Chapter Thirty-One
I looked at my hands as they pressed the cookie cutter into the dough, realizing that I'd been making cookies for quite a while-but not consciously aware of it. It was as if I'd been sleepwalking. Maybe I still was. A pleasant sense of lassitude lay heavily on me, and I used a pancake turner to carefully set the cut cookie, smelling like milk, onto the baking tray. I was making trees, but it didn't feel like the solstice. It was too warm.
Setting the cutter down, I shifted a second cookie to the tray, then hesitated. The one I'd just put there was gone. My head came up, and I calmly looked at the sink. The light beyond the window was too bright to see anything. The ceiling, too, was a hazy white, as well as the floor. I didn't see my feet down there, but it didn't bother me.
"How odd," I said, going to look out the window, but it was as if the sun had washed out the world. I turned, unafraid as I realized that the wall against which Ivy had her big farm table pushed was gone, too. The table was there, but the wall was a hazy white mist.
That didn't bother me, either. It had been like that for a long time-I'd just now noticed, was all. Even the sight of the unmarked circle of cookie dough and the empty cookie tray was okay. I'd been making cookies forever. Unconcerned, I went to the center counter and cut out another. It didn't matter.
I hummed as I moved cookies to an empty tray, the same tune going around and around in my head. Ta na shay, cooreen na da. It spun over and over, and I moved to it, feeling good with it in my head. I didn't know what it meant, but it didn't hurt, and not hurting was good.
It was awfully quiet for my kitchen, though, so often full of pixy chatter, and after setting another cookie on the empty tray, I looked back at the hazy wall. There was a dark spot on it, about eight inches tall, a few inches wide, at chest height. I squinted, trying to decide if it was getting closer.
Kisten? I thought, and it took on a masculine outline, wavering like a heat mirage, but the shoulders weren't broad enough for him.
Maybe it was Jenks? But there was no sparkle of pixy dust. And besides, Jenks wasn't that tall. The figure's arms moved as it paced forward, becoming my size. Taking on a sudden flash of color, it stepped into my kitchen.
"Trent?" I said in surprise as he shook off the mist, looking refreshed and collected in a pair of black slacks and a lightweight short-sleeved shirt, clean and bright and well pressed.
"Not really," he said, and I wiped the flour from my hands on an apron I hadn't realized I was wearing. "Well, sort of?" he amended, then shrugged. "You tell me. I'm your subconscious."
My lips parted, and I looked again at the floor that wasn't there and the ceiling that wasn't there, either. "You put my soul in a bottle," I said, surprised I wasn't scared.
Trent sat on Ivy's table and leaned forward to snatch a bit of cookie dough from the perfect circle waiting to be cut. "I didn't. I'm just a figment of your imagination. Your mind, not me, is creating all of this to cushion itself."
Frowning, I focused on him. "So I could imagine Ivy standing there instead?" I said, thinking of her, and Trent chuckled, licking the last of the sweetness from his fingers.
"No. Trent is trying to reach you. That's why I'm here. Bits of him are getting through, just not enough."
But I already knew that, seeing as he was simply a part of my subconscious, voicing what I was figuring out the instant I was realizing it. It was a weird way to have a conversation.
Trent slid from the table and came around to me. His hands were outstretched, and I backed up when he got too close. "What the hell are you doing?" I said, giving him a shove, and Trent rocked back, his arms dropping.
"Trying to kiss you," he said.
"Why?" I said, peeved. God, dreams were weird.
"Trent is trying to get your soul back in your body," Trent said, looking mildly embarrassed. "He can't do it unless you agree."
Oh yeah. Elven magic. It worked by persuasion and trickery. Sounded about right. "And a kiss is the only way to show agreement?" I mocked, putting the center counter between us. The floor had shown up, looking faded and scratched. My soul was starting to put things together. "Hey, how long have I been in here?" I asked, and Trent shrugged. Apparently my subconscious didn't know.
