Chapter Twenty-Two
My protection circle hummed with the satisfyingly pure sound that I was identifying with the narrow ley line out back in the graveyard, the bell-like ting a spot of beauty in the chaos of sound and abrupt faults every other ley line was spitting out right now. Frustrated, I set the nested slave rings on my palm, and after Jenks's somewhat unenthusiastic thumbs-up, I peeled my aura off my hand, leaving it bare to everything all the way to my wrist.
The steady, ringing snick, snick, snick of Ivy sharpening her second-best katana in the corner was a soothing rhythm, but I still felt uneasy as I imagined the thinnest whisper of red aura spilling down my arm, mirroring the shadow of veins to puddle under the rings, rising to gently enfold it and breathe the first hints of life into the cold metal.
"Looking good, Rache."
But it wasn't good, and my heart pounded as I exhaled, empting my mind of everything but the rings. The red had taken, I could feel the cold metal resonating, and I shifted my aura to orange, pinpricks racing over my arms like goose bumps.
Jenks's wings clattered, and my brow furrowed. The sliding sound of Ivy sharpening her blade hesitated, and I stiffened as the orange rose up and over the ring, completely unabsorbed. Take it, damn it! But I knew it wasn't going to. I'd been trying all afternoon, and I had never gotten any further than this, and I didn't know why.
"Damn it all to the Turn and back," I muttered, letting the rings drop into my palm and lowering my hand. My full aura raced down my arm, and I shivered, feeling protected again. Jenks's wings slumped, and I shoved the rings into my pocket like a guilty secret.
"If I hadn't done it once, I would have said Pierce made it up," I said sourly as Ivy held her gray length of steel up to the light. "And I don't know why you're sharpening that blade. It's like bringing a knife to a gunfight."
"It's always good to have a backup plan," she said mildly. "And before you say anything, just shut up about it. Jenks and I can keep whatever demons there are at bay while you and Quen do what you need to do."
"I wasn't going to say anything," I said, and her easy motion on the blade hesitated.
"Mmm-hmm." Her tone made it clear she knew I was lying. I'd feel better if they were here and out of harm's way. It was going to be warmer tomorrow night but maybe too cold for Jenks. And Ivy was going to be more of a liability than an asset trying to defend herself against magic. There was a reason even the I.S. didn't send vampires after a witch. I didn't like Quen being out there with me either, but if anyone could help me, it would be him.
"Keep it simple and everything will be fine," Jenks said, and I jumped when a thrown fishhook and line snagged the edge of the counter and Belle's pale, scary face popped up. With an acrobatic flip, she levered herself up and away from the drafts to stand among Trent's library books. I still had to get them back, and I wondered what kind of late fee I might be risking.
Keep it simple, I thought as I reached to tidy Trent's books. Nothing about any of this had been simple. I'd been trying to get these stupid rings to reinvoke since getting back from the museum, all with no results. It was as if something was blocking me. Maybe because the sun was up? Slave rings were foul. Just the idea made me uneasy. And here I was, trying to reinvoke them. For a good reason, I kept telling myself, but did I really want to be the person who believed the end justified the means?
"It will work," I said as I stacked Trent's books with a thump, and the draft blew Belle's spiderweb-like hair back. "You can't lose with a vampire vanguard and a pixy backup."
Ivy glared at me, and I gave her a questioning look until she darted her gaze to Jenks. He was slumped over again, his wings not moving. Damn it! That was supposed to have cheered him up, not remind him of his stupid son! I hadn't known it at the time, but Jenks had found Jax in the back halls and thrashed him soundly so he wouldn't raise the alarm. I was sure his son was okay, but Jenks was depressed.
"Jenks," I pleaded, wiping my hands off on the apron and coming to sit kitty-corner to Ivy, Jenks standing between us. "I'm sorry about what happened with Jax. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thankful. It was the difference between walking out of there and being carried."
Jenks's face was frozen in grief and guilt. "I hurt him," he said bitterly. "I tore his wings to shreds. My own son. He won't be able to fly for months, if ever again." A dark pool of black dust spilled off the table for Rex to paw at. "He's my son, even if he is blind, ignorant, and . . ."
