Kim Harrison - Pale Demon

“We are all fine,” Jenks was saying as I breathed in the scent of Quen, seeming all the stronger for the foyer being dark. “We don’t need your help.”

Quen flashed a bright smile. “Mr. Kalamack would like me to inspect the grounds.” His gaze shifted to Ivy as if for permission. Wise man. “Is that all right with you, ladies?”

Ivy didn’t even look up from the mail. “Knock yourself out. Stay out of my room.”

Quen turned to me next, and when Jenks buzzed off in annoyance, I asked him, “What is he really looking for?”

Again, he smiled, but it was softer this time. “An excuse, I think.”

Great. Just friggin’ great.

Quen brushed past me, a shredded wisp of cinnamon and wine lingering in his wake. “I’m telling you, we’re fine!” came Jenks’s irate shout as he followed him into the hallway, and then the pixy darted back, dripping a bright silver dust. “Rachel!” he whined at me, his long hair getting in his eyes. There wasn’t a single pixy kid in the church, not unusual if their dad was on the warpath.

I trudged forward with my stuff. “Go with him if you want.”

Jenks rose up and down indecisively as if on a string, but when he heard the back door open and shut, he darted to me, flying backward as he fumed.

“What does he want?” Ivy asked mildly as I passed her.

“I’ve no idea.” I had none whatsoever, but I imagined that his claim of tending to Lucy was an excuse so I wouldn’t see him taking the steps in his cast. He could make it all right, but he lacked his usual grace, and I knew it bothered him.

“What happened?” I asked Jenks as I smacked my luggage into the wall in the hallway.

“The kids fought them off,” Jenks admitted, his dust finally starting to dampen as he followed me to my room. “Them and that fairy girl. ”

He had almost spat out the last, and I elbowed my light switch on to see his face screwed up in a nasty expression. “Belle?” I asked, remembering that Sidereal’s daughter had remained behind to watch me. It smelled stale in my room, and leaving my garment bag and overnight case on the bed, I propped the narrow stained-glass window open. Night sounds, the scent of marigolds, and the singing of pixies seeped in. Hands on my hips, I sighed, glad to be home.

“She has a name? You knew she was here?” Jenks yelped, a burst of dust lighting my perfumes.

“Well, yeah.” I took off my jacket and hung it on my bedpost. “Didn’t you? Jeez, Jenks. She’s been here for months.”

He fumed, his wings drooping and his tiny features cross as I needled him. Relenting, I tugged my closet door open and hung up my garment bag. Unzipping it, the smell of clean fabric spilled out. “Everyone is okay, right?” I prompted, wondering if I should be more concerned.

“Yeah…,” he admitted. “But…”

“Then relax.” I pulled the beautiful dress from the bag and hung it at the back. “Bis!” I shouted, sensing him up on the steeple. He probably couldn’t hear me, but he’d come anyway.

“You don’t care!” Jenks exclaimed, twin pixies rising in my dresser’s mirror. “We were attacked and you don’t care!”

“Of course I care,” I said, then shut the closet door hard enough to make his dust shake. “But I’ve been trapped in a plane with you for five solid hours. No one is hurt, and you need to chill!” He was scowling at me, and I lowered my voice. “Let me catch my breath, okay?” I pleaded.

A small scraping at the lintel brought my attention to the ceiling. It was Bis, his ears pricked and expectant. He hadn’t been his usual self during the few days we’d spent recovering on the coast before flying home. There was a hesitancy between us that hadn’t been there before, a feeling out of new responsibilities and expectations.

Neither of us knew what being bonded meant, but I sensed where he was most of the time, and he knew where I was. And since we couldn’t ask Al or Pierce what my responsibilities were to Bis and his to me, we’d just have to figure it out as we went along. Him teaching me how to line jump wasn’t an issue anymore, so maybe the question was moot.

“Hi, Bis,” I said as Jenks fumed on my dresser. “You want your shirt?”

Immediately he perked up, slithering into my room and dropping onto my bedside table, wings flat to his back. “I was just going to ask you for it,” he said, sending a sliver of concern through me. “Can you put it on me? I want to show the kids.”

He wanted to show the kids. Subtle phrasing, but significant. He was seeing himself as less of a kid and more of an adult. I’d seen it on the jet when he settled into a watchful mode with a magazine, and how he kept an eye on the people in the airport instead of being distracted by the jets or the people staring at him. Growing up wasn’t bad, but I kind of missed the old Bis and his wonder at everything. He still had that inquisitive good nature, but now it was tempered with the knowledge that life wasn’t fair and that bad things happened, even if you watched for them.

“You bet,” I said, opening the snaps of my overnight case. Still in a huff, Jenks landed on the open lid. We had spent a day at Disneyland before coming home, and Jenks had gone a little nuts, buying out a gift shop and generally acting like a chipmunk on Brimstone. Bis had contented himself with a tourist T-shirt, but Ivy and I sat on a curb for almost an hour waiting for Jenks to come out of the Tink history exhibit. Since then, there hadn’t been a single swear word using the “Inderlander pioneer,” as he now called her.

I pulled Bis’s tank top out, carefully folding the brightly patterned bag with Tinkerbell on it after Jenks started making tiny, pained noises when I crumpled it up. I couldn’t help but wonder if we had a little crush going. Finally I snapped the bright red shirt to get out the wrinkles and held it up to Bis. “I don’t think we’re going to have to make wing slits for you,” I said, seeing a glimpse of his old self in his delight at the screened picture of characters in the latest gargoyle flick.

“Too cool,” he said, holding his arms up, and I settled the soft cotton tank top over his head, tugging gently to get it around his ears. I tried to imagine him my size but failed. He was still a kid—and my responsibility. Damn, how had my mom done this?

“Belle says the battle was Sunday,” Bis said, his voice muffled. “After I left.”

“Yeah?” Jenks barked, his wings moving but not lifting him at all.

“Wings,” I prompted, and Bis lifted them high so I could work the tank top around them.

“She said a passing clan thought that Jenks had died, so they attacked,” Bis said, his red eyes glowing. “They didn’t know what to do. The kids, I mean. Jih was across the street, and it was noon. But Belle was awake, and she saw them. Raised the alarm. They would have taken the garden and killed everyone if not for Belle.”

I dropped back, thinking the shirt was perfect—even if it looked odd on him. There was the faint click of the front door opening, and Ivy’s soft murmur followed by the thunking of Trent’s cast on the old oak. My tension spiked. Trent was in my church. Why?

“ She saved the garden,” Bis said as he looked at himself in my dresser mirror. My perfumes were scattered about his feet, and he didn’t hit one as he shifted and turned. “Took over the fight. Told everyone what to do. Kept the lines from breaking until Jih could help. No one got hurt except Belle. She took an arrow in the leg.”

Alarmed, I turned to Jenks. “I thought you said no one was hurt!”

“A fairy?” he said in disbelief. “Since when are you worried about a fairy?”

“When one saves the lives of your children,” I said, and Trent thumped to a halt at my door. My eyes fell from Trent’s, and I slammed my suitcase shut. “Jenks, you’re ugly when you talk like that,” I said, then turned to Bis, hesitating at the sight of him in a bright red shirt. “Where’s Belle?” I asked, imagining her broken and bleeding somewhere in the garden.