Looking unconcerned, Trent picked up the cookie cutter. "You want to leave, right?"
I eyed him standing in my kitchen, and I wondered if he really looked that good or if my subconscious was adding to his sex appeal. "Yes," I said, coming closer.
He handed me the spatula. "We have to work together."
I figured he meant more than making cookies, but I slid the spatula under the cut dough and moved it to the tray. "I want to leave. Isn't that enough?"
A second cookie joined the first, and my eyebrows rose. The first one hadn't vanished this time. "Now you're getting it," Trent said, then seemed to shudder. "You've been in here three days," he said, his visage losing its clean, pressed look and becoming haggard. His hand working the cookie cutter was swollen, and he was missing two digits on his right hand, a very white bandage hiding the damage. I hadn't imagined him looking like that. It was something outside-impinging on me.
"Trent?" I said, backing up in alarm, and his posture slumped. His eyes were red rimmed and tired, and his hair was limp and straggly. He was still wearing his black slacks and black shirt, but they were wrinkled, as if he'd been wearing them for days.
"Yes," he said, his gaze rising to the ceiling. "It's me."
I didn't think I was talking to my subconscious anymore, and I set the spatula down, my alarm turned into fear. "What's happening?"
His eyes landed on me, and I clasped my arms around my middle. "I'm trying to get you out, but I've run into an unexpected snag."
"You said you could do this!" I exclaimed, and he took a breath, his expression a mix of irritation and embarrassment. "Oh my God, is my body dead?" I squeaked, and he shook his head, raising a hand in protest.
"Your body is fine," he said, looking at his hand and the missing digits. "It's in a private room and I'm sitting right next to it. It's just..."
My foreboding grew deeper. "What?" I said flatly.
He looked up, grimacing as if in distaste. "It's a very old charm," he said. "I didn't have much choice. You were dying. All I had with me was one very stressed young gargoyle and the ancient texts I'd been playing with. I've been studying them for the last six months, trying to find the truth in the, uh, fairy tale."
"What is the problem, Trent?" I said. I could smell him now, sort of a sour wine, maybe vinegar scent.
"Ah, I think it would help if you kissed me," he said, not embarrassed, but irritated.
I dropped back a step. "Excuse me?"
He turned away and cut out another cookie. "You know...the kiss that breaks the spell and wakes the, uh, girl? It's elven magic. There's no figuring these things out."
"Whoa! Hold up!" I exclaimed as it suddenly made sense. "You mean like love's first kiss? That isn't going to happen! I don't love you!"
He frowned, seeing that the cookie he had moved onto the tray had vanished. The two I'd placed were still there, though. "It doesn't have to be love's first kiss," he said. "That was someone trying to write a good story. But it does have to be an honest one." Almost angry, he spun back to me, the pancake turner in his new, awkward grip. "My God, Rachel. Am I so distasteful to you that you can't tolerate one kiss to save your life?"
"No," I said, taken aback. "But I don't love you, and I couldn't fake that." Did I? No, I didn't. I was really sure about that.
He took a breath and held it as he thought about that for all of three seconds. "Good," he said, handing me the spatula. "Good. So if you just kiss me, we can get you out of here."
I took the spatula as he held it out, edging closer to move a third cookie to the tray. "Kiss you, huh?" I said, and he sighed.
"Here in your subconscious," he said. "No one will ever know. Except us." His eyes met mine, and a small smirk started. "You've been doing it in your dreams since you were ten."
I frowned, setting a fourth cookie on the tray. "Have not. Grow up."
He set the cookie cutter down, facing me in expectation, and a nervous thrill spun through me. Kiss Trent? Okay, maybe the thought had occurred to me once or twice, but not as anything that I'd ever do apart from curiosity maybe. Because he looked good, maybe more so with the stubble and the heavy weariness on him. There was no way...I mean, he was Trent, and I hated him. Okay, not hated anymore, but a kiss?
Stop it, Rachel, I thought, wiping my hands on my apron and turning to him.
