For a Few Demons More (46 page)

Seeing my pain at Ivy's state, Piscary smiled at me, mocking and confident. My breath hissed in when my demon scar sent a surge of tingling sensation through me. Damn it, I hadn't counted on that. Ticked, I mouthed at him, “I want to talk to you.”

Piscary inclined his head, looking fabulous in some authentic outfit from Egypt. Apparently thinking I wanted to discuss Ivy, he lifted her slack hand and kissed the top of it.

I stiffened, suddenly realizing that Trent was watching me out of the corner of his eye. Actually, the entire church was paying more attention to me and Piscary than the couple on the stage. If Ellasbeth's clenched jaw was any indication, she was pissed.

Grimacing, I tried to find a kick-ass posture while wearing a lace dress and flowers in my hair. “Not Ivy,” I mouthed. “I want your protection. Both me and Kisten. I'll make it worth your while.”

Piscary seemed confused at my request, but he nodded, deep in thought. Al's amused grin went sour, and behind Takata, Mr. Ray and Mrs. Sarong started talking in hushed voices that every Inderlander
could probably catch. Skimmer's satisfaction turned to hatred, and Ellasbeth…Ellasbeth was gripping Trent's arm hard enough to make her knuckles white.

The tinkling sounds of someone's phone burst rudely out into the solemn cadence of the holy guy's speech, and my eyes widened. It was coming from…me?

Oh, my God!
I thought, mortified as I jammed my fingers down my cleavage, scrambling. It was my phone.
Damn it, Jenks!
I thought, glaring at the ceiling as “Nice Day for a White Wedding” played out. I had put it on vibrate. Damn it, I had put it on vibrate!

Face flaming, I finally fished the thing out. Jenks was laughing from the upper windows, and Takata had his head in his hands, clearly trying not to laugh. A nervous titter went through the church, and I looked at the incoming number. Glenn. Adrenaline hit me.

“Excuse me,” I said, really excited. “I am
so
sorry. I had it on vibrate. Really.”

Takata laughed outright, and I reddened upon remembering where I'd fished it out from.

“Ah, I have to take this,” I said. Ellasbeth was furious, and when the holy guy gestured sourly for me to go ahead, I flipped it open and turned my back on everyone. “Hi,” I said softly, and my voice echoed. “I'm at the Kalamack wedding. Everyone's listening. Whatcha got?”
Crap, could this get any more awkward?

There was a crackle of static telling me Glenn was still on the road, and he said, “You're at his wedding? Rachel, you're one crazy-ass witch.”

I halfway turned and shrugged at the holy guy. “Sorry,” I mouthed, but inside I was running full out. At least Glenn had gotten my unspoken reference to people being able to hear him and would word his responses carefully.

“I've got the paperwork,” Glenn said, and my tension spiked. “You can go to work.”

I shifted my weight to feel the comforting bump of my splat gun, hoping I wouldn't need it. “Hey, uh, Jenks never said how much you're going to give me for this.”

“Oh, for Christ's sake, Rachel, I'm on the interstate. Can we discuss this later?”

“Later gets me nothing,” I said, and the congregation started to stir.
Trent cleared his throat, the anger of a thousand desert sunrises in it, and I shot him a look. Behind him Quen was starting to look suspicious. I wasn't going to get my fee out of them after pulling this little stunt, and I wanted something to show apart from my satisfaction of tagging Trent.

“I want your department to get my church resanctified,” I said, and a ripple of surprise shifted through the people. Nothing like waving your dirty laundry in front of Cincinnati's finest. Piscary especially looked interested. This had better work, or I was dead tomorrow.

“Rachel…” Glenn started.

“Oh, never mind,” I said nastily. “I'll do this pro bono, like I always do for the FIB.” Like everyone didn't know who I was talking to by now? My back was to the pews, but Jenks was watching, and I felt reasonably safe.

“I'm calling you some backup,” Glenn said, and I put a hand to my forehead.