His words cut off as his head drooped. Heartache clenched my chest, and I curved my hand around Jenks, wishing I was smaller so that I could give him a hug, and then maybe a shake. "He's been misled," I said softly, and Jenks angrily wiped his face, his hand glowing with a silver dust. "He's your son, Jenks. Whatever happens."
Clearly depressed, Jenks sat down where he was, his legs crossed and his head down. "I don't think my son will be spying on us anymore. I scared him. I scared him into believing I'd kill him if he ever came home again."
"Jenks . . ."
"I'm fine," he said with such bile that I knew he wasn't. Head coming up, he flew to the sill, standing beside the overturned water glass and looking out the window with his back to us as he gazed into his garden, shadowed in the coming sunset.
I exchanged a worried look with Ivy. I had no comfort for him, nothing to say.
"He will forgive you."
It had been Ivy who spoke, and Jenks spun, the anger so thick on him that I was glad I hadn't tried to make it better. "What do you know?" he snarled, his wings humming to a transparent brightness, but his feet were nailed to the sill.
Ivy didn't look up, staring at the light glinting on the cool length of steel as she held it up. "I scared someone I loved like that," she said softly. "I was young and stupid. The sex play got out of hand. I cut him deeply and wouldn't stop. I ignored him when he told me no. I carved deeper when he begged me to stop."
The sword dropped, and her head drooped to follow the steel in her hand. "I knew he could take more and that his pain was fleeting. I thought I had a right to correct his assessment of his abilities, but what I was doing was confusing his mental limits with his emotional ones. I was riding high on his fear, and I bled him within an inch of his life."
Only now did she look at Jenks. "He forgave me. Eventually. Jax will, too."
I shifted uneasily, guessing she was talking about Kisten. It sounded about right. Kisten could forgive anything, since he'd done terrible things himself. I thought about that, wondering if only those who did horrible things would ever be able to forgive me. This had to stop, I thought, feeling the bump of the rings in my pocket.
"Your son made a serious mistake," Ivy said, and Jenks shuddered. "You beat him, told him he was making an error that was going to end his life, and you told him to walk away before you came back and finished the job. You saved his life. He will forgive you."
Jenks blinked fast, looking like the nineteen-year-old that he was, with all the insecurities and inexperience that that came with. He wanted to believe. I could see it in his brilliantly green eyes. He took a breath to say something, then changed his mind.
I suddenly realized I had to leave. "Ah, I need to make a call," I said, leaning down to slide my scrying mirror out from my cookbooks. "I'll be in the garden," I added, thinking Jenks might open up if I wasn't around. God! We were a messed-up bunch.
"I'll come with you," Belle said, snaking down her rope. "Make s-s-sure the gargoyles-s-s leave you alone."
I looked back as I left, seeing that Jenks had flown to Ivy's monitor. His wings were drooping, and the dust spilling from him was making an oily pattern on the dark screen.
"I left him there, bleeding out. Ivy, he can't fly."
"Neither can Belle, and you can't call her any less a warrior. You saved his life. And perhaps ours. I'm sorry that it was so costly."
I thanked my lucky stars that neither of them said anything else until I grabbed my spring jacket and fled to the back porch. Standing in the cool breath of the coming sunset, I shoved my arms into the thin leather and glumly sat, Belle taking up a position two feet to my right where I probably wouldn't squish her. I set my scrying mirror on my left. The squeak of the cat door was loud, and glowing eyes turned to us from the graveyard when the more mundane sound of the screen door hadn't moved them.
Huddling into my coat, I waved at the gargoyles. I wasn't altogether comfortable out here with them looking at me, but I wanted to interfere with Jenks and Ivy even less. Besides, I really did want to talk to Al. The rings weren't invoking. I knew I could do this since I'd done it before. I just needed the confidence of someone who could see what the hell I was doing with my aura. Jenks was good, but he couldn't hear the lines like a demon.
Rex jumped into my lap, a spot of warmth that I buried my fingers in. The cold damp of the early evening soaked into me as I breathed in the coming night. Low clouds threatened more rain, and last year's leaves rustled in the cold flower beds, mirroring my mood perfectly. Spring cleanup was slower this year now that Jenks was losing kids, going off in pairs and alone to find their way. How did my life get this complex so fast?
"Rachel," Belle lisped as she stood beside me, bow unslung as she watched the gargoyles suspiciously, "do you think Jenks-s-s will find his strength of will again?"
