I didn't like being small. And I was just small, I wasn't a pixy. Unlike Jenks, I didn't have a quick escape if Pierce stumbled other than to grab a silky fold of his vest and hope he didn't squish me when he fell down. If being small in the garden was bad, being small in the streets of Cincy was terrifying. Everything was loud, big, and heavy. I honestly didn't know how Jenks survived. About the only pleasant thing to have come out of this so far was that I was clean - really clean - again. I didn't even care that I was hairy once more.
Jenks had stayed with me while Pierce jumped back to the church for the size-down curse and something small for me to wear to go with it, and I glanced down at the exquisite light green silk that fluttered about my bare feet in the draft of our motion. I was guessing it belonged to one of Jenks's daughters, and I held a hand to the low neckline as I began to feel seasick at Pierce's quick pace. I didn't have a scrap of red on, and it worried me.
Jenks was quiet as he stood beside me on Pierce's shoulder. He wasn't wearing any red either, dressed for work in his usual skintight black silk and thin-soled high boots. If we entered another pixy's territory without red on, we'd be accused of poaching and might find ourselves attacked. His wings were a depressed blue even as they hummed to maintain his balance, but he stood ready to grab me and fly if anything should happen.
The heat of the city felt good, and I shivered when Pierce hit the shade of a tall building. He was getting nervous, and the smell of the witch overpowered the stink of the city. I breathed him in, liking the redwood scent and the bite of shoe polish. He'd taken the time for a hasty shower at the church before borrowing Ivy's sister's car and coming out to find me, and the smell of soap mingled with the silk scent of his heavily patterned vest. Looking at him, you'd never know he had a chunk of elf porn in his pocket as he gave everyone we passed a nod.
And yet, he was nervous, feeling his pocket for the statue yet again as we slowed at a crosswalk and waited for the light to change. I could see a slice of the square a block up, and anticipation made me shiver. "I'm of a mind we might be able to walk right up," he said softly.
"Not likely," I said, the only reason Pierce could hear me was because I was right next to his ear.
"You go straight here," Jenks said, his voice magnified by "pixy magic" and attracting the attention of the woman next to us. She gave a start until she saw Jenks and me, and then she was charmed, scaring me and putting Jenks in a foul mood if his comment about her perfume and a fairy's hind end was any indication.
Edging away from her thick finger poking toward us, Pierce adjusted his hat and muttered, "I know how to get to the square. The dash-it-all thing is right in front of us."
Impatient, I held my breath against the gas fumes and fidgeted. Jenks could fly me across the street, but I didn't want to leave Pierce and the statue behind. Trent's voice was being piped out over the sound system and a live video was being displayed on the news screen they'd put up the last time they revamped the square.
Son-of-a-bitch elf, I thought, remembering the Pandora charm and his claim that he hadn't tried to kill me. Add to that the fact that he and Nick had been in cahoots to nab me, and I had no problem embarrassing Trent in front of national TV cameras with an erotic statue. Unless Nick had gone to Trent after I hired him? Sort of a last-minute effort to stick me with more trouble? I just didn't know enough.
Impatient, I got to my feet, and Pierce winced when I grabbed his ear for support. But my nervousness shifted to fear when my gaze found a pair of uniforms standing across the street - waiting for us. Damn. I had hoped to get closer before we were IDed.
"Uh, Jenks?" I said, pointing, and the pixy's wings lifted, taking on a more normal hue.
"I see them," Pierce said, having heard my tiny voice. "I'll cross Main instead and come up on the other side of the street."
With a last awkward look at the cooing woman, Pierce sidestepped away and crossed Main, almost jogging to make the light. I clutched his ear, my dress flying up as Jenks took my shoulder to keep me from falling.
It had begun. Steady and sure, the adrenaline seeped in, bringing me alive.
"Good going, Sherlock," Jenks's dry voice said tightly as we reached the curb and Pierce slowed. "They're watching you now because you changed your mind."
