Chapter Thirty-four

The hem of my lacy bridesmaid dress whispered over the cracked gray tile in Edden's office. Sitting hunched in the chair before his desk, I nervously bobbed my foot. The FIB captain had taken possession of my elbow the moment I crossed the Federal Inderland Bureau seal inlaid in the floor of the lobby, dragging me into his office and telling his guide, Rose, to keep me here before stomping out in search of coffee, his son, Glenn, and a first impression that didn't come from me. That had been ten minutes ago. Unless he was grinding the beans himself, or waiting for Glenn to get back from Detroit, I figured he'd come in knowing more than I did.

The jitters had started. It was growing noisy in the lobby, voices raised in protest and demand. By the sound of it, the entire wedding party was out there. I glanced at Jenks, perched on Edden's pencil cup. He looked unusually nervous, having opted to stay with me instead of hanging with Edden as was his habit when we were at the FIB. Leaving the present on the floor, I stood to shake out my dress and went to peek past the blinds. I was getting the distinct idea that Edden hadn't known I was going after Trent Kalamack this evening.

"Maybe we should've gone to the I.S?" Jenks said, his wings making a distracting hum.

"The I.S!" I said, turning to gape at him. "Are you crazy?"

It sounded as if Mr. Ray was close to losing it, and wincing, I reached for the blinds, jerking my hand back when the door scraped open.

Edden stomped in, the muscular, almost squat man so close to my height that it didn't matter. He was in his usual khakis and white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, but the outfit had lost its just-pressed look sometime between dragging me in here and getting the two waxed-paper cups of capped coffee he had sandwiched between a hairy arm and chest.

Feeling guilty, I let the blinds slip from my fingers. The lacy dress made me feel stupid, and I tucked a wayward strand that had escaped my elaborate braid behind an ear and stood with my hands clasped before me like fig leaves. I felt about as vulnerable as if I had been naked, too. Edden had been instrumental in helping me save my butt when I'd quit the I.S., but he had his own bosses to please, and he didn't look happy. Of all the humans I'd met, only his adopted son, Glenn, and my old boyfriend, Nick, were more comfortable with my being... not human.

His round face creased, he set both coffees on the desk and dropped into his chair on the exhale. Captain Edden was not tall, and the first hints of a soft widening of his waist added to his comfortable, late-fifties look. His military background showed in his quick mannerisms and slow decisions, only accentuated by the black hair cropped close to his skull. Lacing his stubby fingers across his middle, he stared at me in annoyance. His mustache was showing more gray than it had last time, and I couldn't help but cringe at the accusing look in his brown eyes.

Jenks clattered his wings as if in apology, and the captain glanced at him as if he ought to have known better before turning his disapproving attention back to me. "Would you be more comfortable running my department from my chair, Rachel?" he said, and I shifted forward to take a coffee just to have something between him and me. "What did you think you were doing, arresting Kalamack at his own wedding?" he added, and I sat down, the focus between my feet.

As if this were good news, Jenks brightened, flying up to land closer to the FIB captain to look satisfied and relieved. I thought it totally unfair that though Jenks and I were partners, I'd be the only one to suffer for any trouble we got into. Pixies were never held accountable for their actions. But then they usually didn't involve themselves this deep in "big people" affairs.

"If I arrested him anywhere else, he would have buried me," I said, singeing my finger and spilling some coffee when I removed the lid. Disgusted with myself, I sopped up the rivulet with my worn shoulder bag before it could drip to my dress. Jeez, I felt like one of those wackos haunting Fountain Square, with my ratty bag, my wrapped gift holding the focus, and wearing a gown that cost more than a semester of tuition.

"You being dead would make my life easier." Edden's face was tight when he leaned to get his coffee. "Listen to that! "he exclaimed, gesturing at the unseen lobby. "My people don't know how to handle this. That's why the I.S. exists! And you bring them all here? To me?"

"I thought you knew what I was doing," I said. "Glenn - "

My words cut off when Edden lifted a hand. His anger slid away, replaced with a rueful pride for his adopted son. "No," he muttered, his eyes dropping to the desk. "He slipped the paperwork in with the requisitions for the company picnic. You're invited, by the way."

"Thanks," I said, wondering if I'd live that long. Depressed, I took a sip of coffee, glad the FIB had their priorities in order and bought the good stuff.

Edden frowned, his pride at Glenn's bucking the system to further justice now fading back to anger. "Kalamack left the species box blank on his statement," he said. "You know what that means?" I took a breath to answer, but he had rushed ahead with, "It means he's not saying if he's Inderland or human and is accepting FIB jurisdiction. I have to deal with this. Me. And you want me to pay you for dumping this crap on me?"

My jaw clenched. "He broke the law," I said hotly.

The unusually enlightened human sighed, his entire body moving. "Yes, he did."

For a moment there was silence. Then Edden took the lid off his coffee. "Piscary is in my lobby," he said tightly. "He says you want to talk to him. How am I supposed to keep you alive through your testimony when Piscary comes to my department to kill you?"

I glanced at Jenks, who was starting to shed a faint trail of glittering dust in agitation. "Piscary didn't come here to kill me," I said, hiding my jitters behind a sip of coffee. "I asked him here. I want to arrange some protection from him for me and Kisten."

Edden went markedly still as I guiltily swallowed more coffee and set the cup down. The acidic drink hit my stomach, where it sat to make me feel ill. Piscary was a sick wacko - and the only one who could protect me and rescind Kisten's blood gift.

"You're buying protection from Piscary?" Edden shook his head, his few wrinkles deepening. "He wants you dead. You put him in jail. He's not going to forget that just because he's out. And the word is he made a blood gift out of your boyfriend." His gaze fell from mine in shame. "Rachel, I'm sorry. I can't do anything about that."

A hot feeling of betrayal rose through me, of innocence lost. I knew that nothing could stop Piscary from getting away with treating Kisten like a box of Godiva, but damn it, these were the people who were supposed to keep us safe from the big-bad-uglies. I hated this, but what I hated more was that I had to work in such a depraved system to stay alive. Like I have much choice?

"I'm sorry," Edden said again, and I glanced at him ruefully so he would know that I understood his position. Hell, I was standing right next to him.

Jenks's wings clattered, and I shifted the split in my dress to show the present sitting between my feet. My butt-kicking boots looked really odd down there, but I was glad I'd worn them. "I've got something he wants more than revenge," I said, praying I hadn't overestimated its worth. Though it grated on every fiber of my being, this had to work. It had to.

Edden bent forward to see the blue-foiled package, then leaned back. "I don't want to know what's in there. I really don't want to know."

I let my hem cover it. "I thought this was the safest place to hammer out an agreement with Piscary," I said meekly.

"My office?" he barked.

"Well..." I hedged. "Maybe a conference room?"

Edden's brown eyes went wide in disbelief, and I started to get a little upset. "Edden," I cajoled, "I don't have anywhere else to go. Kalamack is responsible for the deaths of those Weres. I'm trying to save my own butt here. All I have to do is swim through the crap to get to it. Now, are you going to throw me a preserver, or do I have to dog paddle the whole way by myself?"

He tilted his head to see the clock on the wall above and behind him. I could almost read his thoughts. Why couldn't I have waited a few hours when he would have been off-shift?

"I wish you would include me in your thought processes," he said dryly.

"Just pretend you're still in the military," I said, hearing our conversation ending.

"Yeah," he said with a rueful chuckle as he stood. "I'd be safer on a front line than working with you." He took up his coffee and gestured to the door. "After you. The sooner we're done with this, the sooner I can go home."

Jenks's wings buzzed to life, and I stood, taking a moment to gather my present, my bag, and my composure. The butterflies had turned to fireflies, cramping my stomach. Edden opened the door, and when the noise hit me, I balked, thinking about how I needed the rush of danger to remind myself I was alive. Adrenaline junkie? I was embarrassed to admit that Jenks was probably right. It explained way too many things for me to simply dismiss because it was a stupid way to live. I couldn't help but wonder if I hadn't misjudged the risk this time and if it was going to turn around and bite me. But some of this wasn't my fault.

