Pale Demon (11 page)

“You don’t believe me,” Trent said, his anger showing at last. “You asked why they want me dead. I told you the truth, and you haven’t said anything.”

My gaze coming up from the mirror, I looked at him from under my straggly hair. I was so friggin’ tired it hurt. “The Withons are trying to stop you from getting this thing so they can shape the next two hundred years of elfdom, not you, eh?”

“That’s it.” Trent’s shoulders eased at my sarcasm. “Our marriage was supposed to be a way to avoid this. If I can claim it by sunrise Monday, then it’s mine forever. If not, then I lose everything.” His expression was empty of emotion. “Everything, Rachel.”

I stifled a shiver, trying to disguise it by wiggling the last candle into place. “So this is kind of like an ancient elven spirit quest, rite of passage, and closed election all in one?”

Trent’s lips parted. “Uh, ye-yes,” he stammered, looking embarrassed. “Actually, that’s not a bad comparison. It’s also why Quen couldn’t help and why air travel was out. I’m allowed a horse, and the car is the modern equivalent.”

I nodded, jumping when the fifth candle fell over. “And me? What am I?”

“You’re my mirror, my sword, and my shield,” Trent said dryly.

I looked askance at him to see if he was serious.
Mirror?
“Times change, eh?” I said, not sure what to think. The candle wasn’t sticking, and I was getting frustrated.

“I have to be in Seattle by Sunday or it means nothing. Rachel, this is the most important thing in my life.”

The candle went rolling, and Trent jerked his hand out, catching it. I froze in my reach, eyes narrowing as Trent breathed on the end and quickly stuck it to the mirror. My gaze went to the moon, pale in the sunlight. Maybe that was his deadline. Elves loved marking things by the moon. “I don’t have to help you steal it, do I?” I asked, and he shook his head, unable to hide his relief that I believed him. And I did believe him.

“If I can’t claim it on my own, then I don’t deserve it.”

Back to the coming-of-age elf-quest thing.
“I want a say,” I said, and Trent blinked.

“Excuse me?”

I lifted a shoulder and let it fall, carefully spilling a bit of primed transfer media onto the mirror. “If I’m your mirror, sword, and shield, then I want a say as to how it’s used. I’ve seen you work, and I don’t like your way of getting things done. Maybe Ellasbeth’s family would be better at directing the elven race than you.”

Trent’s eyes were wide. “You don’t believe that.”

“I don’t know what I believe, but I want a say.”
Especially if it bothers you so much.

Mouth moving, Trent finally managed, “You have no idea what you’re asking.”

“I know,” I said flippantly. “But here we are. Yes or no?”

Trent looked like he was going to say no, but then his posture slipped and he smiled. “I agree,” he said lightly, extending his hand over the scrying mirror. “You have a say.”

His eyes were glinting like Al’s, but my hand went out, and we shook over the prepared curse. His fingers were warm in mine, pleasant, and I pulled away fast. “Why do I feel like I’ve made a mistake,” I muttered, and Trent’s smile widened, worrying me more.

“Rachel, I’ve been trying to get you involved for two years. If this is how I’m going to get my foot in the door, then so be it.” His eyes went down to the curse. “Is it ready?”

Crap, had I just gone into a partnership with him?

Feeling ill, I nodded, taking up the stick of redwood and dipping it in the primed transfer media. I made a quick counterclockwise movement before touching the tip of it to the back of Trent’s hand, then mine, making a symbolic connection between us.

Trent frowned at the damp spot on his hand as if wanting to wipe it off, and I set the stick down beside my bag with a snap. “Don’t wipe that off,” I said sharply, still uneasy because of his last comment. “And put your hand on the mirror, please—without touching any of the glyphs or knocking over the candles.”

He hesitated, and I set my hand down first, making sure my thumb and pinky were on the center glyphs for connection. The cool stillness of the glass seemed to seep up into me—until Trent’s fingers touched the etched mirror. Jerking, I met his startled gaze, sure he’d felt the zing of energy leaving him. “You’re connected to a ley line?” I asked, not needing to see his nod. “Um, let go of it,” I said, and the faint seepage of power ceased. “Thank you.”