"Yes, of course. He's just having a bad day. He is the strongest person I know. Except for Ivy." My fingers lightly touched Rex as the cat purred, and I wondered if I could beat someone I loved that badly, even if it was for the greater good.
"I often punished fledglings-s-s for risking the nest."
"My mother grounded me a lot," I said, thinking it hadn't done me any harm. It hadn't made me any smarter, either.
"Jenks-s-s shouldn't be hard on himself," Belle said firmly. "He's a warrior."
"Jenks is a gardener in a savage Eden," I said, believing it. He was a savage gardener with a protective streak. Ivy was just as savage, just as protective, when push came to shove. And me? What was I? What choices would I make when the world hung poised on the arc of the pendulum and I was ready to send it in a new direction?
"You will call your demon now for advice?" Belle asked, and I followed her gaze to my scrying mirror.
"I don't know," I said, shifting my feet down a step. "He might not be healed enough."
Again, the silence stretched. "I'm sorry about Ceri," Belle said stiffly. "And Pierce."
I almost smiled. The three of us had killed most of her clan and left her wingless, but perhaps it made more sense to her with her warrior mind-set. "Thank you, Belle."
"They were great warriors. Pierce . . . Jenks tells me you were nearly joined with him."
I nodded, bringing up my second sight. Newt's ley line hung at chest height, a hundred shades of red glowing, mixing, swirling. I desperately wanted to see Pierce there, or even Al. But there was nothing.
"It would have been a good match. You're both strong."
"Perhaps," I said softly. I'd thought I had loved him once, but after the shine of his uniqueness had dulled, I'd come to dislike his loose morals more than I had been attracted to his power and dark strength.
Steadying myself, I reached for my mirror. Reluctantly, slowly, I lifted Rex down and set the heavy glass on my lap instead. I stared into the wine-colored depths in the sunset shadow-light, seeing the roof of the church rising overhead, the steeple distressingly free of Bis. It had been three days. Al should be healed by now.
"Have Jenks and Ivy summon me if I'm not back in two hours," I said, and Belle nodded, swinging up onto Rex for her warmth. I shivered in my jacket, feeling as if I was being watched as I took a last look over the sunset-gloomed garden. Gargoyles, I thought.
My way home settled, I closed my eyes and put my hand on the mirror, hoping he was healed. Al?
There was only the uncomfortable screeching that the collective had absorbed from the unbalanced line.
Al, I thought again, hope growing since I hadn't gotten a do-not-disturb notice. Just no response. Algaliarept.
My eyes closed as the unholy chaos of the collective dissolved into the rushing sound of water or wind, and I felt the lofty sensation of having doubled my mind. Relief coursed through me, and I took a slow breath, sensing green trees, old and damp. I'd found him. I think.
In my thoughts, there was a pool of water among the tree roots, only a few inches deep and looking like glass. The air was moist and warm. I could hear water dripping and smell both moss and fog. There was no wind. No grit, no stink of burnt amber. Dancing over the still water were tiny blue butterflies the size of my thumb. It was a forest pool primeval, the light barely making it through the leaves. On the far side of the stone-and-moss-wreathed pool was a black figure hunched and sitting on the largest smooth boulder, his back to me. Al.
At least . . . I thought it was Al. He didn't look right. He's dreaming, I thought, but he must have heard me as he turned, scrabbling to hide whatever he was doing on the rock.
"Al?" I said in our shared dream, remembering having done this once before. I wasn't sure it was him. He was thin-almost malnourished, like a fairy-his skin very dark and his hair a tight curl. He stood, and I realized he had leathery wings draped down over his back like a cloak. His eyes were red-slitted goat eyes, but so wide they looked black. I'd never seen him this thin and spindly, the angular sharpness even in his face, narrowing down to a very small pointy chin. He looked like a creature of the air. Alien.
"Rachel," he said, his voice the same as I remembered, even if it was a shade embarrassed and deeper than it should be for such a slight frame.
Nervous, I focused on his eyes. "Are you okay?" Is this what demons originally looked like?
Apparently not hearing my dream thought, Al turned around to look sadly at the rock he'd been sitting on. "I broke it," he said. "They can't leave until I fix him, and if they stay, they're going to die. They need the sun . . . too."