Landing upon my shoulder, Jenks said, "That little charm shop is looking mighty good right about now, eh, Rache?"

"Shut up, Jenks," I muttered, but I let him stay where he was -  needing him.

Edden came to a halt beside Rose's desk and gazed over the maelstrom of officers trying to deal with upset Inderlanders. They looked as if they were doing okay. Maybe the essays Edden had asked me to write up for their handbook were helping.

Piscary was standing off a little by himself, his inquiring eyes on me and his grip possessively on Ivy as Skimmer spoke lawyer to a nervous woman with a clipboard. They were all sitting down, and my heart clenched at Ivy's blank stare. It was like she wasn't there. The news crews were visible through the black windows, lights glaring in the fog as they clustered outside the doors like wannabes trying to get into a club.

"I meant to tell you that's a pretty dress," the captain said, not looking at me as he rocked from heel to toe with his hands behind his back. "The boots are a nice touch."

I looked at them and sighed. "My foot hurts. They help." My foot, my arm, my back - they all ached like crazy. I felt like I'd been in a fight, not sleeping in Ivy's chair. God, I hope she's okay.

Edden chuckled at my dry sarcasm. "I thought you simply liked stomping around in them." Turning away, he gestured for a thin officer who looked less harried than the rest. "I hope you can work something out for your boyfriend."

Jenks's wings fanned faster. "Thanks," I said, carefully tucking away a strand of hair.

"Why don't you find a nice witch?" Edden said, shifting back a step to make room for the approaching officer. "Take the opportunity to get some space between you and Mr. Felps. I care what happens to you, and I hate to see you getting involved in vampire politics. People die when they do that."

I couldn't help my smile. "Gee, thanks, Dad. Can I have my driving privileges back?"

His eyes glinted. "You're grounded until you clean up your room, and you know it."

From my shoulder came a tiny snort, but Jenks was too close to see. Clean my room? I suppose that was a suitable metaphor. I had certainly put the city in a mess.

The officer that Edden had pulled from the melee stopped expectantly before us, and Edden drew him close. "Where's Kalamack? Ms. Morgan needs a room, and I don't want her anywhere near him."

I huffed in insult, and the man gave me an apologetic glance. "He's in five, but three is available," he said.

"No way," I said tightly. "I am not getting in a little interview room with Piscary. I want a conference room. Big enough so that I can have a few witnesses." And kick some vampire ass if I need to.

Edden crossed his arms over his chest to turn immovable. "Witnesses?"

"Witnesses." I gripped the focus tighter. This wouldn't work unless everyone knew I didn't have it anymore. "I want Mr. Ray and Mrs. Sarong." I turned to look over the open offices, each one occupied with a belligerent Inderlander and one or two nervous but doggedly determined FIB officers. "Quen," I said, finding him standing alone and on the phone as if none of this was touching him. "And Al," I finished, finding the demon flirting with the receptionist, now glowing from the attention of someone she thought was a wealthy eligible bachelor in a tux. Ellasbeth's dad was behind him, the upright man looking like he was ready to whip out his checkbook right here if it would help get his daughter married.

"Al?" Edden said, following my gaze to his receptionist, handing her phone number to the smiling man. "That's Mr. Saladan. Piscary said he exorcised the demon from him. My people have seen him in the sun."

I shook my head, feeling Al's gaze on me. "Piscary's lying. That's still Al."

The FIB officer with the clipboard paled. "That's a demon?" he squeaked.

Edden's brow furrowed. Putting a thick hand on each of our shoulders, he turned our backs to the room, all the while scanning the surrounding people to decide if they had heard him. "Rachel," he said, voice hushed but intent, "I'm not set up to deal with this situation."

His hand was warm through the lace on my shoulder, and I shivered. "Neither am I, but here I am. I can do this, Edden. I just need a quiet room. Your people don't have to do anything. No one's going to get hurt." But I couldn't promise it.

He was silent in thought. Deep concern in his gaze, he looked at the package in my hands, then turned to the officer with us. "How messy is Camelot?"

Camelot? I mused, and the man in question fidgeted. I could smell his fear on him, and Piscary, was watching him. "It's full of mailings," the officer said. "June's newsletters still have to go out."

Edden's frown deepened. "It's the only room with a two-way that will hold all of them."

"Two-way!" I scoffed. "I want a room, not an FIB audience."

"I'm not going to let you go into a room alone with those people," Edden said. "You put me here, Morgan, and you're going to do it my way."

Jenks stifled a snicker, and I cocked my hip, copping an attitude in black lace and butt-kicking boots. "Whatever," I said, knowing I was at his mercy.

Satisfied, Edden drew the FIB officer even closer. "Grab a couple of guys and get the table cleared off. And have someone get Ms. Morgan's wish list in there."

My neck grew cold as Jenks took flight. "I'll get them," he offered, and the FIB officer looked relieved. Edden started to protest, but upon seeing Jenks already fronting the two Weres, he hesitated. Piscary was next, falling into step behind them. From his corner, Quen closed his phone and rocked forward before Jenks reached him, giving the pixy a nod. Al noticed the mass exodus and joined them, kissing the receptionist's hand in farewell.

"Damn," Edden swore softly, taking my elbow and angling us to the top of the hallway ahead of them. "I need to get me a pixy on the payroll."

I couldn't help my smile. "They're expensive," I warned him.

The comforting blank walls took us in, and the noise behind us dulled. "I thought they worked for sugar water and nectar," Edden said, and I slowed as I noticed we were passing interrogation rooms.

"I meant in terms of loyalty," I clarified, pulling him to a stop when I found Trent's room. A soft murmur came from behind the door, and when he saw my expression, Edden's face went hard. There was one more person I wanted to be present. Quen wasn't enough. I wanted Trent.

"No," Edden said, clearly knowing why I'd stopped, then pressed back against the walls as the Weres, Al, Quen, and Piscary all passed before us in silent expectation. Mrs. Sarong's heels clicked smartly, and Al gave me an amused grin over his smoked glasses. Quen was silent, his shoulders tense under the expensive fabric of his tux. Jenks was with them, and I gave him a nod as he went along to serve as my ears.

Skimmer and Ivy were with Piscary, and my heart clenched as Ivy did nothing when I tried to catch her eyes. She looked pale and empty, her perfect face still blank and beautiful, graceful in her sophisticated gray dress. It hurt to see her like that, and the memory of her voice rang in my head, the broken sound when she had begged me to keep the sun away from her after Piscary had raped her body and her blood and she thought she was dead. Pulling back, I forced myself to keep from reaching out to give her a shake. Piscary smiled in smug satisfaction at my pain, his hand upon the small of her back as he guided her forward.

I watched until they turned the corner. How could I do nothing? How could I stand here and watch her go by without doing something? She was my friend. Hell, she was more. And with that thought I felt my face go cold.

Kisten and Ivy offered me the same chance at finding blood ecstasy, Kisten's offer packaged in a way my upbringing would have no problem dealing with, yet I'd said no to him. Continually. All the while, I was courting disaster trying to battle both my preconceived notions of myself and the risk of death to find the same thing with Ivy. Why?

And I closed my eyes, shutting out the world as I hammered the thought home. I wanted something lasting with Ivy. Yes, this spring I had come to grips with the idea that I'd probably moved into the church unconsciously hoping she'd bite me. True, I had beaten her off a few times before in fear, but I couldn't bring myself to do it anymore if the van incident this spring was any indication. I made no apology for wanting to try to find a blood balance with her. But only now did I realize what that meant. I was talking about a life commitment. Just because it might not involve sex didn't make it any less important or lasting.

"No way, Rachel," Edden said, and I stared in panic until I realized he was talking about my wanting Trent with us, not the possibility of Ivy and me together. Bound by blood and friendship. That it didn't necessarily preempt a secondary, more traditional relationship with a man - with Kist? - only added to the scary factor.

Edden's head tilted in confusion at my deer-in-the-headlights expression, and I dropped my gaze, feeling dizzy. Crap, why did I always pick the best times to figure things out?