"They were watching us before, Jenks. No big diff," I said. "Pierce, you want to shift your look?"
He nodded, and I shivered as a wave of ever-after cascaded over him when he stepped off the curb to cross Government. No one noticed, or at least no one commented on it in the throng of people trying to get to the square. Pierce now looked like Tom Bansen, which might get us stopped, or it might get us through, seeing that the dead witch had also been a corrupt I.S. cop. In either case, if the two officers on the corner had been watching for Pierce, they'd be looking for the wrong man.
We were almost there, but when I looked back, they were following us on the other side of the street. "It didn't work!" I shouted, and Pierce winced.
"I see them," he said, not looking. "I opine things will get rough from here. Rachel, watch yourself. I'll get you as close as I can." "No black magic!" I exclaimed, and he sighed.
Jostled, we reached the corner of Fifth and Main, stymied by the light again. The square was right in front of us, and Trent's speech was in full swing. The cops shadowing us were clearly from the I.S., and I scanned the area for FIB agents, not seeing any. The I.S. flunkies were watching, waiting to see what we were going to do. One was on the radio. The net was being thrown. I had to stay smaller than the holes they were leaving. Pixy small.
The skin around Pierce's eyes crinkled as he glanced at the waiting I.S. officers. "Jenks, we're going to be here a moment. Why don't you see what they're talking about? Make yourself useful, little man?"
Snarling something lost in the roar of a bus, Jenks darted over the organized chaos. I felt naked without him, and I held Pierce's ear more tightly. "News vans, news vans," I murmured, feeling better when I spotted them. I hated news vans, but they were going to save my butt today. The coven could be anywhere. If they didn't show, I was screwed.
My attention went to Trent, at the podium. Quen was behind him, and I felt a jump of worry. The man was better than me at just about everything. "I have enjoyed serving you in the capacity of councilman," Trent was saying, "and could be happy for years more, but I see the corruption, I hear your frustration, and I want to do more. It is my responsibility to do more!"
The crowd liked that, and I jumped when Jenks landed next to me with a clatter of wings. "I don't know how, but they know it's you, Rache."
Nick maybe? I thought, but I didn't say it aloud.
"We've got two I.S. agents ahead of us, four behind, and the two on the right," Jenks continued. "Trent has his staff on the stage, but it's mixed up with I.S. people. I say we get our asses up there, and trust wonder ghost here to join us when he can."
Pierce tried to look at us, failing. "I can get you across the street."
He looked almost eager for a fight, and I became even more nervous. Damn it, if Pierce messed this up I was going to be pissed! "No black magic!" I demanded, and his jaw clenched. "I mean it! The coven is out there. No black magic! If you can't do it the way I want, I'm not going to let you help me!"
"Let me help you?" he muttered, clearly upset. "I opine you wouldn't know help if it smacked you in the face. Stubborn, bullheaded, wild fey thing of a woman."
I frowned, teeth clenched. Clearly we had a few things to work out. But the crossing light had switched. I wobbled when Pierce took a step, and Jenks's wings hummed, ready to snatch me if I fell. The pavement threw up a wave of heat, buoying Jenks up like a balloon, and he finally took to the air to maintain his balance. Ahead of us waited two more cops. Vamps by the looks of it.
"Steady, Rache," Jenks said. "I'll be with you the entire time."
"Don't you patronize me, too," I said, heart beating fast. How did he survive being so small?
From the stage, Trent was saying, "My family has lived on this land for three generations. In that time, Cincinnati has grown to magnificence, but today she falters. We need to cull the programs that don't work and foster the ones that do, throw out political agendas and instead give the power back to the people so that Cincinnati may regain her greatness! My record speaks for me, and I will speak for you!"
Head down, Pierce angled to get away from the cops, but it wasn't going to happen.
"Hey, you with the hat!"
