told her Tom Bansen of the I.S.'s Arcane Division was the one summoning and releasing Al to kill me. Actually, she laughed, noting, "Least it wasn't crap-for-brains." I was still toying with the idea of filing a demon complaint with the I.S., if only to avoid that spell shop bill, but Ivy said it would be cheaper healthwise to let sleeping demons lie. If nothing happened this next week, I might let it go, but if Al came at me again, I was going to let Tom have it right where it hurt—in the checkbook.

Apart from the annoyance of being stuck home on Halloween, I was in a good mood. Jenks and I were manning the door, and Ivy was in the corner watching a post-Turn comedy classic with lots of chainsaws and a stump grinder. Marshal hadn't called, but after yesterday, I wasn't surprised. My mild disappointment only affirmed my belief that I needed to back off before he slipped into boyfriend status. I really didn't need the trouble.

Exhaling, I tapped the cue ball. It hit the dip by the corner and wobbled into the nine, hitting it perfectly wrong.

The doorbell bonged as I straightened, followed by a chorus of "Trick or treat!"

From under a ceiling of paper bats, Ivy's eyes flicked to mine, and I jerked into motion. "Got it," I said as I propped the cue stick against the wall and headed into the dark foyer with the huge bowl of candy. Ivy had filled the unlit entryway with candles to make it suitably creepy. We had turned the lights off in the sanctuary before midnight to impress the human kids, but now it was all Inderlanders and we didn't bother. A dark candlelit church didn't impress them half as much as a bowl of sugar and chocolate.

"Jenks?" I questioned, and a tight wing hum hit my ear.

"Ready!" he said, then let out an unreal wing chirp to pantomime a squeaky hinge when I opened the door. It was enough to make my teeth hurt, and the assembled kids complained loudly as they covered their ears. Damn pixy was worse than a Were's nails on a chalkboard.

"Trick or treat!" the kids chimed out when they recovered, but it wasn't until they saw Jenks glowing over the candy bowl that their expressions lit in delight, as charmed as the next person by a people-loving pixy. I had to crouch so the littlest one, in a fairy costume with illusionary wings, could reach. She was sweet, wide-eyed, and eager. It was probably the first Halloween she would remember, and I now understood why my mom loved manning the door. Watching the parade of costumes and delighted kids was well worth the sixty bucks I'd spent on candy.

"Ring the bell! Ring the bell!" a kid in a dragon costume demanded as he pointed to the ceiling, and after I set the bowl aside, I reached for the pull, grunting as I yanked the knot almost to my knees. They stared at me in the surprising silence as the rope was jerked back up. An instant later, a deep bong reverberated over the neighborhood.

The kids squealed and clapped, and I shooed them off the stoop, wondering how Bis was handling the noise. In the distance, I heard the faint sound of two more bells from neighboring churches. It was a good feeling—like a distant affirmation of safety and community—and I watched the kids file down to the street to join their moms with strollers and wagons. In the street, vans prowled, creeping slowly amid the flashing lights and flapping costumes. Jenks's carved pumpkin glowed at the base of the stairs like Al's face itself. Damn, I loved Halloween.

Smiling, I waited with the door open until Jenks finished lighting the stairs for the youngest. Across the street, Keasley was sitting on his porch alone to hand out candy. Ceri had left at sunset for the basilica to pray for Quen, walking the distance as if in penance. My brow pinched, and as I shut the door, I wondered if things were really that bad. Maybe I shouldn't have refused to see him after all.

"Ivy, you want a game?" I asked, tired of hitting the same balls around. She at least could sink them.

She looked up and shook her head. There was a clipboard on her drawn-up knees as she sat with her back to the arm of the couch. A broken mug filled with colored pencils was next to her, and she was trying to force spreadsheets and flowcharts to give us the answer as to who killed Kisten. My realization that it had been a man had revitalized her, and her night investigating yesterday had turned up only that Piscary had given Kisten to someone outside the camarilla. That meant we'd be looking for Kisten's killer outside the city, since Piscary wouldn't have given him to a lesser, local vampire. It was only a matter of time though before we'd know who it had been. When Ivy set her sights on prey, she never let go. No matter how long it took.

I ambled over to bug Ivy, since it was her favorite part of the movie and she needed a break. "Just one game," I prodded. "I'll rack 'em."

Ivy's brown eyes were peaceful as she curled her feet under her. "I'm working. Make Jenks big and play with him."

