Chapter Twenty-five
The cool chill of sunset seeped in around David's borrowed leather coat, and the smell of grilling burgers made my stomach hurt. I was too worried to eat. Too worried and too tired. Dressed in my working leathers, I sat alone in a folding chair under a tree in the dying autumn garden as everyone pretended everything was normal, clustered at the picnic table to eat their hot dogs before we called a demon into the graveyard.
My fingers played with the charm about my neck, and I felt the soft scar on my lower lip with my tongue. I don't know why I was worried about becoming bound to a vamp. I wasn't likely to live past tonight.
Depressed, I took off the high-magic detection charm. What was the point? My gaze drifted past the swirl of silk and laughter of Jenks's kids to the square of blasphemed ground in the graveyard before that weird warrior angel statue. It was peaceful now, but as soon as the sun set, it was going to feel the touch of demons. I could have called Minias in the kitchen, but I liked the security of hallowed ground close enough to dive into. There was a reason that patch of unsanctified ground existed, and I was going to use it. Besides, trying to cram three elves, three witches, one frightened vampire, a pixy family, and an angry demon into my kitchen was a really bad idea.
Thanks to Glenn, I had a small breathing space. The FIB detective had dug up something from Betty's past, and though I thought an illegal puppy farm was a thin excuse, the animal protection people had been more than happy to authorize a raid on her house after I signed a paper stating I'd seen her kick her dog. The distraction would keep them too busy to summon Al, so unless someone else summoned him - a prospect not likely the day after Halloween - I had until sunset tomorrow. Telling my mom she didn't need to hide on hallowed ground tonight had been the high point of my day.
David had stopped by earlier to wish me well and loan me his long leather duster. He had left when Quen showed up, looking ill but determined to try to change Trent's mind. I think the Were was rightly concerned that the perceptive elf would see the focus within him.
At any rate, after a hushed argument, Quen agreed to Trent's plan, then spent the next half hour trying to convince Trent to return with him to his compound and prepare. I figured Quen was trying to get him home where he could lock him in a box. Trent must have figured the same thing since he refused to leave and had Jonathan bring over the items on Quen's wish list. Hence the general weirdness of elves eating hot dogs in my backyard.
Quen wasn't happy. I wasn't either. I was going into the ever-after to steal a demon's DNA with a freaking tourist for backup. Just peachy damn keen.
Sensing my frustration, Ivy turned to me from the distant picnic table. I shrugged, and she went back to whatever Jenks was saying. The pixy had been questioning Ceri all day, and I couldn't help but notice that Trent, way on the other side of the table, had been listening with rapt attention. Seeing them there in a noisy bunch trying to pretend everything was normal, I was reminded of my mother's occasional family reunions. Here I was again, watching from the outskirts. It always seemed to be that way. Maybe they had known I was a bastard child.
I smoothed my brow and straightened when Marshal headed my way with a plate of food. He'd shown up a few hours ago trying to fit in, and doing a damn fine job of it after his initial stammering reaction to finding Trent in my backyard. He had taken over the grilling to stay out of the way yet be in the thick of things. I wasn't quite sure what to think. I wasn't going to repeat old patterns and let this slide into something simply because he was nice looking, fun to be with, and somewhat interested. Especially if Jenks was right and he was here with a white-knight complex and thought he could save me.
"Hungry?" he said, smiling as he put the paper plate on the rickety table beside me and sat in the folding chair beside mine.
His almost-there eyebrows pinched, and I forced a smile. "Thanks." My gut clenched at the smell of the food, but I dutifully pulled the plate onto my lap. It was the first time today we'd been alone. I knew he wanted to talk, and my blood pressure spiked when he took a deep breath. "Don't start," I said, and his brows arched in surprise.
"You're a psychic, too?" he said with a little laugh, and I crunched through a chip. The salt hit my tongue, and my hunger woke up.
"No," I said, seeing Jenks past him. The pixy was watching us with his hands on his hips. "But I've heard this argument before." I crossed my legs and sighed when Marshal took a breath. Here it comes.
"The ever-after?" he asked. "Isn't there someone else who can do this? My God, the man has enough money to hire anyone to gather samples for his genetic mapping program."
I stared at my plate because of fatigue, not because of the lie we had told Marshal to hide that Trent was an elf and wanted the sample to revitalize his species. "No," I said softly. "There isn't. This is what I do. Seemingly stupid stuff that most people die doing." I tucked a strand of hair as my frustration grew. "You don't think I know this is one of the most risky things I've ever done? I appreciate your concern, Marshal, but I need that demon sample, and Trent can get me there and back. If you're going to be the voice of common sense and tell me that I'm likely not going to survive, then you need to leave."
My voice had risen, and I exhaled. I knew Jenks and Ivy could hear if they tried. Marshal looked hurt, and I slumped. "Look," I said, lowering my eyes in guilt. "I'm sorry. I really am. You simply knowing me has put you in danger." I thought of Kisten, dying to protect me, and I bit my lip. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't even know why you're here."
His face took on a severe cast, and he leaned to block my view of the picnic table. "I'm here because I thought I could talk some sense into you," he said tightly, and my gaze jerked to his at the frustration in his voice. "It's hard to watch someone do something this incredibly stupid, especially when there isn't a damn thing you can do to help them." His fingers found my hands. "Rachel, don't do this."
His fingers, twined in mine, were warm, and I slowly pulled away. This is so not what I need. "I'm doing this," I said, starting to get mad.
Marshal's brow pinched. "I can't help you."
I jerked my fingers from him. "I never asked you to help me." Damn it, Jenks. Couldn't you be wrong once in a while?
Taking my silence for indecision, Marshal stood. The dry clatter of dragonfly wings intruded, and I stared at Jenks, wondering how he could see people so clearly and I could be so dense.