I edged closer, wondering how long this shared dream might last. On the rock was a handful of blue and silver shards as sharp as glass.
"I've been trying to put her back together," Al said, gesturing, "but the pieces don't match, no matter how turned."
"Oh." Okay, this was really weird, but no weirder than the last dream we shared about blue butterflies vanishing into the walls of a maze grown from wheat.
"The edges are torn," he said, gesturing. "I don't remember when I broke it."
I frowned, bending over the mess. "Look, you've got this piece upside down," I said, then jerked when the shard cut me. A drop of my blood glistened on the silver sliver, and then like magic, the splinters just sort of melted together into a whole, the entire butterfly turning red from my blood to look like stained glass.
"Some things can't be fixed," Al said forlornly as I watched the red butterfly flutter her new wings on the rock and then fly up to join her friends.
Al didn't look up from the rock, and I wondered if he was still seeing broken shards where there was now nothing. "Al, you're dreaming," I said, and he brought his eyes up to meet mine. There was an uncomfortable innocence in them, and I started to wish I could back up and start again. "Can you bring me over? I need your help."
His gaze went to the butterflies dancing up through the canopy, blinking in surprise as he looked back at the empty rock. "Sure," he said, clearly preoccupied. "Come on over."
I gasped in pain as the line took me, hearing Al's bellow as everything vanished in a flash of white-hot agony. I didn't understand! It had been three days. He should be healed by now, and I hit the ground hard as reality-or the ever-after, actually-re-formed around me.
My face plowed into the black marble floor of Al's spelling kitchen, and my shoulder gave a twinge as I rolled toward the large circular fire pit with its raised benches. "Ow," I said softly, hearing Al cursing nearby.
It had been a rough landing, but I was here, and with a renewed hope-and embarrassment-I untangled myself and propped myself up on an elbow. My scrying mirror was lying on the floor, and I scooped it up, checking it for cracks before setting in on the bench. The new, ragged hole in the wall gave me pause, Al's bedroom looking gray beyond it-a door into the once doorless room. Apparently he'd wanted in before he could jump a line. A pained sound jerked my attention to the small hearth at the front of the room.
It was lit, and between the shadowy coals and the slate spelling table was a hunched figure on the floor. "Mother pus bucket," Al groaned, throwing back the blanket he had been wrapped in to scowl at me. "I was asleep!" he yelled, his new black eyes glaring as he held his head. "What do you mean by asking me to jump you over here when I was asleep? The lines are all a bloody hell mess! You can't jump without a gargoyle assist, or it bloody hell hurts!"
"Really? I had no idea," I said as I sat up, wishing my head would stop throbbing. At least he was healed, though, and I cautiously sat on the hearth across from him, recalling that weird batlike image he had had in his dream and wondering if he remembered it. He was in his robe, not surprising me at all. "Sorry," I said, as he felt his ribs and grimaced. "You okay?"
"Do I look okay?" he griped, and I couldn't help my grin. "Why the hell are you laughing! You think this is funny?"
"No," I said, unable to stop smiling. "I'm just glad you're okay."
He grumbled under his breath, groaning as he reached for a lump of dirt he then threw onto the fire. The stench of burnt amber grew stronger. "I'm assuming you have a reason to be here," he said, watching the fire, not me. "Besides wanting to see me in pain."
I scooted closer, wondering if the room was indeed smaller. There wasn't the floor space that I remembered, but maybe the new door would account for it. "I need your help. Dali gave me until Friday to settle with Ku'Sox, but I think he'd rather kill me if he gets the chance."
"I can't imagine why," he snarled, hunching into his blanket and looking miserable.
I took a breath. "I can prove Ku'Sox broke my line, but I need-"
He looked at me as my words cut off in guilt. Oh God. They were elven slavers. He wouldn't help me. What was I doing here?
"What do you need . . . Rachel," he said suspiciously.
Licking my lips, I tugged my coat closer. It was unusually cold in here. "Ah, I can prove Ku'Sox broke the line by moving all the imbalance at once to the line in the garden and thereby exposing his curse. But I have to keep him off me until someone comes to look, and that won't happen until I prove I can best him. And to do that, I need help."