"I'll get to the stage, Rachel. Don't worry," Pierce whispered, and I shrieked as Jenks snatched me around the waist and darted off. Pierce went the other way, gone in an instant.
"Get the pixy!" rang out, but Jenks and I were across the street and in the square, flying through a forest of polyester slacks.
"Up! Go up!" I shrilled, terrified he was going to run into something, but Jenks laughed.
"They can't hit us down here," he said, and I shrieked, my legs swinging when he darted suddenly to the right. I caught a whiff of ozone. There was an ugly splat, and a woman screamed in pain. Great, they were using spells.
"Son of a Tink," Jenks muttered. I never even saw what it was - Jenks was already three people deeper into the crowd. He went low, wings clattering as the shade of lunkers cooled us. I hung from Jenks's arms, helpless, wide eyed, and feeling like I was on a roller coaster with no brakes. "Hold on!" he shouted as he jerked to a stop.
My head swung forward, then back, hitting his middle. The momentum of my legs pulled us forward, and I squinted at the sudden silver dust as Jenks back-winged us through it.
A haze of brown-tinted ever-after hissed in front of us. It hit the legs of a man. He turned. Shock registered, first at us, and then his legs, now encased in the brown goo. He shrieked, making everyone around him look. Horror filled him, and he tried to push it off, but it clung to his hands and crept up his arms. In seconds he was on the ground, unconscious in a widening circle of fear.
"Oh, that's nasty!" Jenks exclaimed, and I lost my breath as he shot straight up, my ears popping. For an instant, the entire Fountain Square spread before us, a mass of noise and movement, and then he dropped.
"Je-e-e-enks!" I shrieked, terrified. I flopped like a rag doll, but we were almost there.
The pop of radio chatter was a blur as we headed for the stage. "Where in hell is the sticky silk!" someone shouted. Another voice demanded, "Get Kalamack out of here! She's got something in her arms!"
They thought I was Jenks? Were they blind?
News crew lines lay across the gray granite, and the whine of electronics hurt my ears as we dipped and swooped. Adrenaline surged as we found the stage. People in suits fell back at Jenks's darting form, as if he was a deadly bumblebee, and I found Trent at the podium. Two I.S. cops were with him: a vamp and a witch. I pointed to the plywood stage, and Jenks dove for it.
I stumbled as my feet found purchase. Jenks's grip slipped from me, and I looked up to see Quen trying to hustle Trent away. Trent's eyes met mine, and he stopped dead in his tracks, wanting his statue back, no doubt.
"Morgan?" he whispered, his voice finding me over the noise. His eyes narrowed, and Jenks flew up to protect me. There was a hiss of propellant, and he darted away, one wing tangled in sticky silk.
"Non sum qualis eraml" I shouted as brown shoes circled me, making the stage shake.
The world seemed to collapse into me. Sound sucked inward, taking the heat of the sun and the rising damp from the plywood under my bare feet. I felt the curse take hold, and the clicking of a thousand abacuses grew as I was reduced to a thought and rebuilt from the idea of myself stored in the demon database.
I pay this cost, I thought in the perfect silence of nothing. No heartbeat, no pixy wings. Nothing. The smut from the curse coated me in a soothing layer of black, and I shuddered.
I felt the magic rise from the singular point of existence that I was, rushing through me, and I expanded. My aura rang as it adjusted, and suddenly... I was back.
Noise hit me, and I sucked in air. Jenks had gotten me here, but he was paying the price for it, sitting on a news crew antenna trying to get the sticky silk off.
"She was a pixy! You see that? She was a pixy! That's Rachel Morgan! Get a picture!"
"Oh my God," a feminine voice exclaimed as the crowd reacted. "She's naked! Where did she come from? Are you getting this, Frank?"
Frank, the cameraman, was indeed getting this, and I looked for Pierce, almost panicking when I didn't see him. I was absolutely naked and in front of rolling video cameras. I didn't want to think about the Internet in two hours' time. God, my mother...
