For a Few Demons More
Chapter 14~15
Chapter Fourteen
The dry sifting of wings coming in the high windows drew my attention, and I stood, wiping the sweat from my neck. Jenks? Where had he been five minutes ago, and what in hell was I going to do now? Ivy had said she wouldn't do anything again unless I started it, but could I stay in the church with that kiss resonating between us? Every time she looked at me, I'd be wondering what she was thinking. Maybe that was her intent?
"Hey, Rache," Jenks called cheerfully as he dropped from the ceiling, "where's Ivy going?"
"I don't know." Numb, I headed to the kitchen before he could see my state. Clearly his kid's wings were okay. "Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?" I said, rubbing my sore wrist. Crap, if it bruised, it would look great with my bridesmaid's dress. At least I didn't have a new bite mark to go with it.
"Ah, hell," Jenks said, and I dropped my eyes when I saw his disapproving gaze. "It stinks in here. You pushed her again, didn't you?"
It wasn't a question, and I walked without pause into the kitchen.
"You stupid-ass witch," he said, shedding silver sparkles as he followed. "Is she coming back? You scare her off for good this time? What's wrong with you? Can't you leave it alone?"
"Jenks, shut up," I said flatly, grabbing my forgotten bottled water and heading into the living room. The radio was in there. If I turned it high enough, I wouldn't be able to hear him. "We talked, is all." And she kissed me. "I got a few questions answered." And with her messing with my scar at the same time, it felt really good. Shit. How was I supposed to figure this out? I thought I was straight. I was, wasn't I? Or did I have "latent tendencies"? And if I did, were they really a convenient excuse for thinking with my G-spot? Was that what I was all about? Had I no depth at all?
He followed me into the empty living room, and I sat on the raised hearth, trying to remember how to think. I clicked on the radio to find happy, bouncy music, and I turned it off.
"Well?" Jenks landed on my knee, looking almost hopeful. But then his wings stilled and drooped when I sighed.
"I asked about a blood balance, and she set some rules," I said, looking out the high windows at the undersides of the oak tree's leaves. "She's not going to make a move to touch my blood, but if I even hint that I want her to, it's with the understanding that I want everything."
He looked at me blankly, and I added, "She kissed me, Jenks."
His eyes widened, and a small part of me was reassured that he hadn't seen the entire thing and was hiding the fact. "Did you like it?" he asked bluntly, and I frowned, shifting my knee until he took off to land right where he had been.
"She was playing on my scar at the time," I muttered, blushing. "I got a real good idea what it would be like to let my hair down and go with it, but I don't know where the feelings are coming from anymore. She mixed them all up, then walked out the door."
"So..." Jenks hedged. "What are you going to do?"
I gave him a mirthless smile. His unconditional acceptance was a balm, and the tension eased. He didn't care what Ivy and I did, as long as we stayed together and didn't kill each other. "How should I know?" I said as I stood. "Can we talk about something else?"
"Hell, yes," Jenks said, rising up with me. "You just keep thinking whatever you need to think. As long as you don't leave."
Setting my water on the sill, I took up the broom and started to sweep our brand-new floor again. I wasn't going to leave because Ivy had kissed me. She'd said she wasn't going to do it again, and I believed her, knowing how she'd wanted this since our moving in together, and me being as dumb as a stone because of her ability to hide her desires the way she could. It had been a taste to show me what might be, then a return to the distance we kept to give me the time I needed to think about it. Figure things out. The Turn take it.
Jenks hovered for a moment, then landed on the sill and in the sun. "This is better," he said, scanning the bare walls. "I don't know why you didn't let the guys do it. It wasn't that much, and the amount you saved won't make a dent in what we need to resanctify the church." His face grew worried. "And we are going to resanctify it, right? I mean, we can't move."
Rising from sweeping the dust into the pan, I turned to him, hearing the worry he was trying to hide. It didn't matter how uncomfortable things got between Ivy and me. If the firm fell apart, Jenks would probably lose control of the garden. He had way too many kids, and Matalina wasn't up to staking out new territory. Jenks said she was okay, but I worried.
"We aren't moving," I said flatly, and I dumped the pan in the black contractor bag. "We'll find a way to get the church resanctified." Ivy and I will deal with the uncomfortable situation like we always have... by ignoring it. It was something we were both good at.
Reassured, Jenks glanced into the garden, the sun glinting on his shock of bright yellow hair. "I still say you should've let the guys fix the walls," he said. "What did you save? A hundred bucks? Tink's knickers, that's nothing."
I set the broom aside and shook the trash down in the bag, looking for a twist-tie. "I'll have a big chunk after Trent's wedding. Unless nothing happens, but what are the chances of that?"
Jenks snickered. "With your luck, nothing will."
I scanned the living room and tried to decide how to pick up the bag of trash without getting poked by a stray nail or jagged sliver. Though the space was empty and echoing, the walls were back together and the newly uncovered floor was clean. A quick trip to the store for a new piece of baseboard and we could move everything back. Actually, there was no reason to wait for the baseboard. I could move everything back in now, and finish it later. If I hustled, I could get it back before Ivy returned. It might be easier to do it myself than our doing it together.
"Phone's going to ring," Jenks said from atop the broom's handle, and I froze, jumping when it did.
"God, Jenks, that's creepy," I muttered as I dropped the bag and went to the hearth. I knew he probably heard the electronics click over, but it was still unnerving.
He was grinning as I plucked up the receiver. "Vampiric Charms," I said, adopting my most professional voice. I stuck my tongue out at Jenks, and he merrily flipped me off. "This is Morgan. We can help. Day or night, dead or alive." Where are the freaking pen and paper?
"Rachel? It's Glenn."
My breath puffed out, and I relaxed. "Hi, Glenn," I said, looking for something to sit on and finally moving to the kitchen. "What's up? You got another job for me? Maybe want to arrest another one of my friends?"
"I didn't arrest Mr. Hue, and it's the same job."
He sounded tense, and since the chance to get money out of the FIB didn't come very often, I dropped into my chair at the table. My gaze flicked to Jenks, the pixy having followed me in and clearly listening to both ends of the conversation.
"There's been another Were murder made up to look like a suicide," Glenn said around the noise of FIB scanners and birds, and I wondered if he was on site. "I'd like you and Jenks to give me your Inderlander opinion before they move the body. How soon can you get here? "
I glanced at my construction-dusty jeans and T-shirt, wondering just what he thought I could do that he couldn't. I wasn't a detective. I was a hired spell caster/bounty hunter. Jenks took to the air, darting out the pixy hole in the kitchen screen. "Ah," I hedged, "can't I just come to the morgue and look at the body?"
"You have something better to do?"
I thought about the living room and how I wanted our stuff back in it before Ivy got back. "Well, actually..."
"They're going to try to jerk it out from under me again," Glenn said, drawing my attention back to him, "and I want you to see it before the I.S. has a chance to doctor the body. Rachel..." His voice took on a hard edge. "It's Mrs. Sarong's accountant. You know... the Howlers? He was high in the pack, and no one is happy."
My eyebrows rose. Mrs. Sarong was the owner of Cincinnati's all-Inderland baseball team, the Howlers. It was their fish I had tried to recover from Mr. Ray - the same Mr. Ray whose secretary was already in the morgue. I had forced the woman to pay me for my time, actually meeting her in the process. That there had been two "suicides" from two of Cincinnati's most prominent packs in as many days was not good.
It was obvious someone knew that the focus was in Cincinnati and was trying to find out who had it. I had to get rid of it. The chaos would be astounding if an entire pack could turn humans. Vampires would start culling them. My fingers started to tap the table. Maybe that's what was already happening? Piscary was in jail, but that wouldn't stop him.
The sound of wings was a relief, and Jenks came back in dressed for work, a sword and belt in one hand, a red bandanna in the other. "The murdered Were is Mrs. Sarong's accountant," I said to him as I stood and looked for my shoulder bag.
"Oh." Jenks dropped several inches, a guilty look coming over him. "A-a-a-ah, that might explain the message on the machine."
I covered the phone receiver, unable to hide my exasperation. Jenks...
He made a face, leaking silver sparkles. "I forgot, okay?"
"Rachel?" came Glenn's tiny voice, pulling me back to him.
"Yeah..." I held a hand to my forehead. "Yes. Glenn, I can come out there..." I hesitated. "Where are you?"
Glenn cleared his throat. "Spring Grove," he muttered.
A cemetery. Oooooh, how nice. "Okay," I said, standing up straight and scuffing into my sandals. "See you in a bit."
"Great. Thanks." He sounded preoccupied, as if he were trying to do two things at once.
I took a breath to say good-bye, but Glenn had hung up. Eyeing Jenks, I thumbed the phone off and cocked my hip. "I have a message?" I said dryly.
Jenks looked uncomfortable as he put the bandanna on, to look like an inner-city gang member in his black working clothes. "Mr. Ray wants to talk to you," he said softly.
I thought about his secretary having been murdered and the I. S. not only looking the other way but trying to cover it up. "I'll bet." Grabbing my bag, I looked to make sure I had all my usual spells. The thought occurred to me that Mr, Ray might be the one killing the Weres, but why would he kill his own secretary first? Maybe Mrs. Sarong had murdered the woman and the second killing had been in retaliation? I was getting a headache.
Remembering my suspended license, I hesitated, but what kind of image would I have if I arrived on a crime scene by bus, and I pulled out my keys. My gaze went to the shelves under the center island counter. Leaning, I smiled when the smooth, heavy weight of my splat-ball gun filled my palm. The metal parts clicked comfortingly as I checked the reservoir. Spells stored in amulets were good for a year, but unstored, invoked potions lasted only a week. These were three weeks old and useless, but waving my gun around made me feel good and ticked Glenn off. I dropped it into my bag as Jenks finished writing a note for Ivy. "Ready?" I asked him.
He flew to my shoulder, bringing the delicate scent of the soap Matalina washed his clothes in. "You want to take his ketchup?" he asked.
