A Perfect Blood (9 page)

My lips pressed together as I remembered the DMV office. I didn’t want to give up that part of myself. Not to the I.S. or the FIB, where anything or anyone would have access to it.

Jenks darted into the air when Ivy jerked into motion, but she was only going to the window, jamming it all the way open to get a better airflow. The autumn-night rain slipped in with the scent of decaying leaves, and my shoulders lost most of their tension.

“People are scared,” Glenn said, calm again and not simply masking his anger. “You say you can do demon magic but won’t. You have demon books you won’t share the contents of. You’re registered in their database.”

“That wasn’t my idea,” I muttered. “And I’ve got almost no magic anymore. See? I neutered myself!” Angry, I shifted my weight to my other foot and glared up at him. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” I finished, depression starting to take hold.

“Rachel, I’m sorry,” he said when he saw my mood shift. “I’m not afraid of you, but it’s easy to be scared. Understanding is harder. Just make the list. I don’t care if it’s complete. I’ll take it in, and then you can get your life back.”

I looked at Ivy, my gut saying no even if it sounded easy. I was getting tired of having to bargain for every little thing I deserved, like a license or the ability to make a plane reservation. But still . . . “And when they find out I didn’t tell them everything, they’ll use that against me,” I said softly. “No.”

“What is the problem?” Glenn said. “Don’t get mad. I’m trying to understand!”

He really was, and Ivy moved from the window to tug him out of my way and back to his chair. “She’s right,” she whispered in his ear, and I felt my own neck start to tingle. “If anything ever comes across an I.S. desk that looks like something Rachel admits she can do, they’ll say it’s her even if she’s wearing charmed silver, because she’s an easy target.”

Glenn slumped, looking beaten as he stared at the floor. “Okay,” he said, then looked at me. “I see where you’re coming from, but I don’t agree with it. I’ll stall them. Asking you for it wasn’t my idea.”

Finally I could smile. “I know. I’ll be right back. Save me a slice of pizza, okay?”

“Let me know if Wayde needs anything from me,” Glenn said, but I was already in the hall, headed for the stairway. Ivy had been kicking out I’m-hungry pheromones for at least an hour, and I had to get out of there for a while.

“Will do!” I shouted over my shoulder, making my sure way through the dark. There was no way I was going to make a list for the FIB or the I.S. I’d rather live off the grid. Driving was overrated, and maybe I wouldn’t have to pay taxes this year.

I couldn’t help but wonder, though, if what I was really fleeing was seeing Glenn and Ivy—happy together—and knowing it could have been me.

Chapter Five

A
rms swinging, I entered the sanctuary, dimly lit by the TV, on in the corner where the new furniture set was. Pixies perched on the backs of the chairs in rows, cheering when the crocodile took down the zebra. Pixies and nature shows went hand in hand. Who knew?

I wasn’t in the best of moods. I knew Wayde was going to take whatever I said as me telling him he wasn’t good at his job. He was, but he needed to be better than good until this was over. The sight of my desk, unused and gathering dust, didn’t help. Ivy’s piano, seldom played but utterly dust free, didn’t help, either. Kisten’s pool table, the felt still burned and charred from a “white” charm a coven member had thrown at me, slid my mood clear back into depressed.

“I’m sorry, Kisten,” I whispered, touching it as I passed it on the way to the foyer and the narrow staircase to the belfry. I had meant to get it refelted a long time ago, but life kept interfering.
I’ll call the rec place right after I call Marshal,
I thought, feeling a pang of guilt. Marshal probably wouldn’t return my call, but it was either him or trusting the I.S.

I entered the dark foyer, still lacking a light and pitch-black. How long had I been promising myself to wire one in? I wondered, counting it in years now.

I can do better than this,
I thought as I pulled the narrow door to the stairway open with a soft creak, and a faint
tap, tap, tap
echoed down in the slightly cooler air smelling of wet shingles. Wayde was working on his room again, and I started up, thinking there had been too many things I wanted to do, and none of them was getting done.
I’ve got to start taking care of things,
I thought, vowing to do something this time.

“Hi, Ms. Morgan!” a high, resonant voice called out, and I jumped, nearly falling backward down the stairs.

“Holy crap, Bis!” I exclaimed, looking up to see the cat-size gargoyle clinging to the sloping ceiling like a weird bat. “You startled me!”

The small teenager grinned to show his black teeth, his red eyes glowing slightly in the dim light of the stairway. He had lightened his pebble-gray skin to match the raw wood brown of the walls, and his clawed hands and feet dug in as he wheezed/laughed at me. As I watched, his skin shifted color again, and he swished his lionlike tail. It even had a tuft on the end that matched the long hair on his ears. It helped him balance in flight, apparently.