Al didn't shift, didn't make a single indication that he heard me. "Black-souled student thinks she can just come anytime she wants," he grumped, reaching back to scratch his shoulders under his blanket. "Were you in my dream?"
"No," I said, and then when his black-eyed stare fell on me, I amended, "Yes. Al, I've got a workable plan. I need help."
He sighed, but if it was because I'd seen his dream or that I had a plan he was sure would fail, I didn't know. "Damn blue butterflies," he whispered, watching the red sparks drift up the chimney. "They don't mean anything. Are you hungry?"
What was it with men trying to feed me all the time? "No. Al-"
"I am," he said, interrupting me as he reached for a covered basket beside the hearth. It was tied with a checkered bow, and I imagined it was from Newt-hopefully on one of her good days. "I've not eaten in weeks, it feels like," he said as he undid the ribbon and looked inside.
"Al, I need your help."
"Oh." His expression fell. "I am not eating that. Rachel, this is foul. Come smell this."
"Al!"
Al stopped fussing with the basket, his head down. "I know you want to use my rings. You aren't strong enough to overpower Ku'Sox alone. No one is, not even two demons together. Not three. Five, it took last time, and since only four walked away from the encounter, no one is willing to try again. Especially when there are bribes of mended demon babies with which to escape to the sun in."
"You know?" I said, my surprise quickly vanishing.
He eyed me as if embarrassed. "Of course. I was burned, not lobotomized. My wedding rings are not enough." Pulling them from a pocket, he pushed them around in his palm with a bare finger. "Even if you and I wore them and stood before Ku'Sox, they would not be enough."
I was starting to get mad. Why did I have to do this all by myself? "You've given up!"
A weary slump came over him. "Rachel . . . We made him to be better than us, able to crush an elf warlord on his own. My rings are not enough."
"But I know how to fix the line!" I protested, and he reached up to set his rings on the slate table beside him. "It's not broken, just overloaded. Ku'Sox shoved all the tiny imbalances in your collective lines into mine, making them more than the sum of their energies. Bis and I separated Newt's signature imbalance from that purple sludge and got it back into the line she made."
His eyes widened, and I stifled a shudder at the new blackness of them. "Interesting," he said, tossing another chunk of earth on the flames. "The loss is keyed to individual lines . . . and you separated one?" Settling himself deeper into the flagstones, he seemed to find strength with the fire behind him. "Is this why Newt's room are not shrinking anymore?"
"Probably," I said, wondering if there was a direct connection between the imbalance, the leak, and the missing mass. If so, she wasn't going to like my dumping the imbalance into her line. "That's why Ku'Sox took Bis. But I don't need Bis to move the entire ball of sludge to Newt's line and expose Ku'Sox's curse."
Al's expression twisted. "Whereupon he will descend upon you and-"
"Turn me into a dark spot on the ever-after floor. Yeah," I said, picking at a seam in the floor. "I was hoping that once I proved he did it that maybe some of you might . . . I don't know . . . help me maybe!" I shouted, frustrated.
Chuckling, Al resettled himself. "I would, but it will take at least five, not counting you because you don't know squat."
I would have argued with him, but he was right. "Quen will stand with us. And Trent, if we can get him free."
Al stiffened at Trent's name. "Elf magic might prevail where demon can't," he admitted grudgingly. "As much as I'm loath to admit it, Trent would be the better choice." He poked at the fire to send up a flurry of copper-colored sparks. "He's a savage beast with a strong bond to his trickster goddess." His eyes met mine in warning. "Powerful, but chaotic. Untrustworthy."
It wasn't a ringing endorsement, but surprisingly promising, and I eyed him from around my snarling hair. "Are you saying that elf magic is more powerful than demon?"
"I would never admit that," he said with a guffaw. "But Ku'Sox knows demon magic. Elf magic, from the old wars? Not so much."
The way he was looking at me made me nervous, and I dropped my eyes.
"Mmm," he grumbled, apparently satisfied. "Demons acting in concert isn't enough. To surpass Ku'Sox, there must be a complete melding of thoughts into one action. My rings only work between demons. There's no way to join an elf soul to a demon."
There is, I thought, suddenly scared to say it. "Ah, that's kind of why I'm here . . ." Heart pounding, I extended my arm and opened my palm, the firelight glinting on the rings.
