The Outlaw Demon Wails (26 page)

Smiling a secret smile now, Ceri shook her head. “No. They're good luck, according to my grandmother. He's fine up there. She had a saying that pixies are to elves as gargoyles are to witches.”

I smirked as I recalled how Jenks's kids took to Ceri, and how Ellasbeth's mother, another pure-blood elf, adored Jenks. I didn't have any such “charmed” feelings for the lump of somnolent rock in the belfry rafters, and as far as I knew, neither did any other witch. But then, I was the only witch I knew who lived in a church, which was the only place a gargoyle would stay. Something about the big bells ionizing the air or some such.

“Are you sure this isn't a problem?” I said, pointing up to him.

“No. I'd ask to make his acquaintance and for him to tie up your string if he was awake.”

I stared hopefully up at the gray winged shape, but he didn't move. Not even his big fringed ears. “I'll do it,” I said, then levered myself up onto the dresser top, and from there to standing. My head was in the bell, and the faint echoes hitting my ear made me shiver. I quickly tied the string to the clapper and got down.

Ceri bit the string to cut it long, then expertly shifted her pale fingers to make a three-cornered sling to set the palm-sized ring of metal into. She let it go, and it swung gently at chest height above the dresser. “There,” she said, backing away. “That will make a pretty light.”

I nodded, conscious of the gargoyle and wondering if his or her tail curling around the pair of craggy feet had twitched. I didn't like spelling in front of people I didn't know, especially one who had taken up residence without paying rent.

“So the first step is…,” Ceri prompted, and I pulled my attention back to her.

“Sorry,” I said, gathering myself. “Let me set my outer circle.”

Ceri nodded, and I sent my will to the ley line out back. Energy flowed, bright and pure, and I exhaled as the forces balanced in me. I kicked off my slipper and touched my toe to the metallic chalk ring. My trigger word,
rhombus
, echoed forcefully in my thoughts, and a molecule-thin sheet of ever-after swarmed up to arch to a close over our heads. The trigger word condensed a five-minute prep with candles and chalk to a half-second. It had taken me six months to learn to do it.

I winced at the ugly black that crawled over the half-sphere a second
later, doing its best to smother the bright gold my aura had colored the typically red sheet of ever-after. The smut was a visual representation of what was on my soul. I felt ugly as I silently scuffed my slipper back on. It didn't seem to bother Ceri, but her smut level was a thousand times thicker than mine.
Minus one year
, I thought, hoping she had really forgiven me for yelling at her.

The gargoyle wasn't in the circle, which made me feel tons better. My hair was starting to float from the currents of energy running through me, and I ran a hand over my curls. “I hate it when it does that,” I muttered as I found a loose strand and pulled it free for the charm.

Ceri chuckled a rueful agreement, and seeing her confident nod, I took the strand and turned to the candlelit dresser. I exhaled a puff of air. Calmer, I reached for the oil.

“In fidem recipare,”
I said, dabbing it on my fingers and running the strand through it to coat it thoroughly. The hair was a conduit to keep the energy flowing into the circle and maintain the light, and the oil with its high smoldering point would keep the strand from igniting.

Ceri's brow was furrowed, but she nodded in agreement, so I carefully coiled the strand so it lay across the ring. A drop of my blood was next, and I hardly felt the prick of the finger stick. The metal ring seemed to be warmer than it should have been when I smeared the blood onto it. “Um,
iungo,
” I said, rubbing my palms nervously against each other to wipe off the oil and blood, then, after checking my notations, performed the gesture that cramped my right hand.

“Good,” she prompted, easing closer, attention fixed on the dull gray metal.

“Rhombus,”
I said strongly, holding back a surge of power that wanted to slip my control, allowing only the barest amount to spill forth as I touched the ring.

A second bubble of force sprang up, and the ring of metal shifted to exist both here and in the ever-after, looking unreal and translucent. Like a ghost. I smiled at the black-and-gold sphere hanging there like one of Ivy's glass Christmas balls, the cord bisecting the sheet of unreality as it suspended the metal the charm was in. It wasn't often that I saw the
bottom half of a protection circle, and though I knew it was wrong to think the black demon smut marring the glittering golden sphere of my will was pretty, I did. It looked like an aged patina.

