Holidays Are Hell Page 6

  “It’s the missing girl,” the first officer said, fingers moving nervously behind his back.

  I caught a glimpse of the supervisor’s face when he turned to Robbie. It was smooth and nice looking despite his expression of annoyance. Young. “So?” he said.

  Shifting his feet, the older man bent closer. “He knows things not released to the press.”

  The vampire went back to his paperwork, the pencil skating across the form too fast for a human. “So?” he said again.

  “So he’s one of Morgan’s kids.”

  I felt a stir of satisfaction when the officer set his pencil down. “Who?”

  “The witch in Arcane,” Robbie’s interviewer prompted. “Died about four years ago?”

  But my pride shifted to a stark fear when the vampire looked at Robbie, his pupils swelling to black. Crap, I could see it from here. He was vamping out. But why?

  “Morgan’s boy?” he murmured, interested, and my pulse quickened. Something was wrong. I could almost taste it. “I thought he was out of state.”

  Pierce let go of my wrist and I jumped when the connection between us broke. My chi was suddenly overfull, and I forced most of the energy back into the ley line. I didn’t let go of the line completely, ready for anything.

  “I expect we should leave,” the small man said, eyes darting over the three floors to linger on the building’s main entrance.

  I rubbed my wrist to get rid of the remaining tingles. “What’s wrong?”

  Pierce eased to the front of the chair and held his coat closed. “It’s been my experience that instinct, not what you’ve been taught, is the clearest indicator of direction. They have a mind that your brother is involved with the girl’s abduction and is finding reason to beg clemency by cooperating. We need to pull foot.”

  “Wait up,” I said when he rose and drew me to a stand. “What about Robbie?”

  As if having heard me, my brother met my gaze. His face was ashen. Behind him, the two vampires were headed his way. Clearly frightened, he mouthed, “Go!”

  “Your brother won’t come to any hurt,” Pierce said, and I fell into motion when he gripped my elbow and started us toward the wide stairway. “They will give him Jesse until sure of his innocence, but by that time, the sun will be risen. Blame it all, I should have been of a state to fix his flint myself.”

  I had no idea what he was saying, but Pierce had us on the steps before the first shout. My head whipped around, and I stumbled. Two brutish men were heading our way, and with a little gasp, I pushed Pierce down faster. A chime rang through the air, and my skin prickled. “Lock down!” someone shouted.

  “Damnation,” Pierce swore, but our feet were still moving, and we had passed the second floor without trouble. My pulse was too fast, and my lungs hurt, but I wouldn’t slow down. We wouldn’t be caught because of me. Apart from the two guys following us and the uniformed woman standing in front of the doors with her arms crossed over her chest, everyone seemed content to watch. Actually, they were moving back, making room. Swell.

  “Mistress witch,” Pierce said, his tone terse as we neared the ground floor, my steps barely keeping up with his. “I’d respectfully ask that I might commune a line through you.” He glanced at me, shocking me again with how blue his eyes were. “To help make our escape. If there were another way, I would use it.”

  I slid my hand into his, gripping it firmly. “Pull on a line.” He shot a bewildered look at me and I shouted, “Commune with the ever-after!”

  My breath hissed in as he did, and I squeezed his hand to tell him it was okay. Power burned like ice as we found the first floor, and I felt my tongue tingle. Pierce gathered himself, and with a shout, a head-sized sphere of ever-after enveloped his free hand.

  That came through me, I thought in wonder, even as we continued to head for the doors.

  Pierce threw the ball. The witch waiting for us yelped and dove for the floor. Green power edged in red and black hit the glass doors, spreading out like slime. A boom shook the air and almost sent me falling. Glass pushed outward in a silent cascade.

  “Are you well, Miss Rachel?” Pierce said earnestly when my ears recovered.

  I looked up as he steadied me with his grip tight on my elbow. For an instant we stood, focused on each other, linked by way of the line and our need to escape. My inner ear pulsed from the blast. Behind me, shouts started to make sense. Past the shattered doors came the sound of traffic and the crisp cold of a winter night. The witch on the floor looked up from around her fallen hair, shocked. “Wow,” I said, and Pierce’s concern eased.

