Every Witch Way But Dead th-3 Read online

  There was the tight hum of dragonfly wings faint over the warm air. "Hey, Rache," the small pixy said as he buzzed in. "What's this my kids are saying about an angel?" He jerked to a hovering halt, his eyes wide and his short blond hair swinging as he looked behind me.

  Angel, huh? I thought as I turned to Ceri to introduce her. "Oh God, no," I said, pulling her back upright. She had been picking up the snow I had knocked off my boots, holding it in her hand. The sight of her diminutive form dressed in that exquisite gown cleaning my mess was too much. "Please, Ceri," I said, taking the snow from her and dropping it on the carpet. "Don't."

  A wash of self-annoyance crossed the small woman's smooth brow. Sighing, she made an apologetic face. I don't think she had even realized what she was doing until I stopped her.

  I turned back to Jenks, seeing his wings had taken on a faint red tint as his circulation increased. "What the hell?" he muttered, gaze dropping to her feet. Pixy dust sifted from him in his surprise to make a glittering spot of sun on the gray carpet. He was dressed in his casual gardening clothes of tight-fitting green silk and looked like a miniature Peter Pan minus the hat.

  "Jenks," I said as I put a hand on Ceri's shoulder and pulled her forward. "This is Ceri. She's going to be staying with us for a while. Ceri, this is Jenks, my partner."

  Jenks zipped forward, then back in agitation. An amazed look came over Ceri, and she glanced from me to him. "Partner?" she said, her attention going to my left hand.

  Understanding crashed over me and I warmed. "My business partner," I reiterated, realizing she thought we were married. How on earth could you marry a pixy? Why on earth would you want to? "We work together as runners." Taking my hat off, I tossed the red wool to the hearth where it could dry on the stone and fluffed the pressure marks from my hair. I had left my coat outside, but I wasn't going out to get it now.

  She bit her lip in confusion. The warmth of the room had turned them red, and color was starting to come back into her cheeks.

  In a dry clatter, Jenks flitted close so that my curls shifted in the breeze from his wings. "Not too bright, is she," he pointed out, and when I waved him away in bother, he put his hands on his hips. Hovering before Ceri, he said loudly and slowly as if she were hard of hearing, "We—are—good—guys. We—stop—bad—guys."

  "Warriors," Ceri said, not looking at him as her eyes touched on Ivy's leather curtains, plush suede chairs, and sofa. The room was a salute to comfort, all of it from Ivy's pocketbook and not mine.

  Jenks laughed, sounding like wind chimes. "Warriors," he said, grinning. "Yeah. We're warriors. I'll be right back. I gotta tell that one to Matalina."

  He zipped out of the room at head height, and my shoulders eased. "Sorry about that," I apologized. "I asked Jenks to move his family in for the winter after he admitted he usually lost two children to hibernation sickness every spring. They're driving Ivy and me insane, but I'd rather have no privacy for four months than Jenks starting his spring with tiny coffins."

  Ceri nodded. "Ivy," she said softly. "Is she your partner?"

  "Yup. Just like Jenks," I said casually to make sure she really understood. Her shifting eyes were cataloging everything, and I slowly moved to the hallway. "Um, Ceri?" I said, hesitating until she started to follow. "Do you want me to call you Ceridwen instead?"

  She peeked down the dark corridor to the dimly lit sanctuary, her gaze following the sounds of pixy children. They were supposed to stay in the front of the church, but they got into everything, and their squeals and shrieks had become commonplace. "Ceri, please."

  Her personality was thundering back into her faster than I would have believed possible, going from silence to short sentences in a matter of moments. There was a curious mix of modern and old-world charm in her speech that probably came from living with demons so long. She stopped in the threshold of my kitchen, wide-eyed as she took it all in. I didn't think it was culture shock. Most people had a similar reaction when seeing my kitchen.

  It was huge, with both a gas and an electric stove so I could cook on one and stir spells on the other. The fridge was stainless steel and large enough to put a cow in. There was one sliding window overlooking the snowy garden and graveyard, and my beta, Mr. Fish, swam happily in a brandy snifter on the sill. Fluorescent lights illuminated shiny chrome and expansive counter space that wouldn't be out of place before the cameras of a cooking show.

