Chapter Five
Arms swinging, I entered the sanctuary, dimly lit by the TV, on in the corner where the new furniture set was. Pixies perched on the backs of the chairs in rows, cheering when the crocodile took down the zebra. Pixies and nature shows went hand in hand. Who knew?
I wasn't in the best of moods. I knew Wayde was going to take whatever I said as me telling him he wasn't good at his job. He was, but he needed to be better than good until this was over. The sight of my desk, unused and gathering dust, didn't help. Ivy's piano, seldom played but utterly dust free, didn't help, either. Kisten's pool table, the felt still burned and charred from a "white" charm a coven member had thrown at me, slid my mood clear back into depressed.
"I'm sorry, Kisten," I whispered, touching it as I passed it on the way to the foyer and the narrow staircase to the belfry. I had meant to get it refelted a long time ago, but life kept interfering. I'll call the rec place right after I call Marshal, I thought, feeling a pang of guilt. Marshal probably wouldn't return my call, but it was either him or trusting the I.S.
I entered the dark foyer, still lacking a light and pitch-black. How long had I been promising myself to wire one in? I wondered, counting it in years now.
I can do better than this, I thought as I pulled the narrow door to the stairway open with a soft creak, and a faint tap, tap, tap echoed down in the slightly cooler air smelling of wet shingles. Wayde was working on his room again, and I started up, thinking there had been too many things I wanted to do, and none of them was getting done. I've got to start taking care of things, I thought, vowing to do something this time.
"Hi, Ms. Morgan!" a high, resonant voice called out, and I jumped, nearly falling backward down the stairs.
"Holy crap, Bis!" I exclaimed, looking up to see the cat-size gargoyle clinging to the sloping ceiling like a weird bat. "You startled me!"
The small teenager grinned to show his black teeth, his red eyes glowing slightly in the dim light of the stairway. He had lightened his pebble-gray skin to match the raw wood brown of the walls, and his clawed hands and feet dug in as he wheezed/laughed at me. As I watched, his skin shifted color again, and he swished his lionlike tail. It even had a tuft on the end that matched the long hair on his ears. It helped him balance in flight, apparently.
"Sorry," he said, his pushed-in, almost ugly face turned up in a smile. Leathery wings spread, he jumped to my shoulder and wrapped his warm tail around my neck. I braced for the sensory overload that never came . . . and sighed. Before my bracelet, his touch had sent every ley line in Cincinnati singing in my mind. Now there was nothing, and I breathed in his odd scent, a mix of old iron and feathers from the pigeons he ate.
"I don't think you're sorry at all," I said mildly as I started back up, and his tail tightened. Immediately, I forgave him. Bis was a good kid. He'd been living in the belfry for almost a year now, having been kicked off the basilica for spitting on people. Jenks thought that was just fine, and Bis paid his rent by watching the church and grounds the four hours around midnight that Jenks liked to sleep. Where else was the little guy going to go?
"Wayde is decent, right?" I asked, again hearing the faint tap, tap, tap come again.
"Decent?"
I could understand Bis's confusion. He usually didn't wear clothes - they interfered with his ability to go chameleon.
"Uh, maybe you could just warn him that I'm coming?" I said, slowing as I neared the top, the steady glow of light coming through the wide crack under the door.
But then Wayde's easygoing voice echoed down. "I'm decent. Come on in."
The tap, tap, tap started again, and I continued up the stairs, trying to decide how I was going to do this without hurting his feelings. Wayde had been fixing up the belfry - he liked the space better than camping out in the back living room. I hadn't been up there yet to see what he'd done. There'd been lumber deliveries and several furniture vans, and I was curious. Last time I'd seen it, the room had been an empty hexagon with the church's bell hanging over it and no insulation. It had been a nice place to sit and watch the rain, but not to live in.
"Wait until you see," Bis said proudly. "Wayde made a shelf for me in the steeple."
I smiled as I ascended the last of the stairs. "I didn't know you wanted one. Sorry, Bis."