"Hey, Marsh-man," Jenks quipped lightly. "Ivy wants another burger."
Marshal gave me a faintly sour sideways look. "I was just heading that way."
"It's going to be okay," I said almost belligerently, and he hesitated. "I can do this."
"No," he said with Jenks hovering uncertainly beside him. "It won't. This is bad. Even if you do come back, you're going to be really messed up."
He turned and headed to the grill, his shoulders hunched and his steps slow. Jenks didn't seem to know what to do with his wings as he rose and fell in indecision. "He doesn't know you very well, does he," the pixy said nervously. "You're going to come out of this better than when you went in. I know you, Rache, and it's going to be okay."
"No, he's right," I breathed, my hair moving in my exhaled breath. "This is a bad idea." Hiding in my church for the rest of my life was a bad idea, too, and if Trent was going to pay for my trip in and out of the ever-after, why shouldn't I take him up on it?
Jenks darted away, clearly upset. My gaze landed first on Ivy - who was watching Jenks vanish into the graveyard, which was hazy with dusk - then moved to Quen and Trent arguing. Trent made a sharp motion, and Quen dropped back. The older man's face was dark with emotion, and showing his anger and fatigue, he walked away, hand to his face as he stifled a ragged cough. Trent blew out his breath in relief, then stiffened when he realized I'd seen it. I gave him a sarcastic bunny-eared kiss-kiss, and he frowned. Looked like we were still on for our date.
Quen found his own solitude on my back porch steps, sitting slumped with his knees bent. He looked tired, but nowhere near like he'd been dying last night. Three pixy bucks dropped down a respectful distance beside him, and he started. A faint smile curved over my face as I watched the older man's mood shift from frustrated anger to fascinated relaxation. Yes, something was there. This was more than the usual enthrallment I'd seen humans exhibit when they talked to pixies.
Ivy was watching Quen, too, and when Marshal brought her a burger, she ignored it, getting up and drifting over to the still-recovering elf. The pixies scattered at a sharp word from her, and she sank down beside him. Quen eyed her, taking the beer she handed him but not drinking it. I thought the two of them looked odd together, very unalike, almost adversaries, yet finding common ground in their unusual helplessness.
Pixies were starting to show themselves with sporadic flashes of light hovering close to the ground in the chill, and I followed the low, sleek shadow of Rex padding out from the long grass to make a beeline to Ivy. It wasn't often that the vampire was on her level, and I sighed when Ivy casually picked the cat up and set it on her lap, all the while talking to Quen. It wasn't hard to figure out what their topic of conversation was. They kept looking at Trent and me.
The sun had almost set, and I shrugged David's leather duster closer and dug my toes into the soles of my boots. I was tired. Really tired. Exhaustion had brought me down for a nap earlier, but that hadn't touched my mental weariness. Catching Ceri's eyes, I moved her attention to the setting sun. The woman nodded in acknowledgment, bowing her head as if praying. In a moment, she straightened. There was a new determination to her, a tightening of her jaw and a hint of fear. She didn't want me doing this, but she'd help.
Silence fell at the table when she picked up her five-pound bag of salt and started across the grounds to the blasphemed spot of earth surrounded by God's grace. In a breath, everyone was moving, and I watched in amusement as Quen tried to help Ivy rise, getting an insulted look from her for his trouble. Trent went inside to change, and Marshal grabbed another beer and sat beside Keasley at the picnic table.
I looked up at an unfamiliar wing-clatter and got an eyeful of pixy dust. It was little Josephine, one of Jenks's youngest, with three of her brothers serving as babysitters/guards close behind. She was too young to be alone, but so eager to help maintain the garden and their security that it was easier to watch her from a distance.
"Ms. Morgan," the pretty little pixy said breathlessly as she landed lightly on my offered hand and I blinked her dust away. "A blue car is at the curb, and a lady who smells like you and fake lilac is coming up the front walk. Do you want me to pix her?"
Mom? What's she doing here? Ivy was watching me, wanting to know if we had trouble, and I shifted my finger to tell her we were fine. The exchange was noticed by Quen, which kind of irritated me.
"It's my mom," I said, and the pixy girl's wings drooped in disappointment. "You can pix the next magazine salesman, though," I added, and she perked up, her tiny hands clapping. God, please let me survive to see Josephine pix a salesman.
"Thanks, Ms. Morgan!" she chimed out. "I'll show her in." Then she darted over the church to leave a fading sunbeam of sparkles. Her brothers were in hot pursuit, and I couldn't help my smile. It slowly faded as I leaned forward and put my elbows on my knees. Time enough to say good-bye to my mom, I thought when the back door opened, and my mother clattered down the back porch steps with a box on her hip. I'd told her what I was doing tonight, and I should have expected she might come over. Quen stood to murmur a greeting to her before he went inside after Trent, and I stifled a surge of annoyance. I didn't like the two of them in my house. Using my bathroom. Sniffing my shampoo.
My mom was wearing jeans and a flowery top, looking younger with her short hair frizzing out all over, only somewhat contained with a ribbon that matched her shirt. Eyes bright, she took in the preparations in the middle of my graveyard with a worried cast to her.
"Rachel. Good. I got here before you left," she said as she waved a distant hello to everyone and headed to me. "I wanted to talk to you. The Turn take it, Trenton has finished baking up to be quite the young man. I saw him in the hall. I'm glad to see you've gotten over your little childhood tiff."
Relief was a warm wash through me when I saw her, her thoughts clearly back together. When I'd left her this morning, she'd been distraught, half out of her mind, but I'd seen her bounce back like this before. Takata clearly knew the right words to say, and I wondered, now that the truth was out, if we had seen the last of her breakdowns. If breakdowns were what they truly were. Living a lie tore at one's being and leaked out in the oddest of places.