A Perfect Blood. Ким Харрисон

said, and my head came up at the amusement in his voice. “I’m glad you did. It invoked the demon clause. Between Trent and me, we almost have you solvent again.”

      “Demon clause?” I asked sourly, sure the smile quirking his lips was at my expense.

      “Demon clause,” he echoed, nodding sharply. “Any action caused by a demon cannot be held accountable to any person and is considered an act of nature. It’s in most boilerplates, and what it means is that all the lawsuits against you have no validity.”

      My lips parted, and I sat up straighter. I’d known that David and Trent had been working together to both put laws into place to give me back my rights as a citizen and minimize the damage that me being me wrought, but this was new. “I wasn’t legally a demon when most of those suits were brought against me,” I said, and David smacked a hand on my knee, clearly in a good mood.

      “Yes, you were. You were born a demon. The miracle is that you survived it.” I began to smile, and he added, “My lawyer is having a field day making a name for himself. I think he should be paying us to retain him.”

      I snorted, relieved that something good had come out of it. “Glad I could help,” I said sarcastically. The woman talking to Wayde was looking at me. Her expression wasn’t eager, and I waved at her. That went over really well by all accounts as she frowned at Wayde, and I watched her say, “I’ll ask her. Wait here.” The glass door shut,

      and Wayde turned, shrugging.

      “Come on,” David said as he opened his door again, clearly in a much better mood. “Let’s see if she’ll let you in.”

      A shiver of excitement tempered with dread sifted through me, and I got out, almost tripping on the curb, David had parked so close. Bag high on my shoulder, I shut the car door behind me with a thump that echoed in the rain-wet streets. I looked at the damp, world-weary buildings around me, able to tell that the river wasn’t that far away.

      “I’m sorry, David,” I said, and he smiled at me over the hood of his car. “I should have done this a long time ago. Thanks for putting up with me.” Why could I admit I was wrong to David, and not to Trent?

      “Not a problem,” he said, then gestured to the store. “Shall we go?”

      I nodded and started across the road. There were more lights on now. My head down to watch for the potholes, I made my way to the front door, David beside me. Upon reaching the chipped curb, I peered past the old posters and into the shop, avoiding Wayde’s disgruntled stare. The windows were so thickly covered with colored images that it was hard to see in.

      “I’m not going to run away,” I said when Wayde leaned over, almost pinning me to the door.

      “Good,” he said shortly, not backing up. “Emojin is on her way down. She’s not sure anymore that she wants to ink you. Way to go, Rachel.”

      “Not ink her?” David dropped back a step. “I already paid for it!”

      Wayde’s expression was hard. “Then you should have gotten her here before she stood Emojin up five times.”

      “I’m sorry about that!” I said loudly, hearing my voice echo in the deserted street. “I wasn’t ready, and I don’t like being pushed!”

      The door was being opened, and Wayde turned to face it. “Then I suggest you tell her.”

      Inside, a shadow moved, outlined with a sudden light when an interior door opened. There was a glimpse of a stairway up, and then the door shut. David dropped back, and the outer door was opened by a barefoot, heavy woman in a blue-and-green sari-like garment.

      I froze. The woman was absolutely gorgeous. I’d never seen a woman this large who carried herself with so much elegance and dignity. Her skin was a pale cream with absolutely no blemishes or marks from a tattoo needle, looking as soft and supple as a newborn’s. Her hair was a silvery white, braided up off her neck. She had comfortable folds of wrinkles that said she smiled a lot, but she wasn’t smiling now. Native American and French, perhaps? I didn’t know.

      “Emojin,” David said through the bars. “Thank you. We finally cornered her.”

      “I haven’t said I’d do it,” she said, and I stepped on Wayde’s foot. He backed up, and I felt better. “Rachel Morgan?”

      I felt trapped as her brown eyes hit me. “Uh, I’m sorry,” I said, feeling like I was back in kindergarten. “I was an ass for standing you up, but I wasn’t ready, and I don’t like being pushed. Will you accept my apologies?”

      She took a deep breath, holding it as she looked me up and down again. “Maybe. Come on in and let me hear you talk some.”

      Hear me talk? I mused, but she had unlocked the wrought-iron door and turned away, moving her bulk with grace as she went deeper into the store.

      David opened the door for me, and feeling like I was being coddled, I went inside. Wayde came in behind me, and finally David. They shut the door with a soft thunk, sealing us inside. I took a slow breath, letting the place seep into me.

      The first thing I noticed was a lack of echo. It was warm, too, almost eighty, I guess, and I immediately relaxed. The cement floor had been painted with a fantastic array of colors, mimicking a tattoo. Most of it was faded. The walls were covered in sketches, clearly several layers deep. There was a seating arrangement up front made from old bus seats and a hairdresser’s chair, a huge, stained microwave and coffee urn beside it. Three separate rooms that would have been offices anywhere else took up one side of the store. They didn’t have any doors, but the ceiling-to-waist-high windows had blinds, and they were closed.

      Emojin had shifted her bulk behind a U-shaped, businesslike counter in the center of the store. The scratched glass cabinets held jewelry for body piercing. Behind her were deep shelves with sketchbooks of all sizes, the largest thicker than a wallpaper book.

      Seeing David and me making our way to the counter, Wayde put his thumbs into his pockets and sauntered over to the young woman who’d answered the door. Mary Jo, maybe? She looked up from the invoices she was going over and smiled, and I rolled my eyes.

      “So you’re David’s alpha?” Emojin said as I halted before her. She was eyeing me pensively as she settled herself on a high stool before a state-of-the-art monitor and keyboard. “You’re nothing like the other girls.”

      Pulling myself straight, I extended my hand over the counter to her. “I’m Rachel,” I said, feeling her smooth, unworked hand slip coolly into mine. “I don’t want to be a bother,” I said, looking over the clearly closed store.

      Emojin’s pale eyebrows rose. “Too late for that,” she said sourly. “Well, you’re here, but I’m not going to do this if you don’t want it.” She crossed her arms over her chest and looked from David to me. “I know he dragged you here. Let me hear it.”

      I was so embarrassed. “I want this,” I said, then glanced up, seeing her tight expression of disapproval. “Really. I’ve been unconscionably rude to you and to David. And the rest of the pack. I was unprofessional in standing you up, and I’m sorry. I was just scared.”

      The big woman grunted in surprise, and her arms uncrossed. “Still scared?” she asked, the first hints of her mood softening starting to show.

      I looked at David, then Wayde, who had rolled up his sleeve to show off one of his tattoos to the young woman, and then back to Emojin. “Yes,” I blurted out, and David winced. “But I’m scared about a lot of things that I do. I want this more than I’m scared.” The skin around my eyes tightened as I looked at Wayde. “If I had really wanted to get away, I would have.”

      Exhaling heavily, Emojin nodded. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but okay. I’ll do it. And I accept your apology.”

      I sighed, not realizing until now how much this meant to me. “Thank you. I’m really sorry. I do some of the stupidest things sometimes.”

      Emojin