Black Magic Sanction

for the bathroom. 'Can you hold that thought?'

Leaving Pierce to figure out what I meant, I shut the bathroom door behind me and hoped he couldn't hear as I took care of business. God, why did I even care if he might know I'd flushed the toilet, but I slumped when I caught sight of myself in the age-spotted mirror above the tiny white sink.

There were circles under my eyes, and I looked tired despite the sleep. My hair was a mess, and when I used Nick's brush, it only made it frizz out all the more. I contemplated taking my pain amulet off but decided I might need it if I was summoned out and had to fight, so I let it stay tucked under my shirt. The black camisole had been fresh this morning, and the jeans were probably good for another day. Eventually, though, I'd have to risk going home for a change of clothes and a toothbrush or spend a couple of hours at the mall.

How had I gotten here? Shunned and on the run from the coven, unable to go home for a change of undies. What scared me the most was that the coven didn't have to work within the law, or at least they felt they didn't. Maybe I should call Glenn and see if there was a warrant out for my arrest? That would be good news, because if there was, then they couldn't just pack me quietly away in a closet. Okay, so my kids being demons was a problem, but shouldn't the entire witch community have a say in whether I should be shoved in a hole or just castrated?

'Thanks, Trent,' I whispered as I cleaned Nick's brush. Dropping the fistful of his and my hair into the sink, I set it alight with a word of Latin. None of this would have happened if Trent hadn't told the council what his dad's tinkering with my mitochondria had done.

I'd been born with a common genetic 'defect' that should've killed me before I was two. Thousands of witches were. The truth was that Rosewood syndrome was really an ancient elven biological-warfare device that kicked in when a witch able to invoke demon magic was born.

Turns out the elves had cursed the demons first, causing their children to be born stunted in their ability to do magic. Abandoned by demons as inferior, ancient elves called us witches and told us lies, recruiting us for what magic we retained to help them in their war. They couldn't get rid of the gene that enabled us to invoke demon magic without removing all our ability to do magic, and occasionally it recombined to full strength; hence the little genetic bomb they hooked into our DNA to kill us when the demon enzyme showed.

When Trent's dad tinkered enough, such that I could survive having the demon enzyme, he'd unknowingly fixed what his species had broken. Trent's claim that he hadn't told the coven was crap, especially when the lie that he could control and destroy me followed it.

'Rachel?' came a worried call from the door, and I looked up from the bit of ash that was left of my hair. That and a really nasty stench.

'I'm fine!' I called back. 'Just getting rid of potential focusing objects.'

I heard his pleased mmmm, then his steps retreated. I ran the water a long time, cleaning the basin until there was not even a hint of ash. Forcing a smile, I came out to find Pierce at the stove. 'Nick said there were eggs,' he said, making an odd picture of domesticity as he turned with a spatula in his hand, 'but I was of the mind you'd prefer hotcakes.'

A splatter of batter marked his shirt, and my smile became real. Eggs gave me migraines, but there wasn't enough of them in pancakes to matter. 'Fabulous,' I said as I took one of the cups of coffee waiting on the faded table. 'Is this mine?' I asked, and he nodded, expertly flipping the pancake to land back in the pan.

Three pancakes were already waiting in the oven, their scent covering up the reek of burning hair. 'I've never made coffee before,' he said, repositioning the pancake in the pan. 'Not in that fashion. But I've seen you do it enough. Is it... okay?'

I took a sip, grinning as I remembered his drinking my mom's too-strong coffee in an effort to impress me the night we'd met. 'It's good. Thanks. You've got batter on your shirt.'

Pierce looked down, dropping everything with a mild oath and dabbing at it with the damp corner of a dish towel. There was no maple syrup in the microwave, but a bottle of corn syrup was warming in a pan on the stove. The table, too, was set, so as Pierce fussed over his shirt, I went to Nick's dresser, wondering what he'd shoved in it before he left.

Another mild cuss word drifted through the apartment, and Pierce gave up on the spot. 'Do you trust him?' he asked, knowing what I was thinking as I stood before Nick's dresser.

