A Perfect Blood th-10 Page 34

  “Don’t let go until I say,” he said as I stared at him, startled. But he had closed his eyes, his lips moving in something that wasn’t Latin, wasn’t English. The syllables slipped through the folds of my brain like slushy ice, chilling and numbing, the musical rise and fall like unsung music, the wind in the trees, the growth of a tree to the sun. Mesmerizing.

  Trent’s eyes opened as if having felt it in me. “Sha na tay, sha na tay,” he intoned. “Tunney metso, eva na calipto, ta sowen.”

  My eyes widened as my fingers gripped his tighter. I suddenly realized something was stirring in my chi. I stiffened as the sensation of a painful lifting rose through me, the delicious hurt of the old being peeled back to expose new skin, hurting from the first breath of wind. Like liquid light sliding around corners, ley-line energy coursed into me, trickling enticingly slowly as it tripped every synapse one by one.

  My breath came in a heave as I suddenly realized it tasted like Trent’s soul, his energy spilling into me in ever-increasing waves. Frantic, I looked at Trent, his eyes shut, his lips moving as he chanted, his fingers starting to shake as they held mine. I could do nothing. He had told me not to let go.

  My breath came in, and I held it. I could feel the charm he had bespelled me with begin to unravel, laying within me, still, like a knot that had been loosened and needed only to be pulled apart. His energies mixed with mine, gathered in my chi until there was enough for him to ease me back into alignment with the rest of the universe. It was colored from his soul, both light and dark, mixing without mixing, swirling with my natural energies until the two were one.

  And finally it reached the tipping point. With a wrench, I felt a tug, and like two drops of water, my soul was realigned with reality.

  Trent’s eyes flashed open, wide and wondering as his chanting stopped. “My God,” he whispered, suddenly tense and shocked. The heat of the charm lay in his eyes, the promise of what could be—what might be if I could trust another with my heart again. And it hurt me knowing it wasn’t mine.

  “Is it done?” I said, feeling the pain of unfulfilled passion. I ached for it to be gone.

  Trent licked his lips, shaking his head. “Tunney eva so Sa’han, esperometsa.”

  I gasped, Trent’s fingers tightening on mine as the sudden power of the lines flooded me, pure and untainted. They rang my soul like a bell, bathing us in sound inside and out. I gloried in it, my head flung back as I breathed it in, feeling it pool in me like gold, washing away my lingering headache and tingling all the way down to my toes. It was glorious, and I almost cried as I realized how deeply I’d cut myself off. Never. Never again.

  Exhilarated, I looked at Trent. My eyes opened wide as I saw him sitting before me with his head down and his aura glowing about him like a second shadow, magnificent and beautiful, not a hint of demonic taint, the tragic streaks of red running through the brilliant haze of gold.

  And then I realized he was clenched in pain.

  My eyes went to our clasped hands. “I’m sorry!” I said, trying to pull away only to have his hands grip mine more tightly.

  “Dampen it so I can think,” he gasped, and I did, still able to feel the currents ebb and flow. My God, why had I done this to myself?

  Trent looked up, a sheen of sweat on his brow. “Sha na tay, euvacta,” he whispered, and I sucked in air when his fingers spasmed, opening from mine and falling away. “Now it’s done and sealed,” he almost croaked, looking at his fingers as they cramped into claws.

  Breathless, I sat up. Eyes wide, I looked at the bracelet. It still hung on my wrist, but the words were gone and the metal had turned black. The spell was broken. Frantic, I pushed it to my hand, wanting it off. The metal pinched my skin, and then with a wrench, I felt the metal seem to expand and it slipped over my folded fingers and was gone.

  My heart pounded. I stared at the ring of black metal as it wobbled to a halt and sat on the carpet in a fake patch of sunlight. It was done.

  “Better?”

  Blinking away tears, I focused on Trent. He was easing back, looking wan. I nodded, unable to find the words. I could feel the lines—all of them—though the sensation was fading. They sang in me like the heartbeat of the sun, a thousand tones all harmonizing to one om of sound. And then they all slowly vanished with the sensation of sparkles, leaving only the soft hum of the line we were sitting inside.

