The sun was arching toward the horizon, painting the buildings at Cincinnati's waterfront in red and gold as I headed for Carew Tower for a quick bite and that interview with Edden. If it had been a normal Sunday, I'd be just about ready to head home from the ever-after and Al's and my weekly push-and-shove contest, and though I was glad to have gotten out of it, I was worried about Pierce. Pierce, Al, Ivy, Skimmer, Kisten's killer, and Mia. They all swirled in the back of my head, problems demanding to be solved. Most days, the overload would have had me tense and snappish, but right now? Smiling, I gazed at the sun reflecting on the buildings and fiddled with the radio as I followed the guy ahead of me over the bridge. All in due course, I thought, wondering if my calm was from Marshal, or Marshal's massage therapist.
Edden's meeting was in about half an hour, then the I.S. lockup was at six, followed by an early dinner with Robbie and my mom at ten-I'd heard Robbie complaining in the background when I'd called to say I'd have to miss lunch, and he could just suck dishwater. Eventually Mia would surface, and then I'd nail her ass, but until then, I could enjoy a snack at Carew Tower. The massage I'd indulged in earlier had been fantastic, and I felt twinges of guilt all afternoon that I'd been enjoying myself under the excuse that it might help my aura. The feeling of relaxation was still with me, making it easy to tell Marshal that he'd been right, yada, yada, yada...He was going to call later. It felt good, and I wasn't going to think any more about it than that.
I was feeling dressy in the silk-lined pants and shiny top I had put on for Ms. Walker. I hadn't gotten a chance before to wear the long felt coat my mom had given me last winter, and I felt elegant, driving over the bridge into Cincinnati, aiming for Carew Tower and a business meeting at the top of the city. Jenks, too, had dressed up, wearing a black top and pants that flowed, hiding the insulating layers of fabric under it. Matalina was improving at making winter wear he could fly in, and the pixy was perched comfortably on the rearview mirror, fussing with the black fisherman cap she'd concocted out of a scrap of felt from the inside lining of my coat. His blond hair was peeking out rather charmingly, and I wondered why he didn't wear a hat all the time.
"Rache," he said, looking suddenly nervous.
"What?" I fiddled again with the radio as we came off the bridge, cutting in front of a semi to get onto the exit ramp at a fast forty-five miles an hour. There was a guy on my tail in a black Firebird, and he followed, riding my bumper. Really safe in the snow, bud-dy.
"Rache," he repeated, wings fanning.
"I see him." We were both headed for the exit ramp, and giving me the one-fingered salute, the guy accelerated, trying to get ahead of me before the lane disappeared.
"Rachel, just let him in."
But he ticked me off, so I maintained my speed. The semi behind us blew his horn as the off-ramp approached. The guy wasn't going to make it, and the weenie shoved me into the curb.
Gravel and rock salt hit the undercarriage of my car. The wall slid close, and I caught my breath, hands clenching as the lane narrowed to one. I thunked the brakes, jerking the wheel at the last moment to slip in behind him. The guy roared ahead and ran the yellow light at the end of the exit ramp. Face flaming, I waved to the irate semi driver behind me who had seen the whole thing from a sort-of-safe distance. Jenks was shedding a sickly yellow dust as he stood on the rearview mirror and held the stem as if it were his life. I slowed to a halt at the red light and glared at the Firebird, a block ahead of me, stopped at the next light. Ass.
"You okay, Rache?" Jenks asked, and I turned down the heater.
"Fine. Why?"
"'Cause you don't usually careen into other cars unless you're going more than sixty," he said, dropping to land on my arm and walk up it to sniff me. "You on some human medicine? Did that massage therapist slip you an aspirin or something?"
Not as upset as I thought I'd be, I glanced at him and then back to the street. "No." Marshal was right. I should get a massage more often. It was really relaxing.
Jenks made a face and sat down in the crook of my elbow, wings fanning to keep his balance. The massage had been wonderful, and I hadn't realized how tense I'd been until the stress was gone. God, I felt good.
"Green light, Rache."
I pushed the accelerator, noticing that the Firebird was still at the red light. A smile curved over my face. I checked my speed, the sign, and the street. I was legal.
"It's red," Jenks said as I barreled down the street to the next light.
"I see it." Glancing behind me, I shifted lanes so Mr. Ass was parked in the lane next to me. No one was in front of me, and I maintained my speed.
"It's red!" Jenks exclaimed as I didn't slow down.
My fingers gripped the wheel casually, and I watched the crossing light start to blink. "It'll be green when I get there."