"Oh, yeah." I strode into the pantry, coming out with the gallon jar of super-duper belly-buster hot jalapeño salsa and the big red tomato I had gotten him as a surprise. Pulse fast, I headed for the hall, a gallon of salsa on my hip, a tomato in my hand, and a pixy on my shoulder.
Yeah, we bad.
Chapter Fifteen
The afternoon sun was hot, and easing my car door shut, I gave it a bump with my hip to latch it. My fingers were sticky from the pastry I'd eaten en route, and I scanned the sparrow-noisy grounds while I dug a tissue out of my bag. Wiping my fingers clean, I wondered if I should have taken five minutes to change into a more professional outfit than shorts and a top-professionalism being something I desperately needed, seeing as I was skulking around the mausoleum that I'd parked my car behind.
Jenks had run vanguard for me as I took the back roads to Spring Grove. If I had driven the interstate, the I.S. would have nailed my butt to a broomstick. It had made for slow travel - driving three blocks, parking, waiting for Jenks to do some recon, then moving forward another three blocks - but I couldn't stomach the idea of taking a cab. And as I hiked my shoulder bag higher and headed across the grass, I again thanked God I had friends.
"Thanks, Jenks," I said, stumbling when my sandals hit a dip the mower had hidden. His wings tickled my neck, and I added, "I appreciate you running rabbit for me with the I.S."
"Hey, it's my job."
There was more than a hint of annoyance to it, and, feeling guilty for having asked him to fly twice what I had driven, I said, "It's not your job to make sure my butt stays out of traffic court," then added softly, "I'll go to driver's-ed class tonight. I promise."
Jenks laughed. The tinkling sound brought out three pixies from the nearby bank of evergreens, but upon seeing Jenks's red bandana, they vanished. The obvious color was his first line of defense against territorial pixies and fairies, a sign of good intentions and a promise not to poach. They'd watch us but wouldn't start catapulting thorns unless Jenks sampled the meager pollen or nectar sources. I'd rather have pixies watching me than fairies, though, and I liked the idea that pixies had Spring Grove. They must be well structured, since the grounds were huge.
The sprawling cemetery was said to have been originally developed to tastefully "rehouse" cholera victims in the late 1800s. It was one of the first garden cemeteries in the Unites States; the undead liked their parks as much as the next person did. It had been hard to keep your newly undead relatives out of the ground back then, and being unearthed in such peaceful settings must have been a small favor. I had to wonder if the large, hidden vampire population Cincy had in those days had much to do with how the Queen City gained the dubious distinction of being known for grave robbing. It wasn't so much that they were supplying the multitudes of teaching hospitals with cadavers but pulling their relatives out of the ground and back where they belonged.
Scanning the quiet, parklike grounds, I wiped my mouth of the last of the frosting. The feel of my fingers across my lips brought Ivy to mind for obvious reasons, and I warmed. God, I should have done something, But no-o-o-o-o, I stood there like an idiot, too surprised to move. I hadn't reacted, and now I was going to have to think about how to handle this instead of settling it right then. Stupid-ass witch.
"You okay?" Jenks asked, and I pulled my hand down.
"Peachy," I said sourly, and he laughed.
"You're thinking of Ivy," he needled, and my flush deepened.
"Well, duh," I said, stumbling on a marker set even with the ground. "You have your roommate kiss you, and you see if you can just forget it."
"Hell," Jenks said, flying just out of my reach with a grin on his face. "If one of you kissed me, I wouldn't have to think. Matalina would kill me. Relax. It was only a kiss."
I plodded over the grounds, following the sound of radios. This was just what I needed. As if an insane demon tearing apart my church weren't enough, I now had a four-inch man telling me to lighten up, go with the flow, live life - don't analyze it.
Jenks's wing clatter softened, and he lit on my shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Rache," he said, his voice unusually solemn. "You're you, and Ivy is Ivy. Nothing has changed."
"Yeah?" I muttered, not seeing it that clearly.
"Angle to the left," he said cheerfully. "I can smell dead Were down there."
"That's nice," I answered, continuing on past a marker and cutting a soft left. Downslope and through the trees were the flashing amber and blue lights of a multispecies ambulance. I'm not too late, I thought, arms swinging as we passed a huge stone marked WEIL. Beyond a row of cedars was an artificial pond, and between that and the evergreens was a cluster of people.
"Rache," Jenks said, his voice introspective. "You think this has anything to do with - "
"The bushes have ears," I warned.
"The thing I picked up for Matalina on our last vacation?" he amended, and my lips twitched in amusement. I had twisted a demon curse to move the curse in the focus to a knickknack. That it had slowly changed form to look like the original statue was just plain creepy.
Eyes on my feet, I murmured, "Mmmm-hmm. I'd be surprised if it wasn't."
"You think this is Trent looking for it? "
"I don't think Trent knows it exists," I said. "I'd be more inclined to think it's Mr. Ray or Mrs. Sarong, and they're killing each other as they try to find it."
Jenks's wings sent a cool breeze across my neck. "What about Piscary?"
"Maybe, but he wouldn't be having this much trouble covering it up," I said, glancing up when the men's tone of voice shifted, indicating that I'd been seen. I slowed at the hushed mutter of my name, but since everyone was looking at me, I didn't know who'd said it. There were two FIB vehicles, a black I.S. van, an I.S. cruiser, and an ambulance parked in the turnaround. Counting the third FIB vehicle at the cemetery's back entrance, the FIB presence was stronger than the I.S.'s, and I wondered if Glenn was pushing his luck. It had been a Were suicide.
The cluster of men surrounded a dark shadow at the foot of the cedars and a tall tombstone, and a second group in FIB uniforms and suits waited like cubs at a lion's kill. Glenn was with them, and while catching my eye he said a few words to the man next to him, touched the hilt of his weapon for reassurance, and headed over. People turned away, and I relaxed.
My feet scuffed the grass, and I cringed upon realizing I'd walked right on one of those markers set flush with the ground. Nervousness struck deep when a familiar bulk beside the tombstone straightened and Denon's brown eyes met mine. He was wearing a suit today instead of his usual slacks and polo shirt, and I wondered if he was trying to keep up with Glenn, who looked great in his suit. I'm not afraid of Denon, I thought, then gave in and sneered at him.
Denon's jaw clenched, ignoring the slight man in jeans and a lightweight short-sleeved shirt who had stepped forward to talk to him. I thought of my car and got worried. "Hey, Jenks," I said, lips barely moving, "why don't you flit around and see what you can overhear? Let me know if they find my car, huh? "
"You got it," he said, and with a sparkling of pixy dust he was gone.
Trying to look as if I'd been doing a reconnaissance of the surrounding area instead of hiking my way in, I angled to meet Glenn. He looked frustrated. The FIB was probably being pushed out of the investigation. I knew how bad that felt but had little sympathy, since he'd been the one pushing me out last time.
I took off my sunglasses as I stepped under the shade of the massive tree, tucking them to hang from the waistband of my shorts. "What's the matter, Glenn?" I said in greeting when he took my elbow and led me to an abandoned FIB cruiser. "Won't that nasty wasty vampire let you play in the sandbox? "
"Thanks for coming out, Rachel," he grumbled. "Where's Jenks?"
"Around," I said, and he sourly gave me my temp tag. I pinned it on before I leaned against the FIB cruiser, crossed my arms over my stomach, and waited for the good news.
Running a hand across his smooth chin, Glenn sighed, turning so he could see me and the crime scene both. His dark eyes were tired, and there were faint worry lines at the corners, making him seem older than he was. His trim stature looked powerful even beside Denon, and his military background mixed well with his suit and loosened tie. Glenn had come a long way in a year as far as understanding Inderlanders, and while I knew he respected Denon's position, he didn't respect the man. He didn't mind telegraphing that either, which might be a problem. I had two big men with something to prove at a crime scene. Lucky me.
"How did you get out here?" he asked softly, his eyes envious as the I.S. collected their data. "I sent a car for you, but you'd left."
I put my arms to my side and fidgeted. Glenn slowly turned. "You drove?" he accused, and I flushed. "You promised me you wouldn't."
"No I didn't. I only said I wouldn't, not promised. I didn't know you were sending a car. And they don't have a bus run to the cemetery. There aren't enough pickups to warrant it."
He snorted, and both our postures eased. Glenn's weary gaze went to the body at the foot of the cedars, and I crossed my arms over my chest again. "You want to bull your way in there or wait until after they contaminate everything?" I asked.
Glenn rocked into motion, and I followed. "It's too late," he said. "I was waiting for you. Seeing as he's an Inderlander, I'm only going to get one look at him unless I can link him hard and fast to the murder of Mr. Ray's secretary."
I nodded, watching my feet so I wouldn't walk on any more markers. "I talked to Mr. Ray on the way over," I offered, and Glenn looked askance at me. "I have an appointment with him later today at his office." My hand went up when he took a breath. "You aren't coming with me, so don't ask - but I will tell you what we talked about if it touches on this." I couldn't bring a FIB detective to a client meeting. How lame was that?
Glenn looked ready to protest but then dropped his gaze. "Thank you."
The easing of my tension didn't last, and my blood pressure went higher the closer we got to the body. My nose started working, and over the scent of musk gone rank and excited vampire was the smell of redwood. I smoothed my expression into nothing, my gaze going to the tidy-looking guy in jeans and dress shirt standing a little apart from everyone. They have a witch out here? Interesting.
The circle of Inderlanders parted to show a Were corpse sprawled dramatically at the base of a large tombstone, the grass stained with black blood. A dead wolf the size of a pony was a lot less disturbing than a naked man, even one that had blood matting his fur and the eyes rolled back so far the whites showed. A hind leg had a clean tear to the bone, slicing the femoral artery open. The scent of blood was strong, and my gut tightened. Suicide? I thought, averting my gaze. I doubted it.
