back and glanced at his bodyguard. 'I'd be happy to join you in back. Is it just that way?' he asked, leaning to his right.
I nodded, glad Ivy and I had put in a slate walk, then wondered if we had gotten the trash out this week. Crap, I hoped so. 'Jenks, if it's warm enough, could you escort Mr. Cormel?'
A flash of dust slipped from him, and he darted outside. 'You bet.' He flew down the stairs and then back up. 'This way, please.'
His tiny voice was sarcastic, and I wouldn't be surprised if Jenks took the opportunity to threaten him again. He had no respect for titles, law, or anything but a pixy sword, and he took his job of keeping my ass above the grass seriously.
Giving me a smile that would have twitterpated Genghis Khan, the vampire took the stairs. I watched his confident pace as he made his way to the sidewalk, shoes clicking smartly, listening to everything, seeing everything. A master vampire. The master of this city. What did he want with me if it wasn't…blood?
I ducked inside and shut the door, relieved that Cormel had motioned for his bodyguard and driver to stay put. I didn't want them in my church even if Jenks was with me. Three vampires opened the door for a lot of misunderstandings.
'Matalina?' I said loudly as I padded through the sanctuary. 'We have a client.' But the pixy woman had already hustled the last of her brood down the hall and out through the chimney in the back living room. It was only the youngest that were giving her trouble, not remembering the drill from last year. They would stay out of the church until Rynn Cormel left, or they'd be cleaning my windows tomorrow.
I scuffed on my slippers by the back door and unlocked it, darting into the kitchen to see if I could do a quick tidy. I elbowed the rocker switch for the lights, already reaching to shove a crumb-strewn plate into the dishwasher before the fluorescent tubes finished flickering to a bright, steady glow. Mr. Fish, my Betta, flipped his tail nervously at the sudden light, and I made a mental note to feed him. Beside him on the sill was a tiny pumpkin that I had bought for Jenks and his kids, hoping that they would go for it instead of the huge pumpkin they'd grown off the compost pile this summer. Chances looked slim since the obnoxious but beautiful vegetable was sitting under the table, warming up. The thing was huge, and I wasn't looking forward to a repeat of last year's fiasco. Pumpkin seeds could be shot with painful accuracy, it turns out.
I loved my kitchen, with its expansive counters, two stoves, and huge stainless-steel fridge that was big enough to hold a goat, at least in theory. There was a heavy antique table against the interior wall holding Ivy's computer, printer, and desk stuff. One side of it was mine, and lately I'd lost all but the last corner of it, having to continually shove her stuff back so I'd have somewhere to eat. I had taken the center island counter for me, though, so fair was fair.
The small island counter was covered in herbs I was experimenting with, last week's mail stacked on a corner and threatening to spill off, and a mishmash of earth-magic spelling hardware. Copper pots and utensils hung over it from a huge rack where the pixies loved to play hide-and-seek among metal that wouldn't burn them. Below the counter was the rest of my spelling stuff jammed together in no particular order, as it was mostly ley line paraphernalia that I didn't know what to do with. My splat gun, with its sleepy-time charms, was nestled in another set of nested copper pots, and my small library of spell books was propped up with my more mundane cookbooks on a low shelf that was open on both sides. Three of them were demon curse books and they gave me the willies, but I wasn't going to store them under my bed.
Everything looked halfway decent, and I flicked on the coffeemaker Ivy had already prepped for breakfast tomorrow. Mr. Cormel probably wouldn't drink any, but the smell might help block the pheromones. Maybe.
Concerned, I put my hands on my hips. The only thing I might have done had I some warning would be to sweep the salt out of the circle etched in the linoleum surrounding the center island counter.
The air pressure shifted and I turned, but my welcoming professional smile froze as I realized I hadn't heard the back door click open.
'Shit,' I breathed, tensing as I realized why.
I'd stepped off hallowed ground.
Al was here.
Ten
'Jenks!' I shouted, stumbling backward.
I prayed Al would start talking, but his elegant, chiseled features twisted in anger, and he leapt at me, white-gloved hands reaching.
I fell back against the sink. Arms braced, I swung both feet up to hit him square in the chest. Oh, God. I was dead. He wasn't gloating. He wanted to freaking kill me. If I was dead, no one would know he broke his word. Not only was Ceri an idiot for making charms for him, she was wrong, too.
Panic took me when my feet went right through him. Gasping, I fell, sliding down the face of the cupboards to land on my butt. My gaze went to my spell books. Minias. My new calling circle was under the counter with my books. I had to get to it.
I scrambled forward. Pain made me slow, and as adrenaline pulsed through me, Al's thick, gloved hand grabbed me by the throat and hauled me up. I choked, ugly sounds making it past my lips. My eyes bulged, and my body went flaccid. He shook me, and the scent of amber rolled over me. 'You are a really—stupid—witch,' he said, giving me another shake with his accented word. 'Sometimes, I wonder how you expected your genes to get to the next generation.' He smiled, and fear wrapped around my heart as I gazed into his red, goat-slitted eyes and saw his anger. He had nothing to lose. Nothing.
Panicking, I struggled. He couldn't go misty to avoid my strikes and still hold on to me. I had a chance. Al grunted when I scored on his shin, and he let go.
I took a gasping breath of air. My feet hit the floor. Knees crumpling, I screamed when I was jerked back upright by my hair. 'I'm going to freaking kill you, Al, if you don't get the hell out of my kitchen!' I vowed, not knowing where the threat was coming from, but I was pissed. Scared. Absolutely terrified.
A velveteen arm went around my neck. A cry slipped from me when his grip on my hair tightened, pulling my head up so I looked at the ceiling. Pain struck through my neck and scalp. I reached backward, and he grunted when I got a fistful of his hair. But he wouldn't let go. Even when I yanked it out by the roots and sent my hands scrabbling back for more.
'Stop it,' he said grimly, jerking me into motion. 'We have an appointment.'
'The hell we do,' I panted, finding an ear and digging my nails in. Where is Jenks?
Al grunted, tightening his grip until I let go. I wasn't dead. I wasn't dead. He wanted me alive. For the moment. For an appointment?
'You are going to clear my name,' he snarled, bending to mouth my ear as if to bite it off. I fought him until he pulled my hair so hard that tears started. I could smell blood, but I didn't think it was mine. I thought I'd broken his nose when I had flung my head back. I tried to shove against the counter, and Al dragged me away.
'I asked you nicely, but like the spoiled brat you are, you refused,' he said. 'I don't mind doing it the hard way. You are going to testify to the courts that Ceridwen Merriam Dulciate is limited to teaching one child how to spindle line energy. That the damage is contained. I won't do time for an ex-familiar who would be dead but for you.'
My breath seemed to freeze in me. Testify? He meant in the ever-after. He expected me to stand in a demon court? 'Why should I trust you?' I panted, fingertips squeaking as he pulled my grip off the counter again.
'It might make things easier,' he suggested, sounding almost bitter that I didn't.
Easier? I thought. It might also make me dead. I struggled, my slippers sliding on the linoleum as he yanked me backward to the hall. My pulse leapt when the back door opened and the skittering of cat claws rasped. I tried to see, but it was hard with Al's arm around my neck.
''Bout time, Jenks!' I exclaimed. 'What were you doing? Showing him your stump?'
My bravado died at the snarl that rumbled slowly to life and vibrated to my very nerve endings, reaching deep into my psyche and clenching around my primitive brain to reduce me to fight or flight. Cormel? That ugly sound was coming from him?