  “Thank you,” I said, then grimaced. Now it would get difficult.

  On my lap, the sparkling line of the scrying mirror glittered, caging the ruby image it was throwing back into reality. My fingers ached where they rested on the smooth surface, and I could feel the latent energy pressing into my legs. The bracelet was dead, the mirror was alive. Everything had shifted. Now all we had to do was convince Al to let me stay . . . and everything would be fine.

  Trent was rubbing his hands, the white marks of where I’d gripped him too tightly obvious. “I’m sorry,” I said, and a heavy weariness edged his grim expression.

  “For this?” He held up his hand, the white pressure marks easing.

  I shook my head, afraid to bring up my second sight to see Al waiting for me already. “For what happens next.”

  Silent, he got up to stand beside me. He avoided my eyes, and I wondered what he’d felt as his soul had crept into my own through the cracks and crevices, bursting the wall that he’d put around it. He was still looking at his hand, probably remembering Al taking his fingers off in an attempt to move him to the ever-after one ounce of flesh at a time. A pang of tension that had nothing to do with talking to Al went through me, and I took his hand and turned it over. “When this is over, can I fix that?” I asked him even as he stiffened, surprised that I’d touched him.

  His posture eased. “If you like,” he said as he pulled his hand away.

  “Are you sure you can cure the demons?” I asked, and he nodded, shakily moving to take up a position behind me as I put my free hand on the mirror. Al would listen. He’d give me anything for that. If he believed me. Fear made me jerk as my eyes closed, and, taking a breath, I drew the glory of the ever-after energies into me. My gut was a slurry of emotion—doubt, dread, the fear that I wouldn’t be able to live up to my bold words that I could be the demon—hope, confidence, and elation from being connected to the lines again: all mixed together until I felt as if I was going to throw up. A quiver went through me when I found the collective, and I felt Trent shift his feet. Al? I called out in my mind before I lost my nerve. He would listen. I’d make him.

  But there was nothing. No response, no echo. I frowned, worry joining everything else.

  “Maybe he’s dead or in jail,” Trent said, knowing what was going on from my attitude.

  “He might be sleeping,” I said, having run into this before. Shoving my fear aside, I steadied myself to try again. Al! I shouted in my mind. Ah, it’s Rachel.

  This time there was a faint stirring, like a bat opening his beady little eyes, reflecting the world in a cold, uncaring light as his consciousness joined mine. It was him, and a spike of fear-based adrenaline was cold in me. Um, Al? I said again, wary at the rising hatred in me, a reflection of Al spilling into my psyche.

  Goddamned mother pus buckets. His evil, cold thought slithered through mine, calculating, ancient, bitter—and utterly lacking his usual noble British accent. Back already? Leave me the hell alone!

  A bare hint of intent warned me, and I yanked my hand off the glass. I jumped as a pop echoed both in my ears and thumped through my lap, and I looked down to see a tiny crack running through my mirror.

  “What happened?” Trent asked, peering over my shoulder.

  I could smell him, feel his breath on me, but my eyes were fixed on the glass. My lips parted and I ran a finger over the mark, feeling only the smooth, unblemished mirror. The break hadn’t gone all the way through. The amount of mental force needed to crack it even this much had been immense, though. If I hadn’t severed the connection in time, it could have been me.

  “He
cracked my mirror,” I said, not sure if it was going to work anymore. “He doesn’t think it’s me. He thought I was one of his buddies, messing with him.” Feeling reckless, I put my hand back on the calling glyph. “Give me a sec.”

  “Ah, Rachel?” Trent said, but I shrugged out from under his hand and focused on the mirror.

  Hey, you sad excuse for a lousy-ass demon, I thought loudly. You broke my friggin’ mirror! It took me all day to make it, and I’m not going to make another! I’m trying to talk to you, so knock it off, moss wipe! I was tired of being afraid. I’d be bitchy instead.

  Again, I felt my consciousness expand, and I waited, ready to pull my hand back.

  Rachel? Al’s thought came with a hint of his noble British accent. You’re alive?

  So far so good. Now it would get tricky. Yes, I’m alive, but if you keep throwing crap at me, I’m going to turn around and—

  You’re alive! Al bellowed in anger, and I winced, my bravado vanishing.