Denon was smiling at me with his lips closed to hide his human teeth. Beside him the witch's nostrils widened as he took in my scent hidden behind the orange spice perfume I used to muddle Ivy's instincts. His mouth quirked, and he touched his clean-shaven chin with the back of his hand. My skin prickled when he tapped a line, and I didn't know whether to be insulted or flattered that he thought I was a threat. What did he think I was going to do? Curse everyone? But upon remembering he could see my aura as easy as sneezing and that it was covered in black demon smut, I couldn't blame him.
Two men stood from their crouch over the corpse, leaving one to take core samples to determine how far the blood had soaked into the ground. I felt like we had interrupted punks tormenting a dog to death, and I forced myself not to back up when they turned their attention to us.
Glenn looked cool and casual in his suit and with his gun on his hip, but I knew by the strong scent of cologne coming off of him that he was wired for action. Eyes fixed on Denon's, he said evenly, "Ms. Morgan and my team would like a moment with the body before you move it."
Someone snickered, and my face warmed.
"Whoring for the FIB, Morgan?" Denon said, ignoring Glenn. "I see the bus is picking you up again. Or did you need to use a disguise to get them to stop for you?"
I frowned, sensing Glenn's rising anger. Denon's honey-smooth voice made him sound like he should be hawking negligees on the women's channel. My God, it was beautiful, and I wondered if it was what had attracted his vampire master in the first place. That, and his deliciously dark skin now marked and scarred beyond belief. It hadn't been that way when he was my boss. Clearly things had changed.
"You seem upset, Denon," I taunted. "I bet you had some splainin' to do about almost releasing that murder victim." I smiled sweetly. "Be a prince and run the updated coroner's report over to me this afternoon? I'd be interested to see what you almost burned in the kilns."
The witch snickered, and the last Were rose, his gaze darting nervously. Denon's pupils widened to shrink the rim of brown about them. It wasn't as obvious as last year. He was losing status with whoever had promised to turn him when he died. A few more years like this and Denon wouldn't be much more than a shadow. And given his anger, I think he blamed me.
The Weres flanking him fell back at Denon's thick, casually moving fingers. The man eased closer with the same grace as before, but it lacked the threat it once had. That I wasn't trapped in a five-by-five cubicle probably helped.
"Leave," he said, his words smelling of baking soda toothpaste. "This is an I.S. matter."
Glenn stiffened, his hand nowhere near his gun. "Is that a refusal to let us examine the body?"
Denon moved his hard-muscled bulk gracefully in undeniable threat.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I cried, then lurched back when Denon's arm shot out, his hand reaching for my raised arm.
Glenn moved, his squat stature stepping smoothly in front of me to grab Denon's hand. In a motion as sweet and smooth as melted chocolate, he twisted Denon's arm, levering the larger, muscle-bound man into submission. I blinked, watching with wide eyes. It was over already.
Bent at the waist, the living vampire shifted his weight. Glenn's grip tightened, and his feet scuffed for better traction. The Weres retreated, tense as Denon's neck reddened. Facing the ground and his arm held straight behind him, he was like a kitten being held by the scruff of his neck. Something popped, and Denon grunted.
Glenn leaned closer while holding the bigger man helpless. "You," the FIB detective said softly, "are a disgrace." He pushed on Denon's arm, and the man grunted again, sweat beading up on his shaved head. "Either crap or get off the pot, but this halfway nothing is giving the rest of us a bad name." Shoving him away, Glenn set his hand comfortably near the butt of his weapon.
Denon caught his balance and spun to face us. Hatred that Glenn had shown him up in front of his peons radiated from him. It was obvious his shoulder hurt, but he didn't touch it.
"I can handle my own battles, Glenn," I said dryly to distract Denon. I might survive one of Denon's retaliations, but Glenn was vulnerable without his gun and the element of surprise.
Glenn frowned. "He wasn't going to fight you fair," he said, handing me one of those zip-strips with a charmed core of silver that the I.S. used to keep ley line witches in custody.
My eyes went from the innocuous-seeming strip of plastic to the witch, then to Denon, scowling. "You little pissant," I said loudly. "What's the matter with you? All I want to do is look at the body. You got something to hide?" I took a step forward, and Glenn caught my arm. "If you've got a beef with me, let's do coffee and I'll explain things to you in little words," I said, jerking from Glenn. "Otherwise, get out of my way so we can do our job. Until murder has been ruled out, the FIB has as much right to look at the body as you do."
The little vein in Denon's forehead had popped, and the low-blood vamp gestured for everyone to fall back to the van. They moved slowly, hands in their pockets or fiddling with equipment. From out of sight, I heard the rustling of the FIB guys. The tension grew, not lessened, and I pressed my weight into the earth in case I had to move fast. Ceri's advice to avoid ley line magic flitted through me, but I sent a thought out for the nearest line anyway.
"You're a fool, Morgan," Denon said, his resonant voice vibrating in me though he stood ten feet away beside a tall tombstone. "Your search for the truth is going to kill you."
That sounded more like a threat than before, but he was walking away, I.S. personnel trailing behind him. At a loss, I tucked the zip-strip into my bag and looked for Jenks while Glenn organized the FIB personnel. Jenks was staying out of sight, though I'm sure he had seen the encounter. Slowly my pulse eased, soothed by the sounds of the insects and lapping water.
Glenn would have a hissy fit if I tried to look at the body before he was ready, and seeing the witch standing by himself, I smiled. It had been ages since I'd talked shop with anyone, and I missed it. He stared at me, and with that stellar response, I checked my impulse to go over.
"We're done here," Denon said loudly to the subordinate Weres.
"Leave the cleanup for the FIB." It was condescending, but Glenn made a pleased sound, making me think he didn't want to share his separate findings. Denon must have heard him, for when the officers headed for their vehicles, the living vampire grabbed the witch's arm and pulled him aside.
"I want you to stay," he said, and the man's eyes narrowed, the sun peeking through the leaves to make eerie shadows on him. "I want a report as to what the FIB does and finds."
"I'm not your lackey," the witch said, eyeing Denon's grip. "If you want my findings, submit a request at the Arcane's front desk like everyone else. Get your hand off me."
My eyebrows rose. He works in the Arcane Division? My dad worked in the Arcane. I looked him over with a new interest. Then I caught myself, cursing my idiotic attraction to the dangerous. God, I was a fool.
Denon let go of the witch's arm. Stiff and prideful, the big man headed for the van, gesturing to make the Were in the front passenger's seat move to the back. The door slammed shut, and shifting back and forth, the van worked its way onto the thin strip of pavement. The other I.S. vehicle followed, leaving us, the ambulance, and the witch - the latter having no way to get back to the I. S. tower that I could see. Man... I knew how he felt.
Sympathy rose high. Gathering my resolve, I headed over. I'm being nice, not looking for a date, I told myself, but he did have pretty blue eyes, and his hair was that soft curly brown that would feel oh so nice between my fingers.
From behind me came Glenn's hushed but impatient words, and the guys in lab coats descended on the Were like birds. Jenks dropped out of the oak tree, startling me with his harsh wing clatter when he landed on my shoulder. "Ah, Rache?"
"Can it wait?" I muttered. "I want to talk to this guy."
"You have a boyfriend," he warned. "And a girlfriend," he added, making me frown. "I know you. Don't overcompensate because of one lousy kiss."
"I'm just going to say hi," I said, stifling a swat at him. And it hadn't been a lousy kiss. It had been a pulse-pounding, hell-of-a-kiss that had shocked me and left me breathless. I only had to figure out if the thrill had been an honest emotion stemming from Ivy or my shallowly reveling in the wicked thrill of being someone I really wasn't. My eyes dropped. It matters. One will lead to hard questions about myself, the other will hurt Ivy. Leading her on just so I can find a thrill is really, really wrong, and I'm not going to do it.
Forcing a smile, I halted before the guy. His I.S. badge said TOM BANSEN, and he used to have long hair, according to his picture. "I'm Rachel - " I started, extending my hand.
"I know. Excuse me."
It was terse, and, pushing past my extended hand, he went to stand over the FIB personnel and watch them take their data. Jenks snickered, and I stood there with my mouth hanging open. My eyes fell to my outfit. It wasn't that unprofessional. "I just wanted to say hi," I said, hurt.
"He doesn't smell as witchy as you do," Jenks said smugly. "But before your head swells up, if he works in the Arcane, he's classically trained and would flatten you. Remember Lee?"
My breath came and went, and I felt a stab of worry about this Friday. I had devoted my life to earth magic, and while not any less strong than ley line, it was slower. Ley line was flashy and dramatic, with a quick invocation and wider application. Demon magic mixed them both into something very fast, very powerful, and everlasting. Only a handful of people knew I could invoke demon magic, but the smut on my soul was easy to see. Perhaps that, along with my growing reputation that I dealt in demons, had him on edge.
I couldn't let the misunderstanding stand, so, ignoring Jenks's muttered dire predictions of hell and snowflakes, I sidled up alongside Tom. "Look, maybe we got off on the wrong foot," I said against the murmuring backdrop of the FIB conversation. "Do you need a ride anywhere when this is done?"
"No."
The denial was downright hostile, and the FIB guys crouched over the body looked up, eyes wide.
Tom turned and walked away. Pulse pounding, I took a step after him. "I don't deal with demons!" I said loudly, not caring what the FIB thought.
The young man retrieved a long coat hanging over a tombstone, draping it over his arm. "And you got that demon to testify how? That mark on your wrist is from what? "
I took a breath, then let it out. What could I say?
Looking justified, he walked off, leaving me surrounded by FIB personnel trying not to meet my eyes. Damn it, I thought, my jaw clenched and my stomach churning. I was used to fear and mistrust from humans, but from my own kind? Mood sour, I hitched up my shoulder bag, Tom had a cell phone pressed to his ear. He'd get a ride. Why had I even bothered?