  Satisfied I had my balance, he let go of my elbow but kept our fingers entwined. “Allow me, mistress witch,” he said gallantly, escorting me through the broken glass.

  “Hey! Stop!” someone called. My pulse raced, and knowing my mom was going to “give me Jesse” when she found out, I nevertheless stepped elegantly over the jagged remnants of the door and onto the salted sidewalk.

  “A moment,” Pierce said, turning, and I felt another strong pull through me when he ran two fingers across both the lintel and threshold of the wide doors and a green sheet of ever-after swam up from the frozen slush sidewalk to seal everyone inside. “Now we may depart,” he said exuberantly, the light shining out from the I.S. offices showing his good mood. “Perhaps a carriage is in order,” he said, whistling as if he had grown up in Cincy, but he had watched Robbie do the same thing. “I fear we should make an unpleasant haste. The ward won’t last long. And we must stay holding hands until then.”

  I grinned. When he was excited, he didn’t stop to think what he was saying and was charmingly elegant. “Maybe we should walk a few blocks so they don’t know what cab we take?” I suggested. “Otherwise they’ll just radio ahead.”

  Pierce’s brow creased, and he waved away the cab that had pulled up. “Like the music from the boxes?” he said, and I nodded. It was close enough.

  “Then we walk,” he said. With a last wave to the angry I.S. officers behind the green-tinted sheet of ever-after, he tightened his grip on my fingers, and we strode down the sidewalk.

  My pulse was fast and I felt breathless. I’d never done anything like this before, and I felt alive. For the first time in my freaking life, I felt alive—the adrenaline making me light and airy and my steps long and sure. The snow drifted down peacefully, and I wished that I could do this forever—walk with a man’s hand in mine, happy and pleasantly warm with this alive feeling running through me. He wasn’t much taller than me, and our steps were closely matched.

  I glanced behind us at the retreating I.S. building, then shyly at Pierce, but his attention was on the buildings and storefront displays. I eyed the colored lights and the happy people walking in the snow with last-minute solstice and Christmas shoppers finding a final, perfect gift.

  “No beggars,” he whispered.

  “Well, a few,” I said, abruptly seeing the street in an entirely different way. “But they’re probably at the square, partying.”

  Pierce pulled our joined fingers up, mine almost blue from the cold. “I can’t keep communing with—ah, pulling a line through you,” he said softly. “I’m not one born in the woods to be afraid of an owl, yet to save that child with only my fists I expect is a fool’s errand. Do you know…” He hesitated, attention flicking from a truck slushing past and back to me. “Do you know a witchy woman or man I might procure ley line charms from?”

  “Oh!” I said brightly, determined to keep up with him though my chest was starting to hurt. Of course he’d need something, seeing as he couldn’t tap a line himself. “The university’s bookstore has an entire floor of ley line stuff. I’m sure they’ll have something.”

  “Magic studies? In the university?” he asked, and I nodded, my free arm swinging. But a frown creased his brow, and leaning to me, he whispered, “I would prefer a smaller shop if you know of it. I don’t have even a stick to barter with or a…card of credit,” he added hesitantly, as if knowing he hadn’t go
tten the words in the right order.

  My eyes widened. “I don’t have much money either. Cab fare, is all.”

  Pierce took a deep breath and exhaled. “No matter. I will suitably impress upon the proprietor my desperate need.” His chin rose and a defiant gleam entered his eyes as we continued forward. “I will beg. If they are honorable, they will help.”

  Beg, eh? I thought, fully believing he would get down on his knees before the night manager at the university bookstore, who would promptly throw him out, not pleased to be working on the solstice. “I’ve a better idea,” I said, praying my mom would go for it. My dad’s stuff was in the attic. I knew my mom wouldn’t be happy, but the worst thing she could do was say no. Edging us to the curb, I searched for a cab. “I’ll take you home,” I said, leaning into the street in the universal language of cabbies. “You can look over my dad’s old ley line stuff. He worked for the I.S. He probably has something.”