  Uh, yeah. Hey, um, Al . . .

  And you’re with that elf! The force of his thoughts arced through me like fire.

  I pulled my hand from the mirror, certain he knew where I was. “Help me up?” I asked Trent. “He’s coming. Get behind me.”

  “Where is behind you?” Trent grumbled, his hand warm and sturdy in mine as he cupped his second hand under my elbow and steadied me as I rose. “He could pop in anywhere in the line.”

  “Then just stay close,” I said as he kicked the chair out of the way and I wavered on my feet, bringing my second sight into play. I wanted to sleep in my bed tonight, my bed in my church, and I wasn’t going to let Al take me. But inside, doubt trickled and took hold as the red-sheened nightmare of the ever-after wavered into existence, the grass-covered, windblown desert that the imbalance from the elf/demon war had made of the original Eden overlaying the calm orderliness of Trent’s office. If I concentrated, I could see the walls, but it was the horizon my eyes went to, the ever-blowing wind shifting the waves of dried grass that grew outside the broken city center. The scent of burnt amber tickled my nose, more from my imagination than the little bit of ever-after leaking through.

  My hair shifted in the gritty wind, and Trent’s grip tightened.

  “Rachel Mariana Morgan,” Al said softly, and I gasped, almost falling as I spun and pain stabbed through my leg.

  The demon was standing not thirty feet away. He was in the ley line in the ever-after, we were in it in reality. It was a middle ground that bent all the rules, and if he wanted, he could drag me from reality and back down into the foul-smelling earth.

  “Hi, Al,” I said, my resolve shredded and leaving only the cold fear of self-preservation. “Hey, you look good,” I offered lamely, and the demon tilted his head to eye me from over his blue-tinted glasses, taking in my bland black sweats. Red, goat-slitted eyes peered at me, his lips curling back in a snarl to show his thick, blocky teeth. His grip on his walking cane tightened, and I noticed he was wearing gloves again, their white starchiness bright against the velvet green of his coat and his brilliant vest and dark trousers. Shiny boots with buckles, and lace at his throat and cuffs, added to his vision of a noble British lord at the height of his glory. A tall hat finished the outfit, shading his eyes from the painful sun.

  “I look good?” Al said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  Trent’s stance tightened as Al took three steps toward us.

  “I look good?” he said louder, his pace quickening and his hand coming out. “I’m broke and living in squalor!”

  “Hey!” I shouted as I felt the line seem to collapse into Trent, sucked in as he drew a massive amount of energy into himself and threw it at Al. The demon never slowed, a quickly raised hand deflecting the energy. Behind me, Trent’s fish tank exploded. Suddenly my feet were wet, heavy in thick socks.

  “Stop it, Trent!” I exclaimed, pushing away from him and almost falling. “You promised.” Oh God, he was going to ruin it. All I had going for me were daring and trust, and Trent was trying to prove how not strong we were?

  “No, I didn’t,” Trent said grimly, and my skin prickled at the energy gathering in his palms.

  “I’m paying Ku’Sox blackmail to keep him quiet about your leaking ley line,” Al intoned, flinging the same hand out to block another spell thrown by Trent. It ricocheted to my right, exploding the video screen in a shower of sparks. Al’s magic could not act on anything out of the line, but he didn’t have to if Trent kept throwing stuff at him.

  “The elves are breeding true, and everyone’s blaming me!” the demon bellowed, his square face red. “And you think I look good!”

  My eyes widened, and I took a deep breath. Al was three feet away, reaching for my shoulder, and I tensed, the shields in my mind down but ready to go up in an instant. “Yes, I do!” I said, face scrunched up, ready to take my lumps as long as he didn’t try to jump me.

  I gasped as I felt myself yanked backward, right out of the line.

  “Hey!” I shouted again, the image of the ever-after and Al vanishing. I couldn’t see him, but he could probably see me. “What are you doing!” I yelled at Trent, then did a double take. He had let go of me and was darting evil glances at me as he tried to catch his fish, flopping about on his wet carpet. People were pounding on his door, apparently locked. The broken shell of the video screen gaped blackly where once there was sun and a view of the pastures.