Jenks cleared his throat, and I started, having forgotten he had been sitting on my shoulder the entire time. "Don't worry about it, Rache," he said in a small voice. "He was just scared."
"Thanks," I said. While I appreciated the thought, somehow it didn't make me feel much better. Tom hadn't looked scared. He had looked hostile.
From across the way, Glenn finished giving instructions to a young officer. Clapping him on the shoulder, he headed in my direction, the gleam back in his eyes and his posture holding a repressed excitement. "Ready to take a look?" he said, his thick hands rubbing together.
I glanced at the dead Were, nose wrinkling. "What about the footies?" I said dryly, remembering the last time I was at one of his precious crime scenes.
He shook his head, eyes on the body. "They fouled the site," he said, his disgust at the I.S.'s techniques clear. "Apart from throwing up on the victim, you can't make it any worse."
"Gee, thanks," I said, jumping when his hand hit my shoulder companionably. I smiled at him so he knew it wasn't unwelcome, just surprising, and he squinted.
"Don't let it get to you," the FIB detective said softly, his dark expressive eyes going to the witch's distant silhouette among the tombstones. "We know you're a good woman."
"Thanks," I said, exhaling to let the hurt go. What do I care what one witch thinks anyway? Even if he is cute?
From my ear Jenks snickered. "Awwww, you two are so sweet, I could fart fairy balls."
Tossing my hair to make him fly away, I turned my attention downward. The men at the body had finished their preliminary look and moved off, loudly discussing how long the corpse had been here. It couldn't have been more than since morning; the smell wasn't bad, and there was no tissue damage from decay or flies yet. And yesterday had been hot.
My thoughts flashed back to a gutted deer carcass I'd found in the woods this spring, and, steadying myself, I crouched beside Glenn. I was glad that my nose wasn't as sensitive as Jenks's. The pixy looked positively green. After letting him hover uncertainly for a moment, I swung my hair out of the way in invitation, and he immediately landed on my shoulder. His warm hands gripped my ear, and he took dramatic breath after noisy breath, complaining about the reek of alcohol that my perfume used to carry the orange scent. Glenn glanced at us as if wondering what the hell we were on about. I turned my attention downward.
Mrs. Sarong's personal aide made a very powerful wolf, and to think that the person in fur before me had committed suicide was ludicrous. He had the silky black hair most Weres did, his lips pulled back to show teeth whiter than a show dog's, now stained with his own blood. That his bowels had released somewhere else was proof to me that the body had been dumped. A bad feeling rose as Denon's words echoed in my memory. The I.S. was covering something up, and with me helping the FIB, it was coming out. Someone wasn't going to be happy about that.
Maybe I should just walk away.
"He didn't die here," I said softly, settling in more firmly where I crouched.
"I agree." Glenn shifted uncomfortably. "He was identified from an ear tattoo, and it's only been about twelve hours that he's not been accounted for. The first victim had been missing for twice that."
Damn, I thought, feeling a chill. Someone was getting serious.
Glenn picked up a foreleg and rubbed a thumb against the hair. "This has been cleaned."
Jenks flitted down, his tiny feet hovering just above the dull nails, almost as long as he was tall. "It smells like alcohol," he said, hands on his hips as he slowly rose. "I'd bet my back acres that he had medical tape on him like that secretary."
My eyes met Glenn's, and he set the Were's foot down. Without finding the tape, this speculation didn't mean squat. From the blood on his teeth, it looked likely that the leg wound he'd bled himself out from was self-inflicted, but now I wondered if "looked" was the key word. It had been given more succinctly than in Mrs. Sarong's secretary's case, as if someone were gaining experience. Blood matted his hindquarters and soaked the ground. It was probably Were blood, but I doubted the blood on his fur and the blood on the ground was from the same person.
"Jenks, any needle marks?" I questioned, and his wings hummed to life. He hovered over the ruined leg for a moment, then landed on Glenn's offered hand.
"I can't say. There's too much hair. I can go with you to the morgue if you want," he offered to Glenn, and the man grunted an affirmative.
Okay, it's only a matter of time before the two crimes are linked. "Think it's worth flossing his teeth?" I asked, remembering the medical tape in the woman's teeth.
It was Glenn's turn to shake his head. "No, I'm guessing the body was cleaned before it was dumped." A heavy sigh came from him, and he stood. Jenks took flight to land on the tombstone behind the Were. I tried to memorize the name on it, wondering if it might be important. Crap, I wasn't a detective. How would I know what was important or not?
"Proving he's been moved isn't a problem," Glenn said from above me. "It's tying this one to Mr. Ray's secretary that's the problem. Maybe after we get him turned back, he might have pressure or needle marks."
I rose as well, noticing that whoever had dumped the body had taken the time to press the Were's paws into the grass to get them dirty, but it was obviously surface dirt. His nails were as clean as if he'd been working at a desk the last twelve hours. Or strapped to a medical gurney.
"At the very least, you can get a proper necropsy," I offered. "The body has been moved. The I.S. has to admit that murder is a possibility. You'll find a link to Mr. Ray's secretary."
"And it might give the I.S. time to fabricate whatever evidence they want," Glenn said bitterly, pulling a pack of wipes out from a breast pocket and handing me one.
I hadn't touched the body, but I took it since Glenn obviously felt I should. "He'll have needle marks. Someone killed him. I mean, how do you tear yourself up enough to kill yourself but leave your feet clean and smelling of alcohol? "
Glenn's eyes were on the Were. "I have to prove it, Rachel."
I shrugged, wanting to get home and shower before my meeting with Mr. Ray. Prove it, shmove it. That wasn't my job. Just point me at someone to bring in and I'm there. "If we can find out who is doing it, we'll have a better idea how to find the proof," I said, but I wouldn't meet his eyes. I had a bad feeling the why they'd been killed was sitting in my freezer, and the who was a short list of Cincy's finest: Piscary, Trent, Mr. Ray, and Mrs. Sarong. I think I could cross Newt off the list. She wouldn't bother to cover anything up.
"Do you need me anymore?" I said, handing the used wipe back to him.
Glenn's eyes had lost their sparkle and were tired again. "No. Thank you."
"Why did you have me come out here, then?" I chided him. "I didn't to a flipping thing."
His dark neck reddened, and I followed him to the FIB vehicle. Behind us was the chatter of the ambulance guys getting to their feet to move the body to the city morgue. "I wanted to see Denon's reaction to you," he muttered.
"You got me out here because you wanted to see Denon's reaction?" I exclaimed, and several heads turned. The FIB officers were smiling like it was a joke - and I was the butt of it.
Inclining his head in amusement, Glenn took my arm. "Cut me some slack, Rachel," he said. "You saw him in the morgue. He didn't want you there and was afraid you'd see something us poor humans would miss. That points to obstruction of justice. Someone is looking for that statue you have, and you're damned lucky they aren't looking at you. Is it still in the mail system? "
I nodded, thinking it would be a mistake to do otherwise. Glenn's grip tightened as he walked us forward. "I could force you to give it to me," he said.
Ticked, I jerked away from him and stopped. "I brought that jar of salsa you wanted," I said, almost loud enough for the surrounding FIB officers to hear, and the man went gray. It wasn't my threat of withholding it but that I'd make public he liked tomatoes. Yeah, it was that bad.
"That's low," Glenn said, his eyes coming back to mine.
"Then find someone else to pimp your ketchup," I said, guilt making me flush.
Jenks dropped from the trees, startling the FIB officer. "Rache," the pixy said, giving no indication of what he thought of my blackmail, "I'll get you home, then go to the morgue. I want to see if the body has needle marks. I can be back before you go to talk to Mr. Ray."
I might have to be at the church alone with Ivy, was my first thought. "Sounds good," I said, then feeling bad, I whispered to Glenn, "I was serious about the salsa. You want it now?"
He tightened his jaw, clearly angry, and Jenks laughed. "Give it up, you lousy cookie," the pixy cajoled. "You have no right to the focus, and you know it."
"It's jalapeño," I coaxed. "Burn your freaking eyeballs out of their sockets."
Glenn's irate look faltered, and when Jenks nodded in encouragement, Glenn licked his lips. "Jalapeño?" he murmured, his focus blurring.
"A gallon," I said, feeling the thrill of the deal. "Do you find any zip-strips?"
Glenn's awareness abruptly cleared. "I'm working on them, but it's going to take some time. Do you want a pair of cuffs in the meanwhile?"
"Sure," I said, though they wouldn't stop a ley line witch. "I lost the first pair you gave me in the ever-after." Man... I missed my old cuffs with the charms and everything. Maybe I could put the right spells into the decorative charms Kisten had given me with my bracelet. I'd have to ask what kind of metal they were.
Glenn looked guilty as he scanned the people behind me collecting data. "I need a few days," he said, his lips barely moving as he slipped me his cuffs. "Can you hold on to it for me?"
I nodded as I tucked the sliding metal in my bag, then turned my attention to Jenks. "Ready?"
The pixy rose up. "See you at the car." His wings blurred, and then he was gone, heading across the cemetery at head height, dodging tombstones like a hummingbird on a mission.
Glenn's lips pressed, and, seeing a coming argument, I warmed. "Jenks is running vanguard for me," I said, tossing my hair behind my shoulder. "We got it covered." I have to get to that class. This is really getting old.
"Rachel?"
I halted my motion to leave, turning to arch my eyebrows at him.
"Take it easy," he said, a hand in the air in surrender. "Call me if you need bail."
My smile deepened. "Thanks, Glenn," I said, glad the ugly scene about the focus had been averted. "I'm going to class tonight. Really."
"Do that," he said, then turned back to his team, calling for some guy named Parker.
I felt funny walking across the grass between the grave markers to the car, plodding in Jenks's lightning-fast wake. My steps were small as I trudged up the hill, my head down to look for those flat markers. I swung my bag around and dug for my zebra-striped car key, but when I came around the corner of the large marker my car was behind, I stopped dead in my tracks.