“Good,” I said, around an exhale. “I don't want to haul my tag in on the bus.” I heard Glenn take a breath to say something, and, catching Trent shifting from the corner of my eye, I blurted, “Thanks, Glenn. Hey, if this doesn't work out—”

“You want red roses on your grave, right?”

That wasn't it, but he had hung up. Closing the phone, I hesitated, then dropped it back down my front as I turned.

Trent was not happy. “That was a fascinating look into your life, Ms. Morgan. Do you do children's parties, too?”

Nervousness rose in me, quickly followed by a spike of adrenaline. It lit through me, almost as good as sex. My thoughts zinged back to Ivy telling me I lived my life making decisions that would put me in dangerous situations just to feel the rush. An adrenaline junkie, but at least I was making money at it. Usually.

Ivy. She was staring at me, a glimmer of fear marring her deep blankness. “Jenks?” I said loudly, and when he chirped his wings, Quen tensed.

The congregation gasped when I leaned to pull aside my dress to show my calf-high boots. Fumbling with the silk slip, I grabbed my cuffs. “Under temporary jurisdiction of the FIB, I'm authorized to arrest you, Trent Kalamack, for suspicion of the murder of Brett Markson.”

A unified gasp rose like a wave from the audience.

“That's it!”
Ellasbeth shouted, and the holy guy snapped his book shut and took a step back. “Trenton, I've put up with your little tart of a witch in my bathtub. I put up with your insisting she be in
my wedding
. But her arresting you just to stop our marriage is
intolerable
!”

She was royally pissed, and I yanked a pliant Trent from his groomsmen. Quen moved, then leapt backward, a flash of dragonfly wings between us. Al was laughing in big, booming guffaws, but I didn't see anything funny. Except maybe the witch-in-his-bathtub comment.

“Rachel—” Trent's words cut off, and his beautiful face went indignant at the twin clicks of metal ratcheting about his wrist. Quen tried to outflank Jenks, his pockmarked face dark with anger when Jenks stopped him, an arrow pointed at his eye.

“Try me, Quen,” the pixy said, and the congregation went silent.

Trent stood with his cuffed hands before him. “Uh, uh, uh,” I mocked, picking up my shoulder bag and getting ready to bug on out of here. “Trent, remind Quen what happens if he interferes with me. I've got a warrant.”
Oh, yeah.
Turning to Trent, I said, “You have the right to remain silent, but I doubt you will. You have the right to an attorney, which I imagine Quen will be calling soon. If you can't afford one, hell has frozen over and I'm the princess of Oz, but in that case, one will be appointed to you. You understand your rights that the entire congregation of Cincy's finest has heard me recite?”

Green eyes angry, he nodded. Satisfied, I tugged his shoulder and started him toward the steps. Trent's mix of anger, shock, and disbelief gave away to anger. “Call the appropriate lawyer,” he was saying to Quen as I dragged him. “Ellasbeth, this won't take long.”

“Yeah, call your lawyer,” I echoed, scooping up the focus.

Al's laugher echoed up into the rafters. I hesitated, waiting for the windows to break or something. There was an evil delight to it, and it seemed to free the seated people from their shock. They burst into a sudden noise of conversation, startling me. Ivy's face remained blank. Beside her, Piscary, too, was wide-eyed, trying to wrap his thoughts around this. Takata was worried, and Mr. Ray and Mrs. Sarong were arguing vehemently.

“Jenks!” I shouted, not wanting to walk down that aisle alone.

And suddenly he was with me. “Got your back, Rache,” he said, his
wings snapping with excitement, flying backward with his arrow still aimed at Quen. “Let's go.”

Bag on one shoulder and focus under an arm, I guided Trent down the stairs, holding his elbow so he wouldn't trip and sue me for unnecessary roughness.
Da-a-a, da-a-a, da, dum. I got the bastard now,
echoed in my thoughts in a mockery of the wedding march. Someone's phone snapped a picture, and I grinned, imagining tonight's front page. I could hear sirens in the background, and I hoped they were the FIB, come to hustle me off the street, and not the I.S. to arrest me. I didn't actually have the warrant, but my contact did.