Satisfied everything was set, I reached behind me with my free hand to touch the ring of chalk.
“Rhombus,”
I said, wincing as my awareness found the nearest ley line. It was all the way back in St. Louis, thin and weak from the distance, but it would be enough.

Warmth textured with silver poured into me, and Trent sucked in his breath in surprise, connected to the line by way of the mirror. A molecule-thin sheet of ever-after rose up, arching both overhead and underneath, within the earth, forming a sphere of protection. Nothing stronger than air could pass through except energy itself. The sheet was colored with the gold of my original aura, but the demon smut I’d accumulated over the last couple of years crawled over it like arcs of unbalanced power, looking for a way in. At night, it wasn’t so noticeable, but out here in the sun, it was ugly. Looking up, Trent grimaced.

Nothing you’ve not seen before, Mr. Clean.
Looking up at a car on the interstate, I took a deep breath. There was no better time to do this, but I wasn’t comfortable. Trent, too, looked uneasily at the forces balancing between us, and I dampened the flow until his shoulders relaxed. My thoughts went to the energy I’d shoved into the assassins under the arch. There was no way all of that had come from Trent, but I didn’t think it had come from the assassins, either. What had he been doing with that little cap and ribbon?

“Okay,” I said, starting to fidget. “What’s going to happen is that I’m going to light four of the candles. Then you say your words. I’ll register the curse, and we’re done.”

Trent’s gaze flicked from the index card to me. “That’s it?” I nodded, and his attention went to the candles. “There are five candles. Do I light that one?”

“No, it will light on its own if we do it right.” The wind brought the sound of pixy laughter to me, recognizable but faster and higher than Jenks’s kids, and I inhaled slowly. A quiver went through me. I’d never shown anyone outside my friends that I could do demon magic. But Trent was looking at his card, squinting as if he didn’t care.

“What does it say?” he finally asked.

A flush warmed me. “Um,
bella
usually means beautiful, doesn’t it?”

Trent scrunched his face up, clearly not knowing, either, but I bet he’d find out thirty seconds after he got to his phone. “You want to wait until I find out?” I asked, already knowing the answer, and sure enough, he shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter. I want the mark off. Now.”

Yeah, me, too.
Jittery, I looked at the candles, hoping they’d stayed put. The curse didn’t physically change anything or break the laws of physics, so the smut would be minimal; Nature didn’t care about the laws of demons or men, only her own. Break them, and you pay.

“Ex cathedra,”
I said, carefully scraping a bit of wax off the first candle at Trent’s right and holding it under my nail. I didn’t need a focusing object most days, but I wanted no mistakes in front of Trent. Thinking
consimilis calefacio
to light the candle, I pinched the wick and slowly opened my fingers to leave a new flame.
Ex cathedra,
“from the office of authority” I hoped my pronunciation was right. It wouldn’t mess up the curse if I was off, but this curse would be registered in the demon database, and word would get around.

Lighting the candle had taken an almost minuscule drop of ley-line force, and I met Trent’s startled gaze. “Ceri knows how to light candles like that, too,” he said.

“She’s the one who taught me,” I admitted, and Trent’s frown deepened. Guess she hadn’t taught him.
“Rogo,”
I said, lighting the second candle on my left.
I am asking,
I thought, watching until I was sure the flame wasn’t going to go out.

Trent cleared his throat at the rising power, and the hair on my arms pricked.
“Mutatis mutandis,”
I said, lighting the candle to my right, continuing my counterclockwise motion. Counterclockwise. This was really wrong, but it was for a good reason.
Things to be changed.

“Libertus,”
I said as I lit the candle to Trent’s left, almost completing the circle. Just one right in front of him to go, and if it didn’t light on its own, then I was in trouble.

“Read your card,” I said as I stared at the unlit candle. “And for God’s little green apples, don’t blow anything out in the process.”

Much to his credit, Trent didn’t lick his lips or give any indication that he was nervous, and with a smooth, enviable accent, said,
“Si qua bella inciderint, vobis ausilum feram.”

