Ever After

There were two gingersnaps left. I leaned forward, a ribbon of anxiety running through me. “Is that what you think?” I said, shoving my cup of tea away from me so hard that it sloshed. I hated bergamot. “You think he’s going to save you after you kill me?”

Silent, Dali took a cookie. “Ku’Sox has threatened us before, but he’s never gone through with it. He’s young and angry. You cursed his freedom from him.” Dali smiled, showing me his flat, blocky teeth. “Sibling rivalry. Maybe you should uncurse him.”

“Don’t think so,” I said quickly, wondering how I was going to convince Dali the threat was more than he thought. “Look, letting me die would be a mistake. I’m not trying to kill you. He is, and I don’t think that line can be shut down with that purple sludge in it, even if I am dead. And in case you haven’t noticed, he doesn’t need you anymore. He has Nick, who stole the enzyme that keeps the Rosewood syndrome suppressed enough to survive it, and then you stood by and hid the fact that he circumvented my protection of Trent—the only one who can make the cure permanent and able to pass to the next generation. Ku’Sox doesn’t need you anymore. In ten years, he’s going to have a bunch of demon-magic-using kids to play with.”

“The Rosewood babies are not for him, they are for us.” Dali washed down his cookie with a sip of tea, and I gaped.

“Y-you?” I stammered, and he nodded. One gingersnap left. Thirty seconds.

“They’re life rafts, demon-magic-capable bodies that those loyal to him can slip into and escape a failing ever-after,” Dali said, and I stared, not having considered that.

“And you believe him?” I said. “Seriously?”

Dali’s eye twitched, telling me he didn’t, but it did make it easier to understand why no one would help me. “Has it ever occurred to you that without a permanent cure, everyone who escapes on Ku’Sox’s coattails will be completely dependent on him to stay alive?”

Dali’s thick fingers were on that last cookie. Hesitating, he tapped it on the plate. “Which is why we’re not forcing him to give Ceri back,” he said softly. “We want the permanent cure.”

I leaned back in the chair, hard-pressed to not pound my head on the table. “He’s lying to you, Dali, to all of you. He’s never going to allow any of you access to those children, and he’s going to let the ever-after collapse whether you kill me for him or not. Now quit blocking me and give me Ceri and Lucy back so I can figure this out!”

Dali set the last cookie down and wiped his fingers. With a new stiffness in his manner, he shifted his weight. “You think his intent is annihilation?”

I nodded, and my shoulders eased. “Before Newt got us back underground, a gargoyle came to see who had been messing around in my ley line.”

His carefully trimmed eyebrows high, Dali eyed me, but if it was because Newt helped us or that a gargoyle was involved, I didn’t know. “In the daylight?”

“He had a huge sword that looked like it had been propping up a laundry line for the last fifty years,” I said, angry. “He said the line would fix itself in time, but destroy the ever-after in the doing of it, and that they were going to leave and to save who they could.”

“The gargoyles are leaving?” It was a soft but alarmed utterance.

“He also said I wouldn’t find enough time to fix it before it fixes itself. If you can’t give me Ceri, at least give me some time,” I demanded. “Four days,” I added, thinking of Al’s burn.

Dali’s intent gaze focused on me, considering it. Sighing, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the chair. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking?”

Adrenaline jerked through me as I realized he’d probably come here with the intent to kill me and be done with it before he left. “I think I can fix the line,” I said, scrambling to find something positive to take away from this. “I just need to borrow . . .” My words trailed off reluctantly, as if not wanting to divulge just what it was, not that I had no clue what I needed. “Something from Al,” I finished, trying to appear cagey, not confused.

Dali peered at me, his mouth a thin line. “You don’t trust me.”

“Sure I do,” I said, and Bis snickered, making a weird snuffing sound.

The older-looking demon frowned. “You don’t have a clue how to fix that line,” he said, but inside, I felt a tiny spot of hope. He was thinking about it.