“Sorry,” he said, his pushed-in, almost ugly face turned up in a smile. Leathery wings spread, he jumped to my shoulder and wrapped his warm tail around my neck. I braced for the sensory overload that never came . . . and sighed. Before my bracelet, his touch had sent every ley line in Cincinnati singing in my mind. Now there was nothing, and I breathed in his odd scent, a mix of old iron and feathers from the pigeons he ate.

“I don’t think you’re sorry at all,” I said mildly as I started back up, and his tail tightened. Immediately, I forgave him. Bis was a good kid. He’d been living in the belfry for almost a year now, having been kicked off the basilica for spitting on people. Jenks thought that was just fine, and Bis paid his rent by watching the church and grounds the four hours around midnight that Jenks liked to sleep. Where else was the little guy going to go?

“Wayde is decent, right?” I asked, again hearing the faint
tap, tap, tap
come again.

“Decent?”

I could understand Bis’s confusion. He usually didn’t wear clothes—they interfered with his ability to go chameleon.

“Uh, maybe you could just warn him that I’m coming?” I said, slowing as I neared the top, the steady glow of light coming through the wide crack under the door.

But then Wayde’s easygoing voice echoed down. “I’m decent. Come on in.”

The
tap, tap, tap
started again, and I continued up the stairs, trying to decide how I was going to do this without hurting his feelings. Wayde had been fixing up the belfry—he liked the space better than camping out in the back living room. I hadn’t been up there yet to see what he’d done. There’d been lumber deliveries and several furniture vans, and I was curious. Last time I’d seen it, the room had been an empty hexagon with the church’s bell hanging over it and no insulation. It had been a nice place to sit and watch the rain, but not to live in.

“Wait until you see,” Bis said proudly. “Wayde made a shelf for me in the steeple.”

I smiled as I ascended the last of the stairs. “I didn’t know you wanted one. Sorry, Bis.”

Again his tail tightened, and I almost choked. “It just kind of happened,” he said, and I could breathe again. “You know, extra wood and stuff.”

Electric light?
I thought, looking at the slice of warm yellow glow coming through the crack under the door as I neared the last steps.

Bis jumped from my shoulder and my hair flew as he landed on the door to swing it open. Another wing pulse, and he was in the air again, darting up past the huge bell making a false ceiling. Light had spilled out, and I heard the thump of a hammer being set down. “Come on in. What do you think?”

Head swiveling, I came in as Wayde turned from the window he’d been working on. The old slatted frame was out, propped up against the wall beside him, and the dark square of the rainy night was beyond him. A new, stickered window was next to him, ready to go in. His shirt was off and his lightly tanned skin glistened from either sweat or the mist coming in off the roof. I blinked, taking in his tattoos. I’d seen only a fraction before, but the man was covered in them. They moved as his muscles did, and he had a lot of those, too. He looked good over there with his tools and stuff. Really good.

“Nice,” I said softly, and Wayde ducked his head, smiling slightly.

“I meant, what do you think of the room?”

I stood in the doorway and eyed him. “What did you think I was commenting on?” But when I actually looked at the room, my lips parted. It
was
nice. The original oak floor still needed to be finished, but a large circular rug added softness and warmth. Wallboard had gone up, already mudded and with insulation behind it, I was sure, from the rolls I’d seen in the sanctuary last week. The cathedral ceiling around the bell was finished, but the original heavy beams still showed. The metal rings that held the rope to ring the bell had been polished of rust, and they gleamed dully.

Amazed, I craned my neck until I spotted Bis on his shelf. It ran along the entire interior of the steeple, and it looked cozy. “I didn’t know there was electricity up here.”

“I ran a line up through the walls,” Bis said proudly, shifting his wings in a leathery hush.

Wayde exhaled as he sat on the sill, his back to the night, one booted foot dangling, one touching the worn floorboards. The rain on the roof sounded nice—it smelled even better. “That kid is better than a snake,” he said, and I didn’t think he meant the living kind. “Three minutes, and he had it to me.”

“Wow, you guys do good work. This looks great!” I said. There was a single camp-style bed in the corner, almost hidden behind the antique marble-top dresser that had been here when we bought the place. A small electric heater sat across the room, humming faintly. The faded fainting couch was beside it, and the shelf where I’d once had my demon curse books. I felt warm as I remembered what Marshal and I had done on the couch, then shifted awkwardly.

“It’s small,” Wayde said, eyes on the huge bell acting like a fake ceiling. “But I like it. It’s the first time I’ve been in any one place longer than a month. It feels good to settle, I guess.”

I came farther in, fidgeting inside as I tried to find a graceful way to bring up his work habits. My old folding chair was set beside the bed, the one I used to sit on when I’d come up here to get away from everyone and just watch the rain. “I’ve never lived anywhere other than Cincinnati. Long term, that is.”