  A center island counter overhung with a rack of my spelling equipment and drying herbs gathered by Jenks and his family took up much of the space. Ivy's massive antique table took up the rest. Half of it was meticulously arranged as her office, with her computer—faster and more powerful than an industrial-sized package of laxative—color-coded files, maps, and the markers she used to organize her runs. The other half of the table was mine and empty. I wish I could say it was neatness, but when I had a run, I ran it. I didn't analyze it to death.

  "Have a seat," I said casually. "How about some coffee?" Coffee? I thought as I went to the coffeemaker and threw out the old grounds. What was I going to do with her? It wasn't as if she was a stray kitten. She needed help. Professional help.

  Ceri stared at me, her face returning to its numb state. "I…" she stammered, looking frightened and small in her gorgeous outfit. I glanced at my jeans and red sweater. I still had on my snow boots, and I felt like a slob.

  "Here," I said as I pulled out a chair. "I'll make some tea." Three steps forward, one back, I thought when she shunned the chair I offered and took the one before Ivy's computer instead. Tea might be more appropriate, seeing as she was over a thousand years old. Did they even have coffee in the Dark Ages?

  I was staring at my cupboards, trying to remember if we had a teapot, when Jenks and about fifteen of his kids came rolling in, all talking at once. Their voices were so high-pitched and rapid they made my head hurt. "Jenks," I pleaded, glancing at Ceri. She looked overwhelmed enough as it was. "Please?"

  "They aren't going to do anything," he protested belligerently. "Besides, I want them to get a good sniff of her. I can't tell what she is, she stinks of burnt amber so badly. Who is she, anyway, and what was she doing in our garden in her bare feet?"

  "Um," I said, suddenly wary. Pixies had excellent noses, able to tell what species someone was just by smelling them. I had a bad suspicion that I knew what Ceri was, and I really didn't want Jenks to figure it out.

  Ceri raised her hand as a perch, smiling beatifically at the two pixy girls who promptly landed on it, their green and pink silk dresses moving from the breeze stirred by their dragonfly wings. They were chattering happily the way pixy girls do, seemingly brainless but aware of everything down to the mouse hiding behind the fridge. Clearly Ceri had seen pixies before. That would make her an Inderlander if she was a thousand years old. The Turn, when we all came out of hiding to live openly with humans, had only been forty years ago.

  "Hey!" Jenks exclaimed, seeing his kids monopolizing her, and they whirled up and out of the kitchen in a kaleido-scope of color and noise. Immediately he took their place, beckoning his oldest son, Jax, down to perch on the computer screen before her.

  "You smell like Trent Kalamack," he said bluntly. "What are you?"

  A wash of angst took me and I turned my back on them. Damn, I was right. She was an elf. If Jenks knew, he would blab it all over Cincinnati the moment the temperature got above freezing and he could leave the church. Trent didn't want the world to know that elves had survived the Turn, and he would drop Agent Orange on the entire block to shut Jenks up.

  Turning, I frantically waved my fingers at Ceri, pantomiming zipping my mouth. Realizing she wouldn't have a clue what that meant, I put my finger to my lips. The woman eyed me in question, then looked at Jenks. "Ceri," she said seriously.

  "Yeah, yeah," Jenks said impatiently, hands on his hips. "I know. You Ceri. Me Jenks. But what are you? Are you a witch? Rachel's a witch."

  Ceri glanced at me and away. "I'm Ceri."

  Jenks's wings blurred t
o nothing, the shimmer going from blue to red. "Yeah," he repeated. "But what species? See, I'm a pixy, and Rachel is a witch. You are…"

  "Ceri," she insisted.

  "Ah, Jenks?" I said as the woman's eyes narrowed. The question as to what the Kalamacks were had eluded pixies for the entirety of the family's existence. Figuring that out would give Jenks more prestige in the pixy world than if he took out an entire fairy clan by himself. I could tell he was on the edge of his patience when he flitted up to hover before her.

  "Damn it!" Jenks swore, frustrated. "What the hell are you, woman?"

  "Jenks!" I shouted in alarm as Ceri's hand flashed out, snagging him. Jax, his son, let out a yelp, leaving a cloud of pixy dust as he darted to the ceiling. Jenks's eldest daughter, Jih peeked around the archway from the hall ceiling, her wings a pink blur.

  "Hey! Lego!" Jenks exclaimed. His wings made a furious clatter, but he wasn't going anywhere. Ceri had his pant leg between her thumb and forefinger. Her reflexes were better than even Ivy's if she had enough control to be that precise.