Someone was messing with my backseat.
The dry sifting of wings coming in the high windows drew my attention, and I stood, wiping the sweat from my neck. Jenks? Where had he been five minutes ago, and what in hell was I going to do now? Ivy had said she wouldn't do anything again unless I started it, but could I stay in the church with that kiss resonating between us? Every time she looked at me, I'd be wondering what she was thinking. Maybe that was her intent?
"Hey, Rache," Jenks called cheerfully as he dropped from the ceiling, "where's Ivy going?"
"I don't know." Numb, I headed to the kitchen before he could see my state. Clearly his kid's wings were okay. "Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?" I said, rubbing my sore wrist. Crap, if it bruised, it would look great with my bridesmaid's dress. At least I didn't have a new bite mark to go with it.
"Ah, hell," Jenks said, and I dropped my eyes when I saw his disapproving gaze. "It stinks in here. You pushed her again, didn't you?"
It wasn't a question, and I walked without pause into the kitchen.
"You stupid-ass witch," he said, shedding silver sparkles as he followed. "Is she coming back? You scare her off for good this time? What's wrong with you? Can't you leave it alone?"
"Jenks, shut up," I said flatly, grabbing my forgotten bottled water and heading into the living room. The radio was in there. If I turned it high enough, I wouldn't be able to hear him. "We talked, is all." And she kissed me. "I got a few questions answered." And with her messing with my scar at the same time, it felt really good. Shit. How was I supposed to figure this out? I thought I was straight. I was, wasn't I? Or did I have "latent tendencies"? And if I did, were they really a convenient excuse for thinking with my G-spot? Was that what I was all about? Had I no depth at all?
He followed me into the empty living room, and I sat on the raised hearth, trying to remember how to think. I clicked on the radio to find happy, bouncy music, and I turned it off.
"Well?" Jenks landed on my knee, looking almost hopeful. But then his wings stilled and drooped when I sighed.
"I asked about a blood balance, and she set some rules," I said, looking out the high windows at the undersides of the oak tree's leaves. "She's not going to make a move to touch my blood, but if I even hint that I want her to, it's with the understanding that I want everything."
He looked at me blankly, and I added, "She kissed me, Jenks."
His eyes widened, and a small part of me was reassured that he hadn't seen the entire thing and was hiding the fact. "Did you like it?" he asked bluntly, and I frowned, shifting my knee until he took off to land right where he had been.
"She was playing on my scar at the time," I muttered, blushing. "I got a real good idea what it would be like to let my hair down and go with it, but I don't know where the feelings are coming from anymore. She mixed them all up, then walked out the door."
"So..." Jenks hedged. "What are you going to do?"
I gave him a mirthless smile. His unconditional acceptance was a balm, and the tension eased. He didn't care what Ivy and I did, as long as we stayed together and didn't kill each other. "How should I know?" I said as I stood. "Can we talk about something else?"
"Hell, yes," Jenks said, rising up with me. "You just keep thinking whatever you need to think. As long as you don't leave."
Setting my water on the sill, I took up the broom and started to sweep our brand-new floor again. I wasn't going to leave because Ivy had kissed me. She'd said she wasn't going to do it again, and I believed her, knowing how she'd wanted this since our moving in together, and me being as dumb as a stone because of her ability to hide her desires the way she could. It had been a taste to show me what might be, then a return to the distance we kept to give me the time I needed to think about it. Figure things out. The Turn take it.
Jenks hovered for a moment, then landed on the sill and in the sun. "This is better," he said, scanning the bare walls. "I don't know why you didn't let the guys do it. It wasn't that much, and the amount you saved won't make a dent in what we need to resanctify the church." His face grew worried. "And we are going to resanctify it, right? I mean, we can't move."
Rising from sweeping the dust into the pan, I turned to him, hearing the worry he was trying to hide. It didn't matter how uncomfortable things got between Ivy and me. If the firm fell apart, Jenks would probably lose control of the garden. He had way too many kids, and Matalina wasn't up to staking out new territory. Jenks said she was okay, but I worried.
"We aren't moving," I said flatly, and I dumped the pan in the black contractor bag. "We'll find a way to get the church resanctified." Ivy and I will deal with the uncomfortable situation like we always have... by ignoring it. It was something we were both good at.
Reassured, Jenks glanced into the garden, the sun glinting on his shock of bright yellow hair. "I still say you should've let the guys fix the walls," he said. "What did you save? A hundred bucks? Tink's knickers, that's nothing."
I set the broom aside and shook the trash down in the bag, looking for a twist-tie. "I'll have a big chunk after Trent's wedding. Unless nothing happens, but what are the chances of that?"
Jenks snickered. "With your luck, nothing will."
I scanned the living room and tried to decide how to pick up the bag of trash without getting poked by a stray nail or jagged sliver. Though the space was empty and echoing, the walls were back together and the newly uncovered floor was clean. A quick trip to the store for a new piece of baseboard and we could move everything back. Actually, there was no reason to wait for the baseboard. I could move everything back in now, and finish it later. If I hustled, I could get it back before Ivy returned. It might be easier to do it myself than our doing it together.
"Phone's going to ring," Jenks said from atop the broom's handle, and I froze, jumping when it did.
"God, Jenks, that's creepy," I muttered as I dropped the bag and went to the hearth. I knew he probably heard the electronics click over, but it was still unnerving.
He was grinning as I plucked up the receiver. "Vampiric Charms," I said, adopting my most professional voice. I stuck my tongue out at Jenks, and he merrily flipped me off. "This is Morgan. We can help. Day or night, dead or alive." Where are the freaking pen and paper?
"Rachel? It's Glenn."
My breath puffed out, and I relaxed. "Hi, Glenn," I said, looking for something to sit on and finally moving to the kitchen. "What's up? You got another job for me? Maybe want to arrest another one of my friends?"
"I didn't arrest Mr. Hue, and it's the same job."
He sounded tense, and since the chance to get money out of the FIB didn't come very often, I dropped into my chair at the table. My gaze flicked to Jenks, the pixy having followed me in and clearly listening to both ends of the conversation.
"There's been another Were murder made up to look like a suicide," Glenn said around the noise of FIB scanners and birds, and I wondered if he was on site. "I'd like you and Jenks to give me your Inderlander opinion before they move the body. How soon can you get here? "
I glanced at my construction-dusty jeans and T-shirt, wondering just what he thought I could do that he couldn't. I wasn't a detective. I was a hired spell caster/bounty hunter. Jenks took to the air, darting out the pixy hole in the kitchen screen. "Ah," I hedged, "can't I just come to the morgue and look at the body?"
"You have something better to do?"
I thought about the living room and how I wanted our stuff back in it before Ivy got back. "Well, actually..."
"They're going to try to jerk it out from under me again," Glenn said, drawing my attention back to him, "and I want you to see it before the I.S. has a chance to doctor the body. Rachel..." His voice took on a hard edge. "It's Mrs. Sarong's accountant. You know... the Howlers? He was high in the pack, and no one is happy."
My eyebrows rose. Mrs. Sarong was the owner of Cincinnati's all-Inderland baseball team, the Howlers. It was their fish I had tried to recover from Mr. Ray - the same Mr. Ray whose secretary was already in the morgue. I had forced the woman to pay me for my time, actually meeting her in the process. That there had been two "suicides" from two of Cincinnati's most prominent packs in as many days was not good.
It was obvious someone knew that the focus was in Cincinnati and was trying to find out who had it. I had to get rid of it. The chaos would be astounding if an entire pack could turn humans. Vampires would start culling them. My fingers started to tap the table. Maybe that's what was already happening? Piscary was in jail, but that wouldn't stop him.
The sound of wings was a relief, and Jenks came back in dressed for work, a sword and belt in one hand, a red bandanna in the other. "The murdered Were is Mrs. Sarong's accountant," I said to him as I stood and looked for my shoulder bag.
"Oh." Jenks dropped several inches, a guilty look coming over him. "A-a-a-ah, that might explain the message on the machine."
I covered the phone receiver, unable to hide my exasperation. Jenks...
He made a face, leaking silver sparkles. "I forgot, okay?"
"Rachel?" came Glenn's tiny voice, pulling me back to him.
"Yeah..." I held a hand to my forehead. "Yes. Glenn, I can come out there..." I hesitated. "Where are you?"
Glenn cleared his throat. "Spring Grove," he muttered.
A cemetery. Oooooh, how nice. "Okay," I said, standing up straight and scuffing into my sandals. "See you in a bit."
"Great. Thanks." He sounded preoccupied, as if he were trying to do two things at once.
I took a breath to say good-bye, but Glenn had hung up. Eyeing Jenks, I thumbed the phone off and cocked my hip. "I have a message?" I said dryly.
Jenks looked uncomfortable as he put the bandanna on, to look like an inner-city gang member in his black working clothes. "Mr. Ray wants to talk to you," he said softly.
I thought about his secretary having been murdered and the I. S. not only looking the other way but trying to cover it up. "I'll bet." Grabbing my bag, I looked to make sure I had all my usual spells. The thought occurred to me that Mr, Ray might be the one killing the Weres, but why would he kill his own secretary first? Maybe Mrs. Sarong had murdered the woman and the second killing had been in retaliation? I was getting a headache.
Remembering my suspended license, I hesitated, but what kind of image would I have if I arrived on a crime scene by bus, and I pulled out my keys. My gaze went to the shelves under the center island counter. Leaning, I smiled when the smooth, heavy weight of my splat-ball gun filled my palm. The metal parts clicked comfortingly as I checked the reservoir. Spells stored in amulets were good for a year, but unstored, invoked potions lasted only a week. These were three weeks old and useless, but waving my gun around made me feel good and ticked Glenn off. I dropped it into my bag as Jenks finished writing a note for Ivy. "Ready?" I asked him.
He flew to my shoulder, bringing the delicate scent of the soap Matalina washed his clothes in. "You want to take his ketchup?" he asked.