Forgotten by the altar, Ellasbeth made a frustrated sound of anger. “Trent!” she cried, and I almost felt sorry for the woman. “This is outrageous. How can you let her do this? I thought you
owned
this city!”

Trent halfway turned, and I steadied him on the steps with a hand on his shoulder. “I don't own Ms. Morgan, dear. I need a few hours to sort this out. I'll join you at the reception.”

God, I hoped not.

As we passed Piscary, I slowed. “Could you meet me at the FIB?” I said, pulse pounding and breathless. “I have something for you.”

The undead vampire kissed the underside of Ivy's wrist, making her shudder. “You are utterly inhuman, Rachel. Almost as cold as you are audaciously contemptible. It's a side to you that is…delightfully unexpected. I'm most interested in what you have to say.”

Not knowing what to make of that, I nodded and pushed Trent back into motion. He was indignant, apparently figuring out that I was going to give the vampire the focus. Hell, Piscary “insured” four-fifths of the city, and David's company picked up the rest. It wasn't hard to figure out I wanted to be added to the list. Seeing Trent's understanding, I smiled.
Bastard.

“Trent!” Ellasbeth shrieked. “You walk out of this church and I'm gone. I'm on the plane and I'm home! I agreed to marry you, not this…this
circus
you call a life.”

“I don't have much choice—
dear,
” he said over his shoulder. “Will you curb your hysterics and tend to our guests? This is a minor glitch.”

“Minor glitch!” I was walking sideways, nearly missing it when she threw her bouquet at the holy guy, screaming. “Quen! Do something! That's what you're paid for!”

My eyebrows rose. I was almost to the door, and no one had tried to stop me. Shock was a wonderful tool when used correctly.

Quen looked up from his phone. “I am, Ms. Withon. I've already established that Morgan is acting within the law, and I'm calling Trenton's trial lawyer.”

Al was laughing, tears streaming down his face. His hand was against the altar for balance, and the flowers on it were turning black. Being in Lee's body let him touch it with impunity, but he was still a demon, and clearly his presence was being noted.

When we reached the entryway, it hit Trent that I was really tagging him. “This is ridiculous, Rachel,” he said as I bitch-kicked the door open. Moonlight spilled in through the fog shining on the cement steps. “This is my wedding day. You are
way
out of line.”

“Hauling your ass in is justice,” I said, squinting from the flashing FIB lights. “Killing Brett was out of line. He didn't know anything. All he wanted was someone to look to.”

I shoved Trent through the door before the heavy wood could arc closed, then pulled the damp, cool night air smelling of garbage and exhaust deep into me, relieved to see those FIB cruisers. Officers were all over the place, securing the area before anyone could follow me out.

“Hey! Hi!” I called while I waved, wanting to be sure they knew I was the good guy. “I got him. He's all yours! Just tell me where to put him.”

I headed toward the nearest cruiser, pushing Trent before me. “Trust me, Trent,” I said when we found the pavement. “You'll thank me for this someday.”

“I didn't think you cared about my happiness, Ms. Morgan,” he said as an excited officer touched his cap and opened the door for him.

“I don't,” I said shortly. “Watch yourself.” I put my hand on the back of his head, feeling a jolt of ever-after try to surge to him, checking it just in time. Shaken from my lack of control, I shoved him into the car and slammed the door shut. It was noisy, and I blinked when I realized the bus was still there. I waved, and everyone waved back, the driver tooting the horn. Satisfied, I stood a little taller and slicked my hair back out of my eyes.

Damn, when I was bad, I was good.

The hem of my lacy bridesmaid dress whispered over the cracked gray tile in Edden's office. Sitting hunched in the chair before his desk, I nervously bobbed my foot. The FIB captain had taken possession of my elbow the moment I crossed the Federal Inderland Bureau seal inlaid in the floor of the lobby, dragging me into his office and telling his aide, Rose, to keep me here before stomping out in search of coffee, his son, Glenn, and a first impression that didn't come from me. That had been ten minutes ago. Unless he was grinding the beans himself, or waiting for Glenn to get back from Detroit, I figured he'd come in knowing more than I did.

