followed by a groan and a thump.
'Sweet mother of Tink,' a new, lightly masculine voice said. 'I'm dying. I'm dying. Matalina! My heart isn't beating!'
I took a clean breath, then another, propped up in Ivy's grip. I was hot, then cold. And I couldn't see clearly. Looking up past the edge of the counter, I found Kisten beside Ceri, frozen as if unable to decide what to do. I pushed Ivy's hand off me and sat up when I realized what had laid me out. It wasn't the force of the line I had channeled but the shit-load of intent-to-pay-back that I had just laid on my soul. I had it, not Jenks, and it was going to stay that way.
Heart pounding, I got to my feet, my mouth dropping open when I saw Jenks on the counter. 'Oh—my— God…' I whispered.
Jenks turned to me, his eyes wide and frightened. Angular face pinched, he looked at the ceiling, chest heaving as he hyperventilated. Ceri was at the sink, beaming. Beside me, Ivy stared, shocked. Kisten wasn't much better. Matalina was in tears, and pixy children were flying around. Someone got tangled in my hair, pulling me back to reality.
'Anyone younger than fifteen—out of the kitchen!' I shouted. 'Someone get me a paper bag. Ivy, go get a towel for Jenks. You think you'd never seen a naked man before.'
Ivy jerked into motion. 'Not one sitting on my counter,' she muttered, walking out.
Jenks's eyes were wide in panic as I snatched the bag Kisten handed me. Shaking it open, I puffed into it. 'Here,' I said. 'Breath into this.'
'Rache?' he gasped, his face pale and his shoulder cold when I touched him. He flinched, then let me hold the bag to his face. 'My heart,' he said, his words muffled around the bag. 'Something's wrong! Rache, turn me back! I'm dying!'
Smiling, I held the bag to him as he sat on my counter, stark naked and hyperventilating. 'That's how slow it beats,' I said. 'And you don't have to breathe so fast. Slow down,' I soothed. 'Close your eyes. Take a breath. Count to three. Let it out. Count to four.'
'Shove it up your ass,' he said, hunching into himself and starting to shake. 'The last time you told me to close my eyes and count from ten, look what happened to me.'
Ivy returned, draping the first towel over his lap and the second over his shoulders. He was calming down, his eyes roving over the kitchen, darting from the ceiling to the open archway. His breath caught when he saw the garden through the window. 'Holy crap,' he whispered, and I pulled the bag away. He might not look like Jenks, but he sounded like him.
'Better?' I said, taking a step back.
His head bobbed, and as he sat on the counter and concentrated on breathing, we stood with our mouths hanging open, taking in a six-foot pixy. In a word, he was…damn!
Jenks had said he was eighteen, and he looked it. A very athletic eighteen, with wide innocent eyes, a smooth young face, and a blond shock of curly hair all tousled and needing to be arranged. His wings were gone, leaving only wide shoulders and the lean muscles that had once supported them. He had a trim waist, and his feet dangling to the floor were long and narrow. They were perfectly shaped, and my eyebrows rose; I'd seen his feet before, and one had been terribly misshapen.
I silently cataloged the rest of him, realizing all his scars were gone, even the one he'd gotten from fairy steel. His incredibly defined abs were smooth and perfect, making him utterly lanky with the clean smoothness of late adolescence. Every part of him was lean with a long strength. There wasn't a fleck of hair on him anywhere but for his eyebrows and atop his head. I knew. I had looked.
His gaze met mine from under his mussed bangs, and I blinked, taken by them. Ceri had green eyes, but Jenks's were shockingly green, like new leaves. They were narrowed with anxiety, but even the fading fear couldn't hide his youth. Sure, he had a wife and fifty-four kids, but he looked like a college freshman. A yummy college freshman majoring in oh-my-God-I-gotta-get-me-some-of-that.
Jenks rubbed his head where he had hit the overhanging rack. 'Matalina?' he said, the cadence of his voice familiar but the sound of it odd. 'Oh, Matalina,' he breathed when she dropped to land on his shaking hand, 'you're beautiful….'