"Oh, yeah." I strode into the pantry, coming out with the gallon jar of super-duper belly-buster hot jalapeño salsa and the big red tomato I had gotten him as a surprise. Pulse fast, I headed for the hall, a gallon of salsa on my hip, a tomato in my hand, and a pixy on my shoulder.
Yeah, we bad.
Chapter Fifteen
The afternoon sun was hot, and easing my car door shut, I gave it a bump with my hip to latch it. My fingers were sticky from the pastry I'd eaten en route, and I scanned the sparrow-noisy grounds while I dug a tissue out of my bag. Wiping my fingers clean, I wondered if I should have taken five minutes to change into a more professional outfit than shorts and a top-professionalism being something I desperately needed, seeing as I was skulking around the mausoleum that I'd parked my car behind.
Jenks had run vanguard for me as I took the back roads to Spring Grove. If I had driven the interstate, the I.S. would have nailed my butt to a broomstick. It had made for slow travel - driving three blocks, parking, waiting for Jenks to do some recon, then moving forward another three blocks - but I couldn't stomach the idea of taking a cab. And as I hiked my shoulder bag higher and headed across the grass, I again thanked God I had friends.
"Thanks, Jenks," I said, stumbling when my sandals hit a dip the mower had hidden. His wings tickled my neck, and I added, "I appreciate you running rabbit for me with the I.S."
"Hey, it's my job."
There was more than a hint of annoyance to it, and, feeling guilty for having asked him to fly twice what I had driven, I said, "It's not your job to make sure my butt stays out of traffic court," then added softly, "I'll go to driver's-ed class tonight. I promise."
Jenks laughed. The tinkling sound brought out three pixies from the nearby bank of evergreens, but upon seeing Jenks's red bandana, they vanished. The obvious color was his first line of defense against territorial pixies and fairies, a sign of good intentions and a promise not to poach. They'd watch us but wouldn't start catapulting thorns unless Jenks sampled the meager pollen or nectar sources. I'd rather have pixies watching me than fairies, though, and I liked the idea that pixies had Spring Grove. They must be well structured, since the grounds were huge.
The sprawling cemetery was said to have been originally developed to tastefully "rehouse" cholera victims in the late 1800s. It was one of the first garden cemeteries in the Unites States; the undead liked their parks as much as the next person did. It had been hard to keep your newly undead relatives out of the ground back then, and being unearthed in such peaceful settings must have been a small favor. I had to wonder if the large, hidden vampire population Cincy had in those days had much to do with how the Queen City gained the dubious distinction of being known for grave robbing. It wasn't so much that they were supplying the multitudes of teaching hospitals with cadavers but pulling their relatives out of the ground and back where they belonged.
Scanning the quiet, parklike grounds, I wiped my mouth of the last of the frosting. The feel of my fingers across my lips brought Ivy to mind for obvious reasons, and I warmed. God, I should have done something, But no-o-o-o-o, I stood there like an idiot, too surprised to move. I hadn't reacted, and now I was going to have to think about how to handle this instead of settling it right then. Stupid-ass witch.
"You okay?" Jenks asked, and I pulled my hand down.
"Peachy," I said sourly, and he laughed.
"You're thinking of Ivy," he needled, and my flush deepened.
"Well, duh," I said, stumbling on a marker set even with the ground. "You have your roommate kiss you, and you see if you can just forget it."
"Hell," Jenks said, flying just out of my reach with a grin on his face. "If one of you kissed me, I wouldn't have to think. Matalina would kill me. Relax. It was only a kiss."
I plodded over the grounds, following the sound of radios. This was just what I needed. As if an insane demon tearing apart my church weren't enough, I now had a four-inch man telling me to lighten up, go with the flow, live life - don't analyze it.
Jenks's wing clatter softened, and he lit on my shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Rache," he said, his voice unusually solemn. "You're you, and Ivy is Ivy. Nothing has changed."
"Yeah?" I muttered, not seeing it that clearly.
"Angle to the left," he said cheerfully. "I can smell dead Were down there."
"That's nice," I answered, continuing on past a marker and cutting a soft left. Downslope and through the trees were the flashing amber and blue lights of a multispecies ambulance. I'm not too late, I thought, arms swinging as we passed a huge stone marked WEIL. Beyond a row of cedars was an artificial pond, and between that and the evergreens was a cluster of people.
"Rache," Jenks said, his voice introspective. "You think this has anything to do with - "
"The bushes have ears," I warned.
"The thing I picked up for Matalina on our last vacation?" he amended, and my lips twitched in amusement. I had twisted a demon curse to move the curse in the focus to a knickknack. That it had slowly changed form to look like the original statue was just plain creepy.
Eyes on my feet, I murmured, "Mmmm-hmm. I'd be surprised if it wasn't."
"You think this is Trent looking for it? "
"I don't think Trent knows it exists," I said. "I'd be more inclined to think it's Mr. Ray or Mrs. Sarong, and they're killing each other as they try to find it."
Jenks's wings sent a cool breeze across my neck. "What about Piscary?"
"Maybe, but he wouldn't be having this much trouble covering it up," I said, glancing up when the men's tone of voice shifted, indicating that I'd been seen. I slowed at the hushed mutter of my name, but since everyone was looking at me, I didn't know who'd said it. There were two FIB vehicles, a black I.S. van, an I.S. cruiser, and an ambulance parked in the turnaround. Counting the third FIB vehicle at the cemetery's back entrance, the FIB presence was stronger than the I.S.'s, and I wondered if Glenn was pushing his luck. It had been a Were suicide.
The cluster of men surrounded a dark shadow at the foot of the cedars and a tall tombstone, and a second group in FIB uniforms and suits waited like cubs at a lion's kill. Glenn was with them, and while catching my eye he said a few words to the man next to him, touched the hilt of his weapon for reassurance, and headed over. People turned away, and I relaxed.
My feet scuffed the grass, and I cringed upon realizing I'd walked right on one of those markers set flush with the ground. Nervousness struck deep when a familiar bulk beside the tombstone straightened and Denon's brown eyes met mine. He was wearing a suit today instead of his usual slacks and polo shirt, and I wondered if he was trying to keep up with Glenn, who looked great in his suit. I'm not afraid of Denon, I thought, then gave in and sneered at him.
Denon's jaw clenched, ignoring the slight man in jeans and a lightweight short-sleeved shirt who had stepped forward to talk to him. I thought of my car and got worried. "Hey, Jenks," I said, lips barely moving, "why don't you flit around and see what you can overhear? Let me know if they find my car, huh? "
"You got it," he said, and with a sparkling of pixy dust he was gone.
Trying to look as if I'd been doing a reconnaissance of the surrounding area instead of hiking my way in, I angled to meet Glenn. He looked frustrated. The FIB was probably being pushed out of the investigation. I knew how bad that felt but had little sympathy, since he'd been the one pushing me out last time.
I took off my sunglasses as I stepped under the shade of the massive tree, tucking them to hang from the waistband of my shorts. "What's the matter, Glenn?" I said in greeting when he took my elbow and led me to an abandoned FIB cruiser. "Won't that nasty wasty vampire let you play in the sandbox? "
"Thanks for coming out, Rachel," he grumbled. "Where's Jenks?"
"Around," I said, and he sourly gave me my temp tag. I pinned it on before I leaned against the FIB cruiser, crossed my arms over my stomach, and waited for the good news.
Running a hand across his smooth chin, Glenn sighed, turning so he could see me and the crime scene both. His dark eyes were tired, and there were faint worry lines at the corners, making him seem older than he was. His trim stature looked powerful even beside Denon, and his military background mixed well with his suit and loosened tie. Glenn had come a long way in a year as far as understanding Inderlanders, and while I knew he respected Denon's position, he didn't respect the man. He didn't mind telegraphing that either, which might be a problem. I had two big men with something to prove at a crime scene. Lucky me.
"How did you get out here?" he asked softly, his eyes envious as the I.S. collected their data. "I sent a car for you, but you'd left."
I put my arms to my side and fidgeted. Glenn slowly turned. "You drove?" he accused, and I flushed. "You promised me you wouldn't."
"No I didn't. I only said I wouldn't, not promised. I didn't know you were sending a car. And they don't have a bus run to the cemetery. There aren't enough pickups to warrant it."
He snorted, and both our postures eased. Glenn's weary gaze went to the body at the foot of the cedars, and I crossed my arms over my chest again. "You want to bull your way in there or wait until after they contaminate everything?" I asked.
Glenn rocked into motion, and I followed. "It's too late," he said. "I was waiting for you. Seeing as he's an Inderlander, I'm only going to get one look at him unless I can link him hard and fast to the murder of Mr. Ray's secretary."
I nodded, watching my feet so I wouldn't walk on any more markers. "I talked to Mr. Ray on the way over," I offered, and Glenn looked askance at me. "I have an appointment with him later today at his office." My hand went up when he took a breath. "You aren't coming with me, so don't ask - but I will tell you what we talked about if it touches on this." I couldn't bring a FIB detective to a client meeting. How lame was that?
Glenn looked ready to protest but then dropped his gaze. "Thank you."
The easing of my tension didn't last, and my blood pressure went higher the closer we got to the body. My nose started working, and over the scent of musk gone rank and excited vampire was the smell of redwood. I smoothed my expression into nothing, my gaze going to the tidy-looking guy in jeans and dress shirt standing a little apart from everyone. They have a witch out here? Interesting.
The circle of Inderlanders parted to show a Were corpse sprawled dramatically at the base of a large tombstone, the grass stained with black blood. A dead wolf the size of a pony was a lot less disturbing than a naked man, even one that had blood matting his fur and the eyes rolled back so far the whites showed. A hind leg had a clean tear to the bone, slicing the femoral artery open. The scent of blood was strong, and my gut tightened. Suicide? I thought, averting my gaze. I doubted it.