"I need Trent there," I said, pressing the focus to my middle. "If he doesn't see me give this thing to Piscary, then it doesn't do me any good."

Edden grimaced, making his mustache stick out. "Quen can tell him."

The door to Trent's interrogation room opened, cutting our argument short. The FIB officer stopped, but it was too late, Trent had followed him out, accompanied by a second man in a suit. His lawyer, probably.

Trent looked totally unlike himself, yet nothing significant had changed. He was still dressed in his wedding finery, he still walked with grace; but there was an eerie wariness that had been absent before. His gaze fastened on mine with the usual intensity, but the edge of icy hatred was new. Disturbingly controlled, he drew himself upright, hiding the fatigue born of his efforts to lie his way out of his heinous crimes.

"Trent needs to be there," I blurted, trying to muddle things more. "He's a council member until proven guilty, and he needs to be present. This involves the city's security. You want to wait around for someone else to show up? You're pretty good if you think you can put a master vampire in a room with two alpha Weres, a demon, and a... a whatever Quen is," I said, remembering to keep his elven heritage a secret.

"Rachel..." Edden warned, but I had given Trent all he needed.

"If there is a city security issue, I have a right to be present," he said, regaining a modicum of his usual crisp presence. Trent didn't know what I was doing, but clearly I was trying to include him in it, and despite his probably wanting to put out a contract on me for tagging him, he'd go along with it. All things in their own time, apparently.

The officer and the suit flanking him had a hushed conversation, and when the FIB guy shrugged, Edden sighed. "Damn it, Rachel," he muttered, squeezing my elbow. "This is not how I do things."

Tired, I said nothing as I waited for his decision. My thoughts went to Ivy, then Kist.

The squat ex - military man rubbed a hand over his chin and took a firmer stance. "I'm in there with two other men."

"Just you, and you can cuff him to a chair," I came back.

Trent's frown deepened until it showed on his forehead. We all had to press back against the walls as three harried-looking officers carrying boxes of blue paper and envelopes passed. Apparently the room was cleaned up, and I started getting nervous again.

"All right," Edden said sourly. "Mr. Kalamack, would you please accompany me? Ms. Morgan seems to want to have a town meeting. We'll get you back to your processing as soon as possible so you can make bail."

Bail! I thought, not having imagined they would even offer it.

Trent saw my startled expression, and he allowed a hint of smugness to show. "Thank you, Captain. I would appreciate that."

Jenks flitted into the hallway to hover by the door. "Okay, Rache. They're all yours."

Mine, I thought as I steadied myself and followed Edden and Trent. But what by Tink's little red shoes was I supposed to do with them, now that I had them?

Chapter Thirty-five

Edden escorted Trent into the room ahead of me. Hesitating in the hall, I tugged the lacy collar of my dress straight, tucked a stray curl behind an ear, hiked my shoulder bag up, took a tighter grip on the wrapped present, and wished I could run to the bathroom.

"Charm shop," Jenks taunted from my shoulder, and I made a rude noise. There was a mild stir as everyone reacted to Trent's appearance. It wasn't going to get any easier. Knowing that Ivy was already in there, I squared my shoulders and walked in.

I scanned the room and saw where the Camelot remark had come from. A round table with its attendant half circle of chairs took up the right side of the large, rectangular room. Between it and the two-way mirror to my left was a wide space that gave me the impression of a stage. At the far right was a coffee-stained counter with a sink, covered in anything anyone could possibly use to put together a presentation: tatty binder clips, scratched report covers, three-hole paper punches, and a massive paper cutter that looked like it could chop wood for a campfire.

Piscary and Ivy sat at the back near the counter, Skimmer's thin grace standing submissively behind them in her strict black business suit. A flash of nervousness went through me, shortly followed by self-disgust. I was going to buy protection from the same man who had abused Ivy and given Kisten's death to someone as a thank-you gift. But what choice did I have? Someone powerful had to hold the focus. It didn't matter whether I liked him or not if he could keep me and Kisten alive and prevent a worldwide Inderland power struggle.

The two Weres sat near the middle of the table across from the door. Upon seeing me enter, Mrs. Sarong yanked Mr. Ray back into his seat before he could make an ass of himself. Trent was sitting beside the door, with Edden looming behind him. The elf wasn't in cuffs. Across from them Quen stood with his arms over his chest, looking good in his tux/uniform.

My attention went to Al. He was a vision of upright elegance in his black tux, standing with his back to me before the two-way mirror. The demon was breathing heavily on the glass to mist it up, using a gloved finger to scribe ley line symbols I couldn't understand. I didn't want to imagine the fear of the men and women watching behind the glass.

Al turned, beaming over his round smoked glasses. "Rachel Mariana Morgan," he drawled, his accent proving that despite looking like Lee, he was all Algaliarept. "Watching you cuff Trenton was extre-e-e-emely entertaining. What will you do for your next trick?"

Glowering beside Mrs. Sarong, Mr. Ray grumbled, "Pull a flaming bunny out of her ass, maybe?"

Quen stifled a smirk, and I came forward, boots clunking and dress furling. Jenks left me for the overhead lights in a soft hum. Only Quen and Al watched him go, the rest clueless as to how much of a threat he was up there. The gown made me feel stupid, but everyone was overdressed. I tried to get Ivy's attention as I stood at the table a few chairs down, with Trent between me and Al. She never looked up, her gaze fixed on the nothing and her face peacefully blank. Skimmer let her hatred show, and I ignored the sophisticated, pretty, blond vamp.

I set the package and my shoulder bag on the table, pushing them together as I gathered my thoughts. "Thanks for meeting me here, Piscary," I said, forcing my hand off my aching upper arm. "You are the foulest thing I've ever seen, but I hope we can come to some agreement." God, I'm such a hypocrite.

Piscary smiled while petting Ivy's hand, and when Al took a breath to say something, I turned. "Shut up," I demanded, and he huffed, though I could tell he thought it all a big joke. "You're here as witnesses. All of you. That's it."

There was a nervous shifting of position from everyone but Quen, and, satisfied, I touched my stuff on the table and tried not to think about my full bladder. "Okay," I said, and Trent smiled mockingly at my nervousness. "As you all probably figured out, I still have the focus."

Mr. Ray stiffened, and Mrs. Sarong's grip on his wrist tightened.

"I've got the focus," I continued when he settled back. "And all of you want it." I sent my gaze to my right. "Trent, I imagine you want it for a power play, seeing as you offered me an insane amount of money for it." And killed three Weres, but why bring that up?

"We double his offer," Mrs. Sarong said crisply, and Trent laughed outright, bitter and mocking. It was a new side to him, and it wasn't attractive. The woman turned scarlet, and Mr. Ray hunched over, looking uncomfortable.

"It's not for sale," I said, before anyone else could interrupt, then turned to Piscary. "Piscary, you want me dead for obvious reasons," I added. "And so does Trent, probably, by now."

"Don't forget me, love," Al said, turning his back on the mirror. "I just want you for an hour. One hour and this would all go away."

Jenks clattered his wings in warning, and I steadied myself. "No," I said, though my stomach was starting to hurt. An hour with him would become an eternity.

Mr. Ray himself tugged out from under Mrs. Sarong's grip. "Give it to me or I'll hunt you down like an animal and take it." Then the man jumped, and Mrs. Sarong's smile made me speculate about what she had done to him under the table. Gold pixy dust sifted down to put the Were in a temporary sunbeam, and Mr. Ray looked up in surprise, clearly having forgotten about Jenks.

Wondering if he had just been pixed, I stifled a smirk. "Yes," I said dryly. "I know. Which is why I'm talking to Piscary, not you."

There was a heartbeat of silence, and Mr. Ray surged to his feet. "No!" he bellowed, his round face flashing red. "You sorry little whippet. You can't give it to that undead bast - "

His words cut off when Quen put a hand on his shoulder and shoved him down. "Close your mouth," Quen said. "Listen before you draw your battle lines, lest you alienate your allies."