  "I'm Ceri," she said, her thin lips tight as Jenks hovered, snared. "And even my demon captor had enough respect that he didn't curse at me, little warrior."

  "Yes, ma'am," Jenks said meekly. "Can I go now?"

  She raised one pale eyebrow—a skill I envied—then glanced at me for direction. I nodded emphatically, still shocked at how quick it had been. Not smiling, Ceri let him go.

  "Guess you aren't as slow as I thought," Jenks said sullenly.

  The ruffled pixy brought the scent of store-bought dirt to me as he retreated to my shoulder, and my brow furrowed when I turned my back on her to poke around under the counter for a teapot. I heard the soft familiar clink of pens, recognizing the sound of Ceri tidying Ivy's desk. Her centuries of slavery were showing again. The woman's mix of meek servitude and quick pride had me at a loss for how to treat her.

  "Who is she?" Jenks whispered in my ear.

  I crouched to reach into the cupboard, pulling out a copper teapot so badly tarnished that it was almost maroon. "She was Big Al's familiar."

  "Big Al!" the pixy squeaked, rising up to land upon the tap. "Is that what you were doing out there? Tink's panties, Rachel, you're getting as bad as Nick! You know that's not safe!"

  I could tell him now. Now that it was over. Very aware of Ceri listening behind us, I ran the water into the teapot and swirled it around to clean it. "Big Al didn't agree to testify against Piscary out of the goodness of its heart. I had to pay for it."

  With a dry rasp of wings, Jenks moved to hover before me. Surprise, shock, and then anger cascaded over his face. "What did you promise him?" he said coldly.

  "It's an it, not a him," I said. "And it's done." I couldn't look at him. "I promised to be its familiar if I was allowed to keep my soul."

  "Rachel!" A burst of pixy dust lit the sink. "When? When is it coming to get you? We have to find a way out of this. There must be something!" He flew a bright path to my spell books under the center island counter and back. "Is there anything in your books? Call Nick. He'll know!"

  Not liking his fluster, I wiped the water off the bottom of the teapot. My boot heels made a dull thumping on the linoleum as I crossed the kitchen. The gas ignited with a whoosh, and my face warmed from embarrassment. "It's too late," I repeated. "I'm its familiar. But the bond isn't strong enough for it to use me if I'm on this side of the ley lines, and as long as I can keep it from pulling me into the ever-after, I'll be okay." I turned from the stove, finding Ceri sitting before Ivy's computer, staring at me with rapt admiration. "I can say no. It's done."

  Jenks came to a sputtering halt before me. "Done?" he said, too close to focus on. "Rachel, why? Putting Piscary away isn't worth that!"

  "I didn't have a choice!" Frustrated, I crossed my arms before me and leaned against the counter. "Piscary was trying to kill me, and if I survived, I wanted him in jail, not free to come after me again. It's done. The demon can't use me. I tricked it."

  "Him," Ceri said softly, and Jenks spun. I had forgotten she was there, she was so quiet. "Al is male. Female demons won't let themselves be pulled across the lines. That's how you can tell. Mostly."

  I blinked, taken aback. "Al is male? Why did he keep letting me call him an it?"

  She lifted her shoulder in a very modern show of confusion.

  My breath came out in a puff and I turned back to Jenks. I started as I found him hovering right before my nose, his wings red. "You're an ass," he said, his tiny, smooth features creased in anger. "You should have told us. What if it had gotten you? What about Ivy and me? Huh? We would have kept looking for you, not knowing what had happened. At least if you had told us, we might have been able to find a way to get you back. Ever think of that, Ms. Morgan? We're a team, and you just stepped all over that!"

  My next outburst died. "But there wasn't anything you could have done," I said lamely.

  "How do you know?" Jenks snapped.

  I sighed, embarrassed that a four-inch man was lecturing me—and had every right to. "Yeah, you're right," I said, slumping. Slowly my arms uncrossed. "I'm just…I'm just not used to having anyone I can depend on, Jenks. I'm sorry."

  Jenks dropped three feet he was so surprised. "You…you agree with me?"

  Ceri's head made a smooth turn to the open archway. Her empty expression went even more so. I followed her gaze to the dark hall, not surprised to find it holding Ivy's lithe silhouette, her hip cocked, hand on her thin waist, looking sleek in her body-tight leather.

  Suddenly wary, I pulled myself from the counter and straightened. I hated it when she just appeared like that. I hadn't even felt the air pressure change when she opened the front door. "Hi, Ivy," I said, my voice still carrying its chagrin from Jenks.