Denon was smiling at me with his lips closed to hide his human teeth. Beside him the witch's nostrils widened as he took in my scent hidden behind the orange spice perfume I used to muddle Ivy's instincts. His mouth quirked, and he touched his clean-shaven chin with the back of his hand. My skin prickled when he tapped a line, and I didn't know whether to be insulted or flattered that he thought I was a threat. What did he think I was going to do? Curse everyone? But upon remembering he could see my aura as easy as sneezing and that it was covered in black demon smut, I couldn't blame him.
Two men stood from their crouch over the corpse, leaving one to take core samples to determine how far the blood had soaked into the ground. I felt like we had interrupted punks tormenting a dog to death, and I forced myself not to back up when they turned their attention to us.
Glenn looked cool and casual in his suit and with his gun on his hip, but I knew by the strong scent of cologne coming off of him that he was wired for action. Eyes fixed on Denon's, he said evenly, "Ms. Morgan and my team would like a moment with the body before you move it."
Someone snickered, and my face warmed.
"Whoring for the FIB, Morgan?" Denon said, ignoring Glenn. "I see the bus is picking you up again. Or did you need to use a disguise to get them to stop for you?"
I frowned, sensing Glenn's rising anger. Denon's honey-smooth voice made him sound like he should be hawking negligees on the women's channel. My God, it was beautiful, and I wondered if it was what had attracted his vampire master in the first place. That, and his deliciously dark skin now marked and scarred beyond belief. It hadn't been that way when he was my boss. Clearly things had changed.
"You seem upset, Denon," I taunted. "I bet you had some splainin' to do about almost releasing that murder victim." I smiled sweetly. "Be a prince and run the updated coroner's report over to me this afternoon? I'd be interested to see what you almost burned in the kilns."
The witch snickered, and the last Were rose, his gaze darting nervously. Denon's pupils widened to shrink the rim of brown about them. It wasn't as obvious as last year. He was losing status with whoever had promised to turn him when he died. A few more years like this and Denon wouldn't be much more than a shadow. And given his anger, I think he blamed me.
The Weres flanking him fell back at Denon's thick, casually moving fingers. The man eased closer with the same grace as before, but it lacked the threat it once had. That I wasn't trapped in a five-by-five cubicle probably helped.
"Leave," he said, his words smelling of baking soda toothpaste. "This is an I.S. matter."
Glenn stiffened, his hand nowhere near his gun. "Is that a refusal to let us examine the body?"
Denon moved his hard-muscled bulk gracefully in undeniable threat.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I cried, then lurched back when Denon's arm shot out, his hand reaching for my raised arm.
Glenn moved, his squat stature stepping smoothly in front of me to grab Denon's hand. In a motion as sweet and smooth as melted chocolate, he twisted Denon's arm, levering the larger, muscle-bound man into submission. I blinked, watching with wide eyes. It was over already.
Bent at the waist, the living vampire shifted his weight. Glenn's grip tightened, and his feet scuffed for better traction. The Weres retreated, tense as Denon's neck reddened. Facing the ground and his arm held straight behind him, he was like a kitten being held by the scruff of his neck. Something popped, and Denon grunted.
Glenn leaned closer while holding the bigger man helpless. "You," the FIB detective said softly, "are a disgrace." He pushed on Denon's arm, and the man grunted again, sweat beading up on his shaved head. "Either crap or get off the pot, but this halfway nothing is giving the rest of us a bad name." Shoving him away, Glenn set his hand comfortably near the butt of his weapon.
Denon caught his balance and spun to face us. Hatred that Glenn had shown him up in front of his peons radiated from him. It was obvious his shoulder hurt, but he didn't touch it.
"I can handle my own battles, Glenn," I said dryly to distract Denon. I might survive one of Denon's retaliations, but Glenn was vulnerable without his gun and the element of surprise.
Glenn frowned. "He wasn't going to fight you fair," he said, handing me one of those zip-strips with a charmed core of silver that the I.S. used to keep ley line witches in custody.
My eyes went from the innocuous-seeming strip of plastic to the witch, then to Denon, scowling. "You little pissant," I said loudly. "What's the matter with you? All I want to do is look at the body. You got something to hide?" I took a step forward, and Glenn caught my arm. "If you've got a beef with me, let's do coffee and I'll explain things to you in little words," I said, jerking from Glenn. "Otherwise, get out of my way so we can do our job. Until murder has been ruled out, the FIB has as much right to look at the body as you do."
The little vein in Denon's forehead had popped, and the low-blood vamp gestured for everyone to fall back to the van. They moved slowly, hands in their pockets or fiddling with equipment. From out of sight, I heard the rustling of the FIB guys. The tension grew, not lessened, and I pressed my weight into the earth in case I had to move fast. Ceri's advice to avoid ley line magic flitted through me, but I sent a thought out for the nearest line anyway.
"You're a fool, Morgan," Denon said, his resonant voice vibrating in me though he stood ten feet away beside a tall tombstone. "Your search for the truth is going to kill you."
That sounded more like a threat than before, but he was walking away, I.S. personnel trailing behind him. At a loss, I tucked the zip-strip into my bag and looked for Jenks while Glenn organized the FIB personnel. Jenks was staying out of sight, though I'm sure he had seen the encounter. Slowly my pulse eased, soothed by the sounds of the insects and lapping water.
Glenn would have a hissy fit if I tried to look at the body before he was ready, and seeing the witch standing by himself, I smiled. It had been ages since I'd talked shop with anyone, and I missed it. He stared at me, and with that stellar response, I checked my impulse to go over.
"We're done here," Denon said loudly to the subordinate Weres.
"Leave the cleanup for the FIB." It was condescending, but Glenn made a pleased sound, making me think he didn't want to share his separate findings. Denon must have heard him, for when the officers headed for their vehicles, the living vampire grabbed the witch's arm and pulled him aside.
"I want you to stay," he said, and the man's eyes narrowed, the sun peeking through the leaves to make eerie shadows on him. "I want a report as to what the FIB does and finds."
"I'm not your lackey," the witch said, eyeing Denon's grip. "If you want my findings, submit a request at the Arcane's front desk like everyone else. Get your hand off me."
My eyebrows rose. He works in the Arcane Division? My dad worked in the Arcane. I looked him over with a new interest. Then I caught myself, cursing my idiotic attraction to the dangerous. God, I was a fool.
Denon let go of the witch's arm. Stiff and prideful, the big man headed for the van, gesturing to make the Were in the front passenger's seat move to the back. The door slammed shut, and shifting back and forth, the van worked its way onto the thin strip of pavement. The other I.S. vehicle followed, leaving us, the ambulance, and the witch - the latter having no way to get back to the I. S. tower that I could see. Man... I knew how he felt.
Sympathy rose high. Gathering my resolve, I headed over. I'm being nice, not looking for a date, I told myself, but he did have pretty blue eyes, and his hair was that soft curly brown that would feel oh so nice between my fingers.
From behind me came Glenn's hushed but impatient words, and the guys in lab coats descended on the Were like birds. Jenks dropped out of the oak tree, startling me with his harsh wing clatter when he landed on my shoulder. "Ah, Rache?"
"Can it wait?" I muttered. "I want to talk to this guy."
"You have a boyfriend," he warned. "And a girlfriend," he added, making me frown. "I know you. Don't overcompensate because of one lousy kiss."
"I'm just going to say hi," I said, stifling a swat at him. And it hadn't been a lousy kiss. It had been a pulse-pounding, hell-of-a-kiss that had shocked me and left me breathless. I only had to figure out if the thrill had been an honest emotion stemming from Ivy or my shallowly reveling in the wicked thrill of being someone I really wasn't. My eyes dropped. It matters. One will lead to hard questions about myself, the other will hurt Ivy. Leading her on just so I can find a thrill is really, really wrong, and I'm not going to do it.
Forcing a smile, I halted before the guy. His I.S. badge said TOM BANSEN, and he used to have long hair, according to his picture. "I'm Rachel - " I started, extending my hand.
"I know. Excuse me."
It was terse, and, pushing past my extended hand, he went to stand over the FIB personnel and watch them take their data. Jenks snickered, and I stood there with my mouth hanging open. My eyes fell to my outfit. It wasn't that unprofessional. "I just wanted to say hi," I said, hurt.
"He doesn't smell as witchy as you do," Jenks said smugly. "But before your head swells up, if he works in the Arcane, he's classically trained and would flatten you. Remember Lee?"
My breath came and went, and I felt a stab of worry about this Friday. I had devoted my life to earth magic, and while not any less strong than ley line, it was slower. Ley line was flashy and dramatic, with a quick invocation and wider application. Demon magic mixed them both into something very fast, very powerful, and everlasting. Only a handful of people knew I could invoke demon magic, but the smut on my soul was easy to see. Perhaps that, along with my growing reputation that I dealt in demons, had him on edge.
I couldn't let the misunderstanding stand, so, ignoring Jenks's muttered dire predictions of hell and snowflakes, I sidled up alongside Tom. "Look, maybe we got off on the wrong foot," I said against the murmuring backdrop of the FIB conversation. "Do you need a ride anywhere when this is done?"
"No."
The denial was downright hostile, and the FIB guys crouched over the body looked up, eyes wide.
Tom turned and walked away. Pulse pounding, I took a step after him. "I don't deal with demons!" I said loudly, not caring what the FIB thought.
The young man retrieved a long coat hanging over a tombstone, draping it over his arm. "And you got that demon to testify how? That mark on your wrist is from what? "
I took a breath, then let it out. What could I say?
Looking justified, he walked off, leaving me surrounded by FIB personnel trying not to meet my eyes. Damn it, I thought, my jaw clenched and my stomach churning. I was used to fear and mistrust from humans, but from my own kind? Mood sour, I hitched up my shoulder bag, Tom had a cell phone pressed to his ear. He'd get a ride. Why had I even bothered?
