Kim Harrison - Every Which Way But Dead

Face cold, I could say nothing. He never told me I had made him seize. God help me, I hadn’t known. Jenks had been with him. Why hadn’t he told me?

“I have to catch my breath,” he whispered, giving my hands a squeeze. “To go a few days without remembering that.”

“I’ll stop,” I said, panicking. “I won’t tap a line again. Nick, you don’t have to leave!”

“Yes, I do.” Dropping my hands, he touched my jawline. His smile was pained. “I want you to pull on a line. I want you to practice. Ley line magic is going to save your life someday, and I want you to become the best damned ley line witch Cincinnati has.” He took a breath. “But I have to put some distance between us. Just for a while. And I have some business of out of state. It has nothing to do with you. I’ll be back.”

But he had said August. “You’re not coming back,” I said, my throat closing. “You’ll come for your books, and then you’ll be gone.”

“Rachel—”

“No.” I turned away. The key was cold in my hand, cutting into my palm. Breathe, I reminded myself. “Just go. I’ll bring Jax over tomorrow. Just go.”

I shut my eyes when he put a hand on my shoulder, but I wouldn’t turn. They flashed open when he leaned closer and the scent of musty books and new electronics filled me. “Thank you, Rachel,” he whispered, and there was the lightest touch of lips on mine. “I’m not leaving you. I’ll be back.”

I held my breath and stared at the ugly gray carpet. I wouldn’t cry, damn it. I wouldn’t.

I heard him hesitate, then the soft thumps of his boots on the stairs. My head started to hurt as the muted rumble of his truck vibrated the window at the end of the hall. I waited until I couldn’t hear it anymore before I turned to follow him out, my steps slow and unseeing.

I’d done it again.

I pulled my car carefully into the tiny garage, turning off the lights and then the engine. Depressed, I stared at the spackled wall two feet in front of the grille. Silence soaked in, broken by the ticking of the engine cooling off. Ivy’s bike rested quietly against the side wall, covered in a canvas tarp and stored for the winter. It was going to be dark soon. I knew I should get Jenks inside, but it was hard to find the will to unbuckle my belt and get out of the car.

Jenks dropped to the steering wheel with an attention-getting hum. My hands fell into my lap, shoulders slumping. “Well, at least you know where you stand now,” he offered.

My frustration flared, then died, overwhelmed by a wave of apathy. “He said he’s coming back,” I said glumly, needing to believe the lie until I hardened myself to the truth.

Jenks wrapped his arms about himself, dragonfly wings still. “Rache,” he cajoled. “I like Nick, but you’re going to get two calls. One where he says he misses you and is feeling better, and the last when he says he’s sorry and asks you to give his key to his landlord for him.”

I looked at the wall. “Just let me be stupid and believe him for a while, okay?”

The pixy made a sound of wry agreement. He looked positively chilled, his wings almost black as he hunched, shivering. I’d pushed him past his limits by detouring to Nick’s. I was definitely going to make cookies tonight. He shouldn’t go to sleep cold like that. He might not wake up until spring.

“Ready?” I asked as I opened my bag, and he awkwardly jumped down into it instead of flying. Worried, I debated if I should tuck my bag inside my coat. I settled on putting it in the department store bag and rolling the edges down as far as I could.

Only now did I open the door, being careful not to hit the edge of the garage. Bag in hand, I made my way on the shoveled path to the front door. A sleek black Corvette was parked at the curb, looking out of place and unsafe in the snowy streets. I recognized it as Kisten’s, and my face tightened. I’d been seeing too much of him lately for my liking.

The wind bit at my exposed skin, and I glanced up at the steeple, sharp against the graying clouds. Mincing on the ice, I passed Kisten’s mobile icon of masculinity and rose up the stone steps to the thick wooden double doors. There was no conventional lock, though there was an oak crossbar inside which I set every sunrise before I went to bed. Bending awkwardly, I scooped out a cup of pelletized de-icer from the open bag sitting beside the door and sprinkled it on the steps before the afternoon’s snowmelt had a chance to freeze.

I pushed open the door, my hair drifting in the warm draft that billowed out. Soft jazz came with it, and I slipped inside to latch it softly behind me. I didn’t particularly want to see Kisten—no matter how nice he was on the eyes—though I thought I should probably thank him for recommending me to Takata.

It was dark in the small foyer, the glow of dusk slipping in from the sanctuary beyond doing little to light it. The air smelled like coffee and growing things, sort of a mix between a plant nursery and coffeehouse. Nice. Ceri’s things went atop the small antique table Ivy had swiped from her folks, and I opened up my bag, peering down to see Jenks looking up.

“Thank God,” he muttered as he slowly lifted into the air. Then he hesitated, head cocked as he listened. “Where is everyone?”

I shrugged out of my coat and hung it up on a peg. “Maybe Ivy yelled at your kids again and they’re hiding. Are you complaining?”

He shook his head. He was right, though. It was really quiet. Too quiet. Usually there were head-splitting shrills of pixy children playing tag, an occasional crash from a hanging utensil hitting the kitchen floor, or the snarls of Ivy chasing them out of the living room. The only peace we got were the four hours they slept at noon, and four hours again after midnight.

The warmth of the church was soaking into Jenks, and already his wings were translucent and moving well. I decided to leave Ceri’s things where they were until I could get them across the street to her, and after stomping the snow off my boots beside the melting puddles Kisten had left, I followed Jenks out of the dark foyer and into the quiet sanctuary.

My shoulders eased as I took in the subdued lighting coming in through the knee-to-ceiling-high stained-glass windows. Ivy’s stately baby grand took up one corner in the front, dusted and cared for but played only when I was out. My plant-strewn, rolltop desk was kitty-corner to it, way up in the front on the ankle-high stage where the altar once sat. The huge image of a cross still shadowed the wall above it, soothing and protective. The pews had been removed long before I moved in, leaving an echoing wooden and glass space redolent of peace, solitude, grace, and security. I was safe here.

Jenks stiffened, sending my instincts flaming.

“Now!” shrilled a piercing voice.

Jenks shot straight up, leaving a cloud of pixy dust hanging where he had been like an octopus inking. Heart pounding, I hit the hardwood floor, rolling.

Sharp patters of impacts hit the planks beside me. Fear kept me spinning until I found a corner. Heady, the strength of the graveyard’s ley line surged through me as I tapped it.

“Rachel! It’s my kids!” Jenks cried as a hail of tiny snowballs struck me.