The jitters had started. It was growing noisy in the lobby, voices raised in protest and demand. By the sound of it, the entire wedding party was out there. I glanced at Jenks, perched on Edden's pencil cup. He looked unusually nervous, having opted to stay with me instead of hanging with Edden as was his habit when we were at the FIB. Leaving the present on the floor, I stood to shake out my dress and went to peek past the blinds. I was getting the distinct idea that Edden hadn't known I was going after Trent Kalamack this evening.

“Maybe we should've gone to the I.S?” Jenks said, his wings making a distracting hum.

“The I.S!” I said, turning to gape at him. “Are you crazy?”

It sounded as if Mr. Ray was close to losing it, and wincing, I reached
for the blinds, jerking my hand back when the door scraped open.

Edden stomped in, the muscular, almost squat man so close to my height that it didn't matter. He was in his usual khakis and white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, but the outfit had lost its just-pressed look sometime between dragging me in here and getting the two waxed-paper cups of capped coffee he had sandwiched between a hairy arm and chest.

Feeling guilty, I let the blinds slip from my fingers. The lacy dress made me feel stupid, and I tucked a wayward strand that had escaped my elaborate braid behind an ear and stood with my hands clasped before me like fig leaves. I felt about as vulnerable as if I had been naked, too. Edden had been instrumental in helping me save my butt when I'd quit the I.S., but he had his own bosses to please, and he didn't look happy. Of all the humans I'd met, only his son, Glenn, and my old boyfriend, Nick, were more comfortable with my being…not human.

His round face creased, he set both coffees on the desk and dropped into his chair on the exhale. Captain Edden was not tall, and the first hints of a soft widening of his waist added to his comfortable, late-fifties look. His military background showed in his quick mannerisms and slow decisions, only accentuated by the black hair cropped close to his skull. Lacing his stubby fingers across his middle, he stared at me in annoyance. His mustache was showing more gray than it had last time, and I couldn't help but cringe at the accusing look in his brown eyes.

Jenks clattered his wings as if in apology, and the captain glanced at him as if he ought to have known better before turning his disapproving attention back to me. “Would you be more comfortable running my department from my chair, Rachel?” he said, and I shifted forward to take a coffee just to have something between him and me. “What did you think you were doing, arresting Kalamack at his own wedding?” he added, and I sat down, the focus between my feet.

As if this were good news, Jenks brightened, flying up to land closer to the FIB captain to look satisfied and relieved. I thought it totally unfair that though Jenks and I were partners, I'd be the only one to suffer for any trouble we got into. Pixies were never held accountable for their actions. But then they usually didn't involve themselves this deep in “big people” affairs.

“If I arrested him anywhere else, he would have buried me,” I said,
singeing my finger and spilling some coffee when I removed the lid. Disgusted with myself, I sopped up the rivulet with my worn shoulder bag before it could drip to my dress. Jeez, I felt like one of those wackos haunting Fountain Square, with my ratty bag, my wrapped gift holding the focus, and wearing a gown that cost more than a semester of tuition.

“You being dead would make my life easier.” Edden's face was tight when he leaned to get his coffee. “Listen to that!” he exclaimed, gesturing at the unseen lobby. “My people don't know how to handle this. That's why the I.S. exists! And you bring them all here? To me?”

“I thought you knew what I was doing,” I said. “Glenn—”

My words cut off when Edden lifted a hand. His anger slid away, replaced with a rueful pride for his adopted son. “No,” he muttered, his eyes dropping to the desk. “He slipped the paperwork in with the requisitions for the company picnic. You're invited, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I said, wondering if I'd live that long. Depressed, I took a sip of coffee, glad the FIB had their priorities in order and bought the good stuff.

