The Good, the Bad, and the Undead

Chapter Twenty-Four

"For the third time, Rachel. Would you like another piece of bread?"
I looked from the light glinting on the surface of my wine, finding Nick waiting with a curious, amused expression. He was holding out the plate with the bread. By his wondering expression, I guessed he'd held it there for a while. "Um, no. No, thank you," I said, glancing down to find the supper Nick had made for me almost untouched. Giving him an apologetic smile, I sent my fork under another bite of pasta and white sauce. It was his supper, my lunch, and both delicious, and even more so since I hadn't done anything but make the salad. It would likely be the last thing I ate today because Ivy had a date with Kist. That meant I'd be having dinner with Ben and Jerry in front of the TV. I thought it unusual she would go out with the living vamp, seeing as he was worse than a monkey when it came to sex and blood, but it was resolutely not my business.
Nick's plate was empty, and after setting the bread down, he sat back and played with the end of his knife, making it lay just so atop his napkin. "I know it's not my food," he said. "What's the matter? You've hardly said a word since you - ah - came over to the museum."
I covered my smirk with a napkin and wiped the corner of my mouth. I had caught him napping, sitting with his lanky legs up, his feet propped on his cleaning table, the eighteenth century tea towel he was supposed to be restoring draped over his eyes. If it wasn't a book, he really didn't care about it. "Is it that obvious?" I said, taking a bite.
A familiar, lopsided smile came over him. "It's not like you to be this quiet. Is it about Mr. Kalamack not being arrested after finding, er, that - body?"
I pushed the plate away in a flush of guilt. I hadn't yet told Nick I'd switched sides in the "Let's get Trent" issue. I hadn't, really, and that's what bothered me. The man was slime.
"You found a body," he said as he leaned across the table and took my hand. "The rest will follow."
I cringed, worried Nick might tell me I'd sold out. My distress must have shown because he squeezed my hand until I looked up. "What is it, Ray-ray?"
His eyes were soft with encouragement, their brown depths catching the glint from the ugly light hanging over Nick's tiny kitchen/dining room. My attention went over the short, chest-high mantel dividing it from the living room as I tried to decide how to broach the subject. I had been harping on him for months about letting sleeping demons lie, and here I was, wanting to ask him to call Algaliarept up for me. I was sure the answer was going to cost more than what Nick's "trial contract" would cover, and I didn't want to risk him paying it for me anyway. Nick had a chivalrous streak as wide as the Ohio River.
"Tell me?" he asked, ducking his head to try and see my eyes.
I licked my lips and met his gaze. "It's about Big Al." I didn't like chancing that Algaliarept would conveniently assume I was calling it every time I said its name, so I had begun referring to the demon by the somewhat insulting moniker. Nick thought it was funny; that I was worried about it showing up unsummoned, not that I called it Al.
Nick's fingers slipped from mine and he pulled away to take up his wineglass. "Don't start," he said, his eyebrows furrowed in the first signs of anger. "I know what I'm doing, and I'm going to do it whether you like it or not."
"Actually," I hedged, "I wanted to see if you might ask it something for me."
Nick's long face went slack. "Beg pardon?"
I winced. "If it won't cost you anything. If it does, forget it. I'll find another way."
He set the glass down and leaned forward. "You want me to call him?"
"See, I talked to Trent today," I said quickly, so he couldn't interrupt, "and we figure that the demon that attacked us last spring is the same one that's doing the murders - that I was supposed to be the first witch hunter victim, but because I turned Trent's job offer down, it let me go. If I can find out who sent it to kill us, then we have the murderer."
Lips parted, Nick stared at me. I could almost see his thoughts fall in place: Trent was innocent and I was working for him to find the real murderer and clear his name of suspicion. Uncomfortable, I pushed the fork around on the plate. "How much is he giving you?" Nick finally asked, his voice giving me no clue to his thoughts.
"Two thousand up front," I said, feeling it light in my pocket, since I had yet to go home. "Eighteen more when I tell him who the witch hunter is." Hey. I'd made my rent. Whoop-de-do.
"Twenty thousand dollars?" he said, his brown eyes large in the fluorescent light. "He's giving you twenty thousand dollars for a name? You don't have to bring him in or anything?"
I nodded, wondering if Nick thought I was selling out. I felt like I was.
Nick held himself still for three heartbeats, then rose, his chair scraping the worn linoleum. "Let's find out how much that costs," he said, halfway out of the room.
