Pale Demon. Kim Harrison

      The air grew cold on my face, and I realized I was crying. I didn’t want to die like this. Damn elf magic. Wild magic. Divine, slippery … alive, uncontrollable.

      Uncontrollable, I thought, fastening on that idea. Malleable. I couldn’t control wild magic, couldn’t fight it. But maybe I could … change it.

      My heart gave a thump, and refused to beat again as the man’s voice faltered, leaving a single note in my mind to spiral down to a long, soft hum. Om, perhaps. The sound of peace, the sound of death.

      Not yet, I thought, and then I added to it, giving my mind an ugly note to follow the one of pure beauty, and my heart gave a beat at the harshness of it, discordant and wrong. The arms holding me jumped in surprise, jarring me, and I added a new note to follow my first.

      I could hear him singing again, the words unclear and so exquisite it broke my heart. My jaw clenched, and I drowned the purity of his song with my own ugly music, harsh and savage—survival. It was never beautiful except for its pure honesty.

      Again my heart beat, and I took a sip of air, breaking away from the elven spell, tingling with wild magic as control came flooding back, his hold on me broken. My eyes flashed open. I was sitting on the ground, my back to a tree, his arm around me like a lover, sleeping in the sun as he sang to me.

      Son of a bitch.

      I sat up out of his reach, turning to see the shock in his green eyes as his voice faltered. There was a hint of resemblance to Trent in them, and I felt a moment of doubt. Could he do this, too? “That was a mistake,” I rasped, and then I plowed my fist right into his gut.

      The man grunted, bending over and bringing his knees to his chest. I swung my legs around to kneel, reaching for his hair. It was soft, like silk, and I clenched my fingers in it, anger giving me strength. I slammed the back of his head against the tree, and as he groaned, I staggered to my feet, giving him a mean kick in the ribs, hard enough to at least crack one or two, if not break them. I was pissed.

      “You son of a bitch!” I yelled, seeing the mothers nearby gathering their kids and moving them away. “Try to kill me with your magic? Have a taste of mine!” I shouted, shredding the last of the music in my mind, trying to get rid of it completely.

      He looked up at me, the pain from his ribs making him squint. I put my hand on his face, and flooded him with ever-after, burning the last of the wild magic from me with my own. He screamed and tried to pull away, but I followed him down, having to kneel when he fell over.

      “You are slime, you hear me?” I shouted, wiping my eyes as I pulled away, my hand throbbing and me not caring. “Slime! And you know what? The Withons are slime, too, and Trent’s going to make it to the West Coast if it kills me. And it won’t!” Heart pounding, I gave him another kick, thinking I should do a lot more. All those people dead on the expressway. Glancing at the empty park, I went and picked up my bag, searching until I found my lipstick. Throwing the cap away, I scrawled “I killed them” on his forehead.

      Panting, I lurched to my feet and dropped the ruined lipstick on his chest. He whimpered, his synapses singed. He wouldn’t be doing magic any time soon. Turning to the park, I pushed myself into a staggering, ugly run.

      I did not like St. Louis.

      Six

      “Rache!” Jenks shrilled, scaring the crap out of me as he darted down from the tall trees.

      “God, Jenks!” I yelped, heart racing as I paused, a hand on the tree beside me. “You scared me. Where’s Trent?”

      Dripping red dust, he hovered before me, taking in my haggard appearance and accepting it, knowing better than to ask what had happened. I was here, the assassin wasn’t. It was enough for Jenks, and right now, it was enough for me. “In a hole in the ground,” he said, and tension hit me. “Some kind of gardener’s bunker. It was his idea. I told him to find Ivy, but he wouldn’t listen. They’re going to find him, Rache! It’s not my fault! He wouldn’t listen!”

      I panted, turning to look back the way I’d come. “Show me,” I said, and he darted away, dusting heavily so I could follow at my own limping pace. “If that man gets himself killed, I’m going to pound him!” I muttered, starting up the gentle incline.

      The back of my mind registered how cool and restful it was here, the grass thick and well maintained. The trees were huge, rising high overhead like a distant ceiling. Seagulls called, swarming a crying kid with a box of animal crackers. Breathless, I caught sight of two men vanishing behind a row of tall shrubs.

      Damn it, I don’t want to do this again.

      My shoulder bag held tight to me, I ran after them, seeing Jenks’s faint trail leading down a damp sidewalk. Ahead of me, the two men stood at a bunkerlike door built right into a wall of earth. In the distance, one of the arch’s huge legs rose up. Oblivious to me, the men slipped inside—and the door swung shut.

      I slid to a panting halt before the brown-painted steel door, listening as I struggled to catch my breath and tried the handle. Locked—and not with a spell, which I could break, but probably with a mundane dead bolt from the inside. At least Jenks was in there.

      “Damn it!” I hissed, dropping back and digging my phone out of my pocket. “Answer me, Ivy,” I said as I hit the button and wrenched on the door at the same time.

      “Right behind you,” came her voice, and I spun.

      “Where …,” I started, then shoved the thought out of my head. “The door,” I babbled, dropping the phone into my bag. “Two of them. In there with Trent.”

      Ivy motioned for me to back up, and she gave the knob a side kick, yelling for strength. I heard metal snap, and I wasn’t surprised when the knob came away in her grip as she gave it a tug and the door opened. God, I had good friends.

      Shoulder to shoulder, we looked down a long, dimly lit room that narrowed into a black hallway. The electric lights were pale, and the sun streamed in for only a few feet. It was silent, and a cool breath of underground air, blowing out from the depths, moved my hair.

      “Which way?” Ivy said, and I crept inside, feeling the chill take me. The faint glow of pixy dust showed when she pulled the door shut, and I pointed.

      “There.”

      It smelled like oil and damp—of sweaty men, old machinery, and dusty paperwork that hadn’t seen the light of the sun for twenty years. This was not on the regular tour, and I wondered where we were as we followed the corridor down and around, shunning doors and open archways when Jenks’s dust pointed elsewhere.

      “Where’s the third one?” she whispered.

      “Back at the car, out cold. Don’t let them start to sing, okay?” I said breathlessly, and she nodded, taking that at face value.

      We have to be almost under one of the feet, I thought, wondering how Quen kept Trent safe every day. I suppose watching Trent in an office was easier than trying to shake three guys in a Cadillac, but I was going to get the man a leash if we found him alive.

      A soft crack of metal shocked through me, and then Jenks’s yelp.

      “Shit,” Ivy swore, darting past me and running down a corridor.

      Gasping, I bolted after her. Trent was shouting—it sounded like Latin—and, my boots skidding on the oil-slicked cement, I grabbed a rusty ceiling support and swung myself around a dusty machine and into a puddle of dirty light.

      Squinting, I watched Jenks bust another bulb to make it darker yet. Two shadows were scurrying into the dark, Ivy’s sleek form chasing them. The ceiling was low, and the space was crowded with abandoned machines. Trent had his back to me as he knelt next to his suitcase under a light, a protection bubble around him. Relief hit me, and I paused, torn between seeing if he was okay and following Ivy, busy thunking people into walls by the sound of it.

      The circle was larger than I thought Trent could make, almost one of