Edden frowned, his pride at Glenn's bucking the system to further justice now fading back to anger. “Kalamack left the species box blank on his statement,” he said. “You know what that means?” I took a breath to answer, but he had rushed ahead with, “It means he's not saying if he's Inderland or human and is accepting FIB jurisdiction. I have to deal with this. Me. And you want me to
pay you
for dumping this crap on me?”

My jaw clenched. “He broke the law,” I said hotly.

The unusually enlightened human sighed, his entire body moving. “Yes, he did.”

For a moment there was silence. Then Edden took the lid off his coffee. “Piscary is in my lobby,” he said tightly. “He says you want to talk to him. How am I supposed to keep you alive through your testimony when Piscary comes to
my department
to kill you?”

I glanced at Jenks, who was starting to shed a faint trail of glittering dust in agitation. “Piscary didn't come here to kill me,” I said, hiding my jitters behind a sip of coffee. “I asked him here. I want to arrange some protection from him for me and Kisten.”

Edden went markedly still as I guiltily swallowed more coffee and
set the cup down. The acidic drink hit my stomach, where it sat to make me feel ill. Piscary was a sick wacko—and the only one who could protect me and rescind Kisten's blood gift.

“You're buying protection from Piscary?” Edden shook his head, his few wrinkles deepening. “He wants you dead. You put him in jail. He's not going to forget that just because he's out. And the word is he made a blood gift out of your boyfriend.” His gaze fell from mine in shame. “Rachel, I'm sorry. I can't do anything about that.”

A hot feeling of betrayal rose through me, of innocence lost. I knew that nothing could stop Piscary from getting away with treating Kisten like a box of Godiva, but damn it, these were the people who were supposed to keep us safe from the big-bad-uglies. I hated this, but what I hated more was that I had to work in such a depraved system to stay alive.
Like I have much choice?

“I'm sorry,” Edden said again, and I glanced at him ruefully so he would know that I understood his position. Hell, I was standing right next to him.

Jenks's wings clattered, and I shifted the split in my dress to show the present sitting between my feet. My butt-kicking boots looked really odd down there, but I was glad I'd worn them. “I've got something he wants more than revenge,” I said, praying I hadn't overestimated its worth. Though it grated on every fiber of my being, this had to work.
It had to
.

Edden bent forward to see the blue-foiled package, then leaned back. “I don't want to know what's in there. I
really
don't want to know.”

I let my hem cover it. “I thought this was the safest place to hammer out an agreement with Piscary,” I said meekly.

“My office?” he barked.

“Well…” I hedged. “Maybe a conference room?”

Edden's brown eyes went wide in disbelief, and I started to get a little upset. “Edden,” I cajoled, “I don't have anywhere else to go. Kalamack
is
responsible for the deaths of those Weres. I'm trying to save my own butt here. All I have to do is swim through the crap to get to it. Now, are you going to throw me a preserver, or do I have to dog-paddle the whole way by myself?”

He tilted his head to see the clock on the wall above and behind him. I could almost read his thoughts. Why couldn't I have waited a few hours when he would have been off-shift?

“I wish you would include me in your thought processes,” he said dryly.

“Just pretend you're still in the military,” I said, hearing our conversation ending.

“Yeah,” he said with a rueful chuckle as he stood. “I'd be safer on a front line than working with you.” He took up his coffee and gestured to the door. “After you. The sooner we're done with this, the sooner I can go home.”

Jenks's wings buzzed to life, and I stood, taking a moment to gather my present, my bag, and my composure. The butterflies had turned to fireflies, cramping my stomach. Edden opened the door, and when the noise hit me, I balked, thinking about how I needed the rush of danger to remind myself I was alive. Adrenaline junkie? I was embarrassed to admit that Jenks was probably right. It explained way too many things for me to simply dismiss because it was a stupid way to live. I couldn't help but wonder if I hadn't misjudged the risk this time and if it was going to turn around and bite me. But some of this
wasn't
my fault.