I was left blinking at his wire and plastic chair. My heart thumped. "Nick?" I stood, taking a moment to move our plates to the sink. "Doesn't it bother you I'm working for Trent? It bothers me."
"Did he kill those witches?" came his voice from the hallway to his room, and I followed it through the living room to find him moving everything out of his linen closet and stacking it on his bed with a methodical quickness.
"No. I don't think so." God help me if I misread his tells.
He handed me a stack of brand new, lusciously green towels. "So what's the problem?"
"The man is a biodrug lord and runs Brimstone," I said, juggling the towels to take the oversize gardener boots he handed me. I recognized them as the ones from my belfry, and I wondered why he was keeping them. "Trent is trying to take over Cincinnati's underworld, and I'm working for him. That's what's the matter."
Nick grabbed his spare sheets and edged past me to drop them on his bed. "You wouldn't be helping him unless you believed he didn't do it," he said as he returned. "And for twenty thousand dollars? Twenty thousand dollars buys a lot of therapy if you're wrong."
I grimaced, not liking Nick's "money makes everything right" philosophy. I suppose growing up watching your mother struggle for every dollar might have a lot to do with it, but I sometimes questioned Nick's priorities. But I had to find out just to save my own skin, and I'd be damned if I cleared Trent of suspicion for free.
I stood sideways in the hallway as Nick went into his room with a pile of sweaters. The closet was empty - there hadn't been much in it to start with - and after dumping everything, he took the towels and boots from my arms, adding them to the mound on the bed before returning to the closet. My eyebrows rose as he pulled a square of carpet up to reveal a circle and pentagram etched in the floor. "You summon Al into a closet?" I said in disbelief.
Nick looked up from where he was kneeling, his long face devious. "I found the circle when I moved in," he said. "Isn't it a nice one? It's lined in silver. I checked it out, and it's almost the only spot in the apartment where there are no electric or gas lines. There's another in the kitchen that you can see with a black light, but it's bigger and I can't make a circle that large that's strong enough to hold him."
I watched as he wedged the shelves off their brackets with a stiff, underhand thunk, stacking them against the wall in the hallway. Finished, he stepped into the closet and held out a hand for me to join him. I stared, surprised.
"Al said the demon was supposed to be in the circle, not the summoner," I said.
His hand dropped. "It's part of the trial membership thing. I'm not so much summoning him as asking for an audience. He can say no and not show up at all, though that hasn't happened since you gave me the idea to put myself in the circle instead of him. He shows up just to laugh now." Nick held out his hand again. "Come on. I want to make sure we both fit."
I looked to the slice of living room I could see, not wanting to get in a closet with Nick. Well, not under these circumstances, anyway. "Let's use the circle in the kitchen," I suggested. "I don't mind closing it."
"You want to risk him thinking you called him?" Nick asked, eyebrows high.
"It's an it, not a him," I said, but at his exasperated expression, I took his hand and stepped into the closet. Immediately, Nick dropped my grip and ran his gaze over where our elbows went. The closet was good-sized and deep. Right now it was okay, but add a demon trying to get in, and it would be claustrophobic. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea," I said.
"It'll be fine." Nick's motions were quick and jerky as he stepped out of the closet and reached up to the last shelf, still in place above our heads. Taking down a rattling shoe box, he opened it to show a zippy bag of gray ash and about a dozen milky green tapers already burnt. My mouth opened as I recognized them as the candles he had lit one night when we were, ah, utilizing Ivy's tub to its fullest potential. What were they doing in a box with ashes?
"Those are my candles," I said, only now realizing where they had gone.
Setting the box on his bed, he took the zippy bag and the longest candle and went into the living room. I heard a thump, and he soon reappeared, dragging the stool that I had put his obligatory housewarming plant on. Still silent, he set the candle where the peace lily had once been.
"Buy your own candles for summoning demons," I said, affronted.
He frowned as he opened the drawer under the footstool to pull out a box of matches. "They have to be lit the first time on hallowed ground or they don't work."
"Well, you've got everything figured out, don't you." I sourly wondered if the entire night had been an excuse to get those candles. How long had he been calling this demon anyway? Lips pursed, I watched him light the candle and shake the match out. But it wasn't until he took a handful of gray dust from the zippy bag that I started getting nervous. "What is that?" I asked, worried.
"You don't want to know." His voice carried a surprising amount of warning.
My face warmed as I recalled that I use to bring his kind in for grave robbing. "Yes, I do."