  Ivy's blank gaze matched Ceri's perfectly as she ran her brown eyes over the small woman sitting in her chair. She pushed herself into motion, moving with a living vampire's grace, her boots almost silent. Tucking her long, enviably straight black hair behind an ear, she went to the fridge and pulled out the orange juice. Dressed in her casual leather pants and black tuck-in shirt, she looked like a biker chick gone sophisticate. Her cheeks were red from the cold, and she looked chilled even though she still wore her short leather jacket.

  Jenks hovered beside me, our argument forgotten in the more pressing problem of Ivy finding someone unexpected in her kitchen. My last guest she had pinned to the wall and threatened to bleed; Ivy didn't like surprises. That she was drinking orange juice was a good sign. It meant she had succumbed to that damned blood lust of hers, and Jenks and I would only have to deal with a guilt-strewn vampire instead of an irritable, guilt-strewn, and hungry vampire. She was a lot easier to live with now that she was practicing again.

  "Ah, Ivy, this is Ceridwen," I offered. "She's staying with us until she finds her feet."

  Ivy turned, leaning back against the counter to look predatory and sexy as she took the cap off the jug and drank right from the carton. Like I'd say anything? Ivy's gaze ran over Ceri, then flicked to Jenks's obvious agitation, and then to me. "So," she said, her melodious voice reminding me of torn gray silk on snow. "You wiggled out of your agreement with that demon. Good job. Nicely done."

  My jaw dropped. "How did you know…?" I stammered as Jenks yelped in surprise.

  A faint smile, unusual but honest, pulled the corners of her mouth up. A flash of fang showed, her canines the same size as mine but sharp, like a cat's. She'd have to wait until she was dead to get the extended versions. "You talk in your sleep," she said lightly.

  "You knew?" I said, floored. "You never said anything!"

  "Nicely done?" Jenks's wings clattered like June bugs. "You think being a demon's familiar is a good thing? What train hit you on the way home?"

  Ivy went to get a glass from the cupboard. "If Piscary had been released, Rachel would be dead by sunup," she said as she poured out juice. "So she's a demon's familiar? So what? She said the demon can't use her unless he pulls her into
the ever-after. And she's alive. You can't do anything if you're dead." She took a sip of her drink. "Unless you're a vampire."

  Jenks made an ugly sound and flew to the corner of the room to sulk. Jih took the opportunity to flit in to hide in the ladle hanging over the center counter, the tips of her wings showing a brilliant red above the copper rim.

  Ivy's brown eyes met mine over her glass. Her perfect oval face was almost featureless as she hid her emotions behind the cool facade of indifference she maintained when there was someone in the room beside us two, Jenks included. "I'm glad it worked," she said as she set the glass on the counter. "Are you all right?"

  I nodded, seeing her relief in the slight trembling of her long pianist fingers. She would never tell me how worried she had been, and I wondered how long she had stood in the hallway listening and collecting herself. Her eyes blinked several times, and her jaw clenched in an effort to stifle her emotion. "I didn't know it was tonight," she said softly. "I wouldn't have left."

  "Thanks," I said, thinking Jenks was right. I had been an ass for not telling them. I just wasn't used to having anyone but my mother care.

  Ceri was watching Ivy with a puzzled, rapt attention. "Partner?" she hazarded, and Ivy flicked her attention to the small woman.

  "Yeah," Ivy said. "Partner. What's it to you?"

  "Ceri, this is Ivy," I said as the small woman got to her feet.

  Ivy frowned as she realized the precise order she kept her desk in had been altered.

  "She was Big Al's familiar," I warned. "She needs a few days to find her feet is all."

  Jenks made an eye-hurting noise with his wings, and Ivy gave me a telling look, her expression shifting to an annoyed wariness when Ceri came to stand before her. The small woman was peering at Ivy in confusion. "You're a vampire," she said, reaching to touch Ivy's crucifix.

  Ivy sprang back with a startling quickness, her eyes flashing black.

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I said as I stepped between them, ready for anything. "Ivy, take it easy. She's been in the ever-after for a thousand years. She may not have seen a living vampire before. I think she's an Inderlander, but she smells like the ever-after so Jenks can't tell what she is." I hesitated, telling her with my eyes and my last sentence that Ceri was an elf, and therefore a loose cannon as far as magic was concerned.