Kim Harrison: White Witch, Black Curse

“Rachel,” Ford said as soon as he closed the distance between us. “You won’t be out of control for even an instant. That’s how it works.”

Damn it, he had guessed why I was afraid, and embarrassed that he was bringing this up in front of Marshal, I frowned. “We don’t have to do it at my office if you’re uncomfortable,” he added, squinting from the bright December sun. “No one needs to know.”

I didn’t care if the FIB knew I was seeing their psychiatrist. Hell, if anyone needed counseling, it was me. But still…“I’m not crazy,” I muttered as I angled the blowing vents to me and my hair flew up from under my hat.

Ford put a hand on the open window in a show of support. “You’re probably the sanest person I know. You only look crazy because you’ve got a lot of weird stuff to deal with. If you want, while you’re relaxed, I can give you a way to keep your mouth shut about anything you want under just about any circumstance. Completely confidential, between you and your subconscious.” Surprised, I stared at him, and he finished, “I don’t even have to know what you’re keeping to yourself.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” I said, but my knees felt funny. What has he figured out about me that he isn’t saying?

Shifting his feet in the slush, Ford shrugged. “Yes, you are. I think it’s cute.” He glanced at Marshal and smiled. “Big bad runner who can take down black witches and vampires afraid of little helpless me.”

“I am not afraid of you. And you’re not helpless!” I exclaimed as Marshal chuckled.

“Then you’ll do it,” Ford said confidently, and I made a noise of frustration.

“Yeah, whatever,” I muttered, then fiddled with the vent again. I wanted to get out of here before he really figured out what was going on in my head-and then told me.

“I have to tell Edden about the sticky silk,” Ford said, “but I’ll wait until tomorrow.”

My eyes flicked to the ladder, still propped against the boat’s side. “Thanks,” I said, and he nodded, responding to the heavy emotion of gratitude I knew I must be throwing off. My roommate would have time to come out with the Jr. Detective Kit she probably had stashed in her label-strewn closet and take whatever prints she wanted. Not to mention sniffing the carpet.

Ford smiled at a private thought. “Since you won’t come in, how about me coming over tonight about…six? Somewhere after my dinner and before your lunch?”

I stared at him for his brazenness. “I’m busy. How about next month?”

He ducked his head as if embarrassed, but he was still smiling when he met my gaze. “I want to talk to you before I talk to Edden. Tomorrow. Three o’clock.”

“I’m picking my brother up at the airport at three,” I said quickly. “I’ll be with him and my mother the rest of the day. Sorry.”

“I’ll see you at six,” he said firmly. “By then, you’ll be home trying to get away from your brother and your mom, ready for some relaxation. I can teach you a trick for that, too.”

“God! I hate it when you do that!” I said, messing with my seat belt so he would take the hint and go away. I was more embarrassed than angry that he’d caught me trying to evade him. “Hey!” I leaned out the window as he turned to go. “Don’t tell anyone I had my face on the floor, okay?”

From beside me, Marshal made a wondering sound, and I turned to him. “You either.”

“No problem,” he said, thunking the SUV into gear and moving forward a few feet. My window went up, and I loosened my scarf as the vehicle warmed. Ford slowly managed the slushy ruts back to his car, pulling his phone from his pocket as he went. Remembering my own phone, on vibrate, I dug my cell out of my bag. Scrolling through the menu to put it on ring, I wondered how I was going to tell Ivy what I remembered without both of us flaking out.

With a small noise of concern, Marshal put his SUV back into park, and my head came up. Ford was standing beside his open door with his phone stuck to his ear. A bad feeling began to trickle through me when he started back to us. It grew worse when Marshal put his window down and Ford stopped beside it. The psychiatrist’s eyes carried a heavy worry.

“That was Edden,” Ford said as he closed his phone and returned it to his belt case. “Glenn’s been hurt.”

“Glenn!” I leaned over the center console toward him, getting a good whiff of the scent of redwood coming off Marshal. The FIB detective was Edden’s son and one of my favorite people. And now he was hurt. Because of me? “Is he okay?”

Marshal stiffened, and I leaned back. Ford was shaking his head and looking at the nearby river. “He was off duty investigating something he probably shouldn’t have. They found him unconscious. I’m going to the hospital to see how much damage he’s suffered to his head.”

His head. Ford meant his brain. Someone had beat him up. “I’m coming, too,” I said, reaching for my seat belt.

“I can drive you out,” Marshal offered, but I was winding my scarf back up and grabbing my bag.

“No, but thanks, Marshal,” I said, my pulse fast as I gave his shoulder a quick touch. “Ford’s going out there. I’ll, ah, call you later, okay?”

Marshal’s brown eyes were worried, and his black hair, tight to his skull, hardly shifted as he nodded. It had been growing in for only a few months, but at least he had eyebrows now. “Okay,” he echoed, not giving me any grief for ditching him. “Take care of yourself.”

I exhaled, glancing once at Ford, waiting impatiently for me, then back to Marshal. “Thanks,” I said softly, and gave him an impulsive kiss on the cheek. “You’re a great guy.”

I got out, and, pace fast, followed Ford to his car, my thoughts and stomach churning at what we might find at the hospital. Someone had hurt Glenn. Sure, he was a FIB officer and ran the risk of injury all the time, but I had a feeling this involved me. It had to. I was an albatross.

Just ask Kisten.

We’ll take the next elevator,” the tidy woman said with an overly bright smile as she pulled her confused friend back into the hall and the silver doors slid shut before Ford and me.

Wondering, I glanced at the huge lift. The thing was big enough for a gurney. Ford and I were the only two people in here. But then the woman’s harsh whisper of “Black witch” came in just before the doors met, telling me all I needed to know.

“The Turn take it,” I muttered, tugging my bag back up on my shoulder.

Beside me, Ford edged away, not enjoying my angry emotions as I fumed. I wasn’t a black witch. Okay, so my aura was covered with demon smut. And yeah, I’d been filmed last year being dragged down the street on my ass by a demon. It probably didn’t help that the entire universe knew I’d summoned one into an I.S. courtroom to testify against Piscary, Cincinnati’s top vampire and my roommate’s former master. But I was a white witch. Wasn’t I?

Depressed, I stared at the dull silver panels of the hospital elevator. Ford was a dark blur beside me, his head bowed as I stewed. I wasn’t a demon to be pulled back to the ever-after when the sun rose, but my children would be-thanks to the illegal genetic tinkering of the now-dead Senior Kalamack. He had unknowingly broken the checks and balances that elves magicked into the demon’s genome thousands of years ago, effectively allowing only magically stunted demon children to survive. The elves named the new species witches, telling us lies and convincing us to fight demons in their war. When we found out the truth, we abandoned the elves and demons both, migrating out of the ever-after and doing our best to forget our origins. Which we did admirably, to the point where I was the only witch to know the truth.