  Pierce drew me back from the curb, and I blinked at him, surprised. His expression was pinched as he stood in the puddle of streetlight and falling snow, elegant in his long coat and shiny new boots. “Miss Rachel, no. I’m not of a mind to endanger you anymore. I’ll escort you home, then go alone to the university. If there are learned men there, they will assist me.”

  I winced, imagining all Pierce would find right now would be half-drunk students and solstice parties. “Good God, Pierce,” I said, when a passing cab saw us standing there and did a U-bangy. “I’m the one that got you involved. Lighten up.”

  “But—” he said, and I twined my fingers more surely into his as the cab pulled up.

  “I’m involved. You’re not getting rid of me, so get used to it.”

  Pierce’s grip tightened on mine, and then he relaxed. “Thank you,” he said, and in those two words, I saw how lost he was. He had until sunrise to save both the girl and his soul, and I was the only one who could get him through this nightmare that I lived in.

  Chapter 6

  The cabbie drove away from my house slowly, the sound of his car muffled from the piled snow. In the Hollows there would be bonfire parties and neighborhood howls, but here, on my street, it was quiet. Pierce’s steps were almost silent next to mine as we left prints on the walk to the porch. It had stopped snowing, and I looked up at the red-bottomed clouds through the cold, black branches of the maple tree I had planted for my dad upon his death. My throat closed and I touched the tree in passing. I was glad he was at rest, but it would have been nice to have had him back again as solid as Pierce was—even if just for the night.

  Pierce hung back as I went up the three cement steps and twisted the knob to no avail. “My mom must be out,” I said, swinging my bag around to look for my keys. The porch light was on, and her prints showed where she had gone to the garage and not come back. Maybe some last-minute shopping? Maybe down to the I.S. tower to pick up Robbie? I had a bad feeling it was the latter.

  “This is a very beautiful house,” Pierce said, facing the neighborhood and the bright lights and snowmen keeping guard.

  “Thanks,” I said as I dug in my jeans pocket for my house key. “Most witches live in the Hollows across the river in Kentucky, but my mom wanted to live here.” Finding my keys, I looked up to see a faint bewilderment in his gaze. “Both she and my dad were in high school during the Turn, and I think she likes passively making trouble when she can get away with it—like living in a predominantly human neighborhood.”

  “As is the mother, so the daughter?” he said dryly.

  My key was warm, and I slipped it into the lock. “If you like.”

  Only now did Pierce come up the steps, giving the street a last look before he did.

  “Mom?” I called when I opened the door, but I knew from the dull glow of light in the hall coming from the kitchen that the house was empty. Glancing at Pierce on the threshold, I smiled. “Come on in.”

  Pierce looked at the gray slush on his boots. “I’m not of a mind to soil your rugs.”

  “So stomp your feet,” I said, taking his arm and pulling him in. “Shut the door before you let all the heat out.”

  The shadow of the closing door prompted me to flick on the hallway light, and Pierce squinted at it. I hated the green color my mom had painted the hallway and living room. Pictures covered the passage to the kitchen: pictures of me and Robbie, slices of our lives.

  I glanced back at Pierce, who was still staring at the light but clearly making an effort to not say anything. I hid a smile and wondered how much longer his efforts to not look impressed would win out over his curiosity.

  “You have so many rugs,” he finally said, following suit as I stomped my feet.

  “Thanks,” I said, and I shuffled out of my coat.

  His eyes finally hit the walls, and he reached out. “And photographs. In color.”

  “You’ve seen pictures?” I asked, surprised, and he nodded.

  “I’ve had my picture taken,” he said proudly, then reached out. “This is you? It’s beautiful,” he said in awe. “The expression the artist captured is breathtaking. None of God’s landscapes has ever looked so beautiful.”

  I gazed at the picture he was touching in reverence and then away with mixed feelings. It was a close-up of my face among the fall leaves, my eyes as green and vivid as all creation, my hair bringing out all the shades of autumn clustered about. I had just come back from a stint at the hospital and you could see that I was ill by my pale complexion and thin face. But my smile made it truly beautiful, my smile I had given to my dad as the shutter snapped, thanking him for the joy we had found in the simple pleasure of the day.