Al leaned forward in interest, his thick bare fingers brushing against mine as he took the rings. "These are . . . Where did you get these?" he said, his black eyes narrowed as he made a fist around them, hatred pouring from him.
My lips parted. Scared, I fought to keep from backing up. His grip on the rings looked tight enough to crush them. My thought went back to what Quen had said about demons perhaps being slaves first. "The museum. I wanted something else, but they were gone when I got there, and these were-" I gasped when his fist clenched. "Al, no!" I shouted, grabbing his hand and trying to pry open his fingers. "Don't break them! It's all I have! Please!"
He snarled at me, the lines in his square features heavy and ugly. With a grimace, he yanked out of my grip and threw the rings into the corner. My breath came fast, and I lunged after the twin pinging sounds, scrabbling like a spider as I found first one, then the other.
I held them tight to my chest, my back to him as my pulse pounded. He would never help me. Head high, I walked back to the fire with the rings in my shaking hand.
"Elven slavers!" Al growled. "They are ugly, and I have done a lot of ugly, Rachel."
"Ku'Sox is uglier," I said stiffly. "This is what I have. I'm going to use them. If I can hold him off long enough, maybe the rest of you cowards will stand up to him."
"Except the rings are dead." Al's voice was harsh.
I stood before him, the fire warming my shins. I wasn't sure how he was going to react once I told him I could bring them back to life. "I, ah, can reinvoke them."
He looked up at me, a sour anger in the tilt of his head. "No one can reinvoke them."
Sitting down, I scooted until our knees almost touched. "I reinvoked elven silver two days ago with Pierce's help."
Taking up a poker, he jabbed it into the flames. They were slavers. He'd never help me. "So go ask him," Al muttered, clearly not believing me.
"He's dead. Nick helped him escape Newt so he and Ceri could try to kill Ku'Sox."
"Ceridwen?" Al's head snapped up. "What does she have to do with this?"
I suddenly remembered that she'd been with him for a thousand years, that he'd been so careless when replacing her as his familiar that I'd been able to save her life. Looking back, I think he'd done it intentionally. And all this time I'd thought that I'd been more clever than he. God, I was stupid. I think he had loved her.
"Al, I'm sorry," I whispered, kicking myself for not considering that he might feel pain at her loss. "Ku'Sox-"
Al extended a shaky hand to stop my words, his head dropping. "Enough," he said, the hard sound of his voice a band of metal around my heart, squeezing, hurting.
I shifted closer, the scent of burnt amber coming from the fire stinging my eyes. Al had taken a deep breath, and I watched as he slowly exhaled, his hands unclenching. "I'm sorry. I thought you knew. Didn't Newt tell-"
"I said enough!"
I hunched into myself, my own grief welling up as I watched him shove his own down, denying its existence. "Al, I need your help," I whispered, and he seemed to become a dark lump before the low flames. "I only have until tomorrow midnight. I've done this before. I don't know why it's not working."
Al's shoulders were slumped under that blanket, and his expression was numb. I wasn't even sure he was listening anymore. "You don't know what you ask."
"It's the only way to make a sure connection between an elf and a demon," I said. "And since no demon will help me . . ."
Al's head turned from the fire. His black eyes bore into me, and I stifled another shudder. "Top shelf," he said flatly. "Behind the books."
I followed his gaze to one of the few open bookcases. Silently I stood and shoved the rings in my front pocket. Feeling his eyes on me, I crossed the room, counting my steps. It was smaller by about a foot. My hands were steady as I stood on tiptoe, one hand on the shelf for balance as I moved three books out of the way, my hand searching blindly in the small space behind them. A jolt went through me as I found the cool, smooth shape of a ring.
"Don't put it on," Al cautioned as my heels came down and I turned with a ring in my hand. It was tiny, almost a pinkie ring. I wondered whose it was, since it wouldn't fit on Al's hand. Unless . . . he was in the shape of that gaunt black bat.
"What is it?" I asked, cold but too wary to come back to the fire.
"Half of a set," he grudgingly said, his eyes down as he snatched it from me, cradling the ring to him as if it were alive. My eyes widened as I realized it was his shackle, his tie to a miserable past. "I want you to see this," he said. "To know what you risk."