I felt a sinking of self, and my hand pressed firmly into the glass. It was as if the world had dropped out from under me and I was suddenly not just under an abandoned building’s overhang in the middle of nowhere, but also in the theoretical black database in the ever-after. I could hear whispers of demons talking through their own scrying mirrors, sense the bright flash of a curse being registered. The double sensations were confusing, and my eyes had closed, but they opened when Trent roughly said, “Nothing happened.”

Dizzy, I tried to focus on him and the fear behind his anger. Clearly he wasn’t feeling the same thing I was. “It’s not done yet. I have to register it.” Heart pounding, I closed my eyes, praying this wasn’t going to swing around to bite me on the ass.
“Evulgo.”

I stiffened as a flare of ever-after shot through me, and my eyes opened at Trent’s hiss. “Keep your hand on the glass!” I warned him.

The four candles went out, the thin trails of smoke and the scent of sulfur rising like curls of thought to heaven. My gaze went to the as-yet-unlit candle.
Please, please, please…

Relief pulled the corners of my mouth up as the last candle burst into flame, covering the scent of honest sulfur with the acidic, biting scent of burnt amber. “I pay the cost,” I whispered as I glanced at Trent, even before the smut could rise.

Trent grunted, his free hand clutching his shoulder where the familiar mark was. A wave of unseen force pulsed out from me, breaking my circle as it passed through, pressing the pixies into the air, and heading out in an ever-widening circle. From inside the abandoned building, something crashed to the floor. Still holding his arm, Trent looked to the gaping windows.

I let go of the ley line and took my hand from the scrying mirror. It was done, for better or worse, and I lifted my head and took a deep breath. I didn’t know what Trent would do, and it was scary. From the car, Ivy called out, “You good?”

Trent’s face was empty of emotion as he turned where he sat and pulled his sleeve up, twisting to see on his arm where the mark was—had been—I hoped.

“Good,” I called out to Ivy, my voice cracking. “I’m good!” I said louder, and she slumped back into the seat. She’d felt it. That was curious.

Trent made a small noise, his expression ugly. “What is
that
!” he exclaimed, his face becoming red as he twisted to show me his arm, and my lips parted. The demon mark was gone, but in its place was a dark discoloration of skin that looked like a birthmark. A birthmark in the shape of a smiley face. All it needed was the phrase “Have a nice day!” tattooed under it.

A mild panic hit me. This was so not fair. I had done the charm—curse—whatever—right, and I still ended up looking like a fool.

“What is that!”
he demanded, the flush rising to his ears. From the open field, the pixies rose high then back down.

“Uh, it looks like a birthmark,” I said. “Really, it’s not that bad.”

“Is this your idea of a joke?” he exclaimed.

“I didn’t know it was going to do that!” I admitted, voice rising as I shifted to a kneel. My foot hit the mirror, and the candles all fell over, the one going out in a puff of smoke. “Maybe it’s so the demons know to keep their mitts off you!” Oh my God, it looked like a smiley face.

He sniffed at it. “It stinks!” he said. “It smells like a dandelion!”

I closed my eyes in a long blink, but he was still there when I opened them. “Trent, I’m sorry,” I apologized, hoping he believed me. “I didn’t know. Maybe you can add a tattoo to it. Make it something more butch.”

Trent wouldn’t look at me as he got to his feet, his boots scraping on the cement. “This is clearly the best you can do,” he said shortly. “We have to get going.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, peeved that that was all I was going to get out of him. His becoming my familiar had only been to save his little elf ass. For my trouble I’d gotten my head bashed into a tombstone. And now that I’d gone and added more smut to my soul to break said familiar bond, incidentally giving more ammunition to the coven of moral and ethical standards to use to prove that I was a black witch, all I got was “We have to get going”?

“Have a nice day,” I called snidely after him as I shoved everything into my shoulder bag. Standing, I started to follow. The sun hit me like a heavy wind, and I bowed my head, wishing I had another pair of sunglasses. They might have a pair in the gas station, but I wasn’t going in to look. And I wasn’t going to give Trent his back, either.

Trent’s pace was stiff as he walked to the car. I turned to the nearby field, squinting for Jenks. Not a wing caught the light or broke the stillness, and a sliver of worry colored my anger. “Do I smell better?” I heard Trent ask Ivy sarcastically as he got in the back of the car.

“I liked the way you smelled before, Trent. That was the problem.”