Again his tail tightened, and I almost choked. "It just kind of happened," he said, and I could breathe again. "You know, extra wood and stuff."
Electric light? I thought, looking at the slice of warm yellow glow coming through the crack under the door as I neared the last steps.
Bis jumped from my shoulder and my hair flew as he landed on the door to swing it open. Another wing pulse, and he was in the air again, darting up past the huge bell making a false ceiling. Light had spilled out, and I heard the thump of a hammer being set down. "Come on in. What do you think?"
Head swiveling, I came in as Wayde turned from the window he'd been working on. The old slatted frame was out, propped up against the wall beside him, and the dark square of the rainy night was beyond him. A new, stickered window was next to him, ready to go in. His shirt was off and his lightly tanned skin glistened from either sweat or the mist coming in off the roof. I blinked, taking in his tattoos. I'd seen only a fraction before, but the man was covered in them. They moved as his muscles did, and he had a lot of those, too. He looked good over there with his tools and stuff. Really good.
"Nice," I said softly, and Wayde ducked his head, smiling slightly.
"I meant, what do you think of the room?"
I stood in the doorway and eyed him. "What did you think I was commenting on?" But when I actually looked at the room, my lips parted. It was nice. The original oak floor still needed to be finished, but a large circular rug added softness and warmth. Wallboard had gone up, already mudded and with insulation behind it, I was sure, from the rolls I'd seen in the sanctuary last week. The cathedral ceiling around the bell was finished, but the original heavy beams still showed. The metal rings that held the rope to ring the bell had been polished of rust, and they gleamed dully.
Amazed, I craned my neck until I spotted Bis on his shelf. It ran along the entire interior of the steeple, and it looked cozy. "I didn't know there was electricity up here."
"I ran a line up through the walls," Bis said proudly, shifting his wings in a leathery hush.
Wayde exhaled as he sat on the sill, his back to the night, one booted foot dangling, one touching the worn floorboards. The rain on the roof sounded nice - it smelled even better. "That kid is better than a snake," he said, and I didn't think he meant the living kind. "Three minutes, and he had it to me."
"Wow, you guys do good work. This looks great!" I said. There was a single camp-style bed in the corner, almost hidden behind the antique marble-top dresser that had been here when we bought the place. A small electric heater sat across the room, humming faintly. The faded fainting couch was beside it, and the shelf where I'd once had my demon curse books. I felt warm as I remembered what Marshal and I had done on the couch, then shifted awkwardly.
"It's small," Wayde said, eyes on the huge bell acting like a fake ceiling. "But I like it. It's the first time I've been in any one place longer than a month. It feels good to settle, I guess."
I came farther in, fidgeting inside as I tried to find a graceful way to bring up his work habits. My old folding chair was set beside the bed, the one I used to sit on when I'd come up here to get away from everyone and just watch the rain. "I've never lived anywhere other than Cincinnati. Long term, that is."
Wayde had gone back to his work, and he picked up his hammer, ripping the last bit of molding out. "You name it, I've been there."
"Detroit," I said, thinking his back looked strong, from running probably, since his muscles were smooth, not chunky from weights.
I flushed when he turned, catching me ogling him, but he was pointing to a skid-mark tattoo on his arm. "Detroit," he said in challenge.
Okay. I like games. "Atlanta?"
Hammer still in his hand, he pointed to a blue star on his shoulder. It was sending sparks out, one of which was setting the tail of a snaking dragon on fire.
"New Orleans?" I asked next, and Wayde's ears went red.
"Uh, trust me on that one," he said, then swore under his breath as he looked at the clock on the dresser and set his hammer down.
"It's on his butt," Bis volunteered. "A naked woman with a saxophone."
Wayde reached for his shirt and frowned at Bis. "That was privileged information."