Oh, that sounds just peachy damn keen. But at least it was quiet. Shifting my weight to my other foot, I glanced at Al - who was starting to match Mrs. Sarong in terms of pissed-off-ness, to Trent, who was clearly thinking furiously, and finally to Piscary. The undead vamp was smiling like the benevolent god he believed he was. A honey-hued hand sat atop the pale purity of Ivy's, and I imagined he thought I was going to barter the focus for her and Kisten. I wanted to, but Keasley was right. She had to escape him on her own, or she would never be free of him.

"I'll give it to Piscary," I said as sweat trickled down my spine. "But I want something."

All eyes were on me. Piscary's smile widened. He slipped an arm behind Ivy and pulled her gently close. There was barely a flicker behind her brown eyes. "Ivy is mine," he said.

My breath shook as I exhaled. "Ivy belongs to herself. I want you to rescind the blood gift you made of Kisten, take him back into your camarilla, and give me protection from yourself and those yahoos," I said as I tossed my head to indicate everyone else in the room. "I also want my church back, and the freedom to pursue my business interests without interference."

Trent stiffened. Quen uncrossed his arms and took a more balanced stance. Al turned completely around from where he'd been scribing more ley line symbols on the two-way mirror. Piscary blinked in surprise. "Kisten?" he murmured in question. "You want... Kisten?"

"Yes, I want Kisten back under your protection," I said belligerently. "Will you rescind his blood gift or not? "

Piscary made a small sound of surprised consideration. Then, as if shifting his thoughts, he said, "You would have to restrain from persecuting me, of course."

"That's not fair," Al protested indignantly. "I'm trying to get Cincinnati's gambling and protection, and that gives you an unfair advantage. I want a witch on my payroll, too."

I gritted my teeth. I will not put myself on Piscary's payroll. I will not. "I can work on that," I said to Piscary. "It depends upon how much you tick me off."

The small man in his traditional Egyptian robes steepled his fingers in consideration. "You want me to rescind my gift of Kisten, take him back into my graces, grant you protection from all of them," he said with an elegant gesture, "and have me still be subject to your unique sense of moral outrage?"

Al's shoes clicked smartly, and everyone tensed as he came to the table. Clearly enjoying everyone's unease at his approach, Al sat with a provocative motion at the head of the table. "I'll say it again, Rachel Mariana Morgan. You're not shy about asking for things."

I wished he'd stop using all my names. "Look," I said, seeing Edden relax now that the demon was sitting. "I know what the focus is, what it does, and that it works. I've got it, and I won't give it away for nothing." My gaze slid to Trent's. "And money doesn't keep me alive."

"I can keep you alive," he said, his gray voice confident, though Edden stood behind him to cart him off to a cell if he couldn't make bail. "You underestimate me if you think I can't."

I grimaced as I remembered him offering me an island to get me out of the city and under his thumb. I still didn't know why. Maybe because he'd known that my blood could kindle demon magic? But he was afraid of black magic. It didn't add up.

"Thanks, but no," I said tightly. "I'd rather deal with the undead." Mrs. Sarong was looking at my shoulder bag as if she might snatch it, and I pulled it closer. "The focus will cause more turmoil than the Turn. I can't destroy it without twisting demon magic, and despite what you all think, I avoid it when I can." I took a deep breath, turning to Piscary. "I'm assuming you will keep it hidden and on this side of the lines so the Weres don't overthrow vampire superiority?" I asked, and he nodded, the light glistening on his shaven scalp.

"They are not superior to us!" Mr. Ray bellowed, and Mrs. Sarong edged her chair away in a show of distancing herself from him, clearly tired of his lack of grace.

"And that's why you want it so bad?" I said sharply. "Without the focus you're second, maybe third, on the food chain. Deal with it. Everyone else does."

Tension had pulled all my muscles tight. I was losing control. Edden had a weapon, but there were two predators and one elven warrior in here, all deadly on their own.

Piscary alone looked confident. "You're afraid," he breathed, the rim of brown about his eyes starting to disappear. "You smell... so good."

Adrenaline dove through me, followed by the memory of him pinning me to the floor of his apartment, licking the blood from my elbow on his way to my neck. "And you stink like three-day-old carrion under your pheromones and witch charms. Do we have a deal or not?"

"Perhaps," he said shortly. "But you ask for too much. I'm going to have my hands full trying to keep that fluffy ball of damnation under control," he said, glancing at Al, as his smile grew to show his fangs. "That's why they let me out. I must do my civic duty."

Behind him Skimmer shifted uneasily, and glanced nervously at her. "You mean Al?" I questioned when the demon leaned back and put his shiny dress shoes on the table in satisfaction. "No problem. I'll have him back in the ever-after as soon as I make an interdimensional phone call."

I wasn't a demon practitioner. I wasn't.

"You little canicula!" Al swore, his feet hitting the tile as he stood. His glasses slipped, and he fumbled for them. "You can't! You don't know anyone's summoning name but mine!"

Edden moved, drawing his weapon. The safety clicked off, and Al stumbled to a halt, remembering he had a body now that couldn't go misty. Quen was tense, and Trent was stiff in his chair. I was the nearest to him, but he knew I wouldn't protect his lame elf ass. Besides, he was looking at me as if I had sprouted black wings with matching tail and horns.

Piscary, though, was as cool and calm as ever, Skimmer behind him looking scared at last, and Ivy blinking, the faintest worry lines showing upon her forehead. Compared to Piscary, Al was weak now, trapped in a witch's body and capable of doing only what Lee could. "You can't banish him," the undead vampire said coolly. "Not with him possessing another."

I lifted one shoulder in a nervous shrug. "Someone in the ever-after owes me a favor. Al's over here hiding from trouble. If I blow the whistle, someone will pick him up."

"You bitch!" Al howled, jerking when Edden aimed his weapon. "You don't know anyone but Newt, and Newt doesn't have a summoning name. Who gave you their name?"

"He's back into the ever-after?" Piscary said, smiling again to show his fangs.

"And out of your territory." My fingers trembled, and I glanced at Trent, bothered by his look of horror. "Territories," I added to make it plural, not liking that Trent thought I dealt in demons. "I'll do that for you for free, Trent."

Trent shook his head, his fair hair floating in the breeze of the building's air. "You consort with demons," he whispered, then turned to Quen, looking betrayed. Everyone he thought was untainted was not. Seemed like Trent had his own problems.

"I don't," I said, unclenching my teeth before I gave myself a headache. "Someone in the ever-after owes me. You have a problem with my calling in a favor to get rid of Al? "

His confidence shaken, Trent asked, "What did you give a demon for a favor owed?"

Stomach cramping, I turned to Piscary. "Do we have a deal or not?"

The vampire smiled to make me shudder. "Very much so."

Al growled, and as Edden held him at gunpoint, I shoved the package down the entire length of the table. "Mazel tov," I said, depressed, anxious, and jittery.

"It was the gift?" Trent stammered. "You brought it to the wedding?"

"Yup," I said with a false brightness. I felt sick. Buying Kisten's and my safety from Piscary was so wrong. But it was either that or deal with a demon, and I'd rather keep my soul clean and let my morals get dingy. I guess. But I felt filthy. This wasn't who I wanted to be.

"Son of a bitch..." Al said as Piscary's long fingers stretched forward to take it.

"Rachel!" Jenks shouted from the ceiling. "Get down!"

My breath hissed. Not looking, I dropped. The flat of my arms hit the tile, and I saw Al's feet move toward me. I rolled under the table to Quen. But Quen was gone.

"Get down!" Edden's voice bellowed, strong and demanding. I was on my hands and knees under the table, and I tensed for a gunshot. It never came.

A guttural snarl erupted from the back of the room, and I gasped when Al fell into my sight on the floor. Piscary was atop him. The undead vampire had launched himself across the room. He was protecting me. I had paid him to keep me alive, and that's what he was doing.

Shocked, I scrambled up.