"Rachel!" Jenks shouted, and as smooth as white icing, I blew past Mr. Firebird two seconds after the light changed, going a nice forty miles per hour. I made the next light while he raced his engine and tried to catch up. Making a sedate left on an early yellow, I turned to go downtown. Mr. Firebird had to stop, and I couldn't help my feeling of satisfaction. Dumb ass.
"Holy crap, Rachel," Jenks muttered. "What's gotten into you?"
"Nothing," I said as I turned up the radio. I felt really good. Everything was A-OK.
"Maybe Ivy could pick us up at the restaurant," Jenks muttered, and I took my eyes from the road, mystified.
"Why?"
Jenks looked at me like I was crazy. "Never mind."
I zipped around a bus, changing lanes halfway down the block. "Hey, how does my aura look?" I asked, slowing as I tapped the nearby university line. It flowed in with an uncomfortable pinch, but at least I wasn't dizzy from the ebb and flow of energy. There was a car ahead of me, and I checked both ways before I shifted lanes and took a yellow light. Plenty of time.
"Stop playing with the line and drive!" Jenks exclaimed. "Your aura's a lot more even than before, and thicker, but only because it's been compacted down to a bare inch off your skin."
"Huh. It's good, though?"
He nodded, his tiny features looking irate. "Good enough if no one takes any more. You just missed the turn for the parking garage."
"Did I?" I mused, seeing a black Firebird roaring up a block behind me. "Look, there's a space right out front," I said, eyeing an open spot on the other side of the street.
"Yeah, but by the time you circle around, it will be gone."
I looked behind me, then smiled. "If I circle around," I said, then cut a sharp U-bangy. The road was slick, and the car spun just as I thought it would, turning to face the opposite direction as it drifted into the spot with a soft jiggle when the wheels met the curb. Perfect.
"Good God, Rachel!" Jenks shouted. "What the hell is wrong with you? I can't believe you did that! Who do you think you are? Lucas Black?"
Grabbing my bag, I turned off the engine and adjusted my scarf. I didn't know where the confidence for that had come from, but it had felt damn good. "Coming?" I said sweetly.
He stared at me, then pried his fingers off the rearview mirror. "Sure."
Jenks's wings were cold as he snuggled in between my neck and scarf, and after a last look, I got out. Chill air smelling of wet pavement and exhaust hit the bottom of my lungs as I took a deep breath, scenting the coming night and calling it good. It was freezing out here, and feeling confident in my best coat and boots, I waved at Mr. Firebird before I headed for Carew Tower.
My boots squishing in the melting slush, I squinted at the light as I adjusted my sunglasses. The bright storefront of an independent charm shop caught my eye, and I wondered how early we were. "Jenks?" I questioned as my steps slowed. "What time is it?"
"Three thirty," he said, muffled from the yarn he was hiding in. "You're early."
Jenks was better than a watch, and my thoughts shifted to the coming meeting with the banshee. Marshal and I hadn't found anything in my books to supplement my aura after we got ourselves together and actually looked at them. But maybe the owner of a spell shop had something to increase "digestive and sleep rhythms." There was that failed locator amulet I wanted to check on, too. Maybe I'd just used the wrong kind of carbonic wax.
"You want to stop at a spell shop?" I asked Jenks. "See if they have any fern seed?"
"Oh, hell yes!" Jenks said so enthusiastically that I felt a twinge of guilt. He was so damned independent that it probably never occurred to him to ask us to take him shopping. "If they don't have fern seed, I'll get some tansy," he added as his wings brushed my neck. "Matalina likes tansy tea. It keeps her wings moving well."
I angled to the small front door, the memory of his ailing wife rising in me. The man was hurting, and there was nothing I could do about it. Not even hold his hand. Taking him to a charm shop was the best I could do? It wasn't enough. Not by a long shot. "Almost there," I said, and when he swore at me for my concern, I pulled open the single glass door and entered.
Immediately I relaxed at the tinkling of the bell and the scent of cinnamon coffee. The soft buzz of the charm-detection spell was a mild alarm reacting to my bad-mojo amulet. I took my hat off, and Jenks flew from my scarf to land on a nearby rack and stretch his wings.
"It's nice in here," he said, and I smiled as he ruined his tough-guy image by standing on top of dried rose petals and using the word "nice."
I undid my scarf and took off my shades, scanning the shelves. I liked earth-charm shops, and this was one of the better ones, right downtown, in the middle of Cincy. I'd been here a few times and had found the clerk to be helpful and the selection more than adequate, with a few surprises and the odd pricey item I didn't have in my garden. I'd rather buy local than use mail order. If I was lucky, they might have that red-and-white stone crucible. Worry pinched my brow at the thought of Pierce with Al, but it wasn't as if I could do the spell if he was trapped in the ever-after.