I lifted my eyebrows, and from behind me at the desk still blissfully empty of his kids came Jenks's bark of rude laughter. "Make me big," he scoffed. "No fairy-loving way."

Ivy's attention slid to my wrist, where Kisten's bracelet had been for the last three months, when I handed her the cue. It immediately flicked back to me, accusing, and I tightened my jaw. "You took off Kisten's bracelet."

My pulse increased and I let go of the cue stick. "I took it off," I admitted, feeling the same flash of grief that I had worked through this afternoon when I had placed it in my jewelry box and shut the lid. "I didn't throw it away. There's a difference. Think about it," I finished belligerently.

From behind me came a soft "Uh, ladies?" as Jenks flitted nervously between us. He had no clue what we had talked about while shopping. All he knew was we had left tense and returned with a jar of honey for him and a roll of wax paper for the kids to slide down the steeple on. And that's all he was going to know.

Ivy's expression softened, and then she looked away in understanding. I hadn't thrown the bracelet away, I'd set it aside in memory. "One game," she said as she rose, sleek and lanky in her exercise outfit and the long, baggy sweater she hid half her body behind.

I dropped the chalk into her hand. "I rack, you break."

The doorbell rang, and Ivy sighed. "I'll rack them," she said. "You get the door."

Jenks stayed with Ivy, and content, I swatted aside a low-hanging bat and grabbed the candy bowl. Feeling all was right with the world, I pushed the door open only to have my good mood fade in a flash of annoyance. Trent?

It had to be him. He looked his usual self apart from the fact that he was wearing a baggy suit that was three inches too long and shoes that gave him an extra two inches in height. Obviously he had been in costume. My eyes flicked to the KALAMACK FOR CITY COUNCIL 2008 button, and he reddened. A sports car idled at the curb, its hazard lights flashing, and the door open. Trent's gaze went from the bats behind me to the bruises decorating the underside of my jaw where Al had gripped me, and finally to my new, red-rimmed bites. Maybe he'd think they were a costume. Maybe.

"What the sweet sugar candy-ass do you want?" I said in irritation, then stepped out of his reach in case it was Al in disguise. My thoughts winged back to Quen, and I fought with the urge to demand that he tell me if Quen was all right and the desire to call the FIB and tell them I was being harassed by a Trent look-alike. I had already said no. He wasn't going to change my mind.

Jenks had darted up at my exclamation, and his wings took on a faint orange glow as his circulation increased. "Hey, Ivy—come here for a sec! I know how you like watching Rache kick the bad guys to the curb."

A trio of witches with glowing wands, chattering madly, dodged Jenks's pumpkin and ran up the stairs shouting, "Trick or treat!" Looking pained, Trent brushed his hair from his eyes and stood aside, clearly agitated. Ivy slid up behind me, and I handed the bowl to her when the three boys left amid thank-yous prompted by their moms on the sidewalk. They jumped the last two steps, and I put my fist on my hip, eager to tell Trent to shove it.

"I want you to come with me," he said before I could speak, his voice terse and his attention darting to Ivy.

A hundred rude responses came from nowhere, but what I said was, "No. Go away."

I moved to close the door, shocked when Trent put his foot in the way. I stopped Ivy's reach to shove him back, and Trent's tanned face reddened. Then, with what must have been a Herculean effort, he pulled his foot back and said in a much softer voice, "Why do you have to be difficult?"

"It keeps me alive," I shot back, "but in this case it's fun, too. I'm busy tonight. Get off my front steps so the kids can get up here." How on earth had Jonathan let him come out here on his own? Trent seldom had an entourage, but I'd never seen him alone.

I shooed him off the steps, and his face took on a whisper of fear. "Please."

Jenks rose up in a column of gold sparkles. "Sweet daisies, I think I'm going to crap my silk undies. The cookie maker said please."

Trent's eyes glinted in annoyance. "Please. I'm asking. I'm here for Quen, not myself, and most definitely not you."

I took a breath to answer, but Jenks was way ahead of me. "Go suck a slug egg," he snarled, unusually defensive. "Rachel doesn't owe Quen anything."

Actually, I sort of did—seeing as he saved my butt last year with Piscary—and the beginnings of shame trickled through me. Damn it. If I didn't go visit Quen, I was going to feel guilty the rest of my life. I really hated this growing-up thing.