  “Keeping you out of the ever-after,” he almost snarled as he caught a blue damsel and tossed it into the shattered remnants of the fish tank and its two inches of remaining water. The fish darted behind a rock, unhurt.

  “Well, stop it!” I said, feeling my leg ache and pushing the chair away. “If you want to help, give me my crutch.”

  He stood helplessly over his lionfish, knowing he couldn’t touch it lest he get poisoned.

  “Give me my crutch!” I demanded, hand outstretched. “I can’t reach it from here.”

  With a last look at the gasping fish, Trent stomped to the back of my chair, little splashes coming up from his feet. He undid the clasps with unnecessary roughness, and then extended the crutch to me like a sword. From the hall came whispers. “Your crutch,” he said dryly.

  I took it, arm hurting as my weight landed on it. “Please help me,” I whispered, my back to the line so Al couldn’t see what I was saying. “I can’t do this alone.”

  Trent’s scowl softened. His eyes flicking behind me, he nodded. “I’m fine!” he shouted at the knocking on the door. “I want my old tank brought up out of storage.” He hesitated, eyes on mine. “Please,” he added as if it hurt.

  Scared, I took a quick breath as his hand cupped my free elbow and we squished across the wet carpet. Whoever was at the door was probably calling Quen, not getting his old fish tank. We had to wrap this up fast.

  The line was glowing before me through my second sight, little energies jumping from it to ping against my aura like static electricity. Trembling, Trent helped me back into the line. Al was here. Al was going to listen. And Trent had my back.

  Al was waiting with the sureness of a lion having treed its prey, leaning against a rock with the ugly red sun beating down on him. His arms were aggressively across his chest and his angry look went right to my core, strangling my confidence in three seconds flat. He knew that I could step outside the line and be safe—until he summoned me. One way or the other, he thought he had me, and another tremble shook me, making him smile and show his teeth.

  “I don’t think I like this plan,” Trent whispered.

  “Promise me this time,” I said, not looking at him. “Promise!” I shouted.

  “I promise.” He was angry, but Al’s evil smile now had a hint of pride because I’d forced Trent to do something he clearly didn’t want to do. I was alive. I was causing trouble. Al was intrigued. He’d listen, and that’s all I wanted.

  “Explain yourself . . . student,” Al said. His attention flicked to the defunct bracelet on the carpet, and his eyes n
arrowed.

  “I’ve been hiding,” I said quickly.

  “You’re mistaken if you think your elf can save you,” he said, pushing away from the rock. “He’s less effective than that witch of yours, though Newt did pay me a handsome sum for him.”

  Pierce was alive? My breath came in fast, and I exhaled in relief. It didn’t last long as Trent shifted backward, tugging at me. I refused to move, the pressure on my leg becoming almost unbearable. I cried out in pain, and Trent’s hand fell away and he moved to stand in front of me instead.

  “Her elf is going to do just that,” he said, the red glow of the ever-after sun turning his hair auburn, almost as red as mine. “I did not work this hard at getting her to accept who she is to let you take your spoiled brat of a little-boy temper tantrum out on her. She stays on my side of the lines.”

  Lips parting, Al hesitated, and I saw another weight shift from anger to acceptance, one rock against thousands. “You put that putrid elf shackle on her?” he said, his boots whispering in the dry grass as he came forward. “You robbed her of the lines with your lies?”

  “She needed to know what she would lose before she would ever accept its cost,” Trent said, his chin level and his eyes unrepentant. “Now she knows.”

  My jaw tightened, but it was true. After feeling the lines in me again, I’d do anything to keep them, whereas before I would have let it go, oblivious, until it was too late.

  Unaware of my thoughts, Al wreathed his hand in a dark mist. “You will never enslave us again, and not through Rachel!” he said, and that fast, Trent doubled over, gasping in pain.

  Shit. “Stop it! Stop it, both of you!” I exclaimed, my head reeling as I lurched to help Trent only to have my leg almost give way under me. “Al, he has the cure for the demons. You really want to kill him? I could have taken it off whenever I wanted. He was not enslaving me, he was trying to help, and I was not listening! I’m a demon, damn it! Knock it off!”