  “My dad took it,” I said, looking away. “Come in the kitchen,” I said, wiping my eye when I noticed it was damp. I was supposed to die before him, not the other way around.

  “I don’t know how long my mom will be out,” I said loudly, hearing his steps behind mine. “But if we can get what we need and leave, it will be all the better. Forgiveness being easier to get than permission…”

  Pierce entered slowly, hesitating by the laminated table and taking in the ticking clock, the cold stove, and the double-pan sink as I dropped my coat and bag onto my chair. “You and your mother are alone?” he asked.

  Surprised at the amount of wonder in his voice, I hesitated. “Yes. Robbie is visiting from the West Coast, but he goes back next week.”

  His deep blue eyes came back from the ceiling. “California?”

  “Oregon.”

  Pierce looked again at the cold stove, undoubtedly guessing its use from the pot of solstice cranberry tea on it, now scrummed over and cold. “Your mother should be commended for raising you alone.”

  If he only knew how often it was the other way around. “She should, shouldn’t she,” I said, going to the coffeemaker and peeking into the filter to find unused grounds. “You want some coffee?”

  Taking off his coat, Pierce draped it carefully over a chair. He checked his nonexistent tie, then moved his arms experimentally as if taking in how warm it was. “I’m of a mind, yes, but does our limited time allow for it?”

  I flipped a switch and the coffeemaker started. I kind of liked his extra words. It made him sound classy. “Yup. You want to help me with the attic?”

  Without waiting for an answer, I went down the other hallway to the rest of the house, Pierce right behind me. “That’s the bathroom there,” I said as we passed it. “My room is at the end of the hallway, and my mom’s is across from it. Robbie has the front room, though it’s more of a storage room, now.”

  “And the servants are in the attic?” he asked as I halted under the pull-down stairs.

  “Servants?” I asked, gaping at him. “We don’t have any servants.”

  Pierce looked as surprised as I felt. “But the rugs, the photos, the warmth of your home and its furnishings…”

  His words trailed off as his hands spread wide in question, and I flushed when I got it. “Pierce,” I said, embarrassed. “I’m totally middle class. T
he closest I’ve ever come to having a servant is winning a bet and having Robbie clean my room for a month.”

  The man’s jaw dropped. “This is middle class?”

  I nodded, stretching up for the pull cord and putting my weight on it. “Most of the city is.” The trapdoor barely moved, and my arms gave out. It snapped shut with a bang, and I dropped back down on my heels, disgusted.

  Pierce smoothly took the cord and stepped under the door. He wasn’t much taller, but he had more muscle. “I can do it,” I said, but my arms were trembling, and I backed up while he swung the ladder down like it was nothing. But then again, it was.

  Pierce looked up into the inky blackness spilling cool air down onto us, jumping when I flicked on the light.

  “Sorry,” I said, taking advantage of his surprise by pushing past him and up onto the ladder. “I’ll be right back,” I said, enjoying the cooler air up here smelling of wood and dusty boxes. The shush of a passing car from outside sounded odd and close. Arms wrapped around me, I looked over the past boxed up and piled haphazardly about, like memories in a person’s brain. It was only a matter of knowing where a thought was and dusting it off.

  My eyes lit upon the stack of carefully labeled tomato boxes that had my stuffed animals. A faint smile came over my face, and I stepped over the Halloween decorations to touch a dusty lid. I must have had about two hundred of them, all collected during my stints in and out of the hospital. I had counted them my friends, many taking on the names and personalities of my real friends who never made it out of the hospital that one last time. I knew my mom wanted them gone, but I couldn’t throw them away, and as soon as I got my own place, I’d take them with me.

  I lifted the first one and set it aside to find the box hiding under them. It was my dad’s, tucked away lest my mom throw it out in a fit of melancholy. Some of his best stuff. I dug my fingernails into the little flaps to get a grip, grunting when it proved heavier than I thought. God, what had I put in here, anyway?