He was too close, and I shivered when his hands slid around my waist. "I suppose a peck on the cheek won't do?" I said as he started to lean in. He was just a shade taller than me, and I was suddenly a hundred times more nervous. He practiced wild magic, and he could sing his enemies to death or my soul into a bottle. He was dangerous now, tantalizingly dangerous, whereas before he'd been simply annoying, and my pulse increased.
I stiffened, and his motion toward me hesitated. "Sorry," he said, and he pulled me close. I was as nervous as all hell, and I didn't know what to do with my hands. They felt funny at his hips, but I left them there-the best of a bad situation. My eyes closed when he got too close, and the smell of cinnamon and wine hit me.
It pulled my head up, and with a startled brush, our lips met.
His touch was light on mine, as if afraid or, more likely, reluctant. A bare hint of pressure, and then he leaned in, his hands on me, pulling me to him. His lips moved against mine, and I still stood there, my heart pounding as I tasted him-oak and leaf, sun on moving water. The prick of wild magic raced over my skin like a shimmer of electricity, enticing, warning me even as I felt it pull a response from me. Breath held, I relaxed my grip on him, finding my hands moving, shaping to him, becoming natural.
Okay, this wasn't so bad.
Encouraged, my head tilted, pulling away from him with the unsaid language of lovers that demanded he follow. And he did, spinning a thrill through me from his lips to my toes. My pulse jumped, and I pushed against him, my body molding itself to him. Breath catching, he responded, his good hand lifted to touch my face, his fingers light on my jaw, but hinting for more. A slip of tongue touched mine, and a thought rose like a bubble.
Oh my God. I'm kissing Trent.
Making a small noise, I pulled back, heart pounding as I looked at him. "This isn't working," I said, my lips cool where he had been. I was tingling everywhere, and wild magic was making his eyes flash in anger.
"Because I'm the one doing everything here," he said, reaching forward.
"Hey!" I yelped, but he'd grabbed my arm and pulled me back to him.
"It's like the cookies," he said as his bandaged hand encircled my waist. "You're not helping. Give me something back to show your agreement."
"What the hell do I have to do? Rip your clothes off?" I snapped, then gasped as he yanked my hip right into him. "Trent!" I protested, but the word was muffled as he found my mouth. Wild magic lit through me, burning not with fire but warmth. It raced like flash paper, flowing to my chi, overflowing and tingling to my fingertips.
"Oh my God," I mumbled, and my hands, once splayed behind me for balance, reached to find his hair. I wanted to touch its silky smoothness. I'd been dying to do so for years. His body was against my entire length, and I pushed from the counter, slamming his back into the fridge.
Our lips parted upon impact, and my eyes opened. He was inches away, watching me, daring me. He'd pulled passion from me, and now I'd have to own up to it.
"No one will know?" I said, and blood pounded through me when he nodded.
"I won't tell anyone," he said, a smile lifting his lips.
Why the hell not? I thought, and then I tilted my head and kissed him back. Giving in, I pressed into him, my hands feeling his outline, his stubble rough against me as our breaths found a rhythm both slow and building. Memories flitted through me, of him in that silly hat as he held me while I died. His white face when he realized he'd summoned Ku'Sox to kill the pixies and I'd already taken care of the problem. His fear in Carew Tower's elevator when it opened and he saw me standing there with Al. His terror at camp as he leaned over me and begged me to breathe after I'd knocked the air out of myself and he thought I was dying.
His tongue touched mine, and this time, I pushed forward, pulling him closer. My leg went around his, and I demanded more, running my hands through his hair, enjoying its silky softness, enjoying the feel of his hands on my body, tingles arcing through me.
Slowly I let go of the last of my reservations, feeling his energy spill into my chi, kindling it back to brightness. He started to pull away, but I wouldn't let him, reaching out and pulling him back. I wanted more. He could have everything, just give me...a little more.