Landing upon my shoulder, Jenks said, “That little charm shop is looking mighty good right about now, eh, Rache?”

“Shut up, Jenks,” I muttered, but I let him stay where he was—needing him.

Edden came to a halt beside Rose's desk and gazed over the maelstrom of officers trying to deal with upset Inderlanders. They looked as if they were doing okay. Maybe the essays Edden had asked me to write up for their handbook were helping.

Piscary was standing off a little by himself, his inquiring eyes on me and his grip possessively on Ivy as Skimmer spoke lawyer to a nervous woman with a clipboard. They were all sitting down, and my heart clenched at Ivy's blank stare. It was like she wasn't there. The news crews were visible through the black windows, lights glaring in the fog as they clustered outside the doors like wannabes trying to get into a club.

“I meant to tell you that's a pretty dress,” the captain said, not looking at me as he rocked from heel to toe with his hands behind his back. “The boots are a nice touch.”

I looked at them and sighed. “My foot hurts. They help.” My foot, my arm, my back—they all ached like crazy. I felt like I'd been in a fight, not sleeping in Ivy's chair.
God, I hope she's okay.
Edden chuckled at my dry sarcasm. “I thought you simply liked stomping around in them.” Turning away, he gestured for a thin officer who looked less harried than the rest. “I hope you can work something out for your boyfriend.”

Jenks's wings fanned faster. “Thanks,” I said, carefully tucking away a strand of hair.

“Why don't you find a nice witch?” Edden said, shifting back a step to make room for the approaching officer. “Take the opportunity to get some space between you and Mr. Felps. I care what happens to you, and I hate to see you getting involved in vampire politics. People die when they do that.”

I couldn't help my smile. “Gee, thanks, Dad. Can I have my driving privileges back?”

His eyes glinted. “You're grounded until you clean up your room, and you know it.”

From my shoulder came a tiny snort, but Jenks was too close to see.
Clean my room?
I suppose that was a suitable metaphor. I had certainly put the city in a mess.

The officer that Edden had pulled from the melee stopped expectantly before us, and Edden drew him close. “Where's Kalamack? Ms. Morgan needs a room, and I don't want her anywhere near him.”

I huffed in insult, and the man gave me an apologetic glance. “He's in five, but three is available,” he said.

“No way,” I said tightly. “I am
not
getting in a little interview room with Piscary. I want a conference room. Big enough so that I can have a few witnesses.”
And kick some vampire ass if I need to
.

Edden crossed his arms over his chest to turn immovable. “Witnesses?”

“Witnesses.” I gripped the focus tighter. This wouldn't work unless everyone knew I didn't have it anymore. “I want Mr. Ray and Mrs. Sarong.” I turned to look over the open offices, each one occupied with a belligerent Inderlander and one or two nervous but doggedly determined FIB officers. “Quen,” I said, finding him standing alone and on the phone as if none of this was touching him. “And Al,” I finished, finding the demon flirting with the receptionist, now glowing from the attention of someone she thought was a wealthy eligible bachelor in a tux. Ellasbeth's dad was behind him, the upright man looking like he
was ready to whip out his checkbook right here if it would help get his daughter married.

“Al?” Edden said, following my gaze to his receptionist, handing her phone number to the smiling man. “That's Mr. Saladan. Piscary said he exorcised the demon from him. My people have seen him in the sun.”

I shook my head, feeling Al's gaze on me. “Piscary's lying. That's still Al.”

The FIB officer with the clipboard paled. “That's a demon?” he squeaked.

Edden's brow furrowed. Putting a thick hand on each of our shoulders, he turned our backs to the room, all the while scanning the surrounding people to decide if they had heard him. “Rachel,” he said, voice hushed but intent, “I'm not set up to deal with this situation.”

His hand was warm through the lace on my shoulder, and I shivered. “Neither am I, but here I am. I can do this, Edden. I just need a quiet room. Your people don't have to do anything. No one's going to get hurt.” But I couldn't promise it.