Quen and I had exchanged places. The warrior elf had Trent backed into a corner by the door. Edden was standing before them, gun trained on Al. The Weres were by the back counter, wide-eyed. Ivy was blinking where she sat, looking at her reflection in the distant two-way mirror, oblivious to Skimmer's attempts to tug her upright and to the back of the room. The pretty vampire's eyes were black in fear, and her mouth was open in horror. I could smell burnt amber, and I patted at my clothes, looking for damage. But then I saw it. The doorknob had been melted. We weren't getting out of here anytime soon.

Oh, God. I wanted to live.

The lights were on in the room behind the mirror, and someone was trying to break the glass with a chair. Heart pounding, I backed up to the wall, my gaze on Piscary and Al.

"Jenks! Get back!" I shouted when I saw the sparkle of pixy dust. Snarling, fangs bared, Piscary grappled with Al. The demon was at a severe disadvantage in his witch body, and I went cold when I realized that Piscary had him. Hand covering my neck, I stood in shock as the vampire sank his teeth.

Al howled, managing to get an arm between them, then a knee. With a pained grunt, he tried to shove Piscary away, failing. Tears of remembered fear filled my eyes as the demon went limp with a moan, the vampire saliva starting to work.

My hand clutched my sore upper arm, and I looked away. My gaze found Trent behind Quen. He, too, appeared shocked. I don't think he knew until this moment the horror Quen and I had endured when we were attacked by an undead. They didn't care. They existed to feed. The walking and talking simply made it easier for them.

Edden was ashen-faced, but his painted weapon stayed steady, waiting. The pounding on the mirror had shifted to a pounding on the door.

With a sodden thump, Piscary let Al drop. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, then delicately cleaning even that from himself with a black handkerchief, Piscary rose. His eyes were black. He had just fed, but we were trapped in here with him. Al's hand lifted, then fell.

The room tensed, and Jenks landed on my shoulder. He was pale, as shocked as the rest of us. "It's not over, Rache," he said, his voice frightened. "Get yourself in a circle."

I drew myself up to tap a line and set an informal circle, but a hint of burnt amber brought my attention to the front of the room. Shit.

A mist was forming over Al. Al wasn't dead. He was leaving Lee's body now that it wasn't useful anymore. Piscary didn't know it, standing satisfied and full of himself, smiling benevolently. Any circle I was going to make had to have a real beginning to stand against a demon. My bag and its stick of magnetic chalk was on the other side of the table. Hiking up my dress, I crawled up onto the table to jerk my bag to me. Backing into a corner as Piscary advanced, I scrabbled in my bag, fingers fumbling.

"Rache! Hurry up!" Jenks shrilled.

Heart pounding, I found it, yanking it out. It slipped, and I cried out in frustration as it rolled under the table. I dove for it, but Quen got there first, and both our hands landed on it.

"The demon isn't dead," the elf said, and I nodded. "I need this," he said, jerking the chalk from my fingers.

"Damn it, Quen!" I shouted, then screamed when a set of fingers fastened about my ankle and dragged me out from under the table. I twisted and, flat on my back, stared up at Piscary. He bared his fangs, and my heart gave a thud. From my neck came a pulse of feeling, but I was too scared for it to feel good. Piscary's eyes closed in twisted bliss, soaking it in like sunshine. Behind him a sheet of ever-after swirled and condensed into a vision of the Egyptian god of the underworld, his smooth chest bare and bells jingling from his scarlet-and-gold loincloth.

I never thought I'd be so glad to see Algaliarept. Too bad he was likely going kill me after he finished staking Piscary.

"Piscary," I said breathlessly as the demon's goat-slitted eyes glinted red and a long canine tongue slipped out to catch a drop of hanging saliva, "You might want to turn around."

"Pathetic," the undead vampire mocked, and I stifled a gasp as he yanked me up.

"You only killed Lee, you stupid ass," Jenks said from above me. "Not Al."

The vampire took a deep breath, scenting the air. I shrieked when he shoved me away. I flew backward, hitting the cupboards. Struggling to breathe, I put a hand to my back.

"Rachel!" Jenks shrilled. "Are you okay? Can you move?"

"Yeah," I rasped, almost cross-eyed as I looked at him inches away from me. I scanned the room for Ivy, not seeing her. Someone screamed. It wasn't me this time, and I staggered up.

"Oh, my God," I whispered as Jenks hovered beside me. Al had Piscary. It was a vision from the depths of history as a jackal-headed god grappled with an Egyptian prince in royal robes who had set himself even with the underworld. The demon had his hands around Piscary's neck, his fingers pressing into the vampire's flesh as if it were dough, and he was trying to pinch his head right off. Piscary was fighting him, but now that Al was in demon form and pissed to the ends of the Turn, the undead vampire hadn't a chance.

Piscary couldn't die. It would ruin everything.

"Quen! Give me the chalk!" I wheezed, hand over my bruised throat. I had to save Piscary. Damn it, I had to save his worthless, stinking, perverted life.

From his corner, Quen hesitated.

"Who do you think Al will go after when he's done with Piscary!" I exclaimed, frustrated, and the elf threw it at me.

My heart leapt. Crap, why did people always throw stuff at me? I was a lousy catch. But I put my hand up, and the chalk hit it with a satisfying thump. Keeping one eye on the jackal-headed god and the dying vampire, I hunched over, tripping on my dress as I drew a circle around them, making it as big as I could to stay out of their way. Jenks went before me, and I followed the path he was dusting to get it circular.

"Ivy," I gasped when I found her, standing blank-faced before the mirror, watching her faint reflection, oblivious to everything. "Go to Quen. Get over by Quen. I can't help you."

She didn't move, and when Jenks shrilled at me to hurry, I lurched past her, praying she would be okay and cursing my helplessness.

I had to crawl under the table to finish the circle, and as I came out, the end of my silver line met the beginning. "Rhombus," I breathed, tapping a line. The gold of my aura flowed upward, the black of demon smut following to coat it a breath behind.

"No!" Al howled, his eyes red with fury as he dropped Piscary an instant too late.

The vampire hit the floor. Still conscious, Piscary grabbed the demon about the calves and pulled him down. Piscary was on him in an instant, fangs tearing ribbons of flesh like a wolf's. I scrambled up, shocked as he gulped them down to make room for more, trying to savage the demon into nonexistence. The sound was absolutely... horrifying.

"Let them kill themselves," Trent said from beside the door, pale and shaking.

"Demon!" I shouted, unable to risk calling Al by his summoning name. "I have bound you. You are mine. Leave here and go directly to the ever-after!"

The Egyptian god howled, saliva dripping red from his muzzle and his neck reduced to ribbons of exposed flesh. He had returned to his demon form, and he was vulnerable.

"Leave now!" I demanded, and with his anger ringing within the room, Al vanished.

Piscary fell through the space where Al had been, his arm hitting the floor to catch himself. Hand against his crushed neck, he found his feet. The room was silent but for Skimmer's gasping breaths, sounding almost like sobs. The Weres were in one corner and the elves in another. Edden was passed out on the floor beside the door. Just as well. He would have tried to shoot someone, and that would only have given him more paperwork.

I turned to Quen, the chalk still in my grip. "Thanks," I whispered, and he nodded.

Slowly Piscary collected himself, turning from a savage monster to a ruthless businessman, albeit one covered in blood. His eyes were utterly black, and a shudder rippled over me. Taking a step forward, he stopped at the edge of my bubble. He tugged down the sleeves of his elegant traditional dress robes and wiped the last of the demon flesh from his mouth, clearly waiting. My pulse slowed, and, praying I was safe, I slid a foot forward and broke the circle.

Hell, I had saved his undead life. Surely that meant something to him.

"You could have let him kill me," Piscary said, scanning the room until he found Ivy, her back to him as she touched her reflection.

"Uh-huh," I panted, scooping up my bag and tucking the chalk away. "But you're my ticket to normalcy, right? And the only way to get Kisten's blood gift reversed."

Piscary raised one eyebrow. "I can't rescind my gift of Kisten's last blood. I wouldn't even if I could. Kisten needed to be reminded of his reason for existence. And besides, that would have been rude."

