The Good, The Bad, And The Undead

'Yeah, I'm just full of surprises,' I muttered, reaching up to keep the hair out of my eyes as the wind gusted. Trent's hat threatened to blow off into the water, and I stretched to catch it before it left his head. My fingers brushed his hat, then nothing.

Trent leapt backward. I stared, blinking at where he had been. He was gone.

I found him a good four feet away, entirely off the bridge. I'd seen cats move like that. He looked frightened as he straightened, then angry that I'd seen the emotion on him. The sun glinted on his wispy hair; his hat was in the water, turning a sickly green.

I stiffened as Quen dropped out of the nearby tree to land softly before him. The man stood with his arms hanging loose, looking like a modern-day samurai in his black jeans and shirt. I didn't move as a whoosh of water came from behind me. I could smell copper sulfate and scum. I felt, more than saw, Sharps loom behind me, cold, wet, and almost as big as the bridge he lived under, having sucked in a huge amount of water to give himself more mass. A faint clatter from the nearby bathroom told me Glenn was on his way.

My heart pounded as no one moved. I shouldn't have touched him. I should not have touched him. Licking my lips, I tugged my jacket straight, glad Quen had the sense to know I hadn't been trying to hurt Trent. 'I'll call you when I have a name,' I said, my voice sounding thin. Giving Quen an apologetic look, I turned on a heel and strode quickly to the street, my heels thumping soundlessly up through my spine.

And you are afraid of me, I thought silently. Why?

Twenty-Four

'For the third time, Rachel. Would you like another piece of bread?'

I looked from the light glinting on the surface of my wine, finding Nick waiting with a curious, amused expression. He was holding out the plate with the bread. By his wondering expression, I guessed he'd held it there for a while. 'Um, no. No, thank you,' I said, glancing down to find the supper Nick had made for me almost untouched. Giving him an apologetic smile, I sent my fork under another bite of pasta and white sauce. It was his supper, my lunch, and both delicious, and even more so since I hadn't done anything but make the salad. It would likely be the last thing I ate today because Ivy had a date with Kist. That meant I'd be having dinner with Ben and Jerry in front of the TV. I thought it unusual she would go out with the living vamp, seeing as he was worse than a monkey when it came to sex and blood, but it was resolutely not my business.

Nick's plate was empty, and after setting the bread down, he sat back and played with the end of his knife, making it lay just so atop his napkin. 'I know it's not my food,' he said. 'What's the matter? You've hardly said a word since you—ah—came over to the museum.'

I covered my smirk with a napkin and wiped the corner of my mouth. I had caught him napping, sitting with his lanky legs up, his feet propped on his cleaning table, the eighteenth century tea towel he was supposed to be restoring draped over his eyes. If it wasn't a book, he really didn't care about it. 'Is it that obvious?' I said, taking a bite.

A familiar, lopsided smile came over him. 'It's not like you to be this quiet. Is it about Mr. Kalamack not being arrested after finding, er, that—body?'

I pushed the plate away in a flush of guilt. I hadn't yet told Nick I'd switched sides in the 'Let's get Trent' issue. I hadn't, really, and that's what bothered me. The man was slime.

'You found a body,' he said as he leaned across the table and took my hand. 'The rest will follow.'

I cringed, worried Nick might tell me I'd sold out. My distress must have shown because he squeezed my hand until I looked up. 'What is it, Ray-ray?'

His eyes were soft with encouragement, their brown depths catching the glint from the ugly light hanging over Nick's tiny kitchen/dining room. My attention went over the short, chest-high mantel dividing it from the living room as I tried to decide how to broach the subject. I had been harping on him for months about letting sleeping demons lie, and here I was, wanting to ask him to call Algaliarept up for me. I was sure the answer was going to cost more than what Nick's 'trial contract' would cover, and I didn't want to risk him paying it for me anyway. Nick had a chivalrous streak as wide as the Ohio River.

'Tell me?' he asked, ducking his head to try and see my eyes.

I licked my lips and met his gaze. 'It's about Big Al.' I didn't like chancing that Algaliarept would conveniently assume I was calling it every time I said its name, so I had begun referring to the demon by the somewhat insulting moniker. Nick thought it was funny; that I was worried about it showing up unsummoned, not that I called it Al.

Nick's fingers slipped from mine and he pulled away to take up his wineglass. 'Don't start,' he said, his eyebrows furrowed in the first signs of anger. 'I know what I'm doing, and I'm going to do it whether you like it or not.'

'Actually,' I hedged, 'I wanted to see if you might ask it something for me.'

Nick's long face went slack. 'Beg pardon?'

I winced. 'If it won't cost you anything. If it does, forget it. I'll find another way.'

He set the glass down and leaned forward. 'You want me to call him?'

'See, I talked to Trent today,' I said quickly, so he couldn't interrupt, 'and we figure that the demon that attacked us last spring is the same one that's doing the murders—that I was supposed to be the first witch hunter victim, but because I turned Trent's job offer down, it let me go. If I can find out who sent it to kill us, then we have the murderer.'

Lips parted, Nick stared at me. I could almost see his thoughts fall in place: Trent was innocent and I was working for him to find the real murderer and clear his name of suspicion. Uncomfortable, I pushed the fork around on the plate. 'How much is he giving you?' Nick finally asked, his voice giving me no clue to his thoughts.

'Two thousand up front,' I said, feeling it light in my pocket, since I had yet to go home. 'Eighteen more when I tell him who the witch hunter is.' Hey. I'd made my rent. Whoop-de-do.

'Twenty thousand dollars?' he said, his brown eyes large in the fluorescent light. 'He's giving you twenty thousand dollars for a name? You don't have to bring him in or anything?'

I nodded, wondering if Nick thought I was selling out. I felt like I was.

Nick held himself still for three heartbeats, then rose, his chair scraping the worn linoleum. 'Let's find out how much that costs,' he said, halfway out of the room.

I was left blinking at his wire and plastic chair. My heart thumped. 'Nick?' I stood, taking a moment to move our plates to the sink. 'Doesn't it bother you I'm working for Trent? It bothers me.'

'Did he kill those witches?' came his voice from the hallway to his room, and I followed it through the living room to find him moving everything out of his linen closet and stacking it on his bed with a methodical quickness.

'No. I don't think so.' God help me if I misread his tells.

He handed me a stack of brand new, lusciously green towels. 'So what's the problem?'

'The man is a biodrug lord and runs Brimstone,' I said, juggling the towels to take the oversize gardener boots he handed me. I recognized them as the ones from my belfry, and I wondered why he was keeping them. 'Trent is trying to take over Cincinnati's underworld, and I'm working for him. That's what's the matter.'

Nick grabbed his spare sheets and edged past me to drop them on his bed. 'You wouldn't be helping him unless you believed he didn't do it,' he said as he returned. 'And for twenty thousand dollars? Twenty thousand dollars buys a lot of therapy if you're wrong.'

I grimaced, not liking Nick's 'money makes everything right' philosophy. I suppose growing up watching your mother struggle for every dollar might have a lot to do with it, but I sometimes questioned Nick's priorities. But I had to find out just to save my own skin, and I'd be damned if I cleared Trent of suspicion for free.

I stood sideways in the hallway as Nick went into his room with a pile of sweaters. The closet was empty— there hadn't been much in it to start with—and after dumping everything, he took the towels and boots from my arms, adding them to the mound on the bed before returning to the closet. My eyebrows rose as he pulled a square of carpet up to reveal a circle and pentagram etched in the floor. 'You summon Al into a closet?' I said in disbelief.

Nick looked up from where he was kneeling, his long face devious. 'I found the circle when I moved in,' he