Trent stared, his one look down and up making me flush. "What the devil are you doing, Rachel?" he said as I snatched his speech from the podium and tried to cover myself.
"Rachel!" I heard, and my head swung around. It was Pierce, three I.S. cops elbowing and tossing people out of their way to get to him. "Catch!"
He threw the statue over six rows of people. It glittered in the sun even as the I.S. agents fell on him. Fear and surprise rang out when Pierce vanished from right under them and they landed on nothing. My hand went up, and with a solid thump, the erotic statue hit my palm. Everyone was looking at the I.S. cops on the ground, not me. Everyone but Trent. He'd seen the statue, and he shoved the pulling hands off him, his want showing, full and hungry.
I eyed Trent, flushed with embarrassment and premature victory. Try to scare me into signing that lame-ass paper, huh? "I'm trying to return your statue, dumb ass," I said to him over the noise. "Come talk to me in jail if you want it back." Then louder, I wailed, "I can't do this! I'm not a thief. I'm a good girl! I don't care if the coven gives me a lobotomy, I'm not a thief. Take your freaky statue back, Mr. Kalamack!"
I threw the elf porn at him like a girl, feeling a shiver go through me as it left my aura. He caught it, and someone grabbed me from behind. A coat fell over my shoulders, hitting just under my butt. "I made a mistake!" I shouted as I struggled to keep facing the assembled people. "I'm not a bad witch!"
Trent gripped the statue, frozen, wonder on his face.
"Get a shot of that," the newswoman said, then smacked Frank. "Not her, the statue!"
At my feet, Frank panned to the left, and my hands were wrenched behind me, making the coat flop open. "Hey!" I shouted, going down on my stomach. Flat on the stage, I was at the same level as the news crews. I tossed my hair out of my eyes and looked at Trent. He'd slipped the statue into his suit jacket's pocket, but Quen - wise-to-the-world Quen - was pulling it back out and tucking it in his own.
"Watch it!" I shouted, trying to breathe as there was the cool feel of a zip strip around both my wrists and the ever-after flowed out of me. I was yanked to my feet, stumbling. Where in hell is Glenn? "I'm a good witch!" I shouted over the uproar. "The coven made me do it! But I had to give it back to Trent. I'm a good witch. I am! I'm just scared! The coven is trying to kill me!"
It was going too fast. The coven wasn't here yet! Rough hands were tugging me to the steps, and I hooked my foot behind the man's ankle and sent him down. I fell on him, my elbow somehow managing to hit his solar plexus. His grip on me fell away, and I got to my feet, struggling with the next guy. Where in hell was Glenn?
"Get back!" his voice thundered, and I almost cried. "Get off the woman! Can't you see she doesn't have any weapons?"
"She hardly has any clothes," a man at the front of the crowd said, but I didn't care when Glenn's muscular, bald, big-black-man's presence shoved his way to me. One hidden punch, and the I.S. guy holding me went down, gently eased to the stage floor by Glenn.
"About time you showed," I said as he zipped my coat closed. "I think that guy felt me up."
"You okay?" his voice rumbled, and I searched his eyes.
"Just tell me you've got David's paperwork for an FIB arrest."
His grin was like sunshine, and I felt this just might work.
"Ms. Morgan! Ms. Morgan!" the newscaster was shouting, holding her mike up over her head. "You claim the coven told you to steal Mr. Kalamack's statue?"
I couldn't answer that without outright lying. "Take me in!" I begged as Glenn pushed our way to the steps, and I tripped, falling right in front of her. "Please," I begged to the camera, stalling, so Vivian could show up. "I'm a good witch! They made me do it! It was my only way out!" Which they did. Sort of. In a roundabout way.
"Corruption in the coven. I'm going to get an Emmy for this," the woman said, then turned to Trent as Glenn hoisted me out of her reach. "Mr. Kalamack! Sir! Is that your statue?"
Trent was behind three big guys, but he wasn't leaving. "I've no idea what is going on."