Would have been? I thought, going cold. As in past tense?

"Kisten..." I stammered, suddenly feeling trapped. My hand clutched at my sore arm, and I felt sick. Jenks's wings rose to a pitch that made my eyes ache. Kisten. "What did you do?" I took a frantic breath. "What did you do to him!"

The vampire dabbed at the black blood leaking from him. It smelled like incense, potent and heady. "Kisten is dead," he said flat out, and I reached for the table, dizzy. "Not only dead but truly dead. Twice. He didn't have it in him to stay the course." Piscary pressed his lips and cocked his head in a mockery of interest. "I'm not surprised."

"You're lying," I said, hearing my voice tremble. My chest clenched, and couldn't get enough air. Kisten couldn't be dead. I would know. I would have felt it. Something would have been different, everything, and nothing was. Jenks had said he'd called. He couldn't be dead!

"He went underground!" I exclaimed, frantically looking at everyone -  wanting someone, anyone, to tell me I was right. But no one met my eyes.

Piscary smiled to show a glint of fang. He was getting too much joy from my despair for it not to be true. "You don't think I know when one of my own passes into undead existence?" he said. "I felt him die, and then I felt him die again." Face showing a twisted pleasure, he leaned toward me and whispered loudly. "It was a shock to him. He didn't expect it. And I licked up his despair and failure, reveling in it. His entire life was worth just that one... exquisite moment of failed perfection. Pity his living bloodline ended with him, but he was always so careful. It was as if he didn't want anyone to follow him..."

Vertigo hit me, and I clutched at the edge of the table. This cannot be happening. "Who?" I rasped, and Piscary smiled like a benevolent, savage god. "Who killed him?"

"How pathetic," he said, then cocked his head. "Or do you really not remember?" he said in speculation, dropping his bloodstained handkerchief and focusing intently on me.

I tried to speak, but nothing came out. Horror that he might be speaking the truth numbed me. I couldn't think. My arm throbbed under my fingers, and when he leaned closer, I did nothing, too shaken to respond.

"You were there," he said distantly, reaching out to take my jaw in his hand and tilt my head so the light hit my eyes. "You saw. I can smell Kisten's final death all over you. You breathe it out. It lifts from your skin like perfume."

I was sleeping in the church, I thought in denial, then felt my world shift with a nauseating spin as things added up. I had woken sore and hurt. I had a cut on my lip. The kitchen had smelled of candles and lilac - the materials for a forget potion. My damned foot was so swollen that I couldn't wear anything but my boots.

What had I seen? What had I done?

I stumbled back when Piscary took a step forward. I didn't believe this! I had given him the focus for what? Kisten was dead. Tears prickled. Oh, my God, Kisten is dead. And I was there.

Piscary reached for me, and I, flung my hand up to block, only to have him capture my wrist. Fear spiked to my middle, and I froze. The room seemed to waver as the people in it drew their breath, and Piscary breathed deep, scenting me. Relishing my fear.

"You're stronger than Ivy let on," he said softly, almost introspective. "I understand why she's fixated on you. Perhaps there's a use for you, if you can walk unscathed from a room where one undead vampire met his end and another barely escaped to see another night."

I jerked away, my frantic gaze going to Edden. Tension crept along my spine as I backed up. There had been another? I didn't remember it, but I had to believe him. What have I done to myself? Why?

"Or maybe... you're too dangerous to be allowed free range, anymore. Time to break you to the bit, perhaps."

Disoriented, I did nothing when Piscary put a golden-skinned hand around my throat. "No!" I shouted, but it was too late. My word escaped with a gurgle. Adrenaline flamed through me, and I struggled as Piscary backhanded Jenks with a slow nonchalance. The pixy shot across the room, hitting the wall and falling to the floor.

God help me. Jenks... "I gave you the focus! "I rasped, toes brushing the tile when he lifted me. "You said you'd leave me alone!"

Piscary pulled me closer. "You put me in jail," he said, his breath smelling of blood and burnt amber. "I said I'd keep you alive, but I owe you some serious pain. You'll only wish you were dead." He put up a warning hand when Quen moved, and the elf stopped.

Horror trickled through me. This isn't possible! "I saved your life!" I rasped when his fingers let up so he could hear me beg. "I could have let Al kill you."

"Your mistake." He smiled at me with sin-black eyes. "Say good-bye, Rachel. Time to start your new life."

"No!" I screamed, then tapped a line. I pushed at him, willing the energy to flow, but it was too late. Crushing me to his chest, Piscary savagely sank his teeth into me.

My shriek of terror filled my ears. My heart hammered as if trying to find a way out of my chest, but my muscles had gone slack. Pain flowed, and I couldn't move. It was agony. I heard my breath come in gasps, pushing my blood into Piscary all the faster.

A dark shadow approached like fast water, and Piscary backhanded Quen without breaking from me. I heard a thump and a pained grunt.

Just kill us, I thought, wanting Quen to blast us both to hell with a ball of ever-after. How could it end like this? It wasn't supposed to end like this. It couldn't end like this!

"Piscary!" Ivy pleaded, and my heart leapt at the emotion in her voice. "Let her go!" she cried, and I saw her slim hand take his shoulder, gripping with fierce intensity. "You promised. You promised if I came to you that you'd leave her alone!"

I groaned as he pulled from me, his teeth ripping tears in my neck. I couldn't... I couldn't move!

"It's too late," Piscary said, and I hung in his grip, unresisting. "This has to be done."

"You said you wouldn't hurt her." Ivy's voice was heavy, as gray as morning fog.

Piscary held me upright, one arm crushing me to him. "You've been careless," he said flatly. "This is the last time I'm going to pick up after you. You should have bound her to you when I told you to. By rights I have to kill her. An unpredictable animal needs to be culled."

"Rachel would never hurt me," Ivy whispered, and I tried to speak, feeling my heart break. I took a breath, seeing my sight graying at the edges. I was slipping. I couldn't stop.

"No, Ivy girl." Piscary's face was gentled in concern as he leaned over me and touched her face with false love, leaving my blood on her jawline. I could hear Skimmer crying in the corner, adding to the travesty. "That's both their lure and their downfall. I'm going to kill her for you. If I don't, I'll only use her to torture you, and I've tortured you enough. It's my gift to you, Ivy. She won't feel a thing. I promise."

Ivy stared at him, her face lost in terror as Piscary bent to me again, making a small sound of pleasure when he licked the blood leaking from my neck, wallowing in it. She stood beside him, struggling to overcome a lifetime of conditioning. Her eyes filled, spilling over. My vision blurred, and she touched Piscary's shoulder lightly.

"Stop," she said before his teeth could find me again, but it was a whisper. "Stop!" she said louder, and hope struck through me. Piscary hesitated, his grip tightening.

"I said no!" Ivy shouted. "I won't let you kill her!"

Backing up a step, she swung her foot in a roundhouse to hit Piscary's head.

It never landed. Piscary hissed, dropping me to collapse between their feet. I took a raspy breath, and my fingers searched my neck. I was dizzy, weak. He'd bitten me. How bad? How bad was it?

"Ivy girl?" the undead vampire questioned from somewhere above me.

"No," Ivy said. Her shaking voice was determined, but even I could hear her fear.

"No?" Piscary said lightly, and I tried to push away, to get out from between them. "You aren't strong enough to best me."

My heart pounded, and I managed to find the wall, fingers scrabbling weakly as I turned to sit with my back to it. Lee's body was gone from under the mirror, and I found that Trent had dragged it to the door, his tux's coat covering him like a blanket. Lee is alive?

In the space between the table and mirror, Ivy dropped into a fighting stance. "Then I'll die trying, and kill you myself. She's my friend. I won't let you hurt her."

A smile of satisfaction blossomed over the older vampire's face. "Ivy," he crooned, "my sweet Ivy. You defy me at last. Come here, little fish. It's time you leave the weeds and swim as the predator you are."