"Tink's pink dildo, all that money and he can kiss, too," came a high-pitched, sarcastic voice and the clatter of pixy wings.
My breath caught, and I felt myself drop into nothing. My lips on Trent's stopped moving, and I realized I could smell disinfectant. My eyes flew open.
I was sitting upright in a hospital bed, my arms wrapped around Trent as he sat beside me. My hands were buried in his hair and his hands were curved around me, holding my backside-rather tightly.
"You little prick!" I shouted, smacking him. Trent sucked in his breath and fell back. The sharp crack was startling, and Jenks laughed merrily, dripping a bright silver dust as he flew backward to Ivy, sitting calmly in a nearby chair. Damn it, she was smiling at me, her eyes bright with unshed tears. She was okay! They both were! My face flamed as I realized they had seen me...enjoying myself. Enjoying Trent. But they were okay, and a knot of fear loosened.
"You said it was only in my imagination!" I exclaimed, turning back to Trent as he stood up and the bed shifted. "You said no one would know!" My eyes darted to the cold feel of metal around my wrist. "And what is this!" There was a band of charmed silver on me. No wonder my head hurt. I was cut off from the ley lines.
"Don't take it off!" Jenks shrilled as I tried to push it over my wrist, and I let go of it, frightened by his fervor. Maybe my aura wasn't healed enough to tap a line.
Looking unruffled, Trent tugged his shirt straight, the bright imprint of my hand on his stubbled face. There was a large bruise on the other side, spreading up under his hairline, looking ugly. His right hand was bandaged, and my anger dissolved when I saw that he was missing two fingers, just like in my dream. What had happened?
"Would you have kissed me if you had known it was real?" he asked, and when I simply stared at him, my face flaming, he turned on his heel. "Ivy, Jenks," he said, looking stiff as he reached for a cane. "It's been a pleasure."
My jaw dropped when his pace was awkward, and then I saw his foot, in a cast. "Trent, wait!" I called, but he kept walking, his back stiff and his neck red. Jenks and Ivy exchanged a heavy look, and I tried to get up, failing. "Trent, I'm sorry for slapping you! Come back. Please! Thank you for getting me out of there. Don't make me crawl after you. I'm sorry! Damn it, I'm sorry!"
He stopped, his arm stiffly holding open the wide hospital door. The hall noise slipped in, both familiar and hated, and then...he let the door shut and turned back around. I exhaled, falling back against the raised bed, shaking in exhaustion.
"Hey, Rache!" Jenks buzzed close. "What's it like being dead?"
"A lot like being a sixties housewife. What happened?" Trent said I'd been out for three days. Three days? Where was Pierce? And Bis?
My attention shot to the top of the wardrobe, and a new fear joined the rest when I found him there. The gargoyle was sleeping, an exhausted pale gray with a baby bottle in his tight grip. But what scared me was that I'd known where he was. Even though I was cut off from the ley lines, my eyes had gone right to him. Bis had saved me. Our fates were bound together, and there was nothing I could do about it. He'd chosen me, and now I was responsible for him. For life.
Ivy stood, and I wasn't surprised when she leaned over the bed and gave me a hug, shocking me from my thoughts. The spicy scent of vampire soaked into me, better than a calming spell. I smiled up at her warmth, feeling loved. "Welcome back," she whispered, and then she pulled away, her eyes black and tearful. "I have to go, but I'll come back when your dinner tray is here."
"You're leaving?" I said, not liking how my voice wobbled. My gaze darted between her and Bis. "Why?"
"Jenks and I have something to do," she said, giving the pixy a pointed look.
Jenks hovered between us, spilling a red dust. His hands were on his hips in his best Peter Pan pose. "Like what?" he shot at her. "We've done nothing but sit here for three days while you've moaned and pissed over Rachel, and now that she's awake, you want to leave?"
My gaze went to Trent, standing by the window, his back to us.
