Tom misread my expression, his smooth brow tightening in anger. "My cloak may be light, but it serves a purpose. I can move unseen where those more versed in the dark arts can't." He stepped closer. "That's why we want you, Rachel Morgan. You openly consort with demons. Your cloak is as black as anyone's in the inner circle, and yet you're not afraid to walk proud and unrepentant. Even the I.S. can't touch you."
Stretching, I reached between the seats and got my bag. Right. And that's why I don't have a license? "And because of that, your little club thinks I'm worthy of them?" I said, digging for my keys. My fingers touched my splat gun, and I toyed with the idea of plugging him with a few defunct earth charms just to see him run away.
"It's not a club," Tom said, clearly insulted. "It's a tradition of witches that stretches back to the beginning of the crossing of the ley lines. A glorious lineage of secrecy and power, pushing the frontiers of our existence."
Yada-yada-yada ... It had taken on the cadence of empty rhetoric. Wondering if the I.S. knew they had a cultist on their payroll, I jammed the key into the ignition. "You summon demons?"
Tom's stance became defensive. "We explore options that other witches are too timid to venture. And we think you are - "
"Let me guess. I've been found worthy to join your cause and be privy to the inner-sanctum secrets that have been passed down from master to student for two millennia."
Okay, maybe that had been a little sarcastic, but Jenks wasn't moving, and I was worried. Tom was trying to come up with something, and I started my car. The engine rumbled to life under me, the sound of security. Hot, I fiddled with the air conditioner though the top was open. The breeze from the vents turned cool, and I relished the tickling of the curls against my face.
Done with him, I jammed the car into first. Tom put his hand on the car, his fingers going white in their grip as his words stumbled over themselves. "Rachel Morgan, you have done great things, survived multiple demon attacks, but no one gives you your due. With us you can find the honor and respect you have earned."
His flattery meant nothing, and I angled a vent until Jenks's hair shifted. "I survived by luck and my friends. I shouldn't be honored. I ought to be committed for uncommon idiocy."
I reached for the gearshift, and he pressed closer. "You took my circle," he stated.
"Because I stepped into it while it was forming! It was a one-in-a-million shot of timing!" Worry pinched his eyes that I was leaving, and I hesitated. "Do yourself and your mother a favor," I said. "Run away. Tell your boss that I put a spell on you to make you unable to continue your great work. Forget you ever heard of them, or me, and run as fast and far away as you can, because if you play with demons, they will either kill you or take you as their familiar, and believe me, you want the former. And get your hands off my car!"
Tom took his hand away, but there was a new determination in his eyes. "You won't survive on your own," he warned. "Don't be greedy. Share what you've learned along with sharing the danger of summoning them. It takes a quorum of witches to control a demon."
"Then it's a good thing I'm not trying to."
"Rachel Morgan..."
A sound of exasperation came from me. "No!" I shouted. "And stop calling me Rachel Morgan. I'm Rachel, or Ms. Morgan. Only demons use every single damned name that a person is known by. My answer is no. No lifelines, no calling my best friend. That's my final answer. I do not deal with demons. I do not want to deal with demons. Go back and tell your architect that I am flattered for the offer but that I work alone."
His eyes slid to Jenks in my lap, and I scowled. "Jenks is family," I said darkly. "And if you ever hurt my family again, you and your little sorry-ass circle will find out there are worse things than demons to piss off."
"The I.S. won't help you," he said, backing up when I revved the engine and threatened to run over his foot. "They're a vamp-run institution controlled by self-minded individuals, not those seeking to elevate a closed mind."
Pulse pounding, I said, "For once we agree, but I wasn't talking about the I.S. I was talking about me." Foot letting up on the clutch, I pulled forward. I wanted to tear out of there like Ivy's last blind date, but in respect for the dead, I had to be content with a slow, careful crawl. I glanced at Jenks to be sure the jostling hadn't shifted him to snap a wing with his body weight.
Eyes flicking from him to the narrow road, I stewed, not just about Jenks but about Tom's offer. It was never good to be offered a place in a wacko organization, especially when you tell them to shove their high ideals and their glorious work.
There was a soft pull on my chi, and my gaze hit the rearview mirror. My breath caught, and I almost drove right off the pavement when Tom turned his back on me and vanished.
Holy crap, he jumped to a line. Worried, I adjusted my grip on the wheel, alternating my focus from the road to where he had been as if it had been a mistake. He was good enough to use the lines to travel, and he was only a minor member?
Damn, who exactly had I just insulted?