No, I thought in horror, seeing that everything - the terror, the pain, the agony - had all been meant to manipulate Ivy into standing up to him, completing his vision of finding an equal in her.

"It will hurt like the sun," Piscary warned, arms open to embrace her as she backed away, face white. "Your last blood will be sweet in me."

Edden, again conscious, scrabbled to me, and I slapped weakly at him as he tried to look at my neck. "Shoot him," I breathed, almost vomiting when I reached up and found my neck ripped open. "He's going to kill her," I whispered, but Edden didn't seem to care. Ivy had defied Piscary. He was going to kill her so they could live an undead existence together. "Ivy, no." I said, louder since Edden wasn't listening. "You don't want... this."

Piscary raised one eyebrow. "Patience, witch," he said, then reached for Ivy.

Terror overcame training, and Ivy backpedaled. She screamed, high and shrill, and the sound struck through me. He had her against the mirror, his mouth on her neck as he dug deep to end it fast.

She didn't resist him. She wanted to die. It was the only way she could fight him and hope to save me. She was letting him kill her to save me.

"No," I sobbed, trying to rise, but Edden had my arm. He wasn't letting go. "No!"

A blond shadow darted to them. Grunting, Skimmer swung the arm of the paper cutter like an ax against the back of Piscary's neck. It hit his flesh with a meaty thump.

Piscary jerked. He drew away from Ivy, showing her neck bloodied and torn. Blood flowed from her. He had bitten deep, a death bite.

Crying in fear and her fury, Skimmer swung again. My stomach churned at the thunk as it met the front of Piscary's neck this time. His hands slipped from Ivy, and Skimmer swung yet again, screaming in a blind frustration as she angled to hit him in exactly the same spot.

The blade went through the third time, and Skimmer stumbled and fell sobbing to her knees as Piscary collapsed. The bloodied blade still in her hand rang as it hit the floor.

"Sweet mother of God," Edden swore, his grip falling away.

Slumped against the mirror, Ivy stared at Piscary in disbelief. His severed head looked up at her, his eyes blinking once before the pupils turned silver black and empty. He was dead. Skimmer had killed him. Thin stream of red blood pooled from the ruin of his neck, slowing to nothing.

"Piscary?" Ivy whispered like a forgotten child, then collapsed.

"No!" Skimmer shrieked. Crying, she crawled to Ivy. Her hands went red as she tried to stop the blood from flowing from Ivy's neck. "God, please, no!"

The door crashed open, the sound of the drill they used to open the door, fading away as people rushed in. Two fell on Skimmer. She fought them, but her movements were blind and easy to overcome. Three more descended upon Ivy, and I heard the rhythmic chants as they started CPR. Oh, God. She was dead. Ivy was dead.

I crawled under the table, forgotten as feet rushed about to pull Trent from his corner and escort Mr. Ray and Mrs. Sarong out. A sheet was draped over Piscary. Both parts of him.

Ivy was dead. Kisten was dead. Jenks...

"No," I whispered, eyes filling as I slumped. Jenks, I thought in despair, throat heavy with an immovable lump. Where's Jenks? Piscary had hit him.

The pain was easing, the heartache wasn't. Jenks. Where was Jenks? My neck was cold, and I wouldn't touch it. My breath escaped me in a sob. Oh, God, I hurt. From under the table, I saw shiny dress shoes and three people kneeling before Ivy. Her hand lay outstretched as if looking for her salvation. As if looking for me. She was dying, and nothing could stop that.

But Jenks was somewhere, and someone might step on him.

I crawled to the back of the room, looking for him. The focus lay forgotten on the floor in an open box amid the nest of black tissue paper. I shoved it out of the way to find the shimmer of fallen gold beside my bag.

My heart seemed to cease. I felt nothing but pain. It was all I was. "Jenks," I croaked. Please, no, I thought, tears blinding me as I hunched over him. My hands, sticky with blood, tumbled as I picked him up. He wasn't moving, his face pale and one of his wings bent.

"Jenks," I sobbed, the release shaking me as I felt him light in my hand. Jenks was dead. Kisten was dead. Ivy was dying. My would-be protector had tried to kill me, only to be killed in turn. I had nothing. I had absolutely nothing. There were no more choices, no more options, no more clever ways out of a tough situation. And the rush, I realized in a brutal wash of despair, is a false god I've chased my entire life. One that cost me everything in the blind search for sensation. My entire existence amounted to nothing. Running from one thrill to the next with no regard to what really was important.

What in hell is left for me?

Everyone I had cared for was gone. It had taken me too long to find them, and I knew deep into my soul that their like would never come again. I had come too far from my beginnings, and no one else would understand who I really was - or, more important, who I wanted to be -  under all the crap my life had become. I was now something no one could trust, not even me. I openly consorted with demons. My blood kindled their curses. My soul was coated with the stink of their magic. Every time I tried to do good, I hurt myself and those who loved me.

And those I loved, I thought, the tears blurring my vision.

Well, the hell with that, I thought as I fumbled for the open box with the focus in it. There was one final way to find an end to this, and now... now I had no reason not to.

A profound feeling of apathy took me, hollow and bitter, and my fingers shook as I wiped my face and pulled the hair from my eyes. Past the edge of the table, feet moved and voices were raised in urgency, but I was forgotten. Alone and apart, I pulled the focus out of its open box, knowing what I was going to do and not caring. It was going to hurt. Probably kill me. But there was nothing left in me except pain, and anything was better than that. Even oblivion.

Watching my hands as if they belonged to someone else, I scribed a circle encompassing most of the tile under the table with my metallic chalk. My heart felt like ash, unstirred by the power of the ley line as I touched it to make a shimmering black sheet bisect the table above me.

"Where's Morgan?" Trent said suddenly, his voice cutting through the excited babble. I could hear the CPR chant, but I'd seen Ivy's neck. She would die, if she wasn't dead already. She had wanted me to save her soul, and I had failed. It was gone, as if she had never been, never smiled, never taken joy in the day.

Edden's work shoes moved restlessly. "Someone check the bathroom."

Cold despite the warmth of the line running through me, I clenched the focus to me and scribed three more circles, intersecting them to form four spaces. I was crying, but it didn't matter. I was inside the circles. I was inside the circles.

"Morgan," Trent accused in a tired voice, and he bent at the waist, finding me. "It's over. You can come out of your bubble now."

I ignored him. My fingers hummed with force, and from my bag I pulled the candles I had bought for my birthday. Why, God? What in hell did I ever do to you? Trent's face went pale, and he sat down when the Latin spilled from me as I lit and placed them. First the white one, then the black, and lastly the yellow one, the yellow one that would represent my aura. There was no gray, so I put a second black one in the middle, confident that because my soul was the color of sin, the magic would work. This one I left it unlit. It would burn when the curse was twisted and my fate was immutable.

Quen tried to pull Trent up, and, failing, he bent to look himself. "Bacchus save us," he whispered, knowing what I was doing. The focus no longer had a protector. Everyone knew I had it. I couldn't give it to Piscary - the bastard was dead. I had to get rid of it another way. Just because I had screwed up, that was no reason to send what was left of the world into war. The blackness on my soul would have no meaning if there was no love, no understanding, no one to share my life with. I just wanted it to all go away, to stop. And because I didn't think I was going to survive this, it was all to the better.

Edden bent at the waist, swearing when be reached out to find that the shimmering black shadow between us was real. From the hallway came Mrs. Sarong's complaining voice, going faint as she was led away. "What is she doing?" Edden said. "Rachel, what are you doing?"

Killing myself. Numb, I set the focus in its spot and myself in the other. The third space where my ring of hair would go was empty. I was in the circle; I didn't need a symbol of connection. My chest clenched, and I drew my will together. Jenks's body lay outside my circle. Ivy's was beneath the mirror. Kisten was dead. I had no reason not to do this. I had no reason at all. Piscary had ripped everything from me in less than twenty-four hours since his release. Not bad. Maybe he was a little more pissed than I'd thought.

"Rachel!" Edden said, louder over the chants of the EMTs who had arrived to push the FIB officers away. "What are you doing?"

