Kim Harrison - Black Magic Sanction

The skin around Pierce's eyes crinkled as he glanced at the waiting I.S. officers. "Jenks, we're going to be here a moment. Why don't you see what they're talking about? Make yourself useful, little man?"

Snarling something lost in the roar of a bus, Jenks darted over the organized chaos. I felt naked without him, and I held Pierce's ear more tightly. "News vans, news vans," I murmured, feeling better when I spotted them. I hated news vans, but they were going to save my butt today. The coven could be anywhere. If they didn't show, I was screwed.

My attention went to Trent, at the podium. Quen was behind him, and I felt a jump of worry. The man was better than me at just about everything. "I have enjoyed serving you in the capacity of councilman," Trent was saying, "and could be happy for years more, but I see the corruption, I hear your frustration, and I want to do more. It is my responsibility to do more!"

The crowd liked that, and I jumped when Jenks landed next to me with a clatter of wings. "I don't know how, but they know it's you, Rache."

Nick maybe? I thought, but I didn't say it aloud.

"We've got two I.S. agents ahead of us, four behind, and the two on the right," Jenks continued. "Trent has his staff on the stage, but it's mixed up with I.S. people. I say we get our asses up there, and trust wonder ghost here to join us when he can."

Pierce tried to look at us, failing. "I can get you across the street."

He looked almost eager for a fight, and I became even more nervous. Damn it, if Pierce messed this up I was going to be pissed! "No black magic!" I demanded, and his jaw clenched. "I mean it! The coven is out there. No black magic! If you can't do it the way I want, I'm not going to let you help me!"

"Let me help you?" he muttered, clearly upset. "I opine you wouldn't know help if it smacked you in the face. Stubborn, bullheaded, wild fey thing of a woman."

I frowned, teeth clenched. Clearly we had a few things to work out. But the crossing light had switched. I wobbled when Pierce took a step, and Jenks's wings hummed, ready to snatch me if I fell. The pavement threw up a wave of heat, buoying Jenks up like a balloon, and he finally took to the air to maintain his balance. Ahead of us waited two more cops. Vamps by the looks of it.

"Steady, Rache," Jenks said. "I'll be with you the entire time."

"Don't you patronize me, too," I said, heart beating fast. How did he survive being so small?

From the stage, Trent was saying, "My family has lived on this land for three generations. In that time, Cincinnati has grown to magnificence, but today she falters. We need to cull the programs that don't work and foster the ones that do, throw out political agendas and instead give the power back to the people so that Cincinnati may regain her greatness! My record speaks for me, and I will speak for you!"

Head down, Pierce angled to get away from the cops, but it wasn't going to happen.

"Hey, you with the hat!"

"I'll get to the stage, Rachel. Don't worry," Pierce whispered, and I shrieked as Jenks snatched me around the waist and darted off. Pierce went the other way, gone in an instant.

"Get the pixy!" rang out, but Jenks and I were across the street and in the square, flying through a forest of polyester slacks.

"Up! Go up!" I shrilled, terrified he was going to run into something, but Jenks laughed.

"They can't hit us down here," he said, and I shrieked, my legs swinging when he darted suddenly to the right. I caught a whiff of ozone. There was an ugly splat, and a woman screamed in pain. Great, they were using spells.

"Son of a Tink," Jenks muttered. I never even saw what it was—Jenks was already three people deeper into the crowd. He went low, wings clattering as the shade of lunkers cooled us. I hung from Jenks's arms, helpless, wide eyed, and feeling like I was on a roller coaster with no brakes. "Hold on!" he shouted as he jerked to a stop.

My head swung forward, then back, hitting his middle. The momentum of my legs pulled us forward, and I squinted at the sudden silver dust as Jenks back-winged us through it.

A haze of brown-tinted ever-after hissed in front of us. It hit the legs of a man. He turned. Shock registered, first at us, and then his legs, now encased in the brown goo. He shrieked, making everyone around him look. Horror filled him, and he tried to push it off, but it clung to his hands and crept up his arms. In seconds he was on the ground, unconscious in a widening circle of fear.

"Oh, that's nasty!" Jenks exclaimed, and I lost my breath as he shot straight up, my ears popping. For an instant, the entire Fountain Square spread before us, a mass of noise and movement, and then he dropped.

"Je-e-e-enks!" I shrieked, terrified. I flopped like a rag doll, but we were almost there.

The pop of radio chatter was a blur as we headed for the stage. "Where in hell is the sticky silk!" someone shouted. Another voice demanded, "Get Kalamack out of here! She's got something in her arms!"

They thought I was Jenks? Were they blind?

News crew lines lay across the gray granite, and the whine of electronics hurt my ears as we dipped and swooped. Adrenaline surged as we found the stage. People in suits fell back at Jenks's darting form, as if he was a deadly bumblebee, and I found Trent at the podium. Two I.S. cops were with him: a vamp and a witch. I pointed to the plywood stage, and Jenks dove for it.

I stumbled as my feet found purchase. Jenks's grip slipped from me, and I looked up to see Quen trying to hustle Trent away. Trent's eyes met mine, and he stopped dead in his tracks, wanting his statue back, no doubt.

"Morgan?" he whispered, his voice finding me over the noise. His eyes narrowed, and Jenks flew up to protect me. There was a hiss of propellant, and he darted away, one wing tangled in sticky silk.

"Non sum qualis eraml" I shouted as brown shoes circled me, making the stage shake.

The world seemed to collapse into me. Sound sucked inward, taking the heat of the sun and the rising damp from the plywood under my bare feet. I felt the curse take hold, and the clicking of a thousand abacuses grew as I was reduced to a thought and rebuilt from the idea of myself stored in the demon database.

I pay this cost, I thought in the perfect silence of nothing. No heartbeat, no pixy wings. Nothing. The smut from the curse coated me in a soothing layer of black, and I shuddered.

I felt the magic rise from the singular point of existence that I was, rushing through me, and I expanded. My aura rang as it adjusted, and suddenly... I was back.

Noise hit me, and I sucked in air. Jenks had gotten me here, but he was paying the price for it, sitting on a news crew antenna trying to get the sticky silk off.

"She was a pixy! You see that? She was a pixy! That's Rachel Morgan! Get a picture!"

"Oh my God," a feminine voice exclaimed as the crowd reacted. "She's naked! Where did she come from? Are you getting this, Frank?"

Frank, the cameraman, was indeed getting this, and I looked for Pierce, almost panicking when I didn't see him. I was absolutely naked and in front of rolling video cameras. I didn't want to think about the Internet in two hours' time. God, my mother...

Trent stared, his one look down and up making me flush. "What the devil are you doing, Rachel?" he said as I snatched his speech from the podium and tried to cover myself.

"Rachel!" I heard, and my head swung around. It was Pierce, three I.S. cops elbowing and tossing people out of their way to get to him. "Catch!"

He threw the statue over six rows of people. It glittered in the sun even as the I.S. agents fell on him. Fear and surprise rang out when Pierce vanished from right under them and they landed on nothing. My hand went up, and with a solid thump, the erotic statue hit my palm. Everyone was looking at the I.S. cops on the ground, not me. Everyone but Trent. He'd seen the statue, and he shoved the pulling hands off him, his want showing, full and hungry.