White Witch, Black Curse

I continued to grind away, shoulder starting to hurt. "She'll probably blame it on Remus, and God knows he deserves whatever comes to him. Once you have her behind bars, you have control. One step at a time."

Again there was a long silence. "I'll see what I can do."

It had been a sour-sounding admission, and the circuit clicked closed. "Edden!" I exclaimed, but it was too late. I couldn't go to Mia with "I'll see what I can do," and upset, I set the phone in its cradle and made a frustrated noise at the ceiling. "CYA bull crap," I muttered.

Jenks flew to the island counter, stilling his wings when I finished weighing out the last bit of dust. "Why are you helping her, Rachel?"

Eyes on the scale, I blew some of the dust off, then held my breath until it gave me a reading. "I'm not." I said, satisfied with the amount. "I'm trying to not get blamed for the resurgence of a deadly Inderlander species. If we can keep her in jail long enough, Remus will be dead when she gets out, and she can't easily have another child."

I dumped the dust into the wine mix, watching it turn black and the clumps settle to the bottom. Jenks rose high again, bringing me a strand of my hair. I carefully put it in the mix and gave a couple of twists with the pestle.

The shavings from the watch were next, and finished, I opened the oven for the last bottle. Jenks came close to ride the updraft from the heat, and as I dumped everything into it and stoppered it up, I felt a twinge on my awareness. It wasn't someone tapping my ley line out back, but rather a sensation that I could sense it almost without trying. My eyes went to the ceiling, and I wasn't surprised to see Bis crawling in, his usually dark skin a pale white to match the color of what he was clinging too. My welcoming smile faded when his red eyes met mine and I noticed that his huge, white-tufted ears were at a worried slant, almost parallel to his head.

Seeing me notice him, the young gargoyle dropped to the counter.

"Holy sweet mother of Tink!" Jenks yelped, shooting halfway across the kitchen and leaving a spot of dust like an octopus inking. "Bis! What the hell is wrong with you?"

I set the bottle beside the first two, lined up beside my dissolution vat, and wiped my hands on my jeans. "Hi, Bis," I said. "Come in to get warmed up?"

Bis shook his wings straight and wound his lionlike tail around a back haunch, as if nervous. "There's two cars out front. I think it's Rynn Cormel."

My breath hissed in and a spike of adrenaline jumped, making my head hurt. "Is Ivy with them?" I asked, already moving.

"I don't know."

Jenks was way ahead of me, and I almost jogged to the front of the church, hitting lights as I went. The gong of the farm bell we used as a doorbell clinked once, not very loud, and I brushed bits of the spell off my shirt.

Though the sanctuary was blazing with light, the foyer was dark. Relief that Bis had gotten the graffiti off the sign flitted through me. It was followed by the thought that I really needed to invest in a peephole. Or some lighting. Pulse racing, I reached for the handle, ducking when Bis landed beside the door to cling to the wall like a huge bat. His ears were pinned to his head, and he shifted upward to hang at head height. Jenks was at my shoulder, and hoping the pixies stayed asleep, I opened the door.

Rynn Cormel was on my front porch, standing somewhat sideways in the yellowish light shining on the sign above the door. He looked about the same as he had a few hours ago: long coat, round hat, snow dusting his shiny shoes, hands in his pockets. Behind him were two long cars in the dark street. Not limos, but close.

Giving us a welcoming smile, he inclined his head at Jenks and me, his eyes flicking briefly to where Bis was lurking inside, almost as if he could see through the paint and shingles.

"Is she okay?" I said breathlessly.

"More than," he said in his rough voice, his New York accent obvious. "She's a masterpiece." Bringing a gloved hand from a pocket, he gestured to the second car.

Jenks's wings clattered as he dropped beside my neck to find some warmth, and my eyes narrowed. People were getting out of the second car, but there was no sign of Ivy, and I hadn't appreciated his comment.

Rynn Cormel smiled at my obvious anger, ticking me off all the more. "I did not take advantage of her, Rachel," he said dryly. "Piscary is an artist, and I can appreciate a work of art without having to get my fingers on it, spoiling it."

"She is a person," I snapped, arms crossed over me against the cold, and not going out on the stoop.

"And a magnificent one at that. You have a discerning eye."

God! This was just sick. Jenks's wings moved against me, and I looked past Rynn to the street, seeing in the dim light Ivy slumped in a husky guy's arms. He was in a black T-shirt, arms bulging while he carried Ivy as if she were nothing. Behind him was a second man with her boots and coat.

"You said she was okay!" I accused, realizing she was unconscious.