"She's getting rid of the focus," Quen said tightly.

"Why didn't she just do that in the first place?" Edden said, his expression annoyed. "Rachel, come out of there."

Quen's voice was empty. "Because it will take a demon curse to do it."

Edden was silent for a moment, and I jumped when I felt his fist hit my bubble. "Rachel!" he exclaimed, then swore as his knuckles met my bubble again. "Get out! Now!"

But I couldn't stop and I didn't want to. Almost having forgotten, I touched my finger to my oozing neck, and, using the blood, I scribed a figure on the unlit black candle. I still didn't know what the figure stood for, and now I never would. Silence ached through me when the EMTs knelt before Ivy, their heads bowed as they slowly put their things away.

Tears spilled, and I started to get angry. I touched the interlaced circles, willing energy to fill them. I didn't even need to use my trigger word - it happened just as I willed it.

Edden swore again as the tainted bubbles rose about me, and I wondered if he knew that the arcs of gold where the circles intersected were what my aura was supposed to look like.

"Will it kill her?" Trent whispered.

Let's find out, I thought bitterly, not believing I could hold the power of a demon curse. And when they killed me - which they would for working demon magic inside a public building in front of credible witnesses - the power of the curse would die with me. Problem solved.

Except a small part of me really wanted to live. Damn it, hope is a cruel god.

Fingers still shaking, I knelt in my tiny space and clasped my hands, willing the trigger words back into my memory. They came. Exhaling, I said harshly, "Animum recipere."

Quen's breath hissed, and he pulled Trent back.

The power of the curse flowed into me, warm like sunshine. I stiffened as the scent of burnt amber coated me, tasting bittersweet, like dark chocolate. It felt good. It tasted sweet. My thoughts wailed in despair. What in hell have I become?

Jaw clenched, I knelt under the table, my unseeing gaze lifting upward and my breath held against the sensations. It felt good, and that was wrong. The power of creation coursed out of the focus and into me, familiar and welcoming. It sang, it lured, it whispered behind my eyes of the lust of the chase, the joy of the capture, the satisfaction of the kill. Within me stirred the need to dominate. I remembered the feel of the earth beneath my paws and the scent of time in my nose, filling my memories, making me want more.

And this time instead of denying it, I accepted it. "Non sum qualis eram," I said bitterly, angry tears spilling from under my closed lids. I would take the curse into me, and I would keep it. It would end everything. There was no reason not to.

I felt the white candle go out, and I opened my eyes to see a thin trail of smoke showing me the lost path to eternity. I had set the taper with the word for protection, but I was beyond its reach. Nothing could protect me. The focus was empty, and the curse was inside me, beating like a second heart, crawling through my aura and clouding my sight. I could feel it, alive like a twin awareness beside my own. But I wasn't done yet. I still had to seal the magic.

A wild impulse to flee filled me, born of the curse. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to stay still, chaining the second awareness with my will. But it fought me, slipping deeper when I struggled to keep it separate. Eyes fixed on the black candle, I willed it to go out. With a soft puff, the light was gone. The curse's need to run grew stronger. My hands started to shake uncontrollably.

My bowed head swung to the gold candle. It would seal the curse into me so it couldn't unravel. It flickered in a wind only I felt, and then, as soft and surprising as a butterfly wing upon one's cheek, it went out. The last black candle burst into light. The curse was twisted anew.

A groan slipped from me, and I felt light-headed. It was done. I was a demonic curse. I could feel it within me, poison seeping from my soul to my mind. Now all that remained was to see if it would kill me.

Lips parted in the shock at what I had done, I lifted my head to find Trent sitting under the table in his white tux shirt without a coat. He was watching me, Quen behind him ready to drag him away. I blinked, my chest burning. There was just enough time for me to take a breath, and then the reality imbalance from twisting the curse hit me.

I jerked, my head hitting the bottom of the table and my elbows breaking the circles. Gasping, I convulsed as a wave of black coated me. I couldn't breathe. My cheek hit the cool tile, and I clenched in pain. The curse saw my will weaken, and its need to run redoubled, twining into mine until they were the same. I had to run. I had to flee! But I couldn't move... my damned... arms.

"Will she be okay?" Trent asked, worry and bewilderment in his voice.

"She's taking on the payment for the curse," Quen said quietly. "I don't know."

Someone touched me. I screamed, hearing only a guttural groan. The curse dove deep into my psyche, melding with me. There was no way out for it anymore, and it flowed into every facet of my memory and thought, becoming me. I was dying from the inside out. And through it all the smut of the imbalance burned, threatening to stop my heart.

"I take it," I panted, and the hurt ebbed. "I take it," I sobbed, clenching into a ball. It was mine. The curse was all I had left. A frightening need to run was filling me. It was the demon curse, but we were the same. Its need was mine.

Why am I fighting this? I thought suddenly, the agony of the demon smut burning my blood. And with that last, bitter feeling, I let my will die.

My fear vanished in a ping of singular thought, the heartache left in a blink of bewilderment that I cared, and the turmoil of mental anguish evaporated in the sudden realization that everything had changed.

My eyes opened. Peace filled me. It was as if I was reborn. There was no anger, no heartache, no sorrow. My breath filled my lungs in a smooth, unhurried motion. I stared at the world in a pause of time, my cheek resting on the cool tile, and I wondered what had happened. My body hurt as if I had fought and won, but there was no torn-apart corpse lying before me.

And then I saw my prison beside me, knocked askew from where I had placed it behind the trappings of demon magic. Oh. That.

Eyes narrowing, I reached for it. It would never hold me again.

"Celero inanio," I snarled, not caring it was a demon curse, not caring I didn't know how I knew it. The bone shattered where I touched it, superheated to flake into fragments. I jerked my hands back and sat up, the pain surprising but nothing against my satisfaction. That prison would never hold me again, and I welcomed the imbalance for breaking the laws of physics as it flowed into me, coating me in a comforting layer of warmth, protecting me. On to other things...

Above me I felt the flat smoothness of wood and above that a crisscross of metal, plaster, carpet, and space. I was in a building - but I didn't have to stay here.

Someone was watching me. Actually, a lot of people were, but one was looking at me like a predator at its prey. My eyes searched the silent, questioning faces until they found the vivid green eyes of an elf, framed by dark hair. Quen, I thought, giving him a name, and then I saw the open door beyond him.

"Watch out!" someone yelled.

I leapt for it, tripping on my dress. Someone fell on me to pin me to the floor. I fought silently, lashing out with my fists. A man was yelling at me to be still. The memory of the clatter of pixy wings was like a knife through my soul, and I felt the last of myself, of Rachel Morgan, vanish, hiding from the heartache.

There was a grunt as my fist found a tender spot, and in the slight release, I clawed for the door. Someone grabbed my wrists, and I cried out when they were wrenched behind my back.

Snarling, I fought to be free, then went still as I lay on the floor, a crafty smile curving over my face. I didn't have to fight with my body; I could fight with my mind.

"Someone strap her!" shrilled a pixy from above. "She's tapping a line!"

"Rachel! Stop!" a woman cried, and I whipped my head at the familiar voice.

"Ivy?" I warbled. My breath hesitated at seeing her sitting slumped against the wall, a hand pressed to her neck and pale from blood loss. Reason tried to force its way through my brain, but a heady feeling of power shoved it out. Men stood between me and the door. The woman on the floor wasn't enough to best the curse's demands.

Shivering, I twisted to sit upright. Latin spilled from me, the words coming from somewhere in my past, my future, from everywhere.

"I'm sorry, Rachel," a gravelly voice said behind me. "We don't have ley line bands."

I turned, savage in my need to hurt someone. A fist swung at me. Stars exploded, lighting my conscious thought, dying away to leave only the blackness of sweet oblivion.

But as my breath left me in a gentle sigh and I fell, I could swear that the drops of warmth upon my face were those of tears, that the shivering arms holding me from the cruel coldness of the tile had the luscious scent of vampire. And someone... was singing about blood and daisies.