Pale Demon. Kim Harrison

“You good?”

      Trent’s face was empty of emotion as he turned where he sat and pulled his sleeve up, twisting to see on his arm where the mark was—had been—I hoped.

      “Good,” I called out to Ivy, my voice cracking. “I’m good!” I said louder, and she slumped back into the seat. She’d felt it. That was curious.

      Trent made a small noise, his expression ugly. “What is that!” he exclaimed, his face becoming red as he twisted to show me his arm, and my lips parted. The demon mark was gone, but in its place was a dark discoloration of skin that looked like a birthmark. A birthmark in the shape of a smiley face. All it needed was the phrase “Have a nice day!” tattooed under it.

      A mild panic hit me. This was so not fair. I had done the charm—curse—whatever—right, and I still ended up looking like a fool.

      “What is that!” he demanded, the flush rising to his ears. From the open field, the pixies rose high then back down.

      “Uh, it looks like a birthmark,” I said. “Really, it’s not that bad.”

      “Is this your idea of a joke?” he exclaimed.

      “I didn’t know it was going to do that!” I admitted, voice rising as I shifted to a kneel. My foot hit the mirror, and the candles all fell over, the one going out in a puff of smoke. “Maybe it’s so the demons know to keep their mitts off you!” Oh my God, it looked like a smiley face.

      He sniffed at it. “It stinks!” he said. “It smells like a dandelion!”

      I closed my eyes in a long blink, but he was still there when I opened them. “Trent, I’m sorry,” I apologized, hoping he believed me. “I didn’t know. Maybe you can add a tattoo to it. Make it something more butch.”

      Trent wouldn’t look at me as he got to his feet, his boots scraping on the cement. “This is clearly the best you can do,” he said shortly. “We have to get going.”

      “You’re welcome,” I said, peeved that that was all I was going to get out of him. His becoming my familiar had only been to save his little elf ass. For my trouble I’d gotten my head bashed into a tombstone. And now that I’d gone and added more smut to my soul to break said familiar bond, incidentally giving more ammunition to the coven of moral and ethical standards to use to prove that I was a black witch, all I got was “We have to get going”?

      “Have a nice day,” I called snidely after him as I shoved everything into my shoulder bag. Standing, I started to follow. The sun hit me like a heavy wind, and I bowed my head, wishing I had another pair of sunglasses. They might have a pair in the gas station, but I wasn’t going in to look. And I wasn’t going to give Trent his back, either.

      Trent’s pace was stiff as he walked to the car. I turned to the nearby field, squinting for Jenks. Not a wing caught the light or broke the stillness, and a sliver of worry colored my anger. “Do I smell better?” I heard Trent ask Ivy sarcastically as he got in the back of the car.

      “I liked the way you smelled before, Trent. That was the problem.”

      I dumped the candles, transfer media, and finger stick into the barrel with Trent’s bloody shirt and our trash. Tapping a line, I made the appropriate ley-line gesture, and with the final words, leno cinis, I threw a ball of unfocused energy in on top to get the entire thing burning. Flame whooshed up, fueled by my anger as well as the demon curse. Ivy looked at me through the open window, her eyebrows high as I destroyed any evidence of us and the curse.

      Without a word, she started the car. Hands on my hips, I looked to the field for Jenks. A sneeze tickled my nose, and I let it come, hearing it echo against the broken buildings. My eyes narrowed, and sure enough, I sneezed again. There was only one reason I sneezed more than twice in a row, and I held my breath until the third one ripped through me.

      Damn. It was Al. Maybe he’d felt the familiar emancipation curse being registered.

      “Ivy, we got a minute?” I asked as I tossed my bag in through the open door, then sat down sideways with my feet still on the cracked cement.

      She knew what my sneezing meant, too. “A minute.” Still reclining, she honked the horn. “Jenks! Let’s go!”

      The tightening in my gut eased as Jenks flew up, a veritable cloud of pretty dresses and flashing wings left hovering forlornly over the meadow. “Crap on toast!” the pixy said, his long hair loose and looking disheveled as he straightened his clothes. “I think I almost got married.”

      There was a flash of red on his feet, and as I placed the scrying mirror on my knees, I blinked in surprise. “Where did you get the boots, Jenks?”

      “You like them?” he said as he landed on the glass to show them off. “Me, too. I told them about you, and they gave them to me. They think I’m some kind of wandering storyteller, and it was either take these or the nasty honey made from sedge flowers.” He made a face, his angular features twisting up dramatically. “What does Al want?”

      I sneezed in the middle of saying, “Three guesses,” and he took off, flying to the back to show his boots to Trent. “I’m coming!” I shouted at Al as I placed my hand on the center glyph and tapped into the ley line. Feet in the sun, I set my thoughts on Algaliarept, his ruddy complexion, his overdone British accent, his cruelty, his crushed green velvet coat, his cruelty, his voice, and his cruelty. He was nice to me, but he really was a depraved, sadistic … demon.

      “Can’t you do this while we’re on the road?” Trent asked from the backseat.

      “Al!” I said aloud when I felt the connection form to the demon collective, and my thought winged away to be immediately answered. A second consciousness expanded mine, and I heard Jenks clatter his wings.

      “You ever see anything freakier than that?” he said to Trent.

      “Yes, about three minutes ago,” Trent answered back.

      What in the arcane are you doing? came Al’s unusually angry thought within mine, and shoved away the whisper imagery of him either cleaning his spelling kitchen or tearing it apart.

      “Filing an emancipation curse,” I said aloud so Ivy and Jenks could hear half the conversation. “And before you start, what I do with my familiars is my business.”

      Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Al shouted, and I winced. Please tell me you didn’t teach him anything. Al hesitated. Did you?

      I shook my head even though Al couldn’t see it. “I didn’t teach Trent anything. Not even respect,” I said, and I felt Al sigh in relief.

      Itchy witch, Al thought, his dark musings seeming to insert themselves into my head. There’s a reason we kill familiars when we’re done with them. He’s got a new mark, doesn’t he?

      “His familiar mark turned into a smiley face,” I said, feeling myself warm.

      From the backseat, Jenks exclaimed, “No way! Let me see!” and Trent’s negative growl.

      Damn my dame, Al thought, seeming to fall back into Ceri’s comfortable chair by the small hearth in his kitchen if I was interpreting his emotions right. You did it correctly. Nice going, Rachel.

      “Hey, you’re the one who gave me the recipe,” I shot back, thinking the modern phrase sounded funny coming from the old-world-charm demon.

      I gave that one to you because it’s bloody impossible and I thought you wouldn’t be able to do it! he exclaimed, loud enough to give me a headache. You just made Trent able to call any demon without fear of being snatched. Nice going.

      Fingers pressed to the glass to maintain our link, I looked back at Trent. So? You can still smack him around, can’t you? I said, and the demon chuckled, making me shiver.

      Technically, no, but that’s a matter of interpretation.

      I pushed my fingers into my forehead, tired of it all. Demons. Their society’s rules were not worth