The Outlaw Demon Wails (19 page)

“Nope,” Jenks said. His face was creased in irritation, and then seeing both of us looking at him, he forced himself to relax. “How about putting some of that sake I smell on my plate, Marsh-man,” he said suddenly. It was a change of mood I didn't trust, but I'd go along with it.

Looking chagrined, Marshal pulled a worn thermos from his jacket pocket. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” he said dryly as he set it between us.

“I'm surprised,” I said as I got up to get the tiny, see-through ceramic teacups that Ceri preferred to my thick-walled mugs. They weren't traditional sake cups, but they looked better than shot glasses.

“That will work,” Marshal said as I set them down, and he filled them halfway up before carefully tipping his cup over Jenks's tea bag caddy to fill it right to the top.

This isn't like Kisten
, I thought, finding a hint of peace as I held my cup up in a toast. Jenks had never hung around when Kisten and I were together. And though Marshal was fun to look at, I was still too raw to be serious. Not having that will-he-won't-he stress to deal with was an unexpected pleasure.

“To new jobs,” he said, and we all took a sip, me holding my breath so I wouldn't cough.

“Good stuff,” I said, eyes watering and feeling the nasty stuff burn all the way down.

Marshal set his cup down with a careful slowness, the subtle easing of his posture telling me that just that little bit of alcohol had an effect on him. But hell, sake was potent stuff.

Jenks's wings sped up, and the soft slipping of dust ceased.

“Thanks for letting me come over,” Marshal said as he took up his fork and arranged his dinner. “My hotel room is…empty. And I could use a little normalcy after today.”

Smirking, Jenks fanned his wings, sending the scent of rice to me. “She fought off a demon with the help of Rynn Cormel. We ain't normal, Marsh-man.”

It almost sounded like a warning, and Marshal's laughter stopped short when he saw my mood go pensive. “Rynn Cormel?” he said, as if trying to figure out if Jenks was kidding him. “The vampire, right?”

I leaned over my plate and took a bite. Good rice sticks together, but I wasn't going to use chopsticks if Marshal wasn't. “Yup,” I said when it became obvious that he was waiting for an answer. “He took in Piscary's
camarilla, which means he's my roommate's new master vamp, and he came over to find out what my intentions toward Ivy were.”

Sort of the truth, but the entire truth was
way
too embarrassing.

“Oh.”

It was an uncomfortable utterance, and I looked up to see his brown eyes holding an uneasy wariness—which made Jenks all the more pleased, apparently, if his wing speed was any indication. “It wasn't a big deal,” I said, trying to downplay it. “He got in the way more than anything else.”

That didn't help at all, and Marshal swallowed to look ill. I sat back, gripping my plate and reaching for my sake cup. “You want to move to sanctified ground? We can watch TV or something. We have cable out there now.”

Marshal shook his head. “No. If you say the demon won't show up, I believe you.”

A snicker came from Jenks, ticking me off. I took another swallow of sake, following it with the rice and meat. It didn't burn this time, and I thought as I chewed and swallowed. This stank. Marshal wanted to take me skating. What kind of friend makes a guy hide in a church because she's afraid of demons?

Lips pressed, I got up, feeling the men's eyes on me as I plucked my compact from my bag and one of Ivy's fine-line Sharpies from her cup. I had a stick of yew around here somewhere, and the sake was probably a good substitute for wine.

“Uh, Rache?” Jenks questioned.

“I'm tired of hiding in my church,” I said, thinking I'd have to get my scrying mirror out to remember what the glyph looked like if I wanted to reproduce the spell to make a calling circle. “It's right before Halloween, for crying out loud.”

“Rache…”

I wouldn't look up. “If you want to come with us and babysit, fine. Al isn't going to show. Besides, he wants me alive, not dead. And I want to go out.”

Marshal's fork scraped as he set it down. “What are you doing?”

“Making something I probably shouldn't.” Giving up on doing this
from memory, I pulled my scrying mirror out from under the island counter and carefully set it down. I harbored a guilty thought that the thing was beautiful, its crystalline lines of the symbols etched into its surface showing a sharp diamond clarity against the wine-colored depths of the glass reflecting reality in deep shades of maroon. Something this evil shouldn't be beautiful. Ceri had helped me make this one after I broke the first over Minias's head.
Damn it, why is she risking her soul like this again?

Marshal was silent as he looked at it. “That's a calling circle,” he finally said. “I think. I've never seen one like that.”

Jenks looked almost cocky when the dust slipping from him turned gold and he said, “That's because it goes through ley lines to summon demons.”