Ivy crossed her arms and cocked her hip. Trent dropped his gaze, steadying himself. When he brought his attention back to me, I saw a glimmer of fear, not for himself, but for Quen. "He isn't going to live through the night," he said, the calling children in the street a macabre contrast to his words. "He wants to speak to you. Please."

Jenks saw me hesitate, and in a burst of anger, he lit my shoulder with gold sparkles. "Hell no, Rachel. He just wants to get you off hallowed ground so Al can kill you."

I winced, thinking. Quen had given me information before, and people did weird stuff on their deathbed. Last confessions, that kind of thing. I knew I should stay on hallowed ground, but I'd been on and off it all night. I was going to go. I had to. Quen had known my dad. This might be my last and only chance to find out about him.

Ivy saw it in my face, and she grabbed her coat from the peg. "I'm going with you."

My pulse quickened, and Trent's expression turned confused at my change of heart.

"I'll get your keys," Jenks said.

"We'll take my car," Ivy countered, turning to get her purse.

"No," Trent said, stopping her cold. "Only her. No pixies. No vampires. Just her."

Majorly ticked, Ivy looked him up and down.

The two were going to be at each other's throats before we hit the sidewalk, even if Trent did give in and let her come. "None of you are coming," I said firmly. "Trent doesn't live on hallowed ground—"

"Which is exactly why we are going," Ivy interrupted.

"And I can take care of myself easier if I'm not worrying about you." I took a deep breath, my hand coming up to forestall another protest. "Tom isn't going to summon Al. He's afraid I'll send him right back at him." Trent blanched, and I shot him a dry look. "I'll get my stuff," I said, then darted to the kitchen.

Ivy and Jenks were having a hushed argument in the corner when I returned to the foyer, and while Trent watched in silence, I made a point of pulling out my splat gun, checking the hopper, then sliding it into the small of my back. There was a stick of magnetic chalk and the amulets from my run with David earlier, and as Ivy flung her hand in the air and scowled at Jenks, I looped the cord of the heavy-magic detection charm over my head. It would give me a few seconds if Al showed.

"I'll call you in a few hours," I said, and jingling my car keys, I stepped past the threshold and firmly outside the church's influence.

My heart pounded. I heard the excited kids, felt the night. The smell of burning pumpkin was strong, and I waited for a "Hello, Rachel Mariana Morgan" or "Trick or treat, love" in a proper English accent. But there was nothing. Al wasn't going to show. I had taken care of it myself. Yay, team.

Jenks landed on my hoop earring, flying up and away when I reached for him. "You're staying, Jenks."

"Smelly green grass farts, I'm not," he said, darting to Trent and forcing him back a startled step. "Ivy and I discussed it, and I'm going with you. You can't stop me, and you know it. And who's going to help you circle Al if he shows up? Trent? He should be begging me to come with you. He can't stop a demon." The pixy got in the elf 's face. "Or do you have some special talent we aren't aware of?"

Tired, I looked at Trent. The young man frowned. "He can come to the front gate, and that's it," he said. With a smooth grace, he turned and started down the stairs.

"Front gate, my dragonfly's green turds," Jenks muttered.

Worry tightened my chest, and my gaze went to Ivy standing alone with her arms over her middle just inside the door. God, I was so stupid, running off to Trent's stronghold to sit with a dying man. But the guilt, and maybe curiosity, were stronger than my fear.

"You know I want to go," she said, and I nodded. Quen had been bitten by a vampire and had an unbound scar. To ask him to overlook Ivy's presence wasn't going to happen.

"I'll call you when I know something," I said. I hesitated before her, not knowing what else to say, and when Jenks landed on my earring, I headed down the stairs. Seeing me going to the carport, Trent rolled down his window and called, "I'll drive you out, Morgan."

"I'm taking my car," I countered, never slowing. "I'm not going to get stuck at your compound with no way home."

"Suit yourself," he said dryly, then rolled the window up. The hazard lights flicked off, and he waited for me.

I looked to Ivy, who was standing beside Jenks's pumpkin. Somewhere between me opening the door to find Trent and me getting to my car, it had gone out. She didn't look happy, but neither did I. "I hope she's okay," I said as I opened my car door.

"I'm more worried about us, Rache," said Jenks.

Getting in, I slammed the door and settled myself. "Tom's a weenie," I said softly. "He's not going to call Al."

Jenks's wings cooled my neck. "What if someone else does?"

I started the car, the engine rumbling to life with the sound of security. "Thanks, Jenks. I really needed that."