"Yes," Ivy said, and I jumped when she gathered my blankets and pulled them up around me, hiding my arms. They were pink, as if I had a sunburn. Ivy and Jenks looked okay, but Trent was a mess. Bis looked kind of gaunt, too. I was afraid to look in a mirror. I had been bleeding from my pores. And Trent had saved me. Maybe twice. Maybe three times.
Seeing my worry, Ivy started to drift back.
"See you around, Rache," Jenks said, humming loudly as Ivy gave me a last touch on the shoulder and walked out, her boots clattering confidently on the tile. I remembered hearing them in my dreams, their cadence frightened and hesitant. The noise from the hall grew loud, then soft, then silent.
My eyes went to my band of charmed silver, rising to find Trent when the memory of that kiss made my face warm-until my gaze dropped to his cast, then rose to take in his hand. He was missing two fingers. I was missing three days.
"Thank you," I whispered, but what I wanted to say was, what happened?
Trent's silhouette stiffened, his back still to me. "You said that," he said softly.
I tried to shift my weight farther up the pillow, and the blanket that Ivy had tucked around me fell down. "I'm sorry for slapping you," I added.
Still he didn't turn. "You said that, too."
His voice was low and soft, and I remembered him singing to me in words I didn't understand, holding my soul together. Grimacing, I tried again. "Uh, you're a good kisser. It was nice."
His bandaged hand shifted behind his back as he turned to me, wonder in his expression. "Is that why you asked me to stay?"
I managed a thin smile. "No, but I figured you'd turn around if I said it." He frowned, his thoughts somewhere else, and I added, "You're supposed to say I'm a good kisser, too."
At that, he chuckled, but his smile faded fast. Awkward, he moved to an empty chair, one not as close to me as Ivy's was, but here nevertheless. His eyes flicked to Bis as he sat down, and then a heavy sigh escaped him, a world of hurt in the sound. "You want to know what happened," he said flatly, more of a statement than a question.
I fingered the band of braided silver around my wrist. It was heavy, more substantial than the one I'd had on in Alcatraz. A faint tingling came from it, not ley line in origin. Wild, elven magic. I flushed again, remembering the kiss, remembering letting his magic flow through me, kindling my chi back to life.
My gaze went to Bis, wishing he would wake up. He looked so sad up there, holding that bottle that had once held my soul. "I remember you singing my soul into that bottle," I said. "I don't remember you being hurt."
A shudder lifted through him. "The sun went down. Al came." His eyes met mine, the green of them almost gray in the light. "He saw you brain-dead. He was...upset."
Guilt went through me. "Oh." Upset, hell, I'd be willing to bet he was furious and looking for someone to take it out on. Damn, Trent was lucky to be alive.
Trent leaned back, his hands going to cradle his knee as he crossed his legs. "I'd go as far as to say he was very upset," he said, looking at his hand. "It was my fault, naturally. I was the one who freed Ku'Sox. And because he couldn't take me to the ever-after, he decided to take me apart and move me there bit by bit."
"My God," I whispered, seeing his missing fingers in a new way.
"Vivian tried to stop him-"
Worry pulled my heartbeat into a faster pace. "No..."
"She's in intensive care," Trent said, and I eased back into the pillow, not relieved, but not as frightened. "She'll be okay," he added, his eyes on the floor, undoubtedly reliving it.
"I'm sorry."
Trent wiped his face in an unusual show of agitation, and I remembered the feel of his bristles on me. "You were brain-dead. He never noticed the bottle. Bis took you, your soul, and hid it away. As far as Al knows, you are still dead."
He was looking at my sunburned arms and the band of charmed silver, and I saw it in a new way. Al thought I was dead? "You bested him," I said, and Trent gave a bark of laughter. It was a bitter, angry sound, and it struck through me cold.
"Bested him?" he said, uncrossing his legs. "We survived. And that was because of Pierce."