Bis laughed and wheezed, and I watched him shake out a big pillow and settle on it. There was a bowl up there, too, and the shirt that Jenks had gotten him last June, right next to a vase of plastic flowers and a picture he'd once asked for of the garden. Jeez, I should've asked if he had what he wanted.
"Thanks for being so nice to Bis," I said softly, the guilt running high. He just seemed so independent.
"Don't worry about me, Ms. Morgan," Bis said. "It was only scraps of wood. If I was at home, I'd be out on the roof with my parents. I don't need all this stuff."
But he clearly appreciated it. He had a real space, and I couldn't help but feel that I'd let him down. One more thing that had fallen by the wayside.
"I think it's turning out good," Wayde was saying as he stuffed his shirt into his jeans. "I don't get a chance to use my hands much."
"Are you cold, Ms. Morgan?" Bis said, his wings opening up. "I can warm this place up better than that heater."
Waving my hand for him to stay there, I shook my head. "I'm good," I said, pushing up to my feet. "I, ah, just came to talk to Wayde for a moment."
Wayde hesitated. "I usually only hear that from a woman who wants to break up with me." He faced me squarely, pulling to his full height. "What?"
Heart pounding, I forced myself to stop fidgeting. "Don't take this the wrong way . . ."
He squinted at me, his stance becoming aggressive. "Too late. What?" he repeated.
I took a deep breath. Why was this so hard? "HAPA is calling me out," I said, my attention following the grain of the floor. "They're after my blood, literally, and I wanted to ask if you needed help or anything from the FIB until we get them."
"You don't think I'm good enough to keep you safe," he said blandly, and my head came up. Damn it, I was trying to be grown up here, and he was going to get touchy.
"No," I insisted, but I sounded insincere even to me. "You're great at your job. I'm not helpless, so I don't think round-the-clock protection is needed, but I'm on HAPA's hit list and - "
"Let me tell you something, witch," he said, taking a step forward and pointing at me with a stiff finger. But then he hesitated and looked at his watch. "Shit, we're going to be late. I've a better idea. Let me show you something."
My air came in fast and I pulled away, but I was too slow, and with a gasp and a yank, I found myself caught in a submission hold, my back to Wayde's front, held tight. "Hey!" I yelped, wiggling and finding I was really caught. Damn, he was fast. "What are you doing?"
"We have to meet David for your appointment, and since you think I'm not good enough, I'm going to prove it to you."
Appointment? My tattoo? I didn't think that was until Friday! "Prove what?" I said, my heart pounding and my breath fast. "That you're a bully? Let me go," I insisted, not caring so much about the damn tattoo as him thinking he could manhandle me like this.
"You've been looking down on me since I got here," he said, his words a warm breath on me. "Don't think I can't tell. I'm a patient man, but I'm tired of it, and if you're going to survive, you have to trust me. You're the kind of person that show means more then tell, so we're going to have it out, right here, right now. You and me."
Is he nuts? "Wayde, this is not how to convince me you're good at your job," I said, trying to twist from him, but he had me firmly and my skin burned. "Let go before I hurt you!" I exclaimed, then gasped when he spun me around, sending me almost crashing into the new window.
I found my balance and settled into a ready pose with my hands in fists. He rocked to a halt between me and the door, and I thought about his work as a bouncer, thought about those muscles covered with tattoos. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I said, spitting mad. "I said I'd get the tattoo, and I will!" If he touched me again, I was going to smack him a good one.
Wayde crossed his arms over his chest, looking like a rock between me and the door. "This isn't about the tattoo. I've been watching your back for three weeks, and you are oblivious to everything. Oblivious!" he said, waving a thick arm. "And you think I'm not capable of my job?"
"What in hell do you want?" I said, just as mad. "A citation of merit? I didn't ask you here, and if you can't do your job, you need to leave!"
His chin lifted. "That's what I thought," he said. "You really think I'm shit. Fine. If I get you downstairs and in your car, you stop doubting me. If I can't, I'll pack up and be on the next vamp flight out."