Beside him, Bis cleared his throat. “I can see the lines,” he said, flushing a heavy black. “I know I can help. I’m good at auras.”

Dali ignored him, which made me mad, and I said, “Ku’Sox cursed my line. That purple sludge is demon made. I have yet to find the curse I can’t untwist.”

His face scrunched up, making him look like the benevolent uncle who wanted to give you the quarter of a million dollars to start your chinchilla farm, but those darn investors just didn’t see the potential. “It’s not that I don’t want to believe you,” he said, and I let out a loud, exasperated sigh as he continued. “But belief will be a thin comfort if we get sucked into oblivion waiting for you to figure it out. It’s not like you have much to lose.”

“If you don’t trust me, we both die, Dali,” I said, not dropping his eyes. “Even if the ever-after vanishes, do you think the coven is going to let me live after the lines disappear and there’s no more magic? I don’t.”

Goat-slitted eyes unfocused, he nodded.

“Can’t you choose what gets sucked into oblivion?” I said. “Try bubbling your rooms. Let it pull on the empty spaces for a while.”

“Perhaps.” Dali’s knees uncrossed as he set his feet on the floor. He was ready to go, and he eyed the last cookie. “No one will want to if they’re being reimbursed by Newt. We’d all like to see her brought down a decimal place or two.”

“See if you can get them to think about it,” I said, standing up and going to the counter where I had a bag of cookies for Ray. Dali might be a better choice. “I have an idea, but I need four days and your silence that we even had this conversation.”

Dali’s attention jerked to me. Bright eyed, he stood and took the cookies like the bribe they were. “Really?” he said, the plastic rustling softly. “Secrets, Rachel?”

I met his gaze squarely. “The fewer who know, the better.”

Dali’s head cocked suspiciously. “You trust me?”

My heart gave a thump. I didn’t have a problem asking for things, according to Al, but in this case, I was asking for a lot. “You’re a member of the courts,” I said. “If I fail, go ahead and kill me,” I continued, making Bis rustle his wings. “I don’t want to be around to see the fallout when magic fails on this side of the lines. But if I succeed, I want all my debts slid to Ku’Sox.” Dali began to smile. “Everything to date and any I acquire while resolving the mess he started,” I said, feeling nervous. It was quite a lot. “Newt’s debts accrued because of his tampering, too,” I added. “I want that demon so far in the hole that if we survive, he will be spending the next thousand years as a busboy at your restaurant.”

Dali chuckled, and I felt out of breath. “We,” he said, and I blinked, not knowing why he’d said it until realizing I’d said it first. I had said we. I had lumped myself in with them, and it had come out as natural as if it had been we for a long time. “I like the way you think, Morgan. No wonder Al has risked so much on you.”

“Well?” I asked, since it was obvious Dali was leaving.

His fingers tightened on the bag of cookies. “You have four days. More than that, and the ever-after will be too damaged.”

Bis’s ears pricked, and the sound of the front door opening echoed through the church. My gaze darted to the clock on the stove. They were early. “Four days,” I said. Al would be able to tap a line in three. It would be close, but maybe by then I’d have this figured out.

“If it’s not fixed by midnight, you die.” Dali looked at his watch. “That’s Friday,” he said sourly as he squinted at Bis as if he had failed in something—and then . . . he vanished.

I exhaled, shaking as I went to prop the window open to let out the stink of demons. Dali had taken the cookies but left the petits fours. “Thank you,” I whispered into the night, though he couldn’t possibly hear me. Never underestimate the power of home-baked cookies. Bis’s chair creaked as he eased his grip. Looking out at the dark graveyard, empty of even the glow of sleeping pixies, I felt my gut clench at the sound of Trent’s steps in the hall. I had no idea what I was going to do next, but Trent wouldn’t be happy with what I’d found.

“Pepper piss! It stinks in here!” Jenks swore as he darted in, fingers pinching his nose shut as he swooped a