My jaw clenched, and my head started to pound. 'Not where it counts.'

'Then look.'

Why not? I set my mug down and opened the drawer. Lying atop Nick's socks and tighty whities was my splat gun. 'Hey!' I exclaimed, reaching for it only to curl my fingers under before they could touch it. 'It's my splat gun,' I said, face burning. He must have lifted it from Vivian in Junior's coffeehouse, but why hadn't he returned it to me?

Pierce leaned from the stove to see me. 'Testing you? To see if you're trustworthy?'

Either that, or he wanted it for himself. 'I guess I just got an F, then,' I said, hefting my splat gun before I jammed it at the small of my back where it made an uncomfortable bump. Under the gun was a handful of ticket stubs, receipts, and handwritten notes on napkins. I peered closer, spotting a day pass to the zoo's off-hours runners' program. With a finger, I shifted a few things, not seeing a pattern to it—apart from everything being from places I frequented. 'He's been watching me,' I said, figuring it out. 'Not lately,' I added, seeing the dates, 'but he has.'

The oven opened, and I heard a plate scrape on the faded table. 'Come and eat while it's warm,' he called, sounding angry but willing to let me handle it.

Jaw clenched, I picked the bits of my life out from between his socks and dropped them on the dresser. I was taking the gun. I may as well let him know I looked at everything. Slamming the drawer shut, I stomped to the table and sat down, exhaling to get rid of my tension. The gun was uncomfortable, and I put it on the table, not caring if it looked funny next to the domesticity of plates and pancakes.

'Don't worry about it,' I said as I put my napkin on my lap. I couldn't meet his eyes as I poured the corn syrup over the very brown, almost burnt, pancakes. They were kind of tough to cut with my fork, but when I took a bite... 'Hey, these are good,' I said, feeling the different texture on my tongue. 'This isn't from a box.'

Pierce smiled as he sat across from me. 'No. The fixings were here. Nick has more than eggs and beer, though he might know naught about what to do with them. I've made a feast on less than he has in his icebox. Uh, fridge,' he amended, frowning.

He saw me look at the patch of skin at his neckline, and his smile deepened, becoming almost devilish, which for some reason made me flush. I'd seen him naked in the snow at Fountain Square; why this little bit of skin was so eye catching was beyond me. God! I was not going to do this. Pierce was off-limits. End of story. Not going to happen. Blow the ship up and maroon the crew on Celibate Island.

Pulling the plate closer, I started shoveling it in, the clicks of my fork mixing with the ticking of the four clocks. I glanced at one like Cinderella, wondering if I was going to be jerked across the continent when the sun fell below the West Coast horizon. True, Nick was here—unless he'd hopped a plane back to San Francisco—but lots of people knew Al's summoning name. The council had deep pockets. Not to mention an island full of demon summoners. Dangle a get-out-of-jail-free card in Alcatraz, and I bet someone would jump at it.

My chewing slowed, and elbow on the table, I eyed Pierce past my hanging fork, worried. This wouldn't be a problem if I could line jump. 'How hard is it to travel the lines?' I asked him, and he sighed. 'Give me a break, okay? I'm tired of being dragged around.'

'I like coming to your rescue,' he said. 'You're such an independent filly. It does a man good to know he's needed—upon occasion. No. Al said not to teach you.'

'Oh, I thought you did what you wanted?' I said, and he chuckled, knowing I was trying to goad him into it.

Head cocked, I put down my fork and leaned back with my coffee, a silent statement that I'd not eat any more of his pancakes until he talked to me. My eyes went to the clock on the stove, and back to him. Newt had said it took a long time to learn, and apparently a gargoyle was involved. 'Bis said you used him to hear the lines,' I prompted.

Pierce's smile faded, and he eyed me from around the loose curls hanging in his eyes. 'You're going to get me in trouble with Al,' he muttered, gaze dropping.

'So? You got me in trouble with him. Teach me,' I dared him.