"I'm sorry," I said softly as I came forward to sit cross-legged before him again. He was flushed, embarrassed and ashamed to be clearly still tied to it. "Where's the other half?"
Al smiled a savage, ugly smile. "Gone, along with its owner."
My eyes fell. I couldn't look at him. Al had been a slave? "Al-"
"I trusted once."
I couldn't say anything, huddled cold before his fire in his shrinking room, failing world.
"You're willing to risk your life," he said, "but what of your soul? What if the master ring falls to someone else? What then? It's only the slave ring that can't be removed by its wearer."
My eyes fell to Al's hands, just visible among the folds of the blanket. He wasn't wearing gloves, and they looked hard and worn. But I had no choice. Miserable and unsure I looked up. "I have to do this."
I couldn't tell what he was thinking. His eyes catching the red glow of the low flames seemed almost normal. "Then why have you failed?"
Oh God. I knew why I'd failed, and I dropped my gaze. "I'm afraid," I whispered, and he smiled. "Damn it, it's not funny!" I shouted. "I'm afraid!"
Still smiling, Al looked at my fingers knotted around one another, but he didn't reach out to touch me. "Do you trust Quen?"
Miserable, I thought of Quen, his morals, his loyalty, his strength of character. Ceri had loved him, and Ray was his entire world. I knew exactly what I would get with Quen, and I nodded. I trusted him.
"Do you trust . . . Trent?" Al said. My head snapped up, and Al bobbed his head at my deer-in-the-headlights expression. "Ahh, there it is," Al said, infuriatingly smug.
"Trent won't ever have access to it," I said quickly.
"Chances are he will. If you trusted him, you could invoke them. Show me what you do to invoke elven . . . silver."
Flustered, I dug the rings out. "I trust him. I do," I asserted, but my stomach clenched, telling me I was lying.
Al shrugged his shoulders, and his blanket fell away. "Then show me."
Fine. Mood sour, I carefully snuggled the smaller ring into the cradle of the larger. Shifting on the hard flagstones, I perched the rings on the tips of the fingers of my left hand, holding it right at eye level between us. One last look at Al, who had fumblingly put on a pair of glasses I could only assume would let him see my aura easier, and I closed my eyes.
God, please help me do this, I thought. I need to do this.
Exhaling, I pushed the aura off my hand, feeling it hang about my bent elbow like a shirtsleeve, warm and soft. Al grunted in surprise when I made an odd twist in my head, and my entire aura flashed red. "You layer your aura?" he breathed. "One vibration at a time?"
Nervous, I wondered if showing Al this was such a good idea. The demon was a packrat. No telling what defunct charms he had lying around. But I nodded, not opening my eyes as I sent a tendril of red aura to snake up my arm. I shivered as it skated over my pulse points and crawled up my fingers, twining over the joined rings and thickening. My pulse hammered. This was where it usually all fell apart, and I carefully, slowly, shifted my aura twining about me and the rings to the slightest shade of orange.
"Careful . . ." Al breathed, and my head started to hurt as tiny cracks in the rings showed.
"I can do this," I said through my clenched teeth. I had to do this. I had no choice.
But it was Trent, and I felt tears of frustration prick my eyes and my hand start to shake. He had caged me, hunted me, and made my life hell, even as I had fought to shove down his throat that he was immoral and deserved punishment.
But my breath came out in a sob as I realized I didn't believe that anymore.
I remembered his agonized expression in the ever-after basilica when he begged me to see his people to health, his anger when he pulled Nick off me, his willing sacrifice to endure death and the end of everything he had worked his entire life for-to save one child.
"Rachel," Al whispered, but the tinkle of wild magic plinked through my soul as one whirling eye of a thousand turned and focused on me. Others were drawn, and my courage faltered as they laughed at me for thinking I had any power but the power of choice.
And at that, my conviction grew. Choice. Damn it, I trusted Trent. Damn it all to hell, I trusted him down to my soul-not because I had to, but because I chose to.
Tears rolled down my face, and I shook at the realization. I trusted him, even with my soul. And he isn't meant for me.
The wild magic laughed, and it was as if the eyes marked me with the blackness of the night, making me theirs. I am yours, I agreed miserably, but it was true, and more important, it was my choice. It always had been.
