A Perfect Blood. Ким Харрисон

your tattoo,” Ivy said as she noticed me trying to hide it.

      “Thanks,” I said, feeling a tingle where her eyes had been as I poured Marshal a cup of coffee in the most masculine mug we had. “Me too.”

      I heard the clump, clump, clump of Marshal’s boots, and something in me fluttered. I had liked Marshal. He was a fun man to be around. I’d never expected to ever see him again when we’d parted, and I didn’t know why I’d asked him to help me except for the fact that he was the only witch I knew on the East Coast.

      “Just don’t ask Ivy about her morning,” Jenks said as the two of them entered.

      Marshal stopped short, took off his knitted hat, showing his skull, hair clipped short for the swimming pool. Looking uncomfortable, his eyes went from me to Ivy, and then back again. “Uh, hi, Rachel. Ivy,” he said, and Jenks left Marshal’s shoulder to get a few drips of coffee from the coffeepot.

      He looked almost the same as when I’d last seen him. His waist was just as slim, and his shoulders as wide. He still carried himself with that athletic grace that had attracted me to him in the first place. Clean shaven and wearing jeans and a sweater, he stood there with most of his weight on one foot, his hands in his coat pockets. He looked like he was in his mid-twenties, but I knew he’d passed that almost ten years ago. Marshal was a ley-line witch in his prime with a good job, a good life, and it showed.

      Why had I asked him to come over? Someone at the I.S. could have invoked them, even if I’d have had to stand in the lobby and beg. This had been a stupid idea. Why had he come?

      Rolling her eyes, Ivy saluted him with her empty glass. “Hi, Marshal. If you’ll excuse me, I need to wash my hair,” she said dryly. Pushing herself forward, she headed right for him.

      Marshal sidestepped, frowning as Ivy stalked into the hall and her door shut a little too hard. God, he looked good standing in my kitchen, not afraid of her. Not afraid of anything. Mostly. His hands were clenched as he glanced down the hallway after Ivy, and I remembered how they’d felt on me, the waves of sensation that crested from his touch as he drew a line through me and made me come alive.

       What are you doing, Rachel?

      Jenks’s wings clattered in warning as he landed on my shoulder. “Rache?”

      “Don’t you have something to do?” I said, then smiled at Marshal. “It’s good to see you. How are you doing?”

      Shaking himself free from his dark thoughts about Ivy, Marshal smiled and came into the kitchen. “I’m doing great,” he said, his hand out in what might have been a handshake, but it might have been half a hug, too.

      I hesitated, and after a confusing moment, he awkwardly gave me a hug. I leaned into him, breathing the chlorine/redwood scent he had mixing with the damp dead-leaf smell of a cold November morning. Why had I asked him over? I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. They always tried to change me.

      “You look good” rumbled through me, and I pushed backward. Jenks was scowling at me from the top of the door frame to the hall, and I ignored him.

      The rims of Marshal’s ears were red, and he rocked back, his hands in a fig leaf. “I can’t tell you how glad I am you got your shunning rescinded,” he said, his words too fast, his eyes too reluctant to meet mine. “I read all about it. I knew you could.”

      Then why did you leave? But I didn’t say it. He’d left when I’d been almost at my lowest point. I didn’t blame him, but to take up where we’d left off was stupid. He’d left once; he’d leave again.

      My chest hurt, and I forced myself to keep smiling as I went to the coffeemaker. “How’s the job going?” I said, my back to him as I tried to make my voice even. This had been a mistake. A huge, friggin’ mistake.

      “Okay. I’m not in the pool as much as I’d like to be. Too much paperwork.”

      I nodded, and from the door Jenks said, “Yeah, that’ll kill you.”

      I sighed, knowing why Jenks was being rude, but unable to fault it, either.

      The soft tinkling of the bell Jenks had put on his orange cat jingled, and I looked to see Rex come in. I wasn’t surprised. The feline had liked Marshal. What surprised me was Belle astride the animal like a furry horse. I’d seen the wingless fairy using the cat as transportation before, but it still startled me.

      Marshal’s lips parted at the sight, and I handed him his cup of coffee, saying, “Belle? This is Marshal, an old friend. Marshal, this is Belle. She’s staying with us now.”

      “Um, hi?” he said, at a complete loss. Fairies and humans didn’t get along very well. Okay, fairies and any people didn’t get along very well, but Belle and I got along just fine. Maybe it was because we were both damaged and trying to make our way the best we could.

      The six-inch fierce woman gave Marshal a quick look, probably assessing the chances of his stepping on her by mistake. Sliding from Rex, she came forward with a bundle of fabric over her arm. “Nic-ce to meet you,” she said, her voice hissing over the vowels. Her teeth were more savage than a vampire’s, given her carnivore diet. Standing two inches taller than Jenks, she looked odd wearing pixy silk in what was clearly a fairy style, the blue cloth draped about her to resemble a shroud. The effect of death-warmed-over was heightened by her sallow, gaunt face. Her hair, too, was thin and pale, coming to her midback in ragged strands. If they were people size, they’d be the scariest Inderlanders I’d ever seen. At six inches and wearing a scowl that would rock Ivy back, she was still pretty scary.

      “Jenks-s-s,” she said, her lisp obvious. “I’m tired of waiting on you. Try it on. I have things to do.”

      As one, Marshal and I looked at Jenks, and the pixy rose up on a column of red sparkles.

      “Belle!” he exclaimed, flushed. “I was just coming. I’ll try it on in the hall.”

      Her black eyes bored into him, and I heard his wings falter. “Get down here and fold your wings-s,” she demanded as the cat behind her fell over on her side and started to purr. “It will only take a moment.”

      “Yeah, but—” he started, and she bared her teeth at him.

      Making a little hiccup of sound, Jenks dropped to the floor. “Belle,” he pleaded. “Can’t we do this later?”

      “Fold your wings!” she demanded, and I made a soft sound of appreciation when she shook out the fabric and it unfolded into a vibrant, extravagantly embroidered jacket. It looked small in her hands, but I could tell it would fit Jenks perfectly.

      “Oh, try it on!” I exclaimed, handing Marshal my cup and dropping to sit on the floor before them. “Belle, did you make that?”

      “I did!” she said angrily. “The pixy turd won’t try it on so I can size it properly!”

      Jenks shrank into himself, and his wings drooped. “Aww, Belle,” he complained, and Marshal hid a laugh behind a cough when the taller fairy spun Jenks around and pretty much dressed him like a sullen little boy.

      “Turn,” she demanded, and Jenks showed her his back, lifting his wings so she could do the ties in the back. “How does that feel?”

      “Belle, it’s beautiful!” I said, seeing the golds and reds swirling in unfamiliar patterns. Clearly she’d woven the cloth herself.

      “It feels fine,” Jenks grumbled, glancing at me like it was all my fault.

      “Too tight?” she asked, and when he muttered that it wasn’t, she put a foot on his backside and yanked the ties again.

      “Now it is!” Jenks shrilled, struggling to reach behind him and spinning in circles. “Damn it, woman! I can’t put my wings down!”

      Belle was smirking, and I bit my lip so I wouldn’t smile as she caught his shoulder and loosened them again. “The goddess-s-s help you,” she said as she