Jenks cleared his throat, and I started, having forgotten he had been sitting on my shoulder the entire time. "Don't worry about it, Rache," he said in a small voice. "He was just scared."
"Thanks," I said. While I appreciated the thought, somehow it didn't make me feel much better. Tom hadn't looked scared. He had looked hostile.
From across the way, Glenn finished giving instructions to a young officer. Clapping him on the shoulder, he headed in my direction, the gleam back in his eyes and his posture holding a repressed excitement. "Ready to take a look?" he said, his thick hands rubbing together.
I glanced at the dead Were, nose wrinkling. "What about the footies?" I said dryly, remembering the last time I was at one of his precious crime scenes.
He shook his head, eyes on the body. "They fouled the site," he said, his disgust at the I.S.'s techniques clear. "Apart from throwing up on the victim, you can't make it any worse."
"Gee, thanks," I said, jumping when his hand hit my shoulder companionably. I smiled at him so he knew it wasn't unwelcome, just surprising, and he squinted.
"Don't let it get to you," the FIB detective said softly, his dark expressive eyes going to the witch's distant silhouette among the tombstones. "We know you're a good woman."
"Thanks," I said, exhaling to let the hurt go. What do I care what one witch thinks anyway? Even if he is cute?
From my ear Jenks snickered. "Awwww, you two are so sweet, I could fart fairy balls."
Tossing my hair to make him fly away, I turned my attention downward. The men at the body had finished their preliminary look and moved off, loudly discussing how long the corpse had been here. It couldn't have been more than since morning; the smell wasn't bad, and there was no tissue damage from decay or flies yet. And yesterday had been hot.
My thoughts flashed back to a gutted deer carcass I'd found in the woods this spring, and, steadying myself, I crouched beside Glenn. I was glad that my nose wasn't as sensitive as Jenks's. The pixy looked positively green. After letting him hover uncertainly for a moment, I swung my hair out of the way in invitation, and he immediately landed on my shoulder. His warm hands gripped my ear, and he took dramatic breath after noisy breath, complaining about the reek of alcohol that my perfume used to carry the orange scent. Glenn glanced at us as if wondering what the hell we were on about. I turned my attention downward.
Mrs. Sarong's personal aide made a very powerful wolf, and to think that the person in fur before me had committed suicide was ludicrous. He had the silky black hair most Weres did, his lips pulled back to show teeth whiter than a show dog's, now stained with his own blood. That his bowels had released somewhere else was proof to me that the body had been dumped. A bad feeling rose as Denon's words echoed in my memory. The I.S. was covering something up, and with me helping the FIB, it was coming out. Someone wasn't going to be happy about that.
Maybe I should just walk away.
"He didn't die here," I said softly, settling in more firmly where I crouched.
"I agree." Glenn shifted uncomfortably. "He was identified from an ear tattoo, and it's only been about twelve hours that he's not been accounted for. The first victim had been missing for twice that."
Damn, I thought, feeling a chill. Someone was getting serious.
Glenn picked up a foreleg and rubbed a thumb against the hair. "This has been cleaned."
Jenks flitted down, his tiny feet hovering just above the dull nails, almost as long as he was tall. "It smells like alcohol," he said, hands on his hips as he slowly rose. "I'd bet my back acres that he had medical tape on him like that secretary."
My eyes met Glenn's, and he set the Were's foot down. Without finding the tape, this speculation didn't mean squat. From the blood on his teeth, it looked likely that the leg wound he'd bled himself out from was self-inflicted, but now I wondered if "looked" was the key word. It had been given more succinctly than in Mrs. Sarong's secretary's case, as if someone were gaining experience. Blood matted his hindquarters and soaked the ground. It was probably Were blood, but I doubted the blood on his fur and the blood on the ground was from the same person.
"Jenks, any needle marks?" I questioned, and his wings hummed to life. He hovered over the ruined leg for a moment, then landed on Glenn's offered hand.
"I can't say. There's too much hair. I can go with you to the morgue if you want," he offered to Glenn, and the man grunted an affirmative.
Okay, it's only a matter of time before the two crimes are linked. "Think it's worth flossing his teeth?" I asked, remembering the medical tape in the woman's teeth.
It was Glenn's turn to shake his head. "No, I'm guessing the body was cleaned before it was dumped." A heavy sigh came from him, and he stood. Jenks took flight to land on the tombstone behind the Were. I tried to memorize the name on it, wondering if it might be important. Crap, I wasn't a detective. How would I know what was important or not?
"Proving he's been moved isn't a problem," Glenn said from above me. "It's tying this one to Mr. Ray's secretary that's the problem. Maybe after we get him turned back, he might have pressure or needle marks."
I rose as well, noticing that whoever had dumped the body had taken the time to press the Were's paws into the grass to get them dirty, but it was obviously surface dirt. His nails were as clean as if he'd been working at a desk the last twelve hours. Or strapped to a medical gurney.
"At the very least, you can get a proper necropsy," I offered. "The body has been moved. The I.S. has to admit that murder is a possibility. You'll find a link to Mr. Ray's secretary."
"And it might give the I.S. time to fabricate whatever evidence they want," Glenn said bitterly, pulling a pack of wipes out from a breast pocket and handing me one.
I hadn't touched the body, but I took it since Glenn obviously felt I should. "He'll have needle marks. Someone killed him. I mean, how do you tear yourself up enough to kill yourself but leave your feet clean and smelling of alcohol? "
Glenn's eyes were on the Were. "I have to prove it, Rachel."
I shrugged, wanting to get home and shower before my meeting with Mr. Ray. Prove it, shmove it. That wasn't my job. Just point me at someone to bring in and I'm there. "If we can find out who is doing it, we'll have a better idea how to find the proof," I said, but I wouldn't meet his eyes. I had a bad feeling the why they'd been killed was sitting in my freezer, and the who was a short list of Cincy's finest: Piscary, Trent, Mr. Ray, and Mrs. Sarong. I think I could cross Newt off the list. She wouldn't bother to cover anything up.
"Do you need me anymore?" I said, handing the used wipe back to him.
Glenn's eyes had lost their sparkle and were tired again. "No. Thank you."
"Why did you have me come out here, then?" I chided him. "I didn't to a flipping thing."
His dark neck reddened, and I followed him to the FIB vehicle. Behind us was the chatter of the ambulance guys getting to their feet to move the body to the city morgue. "I wanted to see Denon's reaction to you," he muttered.
"You got me out here because you wanted to see Denon's reaction?" I exclaimed, and several heads turned. The FIB officers were smiling like it was a joke - and I was the butt of it.
Inclining his head in amusement, Glenn took my arm. "Cut me some slack, Rachel," he said. "You saw him in the morgue. He didn't want you there and was afraid you'd see something us poor humans would miss. That points to obstruction of justice. Someone is looking for that statue you have, and you're damned lucky they aren't looking at you. Is it still in the mail system? "
I nodded, thinking it would be a mistake to do otherwise. Glenn's grip tightened as he walked us forward. "I could force you to give it to me," he said.
Ticked, I jerked away from him and stopped. "I brought that jar of salsa you wanted," I said, almost loud enough for the surrounding FIB officers to hear, and the man went gray. It wasn't my threat of withholding it but that I'd make public he liked tomatoes. Yeah, it was that bad.
"That's low," Glenn said, his eyes coming back to mine.
"Then find someone else to pimp your ketchup," I said, guilt making me flush.
Jenks dropped from the trees, startling the FIB officer. "Rache," the pixy said, giving no indication of what he thought of my blackmail, "I'll get you home, then go to the morgue. I want to see if the body has needle marks. I can be back before you go to talk to Mr. Ray."
I might have to be at the church alone with Ivy, was my first thought. "Sounds good," I said, then feeling bad, I whispered to Glenn, "I was serious about the salsa. You want it now?"
He tightened his jaw, clearly angry, and Jenks laughed. "Give it up, you lousy cookie," the pixy cajoled. "You have no right to the focus, and you know it."
"It's jalapeño," I coaxed. "Burn your freaking eyeballs out of their sockets."
Glenn's irate look faltered, and when Jenks nodded in encouragement, Glenn licked his lips. "Jalapeño?" he murmured, his focus blurring.
"A gallon," I said, feeling the thrill of the deal. "Do you find any zip-strips?"
Glenn's awareness abruptly cleared. "I'm working on them, but it's going to take some time. Do you want a pair of cuffs in the meanwhile?"
"Sure," I said, though they wouldn't stop a ley line witch. "I lost the first pair you gave me in the ever-after." Man... I missed my old cuffs with the charms and everything. Maybe I could put the right spells into the decorative charms Kisten had given me with my bracelet. I'd have to ask what kind of metal they were.
Glenn looked guilty as he scanned the people behind me collecting data. "I need a few days," he said, his lips barely moving as he slipped me his cuffs. "Can you hold on to it for me?"
I nodded as I tucked the sliding metal in my bag, then turned my attention to Jenks. "Ready?"
The pixy rose up. "See you at the car." His wings blurred, and then he was gone, heading across the cemetery at head height, dodging tombstones like a hummingbird on a mission.
Glenn's lips pressed, and, seeing a coming argument, I warmed. "Jenks is running vanguard for me," I said, tossing my hair behind my shoulder. "We got it covered." I have to get to that class. This is really getting old.
"Rachel?"
I halted my motion to leave, turning to arch my eyebrows at him.
"Take it easy," he said, a hand in the air in surrender. "Call me if you need bail."
My smile deepened. "Thanks, Glenn," I said, glad the ugly scene about the focus had been averted. "I'm going to class tonight. Really."
"Do that," he said, then turned back to his team, calling for some guy named Parker.
I felt funny walking across the grass between the grave markers to the car, plodding in Jenks's lightning-fast wake. My steps were small as I trudged up the hill, my head down to look for those flat markers. I swung my bag around and dug for my zebra-striped car key, but when I came around the corner of the large marker my car was behind, I stopped dead in my tracks.
Someone was messing with my backseat.