“See if you can make it glow,” Ceri prompted, but she still seemed worried.

My life is going to change with the creation of light
, I thought. Gut clenched, I said,
“Lenio cinis,”
while watching my fingers awkwardly make the invocation movement. The two had to be simultaneous, otherwise the air would burn up and snuff the spell before the connection spell to bring in more energy to burn was in place. At least, that was the theory.

Anxious, I held my breath and watched the sphere flash before settling to a steady burn. “Oh, my God!” I squeaked when a dropping sensation plinked through me and settled to a steady flow. The power keeping the globe burning rushed through me, and I reached to steady myself against the dresser. I couldn't take my eyes off the burning sphere.

“Breathe!” Ceri said with forced gaiety, and I took a breath and held it. Feeling the energy flow into the ball and become an ephemeral light was just too weird. It was akin to a mental vacuum, or what being in free fall could feel like. It was the oddest thing I'd ever felt, but Ceri was smiling at me through the mirror, her expression pinched and her eyes bright with moisture.

“Do you know what it feels like?” I said, tense, edgy, and excited all at the same time.

Blinking fast, she shook her head. “I can't do this. Rachel…be careful.”

I swallowed hard. I could do something that no other witch or elf could do, save Lee.
Demon magic.
And it was easy.

And that fast, my life shifted again. I didn't change, but suddenly I was different. A small globe of light had been my signpost. I hoped it was a good portent.

Becoming used to the odd feeling of energy pulling through me quickly, I looked at my light. The glow was not the clear glow of fluorescents, but that of amber. It lit the six-sided room with a black-and-gold haze that seemed darker than the candlelight, but infinitely more
far-reaching. Laying heavily upon the empty walls, it brought to mind the late sun close to the horizon that shows from under storm clouds still hanging over you, making everything look like it had a razor-thin shadow, the air full of hidden pressure and the scent of ozone. Demon magic aside, I had created it, and that made it the most everlastingly cool thing I had ever seen.

Eyeing it, I licked my lips, wondering. “What happens if I let more energy into it?”

“Rachel, no!” Ceri shouted.

Something dropped from the ceiling, thumping onto the marble top of the dresser with a sharp crack. It was the gargoyle, his red eyes wide and the tuft of lion fur on his tail bristled. I stumbled back, my elbow knocking into my protection circle to make it fall.

“Don't,” he said, his voice both high and resonant.

My mouth gaping, I stared at the foot-high person before me as he shook his leathery wings and settled them against himself. Flushing a deep black, he looked at his feet and the new cracks spreading out from them. “Dragon fewmets,” he muttered. “I cracked your table. I'm sorry. God in all his grace help me. I am a clay brain.”

I bumped Ceri when I took another step back, and she made a small, questioning noise.

His color turned back to a comfortable gray splotch, and he shifted his wings. “Do you want me to fix it? I can.”

That shook me, and I remembered to breathe. “Jenks?” I called loudly. “Someone here to talk to you about rent!”

The gargoyle flushed again, everything but the white tuft of fur on the tip of his whiplike tail going black. “Rent?” he squeaked, somehow suddenly looking like an awkward teenager as he hunched his muscular shoulders and shifted from foot to foot. “I don't have anything to pay you rent with. Patron saints berserk us. I didn't know I'd have to pay rent. I never should have…No one told me…”

He was almost frantic, and Ceri scooted closer with sly amusement. “Be easy, young goyle. I think the landlord would agree to a few months' lodging for what you just did.”

“Break the witch's table?” he said quizzically, his big clawed feet shifting with sharp taps. He had really big ears that moved to show his emotion, up and down, almost like a dog's. And the white tufts were adorable.

Smiling wider, Ceri pointed with her eyes to my light, still glowing despite the distractions. “For keeping said witch from frying her synapses,” she said. It was my turn to flush, and seeing it, Ceri added, “It's not that big of a circle for the power you're channeling. If you added to it, it might implode and then backlash into you.”

My mouth twisted up as an uneasy feeling took me. “Really?”

“Why don't you let it go?” she asked, and when the gargoyle awkwardly cleared his throat, I nodded, separating my will from the line.