Wayde had gone back to his work, and he picked up his hammer, ripping the last bit of molding out. “You name it, I’ve been there.”

“Detroit,” I said, thinking his back looked strong, from running probably, since his muscles were smooth, not chunky from weights.

I flushed when he turned, catching me ogling him, but he was pointing to a skid-mark tattoo on his arm. “Detroit,” he said in challenge.

Okay. I like games.
“Atlanta?”

Hammer still in his hand, he pointed to a blue star on his shoulder. It was sending sparks out, one of which was setting the tail of a snaking dragon on fire.

“New Orleans?” I asked next, and Wayde’s ears went red.

“Uh, trust me on that one,” he said, then swore under his breath as he looked at the clock on the dresser and set his hammer down.

“It’s on his butt,” Bis volunteered. “A naked woman with a saxophone.”

Wayde reached for his shirt and frowned at Bis. “That was privileged information.”

Bis laughed and wheezed, and I watched him shake out a big pillow and settle on it. There was a bowl up there, too, and the shirt that Jenks had gotten him last June, right next to a vase of plastic flowers and a picture he’d once asked for of the garden. Jeez, I should’ve asked if he had what he wanted.

“Thanks for being so nice to Bis,” I said softly, the guilt running high. He just seemed so independent.

“Don’t worry about me, Ms. Morgan,” Bis said. “It was only scraps of wood. If I was at home, I’d be out on the roof with my parents. I don’t need all this stuff.”

But he clearly appreciated it. He had a real space, and I couldn’t help but feel that I’d let him down. One more thing that had fallen by the wayside.

“I think it’s turning out good,” Wayde was saying as he stuffed his shirt into his jeans. “I don’t get a chance to use my hands much.”

“Are you cold, Ms. Morgan?” Bis said, his wings opening up. “I can warm this place up better than that heater.”

Waving my hand for him to stay there, I shook my head. “I’m good,” I said, pushing up to my feet. “I, ah, just came to talk to Wayde for a moment.”

Wayde hesitated. “I usually only hear that from a woman who wants to break up with me.” He faced me squarely, pulling to his full height. “What?”

Heart pounding, I forced myself to stop fidgeting. “Don’t take this the wrong way . . .”

He squinted at me, his stance becoming aggressive. “Too late. What?” he repeated.

I took a deep breath. Why was this so hard? “HAPA is calling me out,” I said, my attention following the grain of the floor. “They’re after my blood, literally, and I wanted to ask if you needed help or anything from the FIB until we get them.”

“You don’t think I’m good enough to keep you safe,” he said blandly, and my head came up. Damn it, I was trying to be grown up here, and he was going to get touchy.

“No,” I insisted, but I sounded insincere even to me. “You’re great at your job. I’m not helpless, so I don’t think round-the-clock protection is needed, but I’m on HAPA’s hit list and—”

“Let me tell you something, witch,” he said, taking a step forward and pointing at me with a stiff finger. But then he hesitated and looked at his watch. “Shit, we’re going to be late. I’ve a better idea. Let me
show
you something.”

My air came in fast and I pulled away, but I was too slow, and with a gasp and a yank, I found myself caught in a submission hold, my back to Wayde’s front, held tight. “Hey!” I yelped, wiggling and finding I was really caught. Damn, he was fast. “What are you doing?”

“We have to meet David for your appointment, and since you think I’m not good enough, I’m going to prove it to you.”

Appointment? My tattoo?
I didn’t think that was until Friday! “Prove what?” I said, my heart pounding and my breath fast. “That you’re a bully? Let me go,” I insisted, not caring so much about the damn tattoo as him thinking he could manhandle me like this.

“You’ve been looking down on me since I got here,” he said, his words a warm breath on me. “Don’t think I can’t tell. I’m a patient man, but I’m tired of it, and if you’re going to survive, you have to trust me. You’re the kind of person that show means more then tell, so we’re going to have it out, right here, right now. You and me.”

Is he nuts?
“Wayde, this is
not
how to convince me you’re good at your job,” I said, trying to twist from him, but he had me firmly and my skin burned. “Let go before I hurt you!” I exclaimed, then gasped when he spun me around, sending me almost crashing into the new window.

I found my balance and settled into a ready pose with my hands in fists. He rocked to a halt between me and the door, and I thought about his work as a bouncer, thought about those muscles covered with tattoos. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I said, spitting mad. “I said I’d get the tattoo, and I will!” If he touched me again, I was going to smack him a good one.

Wayde crossed his arms over his chest, looking like a rock between me and the door. “This isn’t about the tattoo. I’ve been watching your back for three weeks, and you are oblivious to everything. Oblivious!” he said, waving a thick arm. “And you think I’m not capable of my job?”

“What in hell do you want?” I said, just as mad. “A citation of merit? I didn’t ask you here, and if you can’t do your job, you need to leave!”