I thought about that, steaming in anger and feeling his fingers on me, though he was across the room. Bis's eyes were wide as he silently watched, his tail twitching in excitement. Okay, maybe I had been harboring a sliver of doubt that he was up to it, because I eagerly settled into a fighting stance, light and balanced on my feet - and nodded. He wasn't getting me in that car.
Wayde looked up at Bis, who was watching with breathless anticipation. "Finally," he said, and calmly came at me.
I swung a foot at him, teeth clenched when it hit his offered arm with nothing to show for it. He ducked my next swing with the speed of a wolf, then dodged another kick. My eyes widened, and I backed up until I found the wall, having forgotten how fast Weres were. "Wayde!" I shrieked, but he had grabbed me around the waist and flung me over his shoulder.
"Put me down!" I yelled, hitting his back. "Damn it, I don't want to hurt you!" I said, jamming my elbow into the soft muscle between his neck and shoulder to no effect.
"Whatever," he said, having to raise his voice because the air was suddenly full of pixy kids and the draft from Bis's wings. "Jumoke," the Were said calmly as I wiggled and squirmed. "Go tell your dad I'm taking her in, and if he wants to go, he'd better hurry."
"Put me down! Wayde, I swear I'm going to smack you!" I said, though I'd smacked him a couple of times already.
"Bis, will you get the lights?"
"Sure!" the gargoyle said, and it went dark. I could suddenly smell Wayde all the more, his scent lifting from his canvas coat like sweet water, smelling of damp woods and moss. Why did Weres have to smell so good?
"Hey!" I yelped when he jumped, settling me firmly on his shoulder before he started down the stairs, his boots making a harsh, hurting pace. "Let me go!" There were pixies in my hair, and I'd about had it. There were probably three ways I could get out of this, but all of them would seriously hurt him. With the loss of my magic came the loss of finesse. It was all or nothing, and I was starting to get mad at myself. God help me, I was stupid. I was relying on Wayde when one splat ball would have ended it.
"I'll let you go as soon as you're in the car," Wayde said. "Your alpha asked me to bring you to him, so shut your yap, okay?"
"You son of a bitch!" I yelled, furious that David was in on this.
"Like that's a surprise?" Wayde said, laughing as he found the bottom of the stairs and waited for the pixies to open the door for him. Ivy and Jenks were nowhere to be seen, and my face burned. They knew full well what was going on, were probably willing to let us work it out on our own. "Face it, Rachel. I'm better than you think I am. You owe me an apology."
"We're not in the car yet!" I exclaimed, not wanting to be carried out the door like this, but not wanting to hurt him, either. "Put me down, you son of a bitch!"
But he didn't, and I kicked and squirmed, unable to take a clean breath of air with his shoulder shoved into my gut. His grip on me was tight, unbreakable - the strength of a wolf pinning his prey. All right. He was good. But this wasn't encouraging me to trust his abilities. It was pissing me off. "I'm warning you, Wayde!" I exclaimed as the door creaked open and a cool wash of damp air blew in.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said, and he shifted my weight until my breath huffed out.
"Put me down!" I shouted, and Wayde jerked to a halt at the soft scuffing on the stairs.
"Ah, this isn't what it looks like," Wayde said to someone, and I squirmed, twisting awkwardly, and saw Trent standing on the steps, his car running at the curb in the rainy night. Trent's eyes were as wide as mine, and in a sudden burst of motion, he flung out his hand.
"Obstupesco!" he exclaimed, turning from businessman to assassin as he crouched on the stairs, his long coat furling, and I shrieked, covering my head with my arms and ducking back behind Wayde.
The spell hit Wayde square on, and I cried out again when he shuddered - and then dropped like a stone.
The world spun. I felt Trent almost catch me, dragging me from Wayde in such a way that only my hip hit the cement stoop. Pain shot all the way to my skull.
"Trent! Don't hurt him!" I said, dazed, as I spit the hair out of my mouth, Trent's arms under my armpits as he struggled to lift me. Wayde was out cold, and I found I didn't care as much as I thought I would. "He's my bodyguard!"
