White Witch, Black Curse

"Let me know when you smell burnt amber, okay?" I muttered, but Jenks was fascinated, hovering between me and the rising mist, unseen but for the faint dust slipping from him.

"Here he comes!" the pixy said excitedly, and I got behind one of the chairs. Somewhere in the spell, the dust was being used to give Pierce material to form his temporary body around. The mist started to take on a more human silhouette in the faint ambient light. Every second he looked more there. I didn't know what kind of shape he was going to be in. Al could've beaten him badly by now. I was going to have my hands full with Al and wouldn't be able to help Pierce.

"Jenks, get back," I demanded, and the pixy zipped to me and away again. The mist was thickening, and Jenks swore as the misty shape seemed to shrink an inch all around—and suddenly, Pierce was there, his bare feet standing on the brocade fabric with his head near the ceiling facing away from me. Naked as a jaybird.

The man spun, holding on to the back of the chair as he turned. His eyes lit on me, and he let go of the chair, wobbling as he covered himself. "Holy manure," he said, tossing his head to get the black tangle of hair out of his eyes, his face creased in what looked like anger. "I'd be of a mind to know, what the devil are you doing, mistress witch?"

Jenks rose up, his sword bared. "You scrawny ungrateful piece of crap!"

"Jenks!" I shouted, breathing deep for any sign of Al as I leaned over the chair and tossed Pierce the clothes. He caught them with one hand, and in a smooth motion, he jumped to the floor, putting his back to me as he fumbled to put the pants on.

I was scanning the dark, cluttered floor for demon-sign, but Jenks was more interested in Pierce, shocking the man as he flew to face him, shedding bright sparkles. "We're saving your ass, that's what we're doing," he said. "And the correct vernacular is holy shit."

Adrenaline spiked when I caught a whiff of burnt amber, but it was coming from Pierce.

The solid ghost was shoving his legs into the pants, not bothering with the underwear. I couldn't help but notice—even in the dark—that they were nice legs. Strongly muscled. Used to work.

As if feeling my eyes on him, he turned, trying to get the zipper up. "What are you doing?" he said, clearly aghast. "I opine that it's not your responsibility to save me. I can take care of myself."

Still no Al. "Good," I said, anxious, "because in about three seconds, Al is going to show up, and you need to take care of your own ass. I'm going to be busy. Get behind me and stay out of the way, okay?"

Pierce gave up on the zipper and snatched a white, collared shirt up from the floor. "You rescued me without a plan?" he said, his old-world accent making him sound exotic as he shoved his arms into the sleeves and started buttoning it up. "This is a powerful fix. Nohow around it."

"Of course I have a plan, but rescuing you wasn't the point," I said, affronted. "It's the catalyst. Get behind me!"

Pierce grabbed the shoes and half-hopped beside me as he put one on. His shirt was untucked to hide his open zipper. The socks, too, he had ignored. "You didn't rescue me, then?"

"Not really."

"Do tell," he said, sounding almost unhappy. His angular, thin face was wearing disappointment as he got his last shoe on and looked up. In the dim light, I could see his dark hair was mussed, and his narrow chin smooth. Though his blue eyes looked innocent, I knew behind them was a devious mind, clever and wicked. And he was looking at me. Damn it to the Turn and back. Stop it, Rachel.

"Pierce. I'm sorry. Can we talk about this after I take care of Al?"

He stood, matching my height. "After?" he questioned.

I looked over the dark storage room, gripping my gun tighter as I started to sweat. "Al wouldn't talk to me, and pulling you out from under him was the only way I could think of to force the issue. Will you get behind me? I can't tap a line or set a circle. My aura is too thin."

"You're taking on a demon with a thin aura? I can't commune with the ever-after either! Are you plum mad?"

From above us, Jenks muttered, "I ask myself that at least three times a week."

His expression going empty, Pierce looked up at Jenks, unknown thoughts sifting behind his blue eyes, looking black in the dim light from the windows.

"I'm not taking him on," I said as I scanned for signs of Al. "I'm talking to him."

Thick eyebrows furrowing, Pierce took a breath to say something. My eyes narrowed, but he stopped, holding his breath, as if listening to something I couldn't hear. Jenks's wings hit a higher pitch, and the skin on the back of my neck crawled.

"Rache?" Jenks had his sword out as he revolved in midair. "He's coming…"

"Make yourself scarce, Jenks. I mean it."

With a boom of sound, the air pressure shifted. My instinctive hunch straightened, my eyes going first to the quivering windows, and then the new shadow standing before us in the open space. In one quick lurch, Pierce was beside me. Al was here. About freaking time.