He looked up, his brow pinched in irritation. "It's a focus object so Algaliarept materializes outside the circle instead of in it with us. And the candle is to make sure he doesn't focus on anything but the ash on the table. I bought it, okay?"
Muttering a quick, "Sorry," I backed off. Somehow I seemed to have found the only nerve Nick had and stomped on it. I wasn't up on my demon summoning; obviously he was. "I thought all you had to do was make a circle and call them," I said, feeling nauseated. Someone had sold their grandmother's ashes so Nick could call a demon with her remains.
Nick dusted his hands together and resealed the bag. "You might be able to get away with that, but I can't. The guy at the store kept trying to sell me this outrageously expensive amulet to make a proper binding circle, not believing a human could close one of his own. He gave me ten percent off everything after I put him in a circle he couldn't break. I guess he thought I knew enough to survive to come back and buy something more."
His irritation had vanished the moment I quit barking at him. I realized that this was the first time - well, the second - he had the chance to show me his skills, something he was obviously very proud of. Humans had to work hard to manipulate ley lines as well as witches, which is why humans were known to align themselves with demons so they could keep up. Of course, they didn't last long after that, eventually making a mistake and being pulled into the ever-after. This was so unsafe. And here I was encouraging him.
Seeing my face, he came to me and put his hands atop my shoulders. I could feel the ash, gritty between his hands and my skin. "It's okay," he soothed, his narrow face smiling. "I've done this before."
"That's what I'm afraid of," I said, stepping back to make room for him.
As Nick tossed the zippy bag of ash to land next to the shoe box, I tried to wipe the ash off my shoulders. Nick got in the closet with me, and then, with a grunt of remembrance, wedged a piece of wood into the crack of the hinges. "He shut the door on me once," he said, shrugging.
This is not good, I thought again as the small of my back started to sweat.
"Ready?"
I glanced at the lit candle and its little mound of ash. "No."
My fingertips tingled as Nick closed his eyes and opened his second sight. An eerie feeling of my insides being rearranged started in my belly, swirling up into my throat. My eyes widened. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I cried as the sensation wrenched into an uncomfortable pull. "What is that?"
Nick opened his eyes. They were glazed, and I could tell he was seeing everything in that confusing mix of reality and ever-after sight. "That's what I've been telling you about," he said, his voice hollow. "It's from the binding spell. Nice, isn't it?"
I shifted from foot to foot, making sure I stayed in the circle. "It's awful," I admitted. "I'm sorry. Why didn't you tell me it was that bad?"
He shrugged, closing his eyes.
The pull through me strengthened, and I struggled to find a way to deal with it. I could feel the ever-after energy slowly building in him, paralleling what I experienced when I tapped into a ley line. The power swelled, and though it was a fraction of what I had channeled in Trent's office, it urged me to react.
With an excruciating slowness, the levels built to a usable level. My palms started to sweat and my stomach clenched. I wished he'd hurry up and close the circle. The eddies of power went deep through me, the need to do something growing.
"Can I help?" I finally asked, gripping my hands together so they wouldn't spasm.
"No."
The tingling in my palms rose to become an itch. "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't know you could feel all this. Is this why you haven't been sleeping? Have I been waking you up?"
"No. Don't worry about it."
My heel started tapping, the jolts going up my calves feeling like fire. "We have to break the charm," I said, jittery. "How can you stand this?"
"Shut up, Rachel. I'm trying to concentrate."
"Sorry."
His breath slipped from him in a slow sound, and I wasn't surprised when he jumped, mirroring the sudden cutoff of ever-after energy I could feel running through him. Through us.
"Circle's up," he said breathlessly, and I resisted the urge to look at it. I didn't want to insult him, and having felt its construction, I knew it was good. "I'm not sure, but I think because I'm carrying some of your aura, you can break the circle, too."
"I'll be careful," I said, suddenly a lot more nervous. "So what happens now?" I questioned, looking at the candle on the footstool.
"Now I invite him over."
I stifled a shudder as Latin flowed from Nick. My lips curved down at the alienness of it. As he spoke, Nick seemed to take on a different cast, shadows under his eyes growing, to make him look ill. Even his voice changed, more resonant and somehow echoing in my head. Again there was a slow buildup of ever-after energy, rising until it was almost intolerable. I was antsy and nervous, almost relieved when Nick said Algaliarept's name with a drawn-out, careful precision.
Nick sagged, taking a clean breath. I could smell his sweat over his deodorant in the close confines. His fingers slipped into my hand, giving me a quick squeeze before dropping it. The clock ticked from the living room, and the sound of the traffic past the window was hushed. Nothing happened.