I stiffened when the pulling sensation seemed to fall in on itself, blinking when every last erg of power in me was sucked into the ball and the light hanging over the dresser extinguished itself. That fast, the golden shadow-light was gone, and everything looked dull and gray in the glow of the flickering candle on the dresser. Poised, I listened to the rain as the silver metal ring swayed slightly. It seemed colder, and I shivered. Demon magic without cost. This was going to bitch-slap me somewhere. I knew it.

“This is high magic, Rachel,” Ceri said, bringing me back to the present. “Beyond what I can do. The chance you will misstep is high, and you can seriously hurt yourself if you jump into experimentation. So don't.”

I had a flash of irritation that she would tell me not to do something, but it died fast.

The gargoyle shifted his wings with the pleasant sound of sliding sand. “I just thought it was a bad idea,” he said. “The power resonating in that bell is maxed as it is.”

“Just so.” Ceri turned to the window as Jenks buzzed in through the pixy hole in the topmost window.

“Hey!” he shouted, his wings clattering aggressively, hovering with his hands on his hips as he looked at the awkwardly shifting gargoyle. “It's about time you woke up. What do you think you're doing here? Rachel, make him leave. No one invited him.”

“Jenks, he wants to talk rent,” I said, but Jenks was having none of it.

“Rent?” he yelped, buzzing his wings to shake the water from them, leaving spots on the granite. “Did you eat fairy dust this morning for breakfast? We can't have a gargoyle here!”

My head was starting to hurt. It didn't help when Jenks landed on my shoulder with the scent of wet garden. I felt a damp spot through my shirt, and I didn't like that he had bared the sword he had taken to carrying around with him since yesterday. Ceri had moved to sit on the fainting couch, her hands resting to either side of her and her ankles crossed as if she were holding court. Clearly it was up to me. “Why not?” I said when I saw the gargoyle had flushed again, shifting from foot to foot.

“Because they're bad luck!” Jenks shouted.

Tired of him yelling in my ear, I flicked him away. “They are not,” I said. “And I like him. He just saved me from frying my little witchy brain. At least have him fill out a rental questionnaire or something. You want the city to come down on you for not being an equal opportunity renter? You just don't like him because he slipped your sentry lines. God, Jenks, you should be begging him to stay. You're starting to sound like Trent.”

Jenks's wings stopped and he almost fell. Ceri hid a smile, and I felt a moment of amusement. The pixy's features bunched up, then smoothed out. Clearly flustered, he warily dropped to the edge of the dresser top, his wings a blur of motion. Making a show of it, he sheathed his sword. I doubted very much it would have pierced the gargoyle's skin, but everyone in the room probably appreciated it.

“I don't have a form,” Jenks admitted, somewhat embarrassed. “We can do it verbally.”

The gargoyle nodded, and I backed up a step, sitting beside Ceri when she shifted to make room. It was darker now without my globe, and thunder rolled in a comfortable sound.

“Name?” Jenks shot out. “And your reason for vacating previous residence?”

“Jenks, that's rude,” I said, and the gargoyle twitched his tail in a show of acceptance.

“My name is Bis,” he said, “and I was kicked off the basilica because I
was spitting on the people coming in. Suck-up little Glissando thinks she knows angel dust from dirt and tattled on me.”

“Tink's titties, really?” Jenks said in admiration. “How far can you spit?”

My eyebrows rose. His name was Bis? What kind of a name was that?

Bis puffed up in pride. “If we've had a recent rain, I can hit a stop sign from a block away.”

“Holy crap!” Jenks's wings lifted him, and he landed closer. “Think you can hit that creepy angel statue from the steeple?”

Bis's color went silver-white to match the fur on his ears and tail, and gold flecks grew in his red eyes. “Faster than you can throw toad shit at a hummingbird poaching your nectar.”

“No fairy-ass way!”

“Yes way.” Bis settled his wings against himself. The sound was soothing, and my shoulders eased. I think Jenks had found a friend. It was so sweet I could just barf. Except that he really needed one.

“Bis, it's good to meet you,” I said as I extended my hand, then hesitated. He was only a foot tall, about half the size of most gargoyles I'd seen from the distant vantage of the road. His hand was too small to comfortably shake even if I wanted to chance those raptorlike claws, but I was willing to bet he was too heavy to land on my wrist in a proper pixylike greeting.