Again fear took me. Trent had said Al thought I was dead. Al was still alive. "Where is Pierce?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
Trent stood, turning to the window. I couldn't read his tells. I was afraid to. "Pierce knew you were alive in the bottle," he said softly, the hospital noise coming in faintly. "He also knew that I was the only one who could get you safely out. If I died, you would die." Trent turned, his head bowed, looking nothing like himself in his wrinkled clothes and with his hair unstyled. "Pierce doesn't like me much, but he took the blame. Said he was the one who caused your death by his failure to protect you and keep Ku'Sox from taking you into the lines. Al dropped me and took him instead."
My face lost its expression. Pierce had sacrificed himself. To save me.
Panicked, I sat up, swinging my feet to get out of bed and coming to a frustrated halt. Damn it, I had a catheter. "Where's my mirror?" I asked, knowing he wouldn't have it. I started pulling at the silver around my wrist again. "I have to talk to Al."
Trent's face was empty of emotion when he turned back to me. "He did it because he loves you. I pity him."
"Al won't kill him," I said frantically, not knowing if it was true. "He'll be okay."
Shaking his head, Trent smiled sadly. "I don't pity him because he's a demon familiar. I pity him because he loves you."
I took a breath to say something but couldn't exhale. Damn it, he'd sacrificed himself so that I would live. He knew I didn't love him, and he'd done it anyway. "I-I...," I stammered, fingering the band of silver around my wrist. It was humming with wild magic, slumbering deep within it. I could feel it. I looked up at Trent, confused.
"Al saw you comatose," Trent said. "He told the demon collective. Perhaps you should keep it that way. This is why I gave you the charmed silver. It was a chance for me to..." He hesitated, sighing as he sat back down. His head was bowed over his knees, and his eyes were on his hands-his beautiful hands, now broken and marred. He might never be able to work some of the finer ley-line charms again, and I shivered.
"My father made you into a tool to save the elven race," he said softly, his voice pained. "It saved your life but took it from you at the same time by making you into something that most people would deem too dangerous to live." His head came up, and he met my gaze squarely. "I don't know why, but I feel responsible. For everything. You weren't given a choice, and I'm sorry for that."
"You didn't do anything," I said, my mouth dry. "And your father saved my life."
"By twisting it to his own ends, without asking your permission." Trent exhaled. "I wanted to give you your choice back. That's all."
I followed his gaze to the band of silver around my wrist. That's all? That was everything.
"It's not a normal zip strip," Trent said as he straightened up from his hunch over his knees. "It doesn't simply cut off your contact to the lines but to the demon collective as well. Otherwise, they would know you were alive, even if you shunned the lines for the rest of your life."
My lips parted in understanding. If Al had seen me comatose and I was cut off from the collective, then I was as good as dead. Free?
"You can do earth magic still, and ley-line magic will work on you like any human, but demon magic won't if it goes through the collective," Trent said, and I brought my wandering thoughts back to him.
"Curses won't touch me," I said, and he nodded, his expression more earnest and open than I'd ever seen it. It was as if he was down to his bare essence, too tired and beaten to hide it.
"I didn't do it to protect you. I did it because my father made you into something, and unless you choose to be that person, then you are nothing but a tool. You are not a tool, Rachel," he said earnestly, almost frighteningly. "You are a person. You can stay as you are and be, well, not normal, but as close as you can get to it seeing that the coven has denounced you as a day-walking demon. Or you can take the charmed silver off and be who you really are. It's up to you. It's your choice."
He was silent and still now, and I looked at the band, circling it around and around my red wrist. I was a day-walking demon who couldn't do magic. But I could feel wild magic in me, simmering. Was it coming from the band of silver? Or had it been there all the time, and I only now noticed it, now that my contact with the ley lines was utterly and absolutely cut off?
"Isn't that what you wanted?" Trent said, not understanding my silence. "A choice?"
I took a deep breath, pulling my gaze up as I gathered my thoughts.
"Yes. Yes it is," I said, and he smiled weakly. "Thank you."
It was what I wanted. What I had always wanted. So why did it feel so empty?