"Is something supposed to happen?" I asked, starting to feel silly, standing in Nick's closet.
"It might take a while. Like I said, it's a trial membership, not the real thing."
I took three slow breaths, listening. "How long?"
"Since I've been putting myself in the circle instead of him? Five, ten minutes."
Nick's mood was easing, and I could feel the heat from our shoulders almost touching. An ambulance sounded faint in the distance, disappearing.
I eyed the burning candle. "What if it doesn't show?" I asked. "How long do we have to wait before we can get out of the closet?"
Nick gave me a noncommittal, stranger-in-the-elevator smile. "Uh, I wouldn't step out of the circle until sunup. Until he appears and we can banish him properly back to the ever-after, he can show up anytime between now and then."
"You mean if it doesn't show, we're stuck in this closet until morning?"
He nodded, his eyes jerking away as the smell of burnt amber came to me. "Oh, good. He's here," Nick whispered, standing straighter.
Oh, good. He's here, I repeated sarcastically in my head. God help me. My life was so screwed up.
The pile of ash at the end of the hallway was hazed with a smear of ever-after. It grew with the speed of flowing water, up and out to take a rough, animal shape. I forced myself to breathe as eyes appeared, red and orange and slit sideways like a goat's. My stomach clenched as a savage muzzle formed, saliva dripping to the rug even before it finished coalescing into the pony-size dog I remembered from the basement vault of the university library: Nick's personal fear of dogs brought to life.
Harsh panting rasped, the sound pulling an instinctive fear from the depths of my soul that I hadn't even known I had. Paws tipped with nails and powerful hindquarters appeared as it shook itself, the last of the mist forming a thick mane of yellow hair. Beside me, Nick shuddered. "You okay?" I asked, and he nodded, his face pale.
"Nicholas Gregory Sparagmos," the dog drawled, sitting on its haunches and giving us a savage doggy smile. "Already, little wizard? I was just here."
Gregory? I thought as Nick shot an unrepentant grimace at me. Nick's middle name was Gregory? And what had Nick gotten in return for telling it that?
"Or did you call me to impress Rachel Mariana Morgan?" it finished, a long red tongue lolling out as it turned its doggy smile to me.
"I've a few questions," Nick said, his voice bolder than his body language.
Nick's breath caught as the dog rose and padded into the hallway, its shoulders almost brushing the walls. I stared, horrified, as it licked the floor beside the circle, testing it. The film of ever-after reality hissed as it sent its tongue over the unseen barrier. Smoke smelling like burnt amber rose, and I watched as if through a pane of glass as Algaliarept's tongue began to char and burn. Nick stiffened, and I thought I heard a whispered oath or prayer. Making an annoyed growl, the demon's outline went hazy.
My heart hammered as the dog lengthened and rose into its usual vision of a British gentleman. "Rachel Mariana Morgan," it said, hitting every accent with an elegant precession. "I must congratulate you, love, on finding that corpse. It was the sharpest bit of ley line magic I've seen in twelve years." It leaned close, and I smelled lavender. "You made quite a stir, you know," it whispered. "I was invited to all the parties. My witch's spell went to the city's square to chime the bells. Everyone got a taste, though not as much as I did." Eyes closing, the demon shuddered, its outlines wavering as its concentration lapsed.
I swallowed hard. "I'm not your witch," I said.
Nick's fingers on my elbow tightened. "Stay in that form," Nick said, his voice firm. "And stop bothering Rachel. I have questions, and I want to know the cost before I ask them."
"Your mistrust will kill you if your cheek doesn't." Algaliarept spun in a quick motion of furling coattails to return to the living room. From where I stood, I could see it open the glass-door cabinet to Nick's books. Its white-gloved fingers stretched and reached, pulling one out. "Oh, I wondered where this one had gotten to," it said, its back to us. "How splendid that you have it. We will read from this next time."
Nick glanced at me. "That's what we do, usually," he whispered. "He deciphers the Latin for me, letting all sorts of things slip."
"And you trust him?" I frowned, nervous. "Ask it."
Algaliarept had replaced the tome and taken out another, its mood lightening as it cooed and fussed as if having found an old friend.
"Algaliarept," Nick said, mouthing the word slowly, and the demon turned, the new book in its hand. "I'd like to know if you were the demon that attacked Trent Kalamack last spring."