The FIB had taken the stage, and with his hand around my elbow, Glenn hesitated. "Sir, if that's not yours, we need it as evidence."
Trent's face went white. Slowly Quen brought the statue back into the sun, and cameras whirred and snapped as it changed hands. Trent's look at me was murderously calm. If this didn't work, I was going to be so-o-o-o dead.
"It's his," I babbled for the cameras. "I stole it out of his vault yesterday. The coven shunned me. I had no choice!" Where in hell is Vivian?
"Will someone read that woman her rights and get her to shut up?" Trent said, but the cameras were on me.
"The coven told you to steal it?" one of the reporters asked.
Glenn's grip on me tightened, and I followed his gaze to where the crowd was parting. Black suits and power ties. It was the coven, but it wasn't Vivian, it was Oliver!
"That woman is mine!" Oliver shouted even before he found the steps, his face red as he strode forward, amulets swinging and Mobius cuff links shining in the sun. "I claim jurisdiction. She is a black witch, shunned, and I won t have her spreading lies of corruption in the coven!"
I pressed back into Glenn, the air cold on my knees. It was about to get tricky.
"Sir!" the reporter was saying, her mike aimed at Oliver as he found the stairs. "Did you tell Morgan to steal the statue from Mr. Kalamack to get her shunning removed?"
The man stopped on the stairs, looking aghast. "Of course not!"
She looked at her ring, and I realized the thing was an amulet, glowing a steady green. It was a truth charm. Shit. I had to work fast. Good thing I hadn't lied.
"I tried to keep the demon from taking Brooke," I babbled. "Friday. At sunset. You heard the explosion. All of Cincinnati did! Oliver, you have to believe me. She summoned a demon. I told her not to, but she did. I tried to save her, and she told him to kill me!"
The newscaster's amulet stayed green, and the woman's eyes grew bright. Corruption in the coven indeed.
Trent pushed forward. "Get her out of here," he hissed to Oliver.
"I'm trying," Oliver said, his fingers encircling my arm.
"No!" I said, shrinking back, my fear real. "I want due process!" Anywhere other than an FIB cell, and I was dead or lobotomized. And Trent smiled, the bastard. I hope you choke on it, elf hoy.
The newscaster held her mike higher, flushed. "Mr. Coven Leader, has a member of the coven been demon-napped in conjunction with Morgan's assassination attempt?"
Oliver hesitated. It was his downfall. Guilty or not, he looked it. Smooth as silk, Trent stepped forward. "I'm sure the coven leader will give you a statement in due time." Turning his back to the crowd, he hissed, "Will you get her out of here?"
Oliver tugged on me, and I pressed into Glenn. "I didn't want to do it!" I shrieked. "I didn't want to break into Trent's vault. I don't care if I go to jail, but don't let the coven take me. They put me in Alcatraz with no trial. They sent fairies to burn my church. And they summoned a demon to kill me!"
And of course the newswoman's amulet stayed a nice, beautiful green. Eyes bright, she stood on tiptoe, her mike above her head. "Sir! Is there any connection between Ms. Morgan's claims of an attack and the 911 call to the Hollows at 1597 Oakstaff yesterday morning?"
Innocent as a lamb, the man stammered, "I wasn't aware of an explosion."
Her ring glowed red. Trent's head bowed and he started distancing himself. I felt a glimmer of hope. Oliver had lied, and the reporter knew it.
"Sir, is it coven policy to take contracts out on shunned witches?" she insisted as if sensing blood. "Did you tell Morgan to steal for you to escape such a punishment?"
"Uh..." He hesitated, then shouted, "I'm taking custody. She is a black-arts witch! Look, I have the paperwork."
Crap. I'd forgotten that the coven loved red tape as much as David. "Glenn," I said, my fear very real, "don't let them take me. Please!"