I frowned, but the damage had been done. Marshal stiffened, carefully taking a bite of rice and vegetables as if it didn't bother him. Exasperated, I looked at the sake and decided I'd had enough. Of Jenks, not the sake.
What is with him tonight?

“It doesn't summon demons, just lets me talk to them.”
And opens a channel they can travel through.
“Marshal, I'm a white witch. Really.” I looked at the pentagram and winced. “The thing is, I've got a demon bent on dragging me into the ever-after, and having a calling circle gives me the option to call someone to pick him up when he shows. He's supposed to be in jail. But everything will be fine tomorrow after I go out with David and beat some sense into whoever is calling Al and releasing him to get me.”

It sounded lame even to me, and Marshal chewed his rice, his attention never leaving mine as he weighed his thoughts. His gaze flicked to the calling circle and then swung back to me. “You call it Al?” he asked mildly.

I took a breath, deciding to give him all the drama of my life at once. If he was going to leave because of it, I wanted to know now, not after I started liking the guy. “The smut on my aura I got from using a demon curse to save my ex-boyfriend,” I said.
Mostly.
“And the two demon marks were accidents.”

Aren't they all?
I mocked in my thoughts, but Marshal had taken a sip of his drink and leaned back. “Rachel, you don't have to tell me all this,” he said, and I raised a hand.

“Yes I do.” Eyeing the sake, I slammed it, wanting a loose tongue for a few minutes. “There is
no way
I'm going to have a boyfriend anytime soon,” I said as it burned, “so if you're looking for a fast hop in the sack, you can just walk out the door right now. Actually, you should get out now anyway.”

“Uh…” Marshal stammered, and Jenks snickered as he drank the last of his sake.

“I have a risky job,” I said defensively as I put my arm flat on the table, almost flipping my plate of rice. “I love it. It might make you a target.” My jaw clenched. Kisten had died because he refused to kill me when Piscary asked. I was sure of it.

Jenks took flight, and I watched the sparkles as he landed on Marshal's shoulder and sighed. “She's such a drama queen,” he muttered a little too loudly, ticking me off.

“Shut up, Jenks,” I said carefully so I wouldn't slur. I wasn't drunk, but the alcohol helped. I turned to Marshal. “I got a demon mark when my ex-boyfriend bought a trip through the lines when Al tore my throat open. I have another on my foot because some jackass pulled me through to the ever-after to give me to Al and I had to buy a trip home from another demon who is absolutely nuts and might show up at any time if she remembers me.”

“She?” Marshal said, sparse eyebrows high but accepting that.

“I also have a couple of unclaimed vampire scars that make me susceptible to vampire pheromones,” I said, not caring what he thought. “If it wasn't for Ivy protecting me, I'd be dead or out of my mind by now because of it.”

Jenks leaned toward Marshal's ear and whispered loud enough for me to hear, “I think she likes them, if you ask me.”

“I'm trouble, Marshal,” I said, ignoring Jenks. “If you were smart, you'd walk out of my church, get in your truck, and drive away. God! I don't even know why you're here.”

Marshal pushed his plate away and crossed his arms over his chest. His muscles bunched under his shirt, and I forced my attention from him. I wasn't drunk, damn it, but my eyes warmed. “Are you done?” he asked.

“I suppose,” I said, depressed.

“Jenks, do you mind if I talk to Rachel alone?” Marshal asked.

The pixy's expression darkened and he put his fists on his hips, but when he saw me glare at him, he sulkily flew to the door. Ten to one he was going to listen from the hall, but at least we had the illusion of privacy.

Seeing him gone, Marshal leaned across the table and took my hands in his. “Rachel, I met you on my boat, asking for my help to rescue your ex-boyfriend from a group of militant Weres. Don't you think I know you leave a trail of bread crumbs for trouble to follow?”

I brought my eyes up. “Yes, but—”

“My turn,” he said, and I shut my mouth. “I'm not sitting in your kitchen because I'm new in town and looking for a curvy body in my bed. I'm here because I like you. I only talked to you for a few hours on my boat, but in that little time, I was seeing you as you. No pretenses, no games. You know how rare that is?” He gave my fingers a gentle squeeze, and my gaze rose. “You never see a person like that on a date, not after a dozen dates. Sometimes, you can spend years with someone and never really know what they're like under the veneer we put on to make ourselves feel better. I liked what I saw when you were under pressure. The last thing I need is a steady girlfriend.” He let go of my hand and slid to the back of his chair. “My last one was a nightmare, and I'd just as soon keep things casual. Like tonight. Minus the demon.”