Or could I? I thought suddenly, my fingers, running over a stand of planting seeds, going still. I'd be willing to bet Al hadn't given Pierce a body yet, in effect preventing him from tapping a line and becoming more dangerous than he already was. If he was still a ghost, maybe the charm could pull him back from the ever-after the same way it did from the hereafter. Ever-after, hereafter. What's the difference? And if I did that-Al would come to me.
A smile overcame me, and excitement zinged down to my toes. That was how I was going to get Al to grant me some respect. If I snatched Pierce from him, Al would come to me. I'd be in a position of power, whether real or pretend. New Year's Eve was tomorrow night. All I needed was the recipe to make sure I did it right! I didn't even need to tap a freaking line!
Excited, I turned to the door. I needed that book. Robbie. Suddenly wanting to be somewhere else, I jiggled on my feet, settling back into an anxious bother. I'd see Robbie tonight, and I wouldn't leave until I had that book and everything that went with it.
Jenks zipped around a display, almost running into me. He was spilling a bright copper glow and I figured he had found something. Behind him, the woman next to the register looked up from her newspaper, tucking her straight purple-dyed hair back behind an ear as she eyed Jenks's sparkles. "Let me know if you need any help," she said, and I wondered if her hair was really that enviably straight or if it was a charm.
"Thanks, I will," I said, then held out my hand for Jenks to land on. He was darting back and forth like an excited kid. He must have found something he thought would help Matalina.
"Over here," he said, zipping off the way he had come.
Smiling at the woman behind the counter, I followed Jenks's trail of slowly sifting gold sparkles. My boots clunked on the dark hardwood as I passed the racks of herbs to find him at a nasty-looking weed hanging in the corner beside the gnarly lengths of witch hazel.
"This one," he said, hovering over the sparsely leafed, mangy-looking sprig of gray.
I eyed him, then the tansy. Right next to it was a much nicer sheaf. "Why don't you want this one?" I asked, touching it.
Jenks buzzed harshly. "It's hothouse grown. The wild one is more potent."
"Gotcha." Being careful not to break anything off, I set it gently into one of the woven baskets stacked at an end cap. Satisfied, Jenks finally parked on my shoulder. I slowly headed to the front, lingering over a pouch of dandelion seed and smiling. We had a little time yet. I should ask her about the carbonic wax.
The hushed sound of the clerk on the phone drew my attention. She was arguing with someone, and Jenks buzzed his wings nervously.
"What's going on?" I asked softly as I pretended to look at a display of rare-earth muds. Holy crap, they were expensive, but they were certified and everything.
"I'm not sure," he said. "Something doesn't feel right all of a sudden."
Much as I hated to admit it, I agreed. But the question of what I'd done wrong with the locator amulet still remained, and I headed to the register.
"Hi," I said brightly. "I've been having some trouble getting a locator potion to work. Do you know how fresh the carbonic wax has to be? I've got some, but it's like three years old. You don't think a salt dip would ruin it, do you?" She stared at me, like a deer caught in the headlights, and I added, "I'm working a run. Do you need to see my runner's license?"
"You're Rachel Morgan, aren't you," she said. "No one else has a pixy with them."
A faint feeling of apprehension slid under my skin at how she'd said it, but I smiled. "Yup. This is Jenks." Jenks buzzed a wary greeting, and she said nothing. Uncomfortable, I added, "You really have a great store."
I set the tansy on the counter, and she backed away, looking almost embarrassed. "I-I'm sorry," she stammered. "Will you please leave?"
My eyebrows rose, and I went hot. "Excuse me?"
"What the hell?" Jenks whispered.
The young woman, eighteen at the most, fumbled for the phone, holding it like a threat. "I'm asking you to leave," she said, voice firm. "I'm calling the I.S. if you don't."
Sparkles dripping, Jenks got between us. "What for? We didn't do nothing!"
"Look," I said, not wanting an incident, "can we pay for this first?" I nudged the basket, and she took it. My blood pressure eased. It lasted all of three seconds-until she set the basket out of my reach, behind her.
"I'm not selling you anything," she said, eyes darting to tell me she was uncomfortable. "I have the right to refuse anyone service, and you need to leave."
I stared at her, not understanding. Jenks was at a loss. But then my eyes fell on the newspaper with yesterday's story of the riot at the mall. There was a new headline. BLACK MAGIC AT CIRCLE MALL-THREE IN HOSPITAL. And suddenly I got it.