But he could do nothing as a wheezing, red-faced Oliver handed him a paper. Damn it, I was not going to die from paperwork. "Ah, Rachel...," Glenn said, his face becoming concerned as he looked up from it. "We might have a problem here."
"Glenn," I breathed, knees going weak. "They'll kill me! Don't let them take me!"
Oliver made a satisfied huff. This was not happening. This was not happening!
As if in a dream, I heard Glenn promise he'd get me back, but it wouldn't matter. In five minutes, I'd be in a van, hopped up on drugs. An hour after that, I'd be on a surgery table.
Someone took my elbow and tugged me to the steps. "No!" I shouted, and the crowd responded. In a panic, I yanked out of Oliver's grip. Three more men grabbed me. I struggled, but sheer body mass overcame me, and I hit the floor, awkward with my hands bound behind me with that damned charmed silver. Tears started from the impact, and my breath huffed out when one of them landed on me.
"Rache!" Jenks shrilled, inches from my face and almost under someone's shoes. "Pierce says he's sorry! He can't allow the coven to take you!"
My heart sank. It was over. Pierce was going to do something. It was going to be powerful, wonderful, and completely cook my ass and label me black for sure. "I'm sorry, too," I whispered, hearing Glenn shouting about due process, stalling. "I really thought this would work." Oh God. I was going to have to spend the rest of my life in the ever-after. Damn it! Damn it back to the Turn.
Jenks flashed me a grin, shocking me. "No, you idiot. He's going to magic your zip strip off. He's sorry because it's going to burn."
He's going to what? I was yanked up, the flash of Jenks darting away was almost lost amid the shouting crowd and the reporters demanding statements. My shoulder hurt, and I spit the hair out of my mouth. I inhaled sharply as my wrists flashed into flame.
Over? I thought, gritting my teeth in a savage smile as the men flashed papers at each other and argued over who was to have me. It wasn't over yet.
Glenn was blocking the stairs, his compact bulk not backing down from a black-eyed living vamp insisting he get out of the way. I had the fleeting thought that his time with Ivy was serving him well. Behind my back, hidden by the overly long sleeves of my borrowed coat, my wrists burned where the metal touched me. Taking a breath, I pulled. And damn me back to the two worlds colliding if the charmed silver didn't give.
My heart leapt as the silver parted with a soft ping. The two I.S. officers at my shoulders were oblivious as the ever-after flooded in from the university ley line. My head snapped up, and I took a huge breath, palming the still-warm metal. Trent saw my expression, and somehow he knew. He touched Quen's arm, leaning to whisper in his ear. Quen's eyes flicked to mine, and I swear if he didn't smile, even as he started pulling Trent away, jumping to the pavers and almost yanking him down.
Youd better run, I thought dryly. Right to the FIB building to wait for me. Glenn had the statue, and I knew Trent would come for it. No one watched their retreat, the ring of reporters trying to get quotes from the much louder drama Oliver was making. All, that is, but the one reporter watching Quen drag Trent through the crowd, her eyebrows raised in speculation.
Over the noise and swirling motion, I found Pierce, standing alone and apart in the sun at the edge of the square, his feet spread wide and his hat pulled low to put his face in shadow. Looking at me from under its brim, he smiled, and it was as if everything else melted away.
"Thank you," I whispered, feeling my heart pound. He could have saved me with black magic. He could have blown in with spells flashing and outrage as his sword - but he didn't. He trusted me to save myself - the way I wanted to.
"That woman is a black witch!" Oliver shouted, red-faced as he waved his paper in front of me. "She is coming with me!"
I could have reached out and smacked him, but instead I clasped my hands behind my back, preserving the illusion that I was bound. My gaze went over the crowd, over the strung lines and amplifiers to the fountain, silent and still but still holding water. I needed a focusing object; my spit would be enough.
"Jenks!" I shouted, and the one reporter at the front met my eyes. "Go to ground!"