It didn't look up from the open book cradled in his hands. I felt queasy as I realized it had lengthened its fingers to better support it. "That comes under our arrangement," it said, its voice preoccupied. "Seeing as Rachel Mariana Morgan has already guessed the answer." It looked up, its eyes over the smoked glasses orange and red. "Oh, yes, I tasted Trenton Aloysius Kalamack that night as well as you. I ought to have killed him directly, but the novelty of him was so fine, I tarried until he managed to circle me."
"Is that why I survived?" I asked. "You made a mistake?"
"Is that a question coming from you?"
I licked my lips. "No."
Algaliarept closed the book. "Your blood is common, Rachel Mariana Morgan. Tasty with subtle flavors I don't understand, but common. I didn't play with you; I tried to kill you. Had I known you could ring the tower bells, I might have handled things differently." A smile came over it, and I felt its gaze spill over me like oil. "Maybe not. I should have known you would be as your father. He rang the bells, too. Once. Before he died. Do hope it's not a premonition for you."
My stomach clenched, and Nick grabbed my arm before I could touch his circle. "You said you didn't know him," I said, anger making my voice harsh.
It simpered at me. "Another question?"
Heart pounding, I shook my head, hoping it would tell me more.
It put a finger to its nose. "Then Nicholas Gregory Sparagmos better ask another question before I'm called away by someone who is willing to pay for my services."
"You're nothing but a squealing informant, you know that?" I said, shaking.
Algaliarept's gaze resting on my neck pulled a memory of me on the basement floor with my life spilling from me. "Only on my bad days."
Nick straightened. "I want to know who summoned you to kill Rachel, and if he or she is now summoning you to kill ley line witches."
Moving almost out of my line of sight, Algaliarept murmured, "That is a very expensive set of questions, the two together far more than our agreement." It dropped its attention back to the book in its hands and turned a page.
Worry crashed over me as Nick took a breath. "No," I said. "It isn't worth it."
"What do you want for the answers?" Nick asked, ignoring me.
"Your soul?" it said lightly.
Nick shook his head. "Come up with something reasonable, or I'll send you back right now, and you won't be able to talk to Rachel anymore."
It beamed. "You're getting cocky, little wizard. You're halfway mine." It closed the book in its hand with a sharp snap. "Give me leave to take my book back across the line, and I'll tell you who sent me to kill Rachel Mariana Morgan. If they are the same person who is summoning me to kill Trenton Aloysius Kalamack's witches? That stays with me. Your soul isn't enough for that. Rachel Mariana Morgan's, perhaps. Pity when a young man's tastes are too expensive for his means, isn't it?"
I frowned, even as I realized it had admitted it was killing the witches. It must have been luck that kept Trent and me alive when every other witch had died under it. No, not luck. It had been Quen and Nick. "And why do you even want that book?" I asked it.
"I wrote it," it said, its hard voice seeming to wedge the words into the folds of my mind.
Not good. Not good, not good, not good. "Don't give it to him, Nick."
He turned in the tight confines, bumping me. "It's just a book."
"It's your book," I agreed, "and my question. I'll find out some other way."
Algaliarept laughed, a gloved finger shifting the curtain so he could see the street. "Before I'm sent again to kill you? You're quite the topic of conversation, both sides of the ley lines. You'd best ask quick. If I'm called away suddenly, you may want to settle your affairs."
Nick's eyes went round. "Rachel! You're next?"
"No," I protested, wanting to smack Algaliarept. "It's just saying that so you'll give him the book."
"You used ley lines to find Dan's body," Nick said shortly. "And now you're working for Trent? You're on the list, Rachel. Take your book, Al. Who sent you to kill Rachel?"
"Al?" The demon brightened. "Oh, I like that. Al. Yes, you can call me Al."
"Who sent you to kill Rachel?" Nick demanded.
Algaliarept beamed. "Ptah Ammon Fineas Horton Madison Parker Piscary."
My knees threatened to give way, and I gripped Nick's arm. "Piscary?" I whispered. Ivy's uncle was the witch hunter? And the man had seven names? Just how old was he?
"Algaliarept, leave to not bother us again this night," Nick said suddenly.
The demon's smile sent shivers through me. "No promises," it leered, then vanished. The book in its hand hit the carpet, followed by an unseen sliding thump from the bookshelves. I listened to my heart beat, shaken. What was I going to tell Ivy? How could I protect myself from Piscary? I'd hid in a church before. I didn't like it.
"Wait," Nick said, pulling me back before I could touch the circle. I followed his gaze to the pile of ash. "He's not gone yet."
I heard Algaliarept swear, then the ash vanished.