'Jenks,' she said, hiccuping. 'I'm so proud of you. I—'
'Shhhh,' he said, his face twisting in heartache when he found himself unable to touch her. 'Please don't cry, Mattie. It's going to be okay. I promise.'
My eyes warmed with unshed tears as she played with the folds of her dress. 'I'm sorry. I promised myself I wasn't going to cry. I don't want you to see me cry!'
She darted up, zipping out into the hall. Jenks made a move to follow, probably forgetting he didn't have wings anymore. He leaned forward and fell to the floor, face first.
'Jenks!' I shouted when he hit with a dull smack and started swearing.
'Le' go! Let go of me!' he exclaimed, slapping at me as he wedged his legs under him, only to fall back down. His towel fell away, and he struggled to hold it in place and stand up all at the same time. 'Damn it all to hell! Why can't I balance right?' His face went ashen and he quit struggling. 'Crap, I gotta pee again.'
I looked pleadingly at Kisten. The living vamp swung into motion, easily dodging Jenks's flailing arms and hoisting him up off the floor by his shoulders. Jenks was taller by four inches, but Kisten had done bouncer work at his club. 'Come on, Jenks,' he said, moving him into the hallway. 'I've got some clothes you can put on. Falling down is a lot more comfortable when you have something between your ass and the carpet.'
'Matalina?' Jenks called in panic from the hall, protesting as Kisten manhandled him to my bathroom. 'Hey, I can walk. I just forgot I didn't have wings. Le'me go. I can do this.'
I jumped at the sound of Kisten shutting the bathroom door.
'Nice ass, Jenks,' Ivy said into the new silence. Shaking her head, she picked up the second towel Jenks had left behind, folding it as if needing to give herself something to do.
My breath came from me in a long exhalation. 'That,' I said to Ceri, 'has got to be the most fantastic charm I've ever seen.'
Ceri beamed, and I realized she'd been worried, waiting for my approval. 'Curse,' she said, her eyes on her teacup as she blushed. 'Thank you,' she added modestly. 'I wrote it down in the back with all the supplemental curses worked in on the chance you'd want to use it again. The countercurse is included, just as it's supposed to be. All you have to do is tap a line and say the words.'
Countercurse, I thought morosely, wondering if that meant more black on my soul or if I had taken it all already. 'Um, thanks, Ceri. You're incredible. I'll never be able to do a charm that complex. Thank you.'
She stood in front of the window and sipped her tea, looking pleased. 'You returned me my soul, Rachel Mariana Morgan. Making your life easier is a small thing.'
Ivy made a rude sound and dropped the folded towel on the table. She didn't seem to know what to do next. My soul. My poor, tarnished, blackening soul.
My mouth went dry as the enormity of what I had done fell on me. Shit. I was playing with the black arts. No, not the black arts—which you could go to jail for—but demonic arts. They didn't even have laws for people practicing demonic arts. I felt cold, then hot. Not only had I just put a bunch of black on my soul, but I had called it a good thing, not bad.
Oh God, I was going to be sick.
'Rachel?'
I sank down into my chair feeling shaky. Ceri had her hand on my shoulder, but I hardly felt it. Ivy was shouting something, and Ceri was telling her to sit down and be still, that it was just the delayed shock of taking on so much reality imbalance and that I was going to be okay.
Okay? I thought, putting my head on the table before I fell over. Maybe. 'Rhombus,' I whispered, feeling the eye-blink-fast connection to the line and the protective circle rise around me. Ceri leapt forward, joining me before it finished forming. I had practiced this ley line charm for three months, and it was white magic, damn it, not black.
'Rachel!' Ivy cried as the shimmering band of ever-after wavered into existence between us. I pulled my head up, determined not to spew. I wanted to see what I had done to my soul, and though I couldn't see my aura, I could see a reflection of the damage in the shimmering band of ever-after.
'God help me,' I whispered, feeling my face go cold.