He smiled, and I couldn't help but smile back. I'd been around too many guys to take his words at face value, but he was stifling a shudder born from something in his memory. “I don't want you to get hurt,” I mumbled, embarrassed now. The quickest way to get a man interested was to say you weren't.

Marshal sat taller. “I'll be okay,” he said as he looked out the dark kitchen window and shrugged. “I'm not helpless. I've got a degree in low-level ley line manipulations. I ought to be able to manage a demon or two.” He smiled. “Short-term anyway.”

This wasn't going well. “I'm not…I can't…” I took a steadying breath. “I'm still hurting. You're wasting your time.”

He looked at the window and the dark square it made. “I told you I'm not looking for a girlfriend. You women are all nuts, but I like the way you smell and you're fun to dance with.”

A quiver rose and fell in my middle. “Then why are you here?”

Marshal's eyes came back to mine. “I don't like being alone, and you look like you need to be with someone…for a while.”

Slowly my gaze dropped and then returned to his. Could I trust that? Seeing my compact, I picked it up, weighed it in my palm, then tossed it into my bag. Somehow I didn't feel like I needed to prove anything to him anymore, and the entire idea had been bad to begin with. God, no wonder I kept getting into trouble. So I couldn't go out? So what?

“You, ah, want to watch a movie?” I said, embarrassed for having bared my soul, though it had left me feeling refreshed.

Marshal made a soft noise and stretched where he sat, looking comfortable and content. “Sure. Mind if I bring my paper in for the classifieds? I'm still looking for an apartment.”

“Sounds great,” I said. “That sounds really great.”

It was the softest sound of fabric sliding against leather that woke me. In a pulse of adrenaline, my eyes flashed open and my breath came fast. The scratchy softness of an afghan brushed against my face, and I sat up with a smooth, fast motion.

I was on the couch in the sanctuary, not my bed, and the light coming in the tall stained-glass windows was bright with the sunrise. Across the coffee table, Marshal was frozen halfway to a stand from his chair. His expression was one of shock.

“Wow,” he said as he straightened to his full height. “I was trying to be quiet. You're a really light sleeper.”

I blinked at him, realizing what had happened. “I fell asleep,” I said stupidly. “What time is it?”

With a soft exhalation, Marshal sat back down on the chair where he had spent most of last night. A bowl holding leftover popcorn sat on the table with three bottles of pop and an empty bag of gingersnaps. His stocking feet spread wide, he squinted at his watch. It was analog, which didn't surprise me. Most witches shunned digital. “A little after seven,” he said, his gaze rising to the muted TV and the puppets that were dancing there.

“Oh, God!” I moaned, falling back into the warmth of where I had been sleeping. “I'm so sorry.”

Marshal had his head down as he adjusted his socks. “For what?”

I gestured to the stained-glass windows past the gently swaying bats. “It's seven.”

“I don't have to be anywhere. Do you?”

Uh, not until later.
My swirling thoughts slowed. I didn't feel that good, seeing as I still had a chunk of sleep waiting for me somewhere, and I scooted myself up a bit so I wasn't so…schlumpy looking.

“Hey, you, ah, want to crash here for the rest of the morning?” I asked, staring at the happy puppets on the TV. Must be a human thing to watch puppets at this hour, because it sure as hell wasn't appealing to a witch. “We have a couch in the back living room. It's darker in there.”

Marshal pressed his lips together and shook his head. “No, thanks. I didn't mean to wake you. I was going to leave you a note and slip out. I've been on a human clock for three years. I'm usually up by now.”

My face twisted as I imagined that. “I'm not,” I complained. “I've got to get to bed.”

He smiled as he gathered the empty bottles to take to the kitchen, and I yawned. “Don't bother,” I said. “I'll take care of them. If I don't rinse them out, the rani of recycling yells at me.”

Smiling, he pulled his hands away and stood, leaving them where they were. “I have to check a few more apartments this morning, but I'll burn through my list in a few hours. You want to get together later?”

A spike of anticipation rose through me, dulled by my sleepy state, but I couldn't help but wonder where this was going. Last night with Marshal had been fun. Comfortable. True to what he had said earlier about wanting a break from a girlfriend, we just sat around and watched TV. I had brought all my runner instincts to bear on him, and though it would be stupid to think that he might not be interested in more later, right now, he just seemed to appreciate the company. God knew I did.

“Sure,” I said, carefully, “but David's run out to that witch's house comes first.” I was reluctant to move, feeling rumpled and ill from the early hour. I'd thought it had been odd when he'd fallen asleep in his chair
at midnight, right during the news, but if he'd been running on a human clock, that would be late for him.

