Kim Harrison - The Witch with No Name

Beside me on the floor, Al gasped.

“Oh God, that hurt,” I breathed, then groaned when Trent yanked me to him, almost crushing me as he sat on the highest step and held me in his arms.

“Are you okay?” he said, fingers splayed behind my head as he held me. “They burned you! Look at me! Rachel, are you okay?”

He let go just enough to see me, and groggy, I peered up at him, wondering why my skin wasn’t red. It felt like I’d been burned. “’S okay,” I lisped. “I’m here.” I started to shake, cold though my skin burned. The mystics were thick. Everything hurt. “I’m fine. I’m okay. Look. I can tap a line and everything.”

I didn’t tap a line, but my hair floated as if I was, and the burn ebbed to a familiar tingle. “Where are the girls?” I said as I ran a thumb under his eye. For crying out loud, he was worried about me.

“With Ellasbeth, I presume,” he said, and my gaze flicked over his shoulder to Quen staggering out from the nursery.

Al picked himself up, stiffly tugging at his lace cuffs and brushing cookie crumbs off his crushed velvet. He was avoiding me even as he stood there, listing slightly. He had to see the mystics on me, making my skin tingle. Had the collective seen them? But how could they not?

“Thank God you’re okay,” Trent said, crushing me to him again.

“The girls,” I protested.

His breath came fast, and he held me tighter, so close I couldn’t see Al. “Ellasbeth has them, not a terrorist. We’ll get them back.”

Quen coughed, and I pulled back to see him leaning heavily against Ceri’s old high-backed chair. He held his ribs, and his nose was bleeding. “You are a poor babysitter, Al.”

Al opened his mouth to say something, and Trent gave me a little shake.

“How am I supposed to let you go off and do things when you might be pulled out of my reality like that?” he said, and I winced as his aura seemed to tingle through mine.

“I don’t feel very good,” I said, the sensation of being overly full making me ill.

Trent tensed when Al leaned over to peer into my eyes, his hands on his knees as his back hunched. “I’m not surprised,” he said dryly, giving me a final grimace before he slowly, almost painfully, walked down into the living room. “May I use your phone?”

Surprised, Trent’s grip on me eased. “Sure,” he said cautiously, and I took the tissue that Quen handed me.

“What does a demon need with a phone?” I said as I eased myself out of Trent’s lap and just sat there on the stair, heart pounding and wishing the mystics would go check on something. Anything. Would just leave me alone.

Al gave me an askance look, hesitated as he peered over his glasses at the phone as if never having used one before, and then began punching buttons. My nose was bleeding, and I dabbed at it. “Al?”

“What,” he said flatly, turning to stand sideways to me.

I cautiously brought up my second sight, relieved that it didn’t hurt. His aura was patchy but enough of it was there that he could do magic. Trent’s glowed with agitation, and Quen’s was dark with regret and guilt. “I’m glad you weren’t pulled back.”

He frowned at me, then turned his back on us. “Good evening. This is Al.” He hesitated. “Then why did you give me this number? You’d rather I just pop in?” he drawled suggestively.

Trent sat on the step with me. Leaning over, he whispered, “Who?,” and I shrugged.

“E-e-e-exactly.” Al looked back at us with an uncomfortable expression. “I’m informing you that circumstances require that I will not be able to clock in this evening at the required time.” I froze as Al’s eyes met mine for a moment. “As a matter of fact, I am, so I would appreciate it if my restitution would reflect that fact.”

Restitution? As in paycheck?

“Not long,” Al said, again looking at his nails. “Fifteen minutes ought to do it.” He smiled wickedly. “Thank you. You too.”

You could almost hear the silence crash down as he hung up the phone. “Where did you learn your phone etiquette?” I asked. My long muscles ached, and I rubbed at my calves.

Al fluffed the lace at his throat. “I had a craving for secretaries in the eighties until the hairspray began to catch in my teeth. Excuse me.”

Quen pulled himself upright, the tissue wadded up in his fist. “Take me with you.”

“Take you?” I said, becoming alarmed. “Where are you going?”

Al made a face at me, then looked at Quen. “Why should I?”

“Because you lost them,” Quen barked, and my heart leapt. Al was going to retrieve the girls? Why? Why did he care?

“You’re going to get them?” I tried to stand, but by the time I managed it, Al and Quen were gone.

I spun, reaching for Trent when my balance left me. “You think?” I said.

“I don’t know.” Trent steadied me. “He did lose them.”

My pulse hammered. “And they expect us to just sit here and wait?”

“Well, he did say fifteen minutes.”

“I can’t sit here for fifteen minutes not knowing. I have to—” I wavered on my feet, breathless. Trent’s hand on mine gripped harder, and a hand cupped under my elbow.

“You’re as cold as ice. You need a bath.”

“Trent . . . ,” I protested as he helped me up the last stair and aimed me to his bedroom. His tub was bigger than the one in the guest bedroom. “I can’t take a bath. The girls . . .”

But he just kept pushing me. “A demon, Quen, and Jon have gone to get them. I’m more worried about Ellasbeth and Landon. You need to learn the art of delegation.”

I snorted, scuffing slowly across the carpet. Actually, a bath sounded great, and I winced when I thought of everything that had happened between now and my last shower. “Hey, I’m sorry about Lucy and Ray. I never thought he’d leave them like that.”

Trent pushed the door open with his foot. The room was dark, the vid screen on one wall showing a live feed of the orchard, dim with sunset. “He was in a hard place,” he said softly.

“Hard place!”

“He knew you were in trouble, and he loves you, Rachel.”

I stopped dead in my tracks, pulling out of Trent’s grip and putting a hand on the wall beside the bathroom door. “He does not!”

Trent’s smile was easy and gentle as he reached a hand past me to flick on the light. “He does,” he said as he slipped an arm behind my back and breezily ushered me in. “Not romantically, or even that of a father for a daughter, but he does. I think he sees something in you that he lost a long time ago and still mourns. He knew what would happen if he left the girls, and he went to rescue you instead.”

Rescue me instead? I thought, feeling colder yet.

“That we were late in getting back was just an excuse to hide his fear for you. I would’ve done the same. The girls aren’t in any real danger, even if Ellasbeth has them. Not like you.”

Trent turned on the water, jiggling the taps until he was satisfied. “You think . . . ,” I murmured, and he straightened, shaking the water from his hand.

“I know.”

My expression must have shown my panic because he took my shoulders. “Don’t read too much into it. It could have been coincidence.”

“Right.” I couldn’t meet his eyes as a sharp hail came from the living room and Ray’s crying suddenly pulled at my heart.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, almost jogging out of the bathroom.

“Be right back,” I muttered as I turned the taps off. Glancing in the mirror, I shifted a strand of hair out of my eyes and sighed at my reflection before I pulled my shoulders up and tried to walk as if I didn’t hurt everywhere.

It was a frightening thing to have the love of someone so determined, resolute, and unafraid of committing a great wrong for his personal right. The love of two men so determined, actually. I hoped I survived it.