I reeled, putting a hand to the counter for balance. The university returning my check. The hospital refusing to treat me on the witch floor. Cormel telling me he had to speak on my behalf. Tom saying he'd be around if I wanted to talk. They were blaming me for the riot. They were publicly blaming me, and calling it black magic!
"You're shunning me?" I exclaimed, and the woman went red. My eyes flicked to the paper, then back to her. "Who? Why?" But the why was kind of obvious.
Her chin lifted, the embarrassment gone now that I'd figured it out. "Everyone."
"Everyone?" I yelped.
"Everyone," she echoed. "You can't buy anything here. You might as well leave."
I retreated from the counter, my arms slack at my side. I've been shunned? Someone must have seen me with Al in the garden, seen him abduct Pierce. Had it been Tom? The freaking bastard! Had he gotten me shunned so he'd have a better shot at Mia?
"Rache," Jenks said, close to my ear but sounding faraway and distant. "What does she mean? Leave? Why do we have to leave?"
Shocked, I licked my lips and tried to figure it out. "I've been shunned," I said, then looked at the tansy. It might as well have been on the moon. I wasn't going to get it, or anything else in the store. Or the next. Or the next. I felt sick.
I shook my head in disbelief. "This isn't right," I said to the clerk. "I've never hurt anyone. I've only helped people. The only one who gets hurt is me." Oh my God, what am I going to tell Marshal? If he talks to me again, he might be shunned, too. Lose his job.
My demon mark seemed heavy on my foot and wrist, and I tugged my sleeves down. Red-faced, the clerk dropped the tansy in the trash because I'd touched it. "Get out," she said.
I couldn't seem to find enough air. Jenks wasn't much better, but he at least found his voice. "Look, you lunker," he said, pointing at her and dripping red sparkles that puddled on the counter. "Rachel isn't a black witch. The paper is printing trash. It was the banshee that started the riot, and Rachel needs this stuff to help the FIB catch her!"
The woman said nothing. I put a hand to my stomach. Oh God. I didn't want to spew in here. I'd been shunned. It wasn't a death sentence, like it had been two hundred years ago, but it was a statement that what I was doing was not approved of. That no one would help me if I needed it. That I was a bad person.
Numb, my grip tightened on the counter. "Let's go," I whispered, turning to the door.
Jenks's wings were a harsh clatter. "You need this stuff, Rache!"
I shook my head. "She won't let us buy it." I swallowed. "No one will."
"What about Matalina?" he said, panic icing his voice.
My air slipped from me, and I turned back to the counter. "Please," I said, Jenks's wings making my hair tickle my neck. "His wife is ill. The tansy will help. Just let us buy this one thing, and I'll never come back. It's not for me."
Her head shook no. All her fear was gone, washed away by the confidence she found when she realized I wasn't going to give her trouble. "There are places for witches like you," she said tartly. "I suggest you find them."
She meant the black market. It wasn't to be trusted, and I wouldn't seek it out. Damn it, I had been shunned! No witch would sell to me. No witch would trade with me. I was alone. Absolutely alone. Shunning was a tradition that stretched back before the days of the pilgrims, and it was 100 percent effective; one witch couldn't grow, find, or make everything. And once shunned, it was seldom revoked.
Her chin lifted. "Get out or I'll call the I.S., for harassment."
I stared at her, believing she'd do it. Denon would love that. Slowly I pulled my hand off the counter.
"Come on, Rachel," Jenks said. "I probably have some tansy under the snow somewhere. If you don't mind getting it for me."
"It's wet," I said, bewildered. "It might be moldy."
"It will be better than the crap they sell here," he shot back, flipping the woman off as he flew backward to the door.
Feeling unreal, I followed him. I wouldn't be able to check anything out of the library either. This was so not fair!
I didn't feel Jenks snuggle in between my scarf and my neck. I didn't remember opening the door or the cheerful tingling of the bells. I didn't remember walking to my car. I didn't remember waiting for traffic before I edged into the street. Suddenly, though, I was standing at the door to my car with my keys in my hand, the bright sun gleaming on the red paint, making me squint.
I blinked, going still. My motions slow and deliberate, I stuck the key in the lock and opened it. I stood there a moment with my arm on the fabric roof, trying to figure it out. The sun was just as bright, the wind just as crisp, but everything was different. Inside, something was broken. Trust in my fellow witches, maybe? The belief that I was a good person, even if there was black on my soul?
I had an appointment in twenty minutes, but I had to sit for a while, and I didn't know if the coffee shop on the tower's first floor would serve me. Word of a shunning traveled fast. Slowly I got in and shut the door. Outside, a truck rumbled past where I'd been moments before.
I was shunned. I wasn't a black witch, but I might as well have been.