Trent's weight shifted wildly as I struggled to get my feet under me, the smell of wine and cinnamon becoming strong as he grappled for control, his dress shoes slipping on the wet cement. "My God, I forgot how heavy you are," he said, practically shoving me up and away. "I know he's your bodyguard. What is he doing carting you out of your church over his shoulder?" Glancing down at Wayde, he tugged his long coat straight, grimacing. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I interrupt some sort of dominance foreplay?"
His tone was rude, and I leaned against the church's open door and caught my breath. "No," I said, frowning at the pixies giggling out of sight. "What are you doing here?"
Shifting from foot to foot, he tugged his coat straight, trying to find his usual aplomb, but after three days in a car with him, I could see right through to his creased brow and finger twitch. "HAPA is harvesting witches with elevated levels of Rosewood enzymes," he said, appearing oblivious to Wayde. "Excuse me for being concerned. I thought you should know before you try to apprehend them. Maybe if you returned my calls I wouldn't have to drive out here."
Guilt pricked at me, and I bit back my next tart reply. Whispers of pixies drifted at my back, and the damp night brushed my cheek. Two steps away, Trent stood awkwardly in the mist, rubbing his hand and waiting for my response. It was the one that Al had ripped the fingers from, and it probably hurt when he used it to spell with. He looked angry, and I thought back to seeing him earlier today at the park, upset, frustrated, and altogether appealing.
Seeing me silent, he nodded as if not surprised. Expression becoming dark, he spun on his heel. Panic slid through me, and I didn't know why. "I'm sorry. I should have taken your call. I don't know why I didn't," I blurted out. "The I.S. already said as much, that they're going to use me as a scapegoat if I can't find HAPA, so I think you'll be okay."
He hesitated, his foot reaching to find the next step down. Slowly he turned back, the tension in his shoulders easing. The motion was slight, but I caught it in the dim light from the sign above the door. "I thought that's why I was out there," he said guardedly, shifting his weight to his back foot as he found the top of the stoop again. "Though they told me they wanted my opinion as to the possibility that you did it. I told them you didn't. I was hoping to get to you before they took you out there."
"It wouldn't have made any difference," I whispered.
Trent took a steadying breath, glancing down at Wayde as he stepped closer. "That's not the only reason I came over. Rachel, have you given any thought to taking the bracelet off?"
I backed up, feeling sick. The church loomed behind me, safe and secure, and yet fear coursed through me like a red ribbon. "No."
His jaw tightened as he came closer. "Whatever trouble you're in with the demons, I can help. I gave the bracelet to you so you could have a choice, but you aren't choosing anything. You're letting your fear make your decision for you."
"Fear!" I exclaimed, stiffening, and the last of the pixies vanished deeper into the church.
His head dropped for a moment. When it came up, in the streetlight I could see his anger clearly. I could tell I wasn't going to like whatever was going to come out of his mouth next. "You aren't being a demon," he said, actually stepping over Wayde. "You aren't being a witch. You're hiding, and that's not why I gave you the bracelet."
Peeved because he was right, I jerked away from him, the silver glinting between us like a guilty secret. "I'm trying to be me, okay? But they won't let me. I had to take this stupid job just to get my license back."
Behind him, Wayde's breathing quickened, and Trent's expression became frustrated. "That's great, Rachel, but do you want to live the rest of your life doing crap jobs to win what is your god-given right?"
Damn it, I hated it when he was right, but I hated admitting it to his face even more. I did have my pride. "If I take this off, I'm in the ever-after," I said as I shook the bracelet at him, sure now that Jenks and Ivy were listening. "I'm in the ever-after washing dishes and fending off demon advances for the rest of my life. I don't like it there, okay?"
"I said I'd help you," he said quickly, his frustration probably because I wasn't being reasonable, but I couldn't help it. The man was scaring me, and I didn't know why. He never had before. Help me? Why would he help me? And could I trust that?