I flung out a hand, the ever-after in me a ripple of warmth down my arm and to my fingers. "Consimilis calefacio!" I shouted, willing the energy to flow. It was a charm to warm water, utterly innocuous and unable to work on living things with an aura. The fountain, though...
With the force of the university ley line behind the simple spell, the water in the fountain erupted in a thunderous boom of sound. All heads turned, but it wasn't just the noise that I wanted, and shouts rang out when the water turned to harmless steam. In an instant, the square was lost in fog.
Fear rose, and the officers moved to hold me. They didn't know I was free, though, and with a few well-placed knees and elbows, they went down. I didn't want to escape. I wanted my FIB cell. Smiling, I reached out for Oliver.
"You... h-how?" the older man stammered as I grabbed his shirt and yanked him to me.
"Look, Oliver," I said, just the two of us lost in the fog for a few seconds more. "Either you let me go and come see me at the FIB, or the next thing I vaporize will be your blood. Got it?"
His mouth opened and closed. "You are a demon!" he said, and I saw fear flicker. "That's a black curse!"
Crap, scaring him this much wasn't what I wanted. If he was scared, then he'd fight me. "I'm a demon only if you call me one," I said as I eased my hold. "If you call me a witch, then I'm a witch, and a witch doesn't know the curse to boil blood." I eyed him, letting his front go and rocking back. "Wouldn't me being a witch make everything a hundred times easier?"
His fear shifted to anger as the wind rose, scattering the mist. We were alone no more, and I rocked back.
The crowd was frightened, the people on the outskirts making a hasty retreat. Pierce, too, was no longer there when I looked. Here at the stage, however, no one had moved. There was a slight stir at the two downed officers, but I was standing passively, hands behind my back. The reporter knew, though, watching me with a knowing glint.
"Mr. Coven Leader!" she shouted, loud over the surrounding calls. "Is Ms. Morgan going with you, or to the FIB for due process as she clearly requested?"
The crowd hushed somewhat as Oliver clenched his jaw and tugged his clothes straight. He glanced at my arms, held behind my back, and I wondered which had scared him more, that I might know a curse to boil his blood, or that I got out of a pair of charmed handcuffs.
"It won't ever be said that the coven wrongfully denied an accused witch due process," he said sullenly. "I will accompany her to the FIB to be sure that she doesn't escape, but she may officially enter the FIB's custody."
Someone in the crowd actually cheered, and relief took the strength from my knees. I would have fallen if Glenn hadn't caught my arm, and, as the crowd became noisy, he escorted me down the stairs to a waiting FIB car, Oliver lagging behind. Everyday people wanting to know about the fog pressed close, and Glenn had to force his way through. I felt small beside him, and damn it if a tear didn't well up. I'd done it. No, wed done it.
Head high, I placed each bare foot precisely, looking neither to the right or left as I crossed Fountain Square. I might be wearing nothing but an I.S. coat and six weeks' worth of hair on my legs, but this was my city, and I'd go to my cell with pride.
The clatter of pixy wings was almost unheard over the din and requests for answers from the press. "Way to go, Rache!" Jenks said as he joined us, flying a good two feet over my head. "Pierce says you did good. He's going to go watch my kids so I can come with you. He says you'll be okay now. You smoked them, Rache!"
"Good," I whispered. "That's good." The tear brimmed and fell, but there was only one, easily wiped away with my shoulder as Glenn opened my door and I got in, carefully so as to not let the coat ride up and show my ass. Jenks slipped in at the last moment, and the crowd became even louder as my door shut.
"Damn, Rachel," Glenn said as he got in the front and put on the lights. "When did you get your cuffs off? I didn't know you could do that."
"I can't," I whispered, not knowing what I felt anymore as I gazed through the tinted glass at the people crowding the car. I was shaky, watching them protest as I sat in peace. "Think they'll come talk to me?" This could still crash down and leave me with nothing.
Glenn chuckled, making his siren whoop twice before pulling out. "Oh yeah. They'll be there. Count on it."