I had intended to let Marshal sleep through the late movie and then wake him, seeing as it was nice having company without having to worry about triggering any blood lust attacks when I got excited in a chase scene. Falling asleep during the slow spots had never crossed my mind. But someone had turned the volume down, so he'd probably woken up at some point and let me keep sleeping. That was nice.

“You need any help? At the house I mean?” Marshal asked, and I smiled up at him.

“Nope.”

“Then I'll get out of here,” he said, then dropped down to crouch before me. He was way too close, and I drew back with my eyes wide.

“You're funny,” he said as he got on his hands and knees and peered under the couch. “I'm not going to kiss you. You're too much trouble to be my girlfriend. Too high-maintenance. My boots are under there.”

I grinned in embarrassment as he came up with his boots.

The click of the front door opening shot through me. Marshal got to his feet and turned in one smooth motion, and I bolted upright.

“Ivy?” I called, recognizing the sound of her boots clacking.

Her path ruler-straight and her face placid, she walked past Marshal and me. “'Morning,” she said, no clue to her mood in her voice as she vanished into the darkness of the hall. The collar to her jacket was up, and I think she'd been bitten in an intentionally obvious place. My thoughts jerked back to Rynn Cormel, and a feeling of anger burned. He had taken her last night, making his claim in an obvious, indisputable way. I'd known it was coming, and Ivy said it was expected, but it still seemed degrading to me.

Marshal shifted uneasily, and my attention returned to him. He was standing over me, and I suddenly realized what it must have looked like to Ivy. He hadn't been there to give me a kiss, but he had been in the right place for it.

Ivy slammed a kitchen cupboard door shut, and Marshal jumped.

“I'd, ah, better go.”

I pulled the afghan up around my shoulders as he started for the front door. Stretching to feel every ache the couch had put in me, I followed him. The pixies were loud outside, and the shadows of their wings showed where they were clearing spiderwebs off the outside panes to help deter fairies from trying to take up residence. My balance bobbled as I came around the coffee table, and Marshal caught my elbow. “Thanks,” I mumbled, looking up his considerable height. I didn't like how awkward the early hour had made me, but he looked fine, standing there in his rumpled shirt and lightly stubbled face.

“Kinda klutzy in the morning, eh?” he said, then let go of my elbow when Ivy's boots clattered in the hallway. He stepped back, and I tried not to frown at Ivy. She had Marshal's coat from the kitchen, and she draped it over my swivel desk chair. “Do you want some coffee before you go?” she asked, sounding sincere, but the coat said different.

Marshal cracked his neck, his gaze sliding to his coat before returning to Ivy, who was framed by the hallway opening, her hip cocked, looking predatory in her sleek leather pants and coat. “No, thanks. I have an appointment. See you later, Ivy.”

He pulled his coat from the chair, and as it slowly spun, I followed him to the door. Fatigue made my feet heavy, and I yawned, trying to wake up.
God, I must look terrible
.

“'Bye, Marshal,” Ivy said, still unmoving. Her face was empty, telling me she wasn't happy. I gave her a pointed look when Marshal paused to put on his boots, and finally showing her ire, she turned and left.

Immediately my tension eased in the dim gray of the foyer. “Don't mind her,” I said as Marshal laced his boots up. “She likes you.”

“Could have fooled me,” he said as he tugged his coat on and the scent of oil, gas, and redwood came to me. “Thanks for last night. I didn't want to sit in my hotel room, and I'm too old for the bar scene. I feel like I'm using you to keep from being alone.”

A smile came over me, sort of sad but happy as well. “Yeah, me, too.” I hesitated, not wanting to sound pushy, but it had felt good not to be alone. “So, I'll call you later this afternoon when I know my schedule?”

He took a deep breath, exhaling quickly as he gathered his thoughts.
“Not if I call you first.” Smiling, he opened the door and stepped out onto the stoop. “'Bye, Rachel.”

“'Bye,” I called after him. I slumped until my back hit the door frame, giving him an unsure smile when he looked up from the sidewalk with his keys in hand. His boots were almost soundless on the walk, and I watched him as the cooler air slipped in to make my ankles chill and a stray curl dance before my eyes. I hoped this wasn't a mistake. I'd had guy friends before, but it usually slipped into something else before it ended.

The human neighbor down the street drove past in his minivan, and when he slowed to check Marshal out, I ducked back inside. Seven o'clock. What was I doing up at seven o'clock? This was a stupid-ass hour to be up.

But I felt good. Sort of melancholy, but good.

The darkness of the foyer was comforting, and I wrapped my arms around my middle as I went back into the sanctuary, grabbing the bowl and bottles on my way to the kitchen. Ivy was in there, and I wanted to know if Rynn Cormel, the charismatic world leader, had taken advantage of my roommate and bitten her.