"You need to consider the risk that you're putting yourself and those around you in by choosing to sever your ability to do quick, adaptive magic," he finished softly, persuasively, his beautiful voice coaxing me to just . . . listen.
My head drooped, and I looked past Trent to Wayde, his face down and his hand reaching for nothing. "I can't, Trent," I whispered. "If I start hurting people, then I start killing them. I don't want to be that person."
I looked up and was shocked by his understanding. I blinked, and he hid it by rubbing his hand over the cup of his ear and ducking his head. "I understand where you're coming from," he said. "I really do, but this?" He gestured behind him to Wayde. "This isn't safe for you or anyone else. One good charm could have prevented this altogether."
"I know that," I said, feeling the sting of guilt, but he only came closer, his expression softening more.
"Instead, you did nothing, letting it escalate until someone else had to step in, and now instead of a sprained wrist, he might have a concussion."
"I am not going to kill people!" I said, and he winced as my voice echoed in the rain-emptied street.
"I'm not asking you to," he said, his eyes finally meeting mine. "But you are a demon."
Arms wrapped around my middle, I looked up into the misty rain.
"That comes with responsibilities and expectations, but it also gives you a way out," Trent was saying, but my gut hurt. "My God, Rachel, you have an arsenal of abilities you're ignoring, weapons that can be used to minimize the damage your existence creates. You're forcing others to pick up your slack. It's time to grow up."
He had me until his last words, and my head snapped down. "Stop it. Just stop," I said, and his shoulders slumped as he realized he'd gone too far. "Thank you for coming over here and rescuing me from my bodyguard."
Trent's posture shifted to one of belligerence, his hair dark in the misty rain. "Tell me that again when you mean it, and I'll buy you dinner," he said, and my jaw tightened.
"I appreciate that you want to help me screw up my life even more," I said, heart pounding, "but with all due respect, Mr. Kalamack, when I want the damn bracelet off, I'll ask you."
"Is that so?"
His words were clipped, and I desperately wanted to say something different, but he was right and I was scared. And when I got scared, I got stubborn. "Yes," I said, chin lifted.
For a long moment he looked at me, unknown thoughts making his own jaw clench and a dangerous light catch in his eyes. "Mr. Benson can't keep you safe from HAPA."
I stood up straighter, hoping he didn't see me shaking. "I'm only going out to secure sites. I'm making up some earth-magic charms later. If I'm prepared, I'll be okay. It's not as if I've never been under a death threat before."
Trent's lips lost their hard slant, and he almost smiled. Head dropping, he stepped closer to say something, but behind him, Wayde moved, his knee scraping on the cement as he sat up.
"Damn," the Were breathed, his head still bowed as he felt his chest. "What the hell hit me?"
I'd never find out what Trent was going to say because he bent to help Wayde to his feet. "Sorry about that," he said, and I swear I saw a faint glow as he did some healing magic and Wayde blinked fast. "I thought you were taking Rachel against her will."
"He was," I said, ignored by both men as I fidgeted at the open door.
Wayde squinted up at me in the dark before he dropped his head again and rubbed the back of his neck. He was wet from having been on the cement, and still dazed. "I was trying to prove a point."
Trent nodded, that same tight look about his jaw. "It would have worked except for one thing," he said, and Wayde looked up.
"What's that?" he asked blearily.
Silent, Trent stared at me while my heart hammered, once, twice, three times. "She's got friends," he finally said. His head cocked in challenge, Trent turned his back on me and paced quickly to his car, his steps light and almost silent.
Wayde groaned softly, hunched over as he felt his middle. "Are you okay?" I asked him as I put a hand on his back, then watched as Trent drove away, his wipers going and his brake lights shining on the damp pavement.
"Yeah. Can we go now?"
I nodded, taking his elbow to steady him as we went down the steps. Sure. We could go now. Damn it, I was going to get a tattoo. Swell.