Nick sighed, then edged his toe past the circle to break it. "Now you can leave."
Maybe Nick was better at this than I thought.
Hunched and worried looking, he went to blow the candle out and sit on the edge of his couch with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. "Piscary," he said to the flat carpet. "Why can't I have a normal girlfriend who only has to hide from her old prom date?"
"You're the one calling up demons," I said, my knees shaking. The night was suddenly a lot more threatening. The closet seemed bigger now that Nick wasn't in it, and I didn't want to get out. "I should go back to my church," I said, thinking I was going to set my old cot up in the sanctuary and sleep on the abandoned altar tonight. Right after I called Trent. He said he'd take care of it. Take care of it. I hoped that meant staking Piscary. Piscary didn't care about the law; why should I? I searched my conscience, not finding even a twinge.
I reached for my jacket and went to the door. I wanted to be in my church. I wanted to wrap myself in the ACG blanket I'd stolen from Edden and sit in the middle of my God-blessed church. "I need to make a call," I said numbly, stopping short in the middle of his living room.
"Trent?" he asked needlessly, handing me his cordless phone.
I made a fist to hid my shaking fingers after I punched in the number. I got Jonathan, sounding irate and nasty. I gave him a hard time until he agreed to let me talk to Trent directly. Finally I heard the click of an extension, and Trent's river-smooth voice came on to give me a professional "Good evening, Ms. Morgan."
"It's Piscary," I said by way of greeting. There was silence for five heartbeats, and I wondered if he had hung up.
"It told you Piscary is sending it to kill my witches?" Trent asked, the sound of his fingers snapping intruding. There followed the distinctive scratch of him writing something, and I wondered if Quen was with him. The weariness Trent had put in his voice to cover his worry didn't work.
"I asked it if it was sent to kill you last spring, and who summoned it for the task," I said, my stomach roiling as I paced. "I suggest you stay on hallowed ground after sunset. You can walk on hallowed ground, can't you?" I asked, not sure how elves handled that sort of thing.
"Don't be crass," he said. "I have a soul as much as you do. And thank you. As soon as you confirm the information, I'll send a courier with the rest of your compensation."
I jerked, my eyes meeting Nick's. "Confirmed?" I said. "What do you mean, confirmed?" I couldn't stop my hands from shaking.
"What you gave me was advice," Trent was saying. "I only pay my stockbroker for that. Get me proof, and Jonathan will cut you a check."
"I just gave you proof!" I stood up, heart pounding. "I just talked to that damned demon and it said it's killing your witches. How much more proof do you need?"
"More than one person can summon a demon, Ms. Morgan. If you didn't ask it if Piscary summoned it to murder those witches, you have only speculation."
My breath caught, and I turned my back to Nick. "That was too expensive," I said, lowering my voice and running a hand over my braid. "But it attacked us both under Piscary's binding, and it admitted to killing the witches."
"Not good enough. I need proof before I go about staking a master vampire. I suggest you get it quickly."
"You're going to stiff me!" I shouted, spinning to the curtained window as my fear shifted to frustration. "Why not?" I cried sarcastically. "The Howlers are. The FIB is. Why should you be any different?"
"I'm not stiffing you," he said, anger making the gray of his voice turn from silk to cold iron. "But I won't pay for shoddy work. As you said, I'm paying you for results, not a play-by-play - or speculation."
"Sounds to me you aren't paying me anything! I'm telling you it was Piscary, and a lousy twenty thousand isn't enough to get me to waltz into a four-hundred-year-old-plus vampire's lair and ask him if he has been sending his demon to kill citizens of Cincinnati."
"If you don't want the job, then I expect you to return my retaining fee."
I hung up on him.
The phone was hot in my grip, and I set it gently on the mantel between Nick's kitchen and living room before I threw it at something. "Get me home, please?" I asked tightly.
Nick was staring at his bookshelf, running his fingers over the titles.
"Nick," I said louder, angry and frustrated. "I really want to get home."
"Just a minute," he mumbled, intent on his books.
"Nick!" I exclaimed, gripping my elbows. "You can pick out your bedtime story later. I really want to get home!"
He turned, a sick look on his long face. "He took it."
"Took what?"
"I thought he was talking about the book in his hand. But he took the one that you used to make me your familiar."
My lip curled. "Al wrote the book on how to make humans into familiars? He can have it."
"No," he said, his expression drawn and pale. "If he's got it, how are we going to break the spell?"
My face went slack. "Oh." I hadn't thought of that.