Squinting at the brighter light and feeling the early hour all the way to my bones, I rinsed the empty pop bottles before dropping them into the recycling bin and slumped into my chair with the last of the popcorn. Ivy was still wearing her coat, sitting poised at her computer and checking e-mail before bed. An open box of flavored cereal was by her keyboard and she chewed slowly. Leaning, I tried to catch a look at her neck, and she jerked back so I couldn't.

“He seems nice,” she said, her face emotionless, but I could hear a hint of annoyance.

“He is,” I said defensively. “It's nice of you to pretend to like him, by the way. Thanks.”

The corners of her eyes tightened. “What makes you think I don't like him?”

Oh, that is just stupid.
“Because you never like anyone who pays attention to me,” I said, feeling my pulse quicken, angry that she would try to bullshit me.

“I liked Kisten,” she said bitterly.

Emotion welled, and I got even more angry that she'd try to make me feel guilty for wanting to move past his death. I tugged the afghan closer, ticked. “The only reason you liked him was because he got me to loosen up and sleep with a vamp,” I said sullenly.

“That's part of it,” she said mildly.

“And because you knew he was never a real threat,” I added. “That if push came to shove, Kisten would back off. You used him.”

Ivy stiffened. Her fingers danced over the keys until she hit “send” with an excessive amount of force. “That, too,” she admitted softly—irritated. “But
I. Also. Loved. Him.
”

Suddenly I understood what this was about. Leaning back in my chair, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Spending time with Marshal is not betraying Kisten's memory. Don't you dare think badly of me for that. He's just a guy, not my boyfriend. Ivy, you just spent the night with Rynn Cormel. Got a new scar?” I mocked.

I leaned forward to shift her collar, and her arm flashed to intercept me. Her arm met mine in a soft but certain
whap
, and I jerked back, surprised.

“He's my master,” she said, her eyes dilating. “It's expected.”

But she had turned, and there was a new, carefully given, red-rimmed bite. Something unexpected clenched in me, and Ivy's pale complexion turned a soft blush.
Damn it.

“Expected, hell. I know you enjoyed yourself,” I said hotly. “You enjoyed it, and there's nothing wrong with that, but if you feel guilty about it, don't take it out on me.”

Ivy's long hand trembled. My heart gave a hard thump as she pushed from her computer and focused entirely on me in a familiar mix of anger and the sexual domination she used to protect herself. I met her angry expression with my glare, and a twinge came from my neck. I ignored it. The tips of her gold-highlighted hair shifted with her breath, and a feeling of unease rose behind me, like the creepy-crawly things that live under the bed that only kids know are there. The hair on the back of my neck prickled, and my jaw clenched as I fought the urge to turn. She was pulling a vampiric aura. She hadn't done that in almost a year. My own eyes
narrowed in anger even as I shuddered and my palms itched. Maybe it was time to remind her that this witch had teeth, too.

“He's protecting me,” she said, her low voice swirling like gray silk. “Protecting us.”

“Yeah,” I said sarcastically. “So he tells me. We're his freaking science experiment.” Ticked, I stood. If she was pulling an aura, it was time to leave. And I didn't like the waves of sensation that pulsed down my neck and promised more. “My life is so messed up,” I said. I headed for the hallway. I had to get away from everything. Everything. “He's just another dead vamp sucking on your neck,” I muttered, feeling every muscle tighten as I passed her.

“And that bothers you?” Ivy said loudly.

I turned before I reached the hallway. Ivy had spun in her chair to face me, her legs still crossed at the knees and her working leathers making her look coy and sleek. Her eyes were black and full. A sudden surge from my scar spilled down my side to pool in my middle, warm and breath stealing. I stiffened, shoving the sensation away. “He's using you!” I said, gesturing angrily. “God, Ivy, don't you get it? He doesn't love you. He can't!”

Ivy gave me a knowing look. Goading. Arching her eyebrows in silent challenge, she succinctly placed a Cheerio in her mouth and crunched through it. “Everyone uses people. You don't think Marshal's using you? That you're not using him to feel safe in the narrow acceptance of your wants?”

“Excuse me?” I barked. “This is about me liking guys and not sleeping with you, isn't it!” I said, and she made a mockingly surprised face. “Damn it, Ivy, I'm going to sleep with who I want, when I want. I want to find a blood balance with you, but your ultimatum of my-way-or-no-way isn't going to wash. I'm
not
going to sleep with you just to make this work, and I'm busting my ass trying to find a way to tone your blood lust down so you don't lose control and we can at least
share something
!”