I shook as the entire rainbow skated over my skin, flashing to a blinding white that sank inside itself to an impenetrable blackness. With an echoing ping, the rings reinvoked.
Gasping, I opened my eyes wide to see the rings glowing like glory itself. With a sudden implosion of thought, the making of the rings imprinted on my mind. The degradation that the rings in my shaking hand had once caused echoed through me, the cruelty of the master, the anguish of the slave, the petty bitterness and the savage backlash that ended both lives and broke the rings. It was all there, in the tinkling laughter of wild magic, savagely honest in its cruelty. Lives had been ruined beyond belief with the power contained here, and now it was mine in two tiny bands of hard metal.
"Rachel."
I couldn't look away from the rings. I could feel tears on my cheeks and sense Al-a dark bear of a shadow-hovering before me, his hands outstretched, afraid to touch me.
"Rachel?" It was questioning this time, and I blinked, curving my fingers around the warm metal. They were alive. All I wanted to do was destroy them.
"These are evil," I said, choking back a sob as my aura thickened, pinpricks of energy welling up through me in protection-protection against stuff such as what I had made. And I would trust Trent with this? "These are evil!" I said louder, seeing them through my tears.
My arms hurt, and I jumped as a blanket smelling of Al and burnt amber landed around my shoulders. "You did it," Al said in wonder, and I looked up, shaking. "You trust him?"
"I wish I hadn't." Sniffing, I wiped a hand under my nose. "No wonder you hate elves."
I went to hide them, and Al caught my wrist. Slowly my fingers opened, and he took them, his expression solemn as he held the rings up to the firelight. His glasses were gone, and he held them close, squinting. "How sure are you of his commitment?" he asked, his tone guarded and soft.
I wiped my eyes and held my shaking hand out. The memories of the rings still echoed in me, still coloring my thoughts as I tried to readjust my world. I'd known elves were savage, fighting for their existence under the boot of the demons. I had guessed that the demons were seeking revenge for the elves cursing them into a slow spiral of extinction. But I hadn't realized how deep it went, how convoluted it was, how old.
Shaking the feeling off, I took the rings from him and jammed them away in a pocket, hiding them. I'd use them, and then when done, I'd destroy them. They were tools, and I wouldn't let fear rule me. "It doesn't matter," I said, answering him. "It's the choice I make."
Al sighed and looked into the flames, through them, maybe, at nothing and everything. "Perhaps you should concentrate on saving yourself," he whispered. "Let us all die. We're broken beyond repair."
I thought of Al in his dream, looking nothing like this, more like an elegant bat. Broken? Perhaps, but I had put his butterfly back together with my blood. "I never liked the movie Titanic," I said, and he grunted, his gaze sharpening on me. "They both could have gotten on that damn door."
Al smiled, and a weird, kindred sensation filled me. Standing, I took his wedding rings from the mantel and handed them to him. "Don't try to forget her," I said, and his hands closed on them, wonder in his eyes as he looked up at me.
"You don't know what you're asking."
"Yes, I do." I had to leave. The rings were awake, and the sooner I used them, the sooner I could destroy them. "Could you . . . send me home?"
He blinked, then got to his feet with a huge sigh. "My student just reinvoked wild magic, and she can't get herself home?" He laughed, but it fell flat, and I jumped, startled when his thick finger touched my jaw, turning me to make me look at him. "If he betrays you, I will finish what I started with his fingers," he said, and I shivered. "Tell him that."
"I will."
The smooth finish of my scrying mirror slid into my arms, and he backed up, eyes running over me as if it might be the last time he'd ever see me. "We are such cowards," he said softly, and then my breath sucked in as the line took me, my head exploding in pain. I think I passed out, because I didn't remember hitting the hard red cement slab that covered Pierce's grave in my backyard, but that's where Al dropped me.
Sitting up, I rubbed my bruised hip, looking past the silent gargoyles perched around me as I pulled my scrying mirror to me. "Ah, hi," I said as I got up, nervous and stinking of burnt amber. Leathery wings rustled, and red and gold eyes blinked. "I hope I didn't disturb you," I said as I edged onto holy ground, my hands touching the outside of my pockets to be sure I still had everything. I had reinvoked wild magic. Somehow I had done it. I had everything in place.
Tomorrow was going to be a long day.
