Black Magic Sanction. Ким Харрисон

      “Jax?” I said, surprised.

      “Gordian Pierce!” she exclaimed, looking up. “You can see it in his eyes.”

      Funny. The only thing I ever see in his eyes is trouble. Taking the towel from my hair, I went to the mirror and wiped it, wincing. I’d never get through the tangles. Never. “Pierce is a teenage crush from when I was young and stupid, and thought impulsive, dangerous men were the catch of the day, not the death traps they are.”

      Matalina huffed. Pixies were terribly straightforward when it came to relationships. Jih, her eldest daughter, had courted and married in less than a summer—and seemed all the happier for it. “With Jenks, I just knew,” she said, a fond smile erasing her fatigue lines. “You’re making this harder than it should be.” I gave her a wry look as I sprayed detangler in my hair, and she added, “Does Pierce make your heart beat faster? Did Marshal? Did Nick? Did Kisten, bless his undead soul? I mean, really?”

      I didn’t have to think about it, and I felt like a tramp. “Yes. They all do. Did, I mean.”

      The pixy woman frowned. “Then you are in trouble, Rachel.”

       Don’t I know it.

      Shifting my towel higher, I minced to the door, listening for a moment before cracking it. The cooler, dry air slipped in, and I gazed first longingly at the kitchen across from the back living room, then closer, to the open door to my room. From the back of the church, I could hear Pierce and Nick “discussing” things.

      Knees hurting, I made the dash, Matalina zipping ahead of me to shoo her kids out of the way. Breath held, I closed the door without a sound and leaned back against it. “Thanks,” I whispered to the matronly pixy. “But I’m okay. Really. Go talk to Jax.” But she only flitted to the thick cement sill of the stained-glass window and settled herself as if to watch for danger.

      My shoulders slumped and I glanced at Vivian’s pin, now sitting on my dresser. I’d forgotten about the coven. It would be just my luck for Vivian to take a potshot at me. I was sure she was still here, “willing to take a calculated risk.”

      The box from my mom was sitting on my dresser, the bottles of perfume it had displaced carefully arranged on the top of my music box to make me wonder if Ivy had moved it. My mother had been sending me things for the last couple of months as she continued to find them. Last week it had been my entire collection of Nancy Drew. Ivy had taken them off my hands, presumably to give them to the brat pack at the hospital. The way I figured it, if I had gotten along without it the last five years, I really didn’t need it. Everything was precious to my mom, though, and I wasn’t too keen on seeing what oddity she thought I couldn’t live without.

      Ignoring the shoe-box-size package, I shuffled through my top drawer for a pair of socks and the black lacy underwear that I hadn’t worn since Marshal and I had broken up. I’d spent yesterday in prison and wanted to feel pretty, damn it. Slipping them on, I wiggled out of the towel and dropped a camisole over my damp head. Jeans next, the tight pair I hadn’t been able to wear comfortably since the solstice. I hadn’t eaten in twenty-four hours, and they might fit. The zipper went up with satisfying ease, and I smiled. I wouldn’t recommend prison food as a way to lose weight, but if it was gone, I wasn’t going to complain.

      Socks in hand, I sat on my bed and slowly exhaled. Getting them on was going to be a pain. Repainting my toenails was going to be even harder. Maybe Ivy would do it for me.

      Matalina’s wings hummed in warning. Adrenaline surged, but she was looking at my door, not out the window. “Rachel?” Ivy called. “I made you a sandwich. Are you decent?”

      There is a God, and he’s good to me. My stomach rumbled, and I was suddenly ten times hungrier. I couldn’t hear Nick’s voice anymore, but I hadn’t heard anyone leave either. Still sitting on the bed with my socks, I shouted, “Come in!”

      Ivy entered with her head down and balancing a plate with two sandwiches and a bowl of cheese crackers in her hands. “I made you two,” she said, her gray-silk voice carrying soft compassion as she looked up from shutting the door with a foot. “You look hungry.”

      I eyed the tuna sandwiches warily. “No Brimstone?”

      Her placid brown eyes met mine, the barest hint of dry amusement in them. “No. But I can make you some cookies if you want.”

      Shaking my head, I dropped the socks and reached for the plate. I’d eaten Ivy’s cookies before. Laced with medicinal-grade Brimstone, they simultaneously made me hungry and boosted my metabolism. Just what you need when recovering from blood loss, but I was bruised, not anemic. “No thanks,” I said wryly. “I want to sleep tonight.”

      But when she sat on the end of my bed, I blinked. She’s staying?

      Matalina rose up, her dragonflylike wings unusually loud. “Ivy, if you’re going to talk to Rachel for a while, I’ll just pop out and see if Jenks needs anything.”

       Oh. I get it.

      Ivy smiled a closed-lipped smile and slid the crackers onto my dresser beside the box from my mom. “He’s in the kitchen with Jax.”

      “Thank you.” Matalina left her knitting behind as she darted under the door.

      I wasn’t keen on everyone thinking I needed watching, but if it gave Matalina a chance to talk to Jax, then I’d deal with it. Scooting back to the headboard, I stretched my legs out and balanced the plate on my lap. “Nick still here?” I asked as I took a bite out of the first sandwich. The tang of the mayonnaise hit the sides of my tongue, and I suddenly couldn’t shovel in food fast enough. “Oh, this is good,” I mumbled around my full mouth. “Thank you.”

      “Pierce is talking to him.” Her gaze was on my perfumes. She’d given most of them to me in our chemical warfare against her instincts. “He told me to leave. Said they had a gentleman matter to discuss.”

      “Oh really? ” The sandwich was fabulous, and I forced myself to slow down.

      “I think Pierce is trying to find out if you two are really over or not,” Ivy said.

      My eyes rolled and I swallowed. “Over? Does he need it in neon?” I said, but inside, I was cringing. Being over with Nick did not translate into being available for Pierce.

      “You’re sure you’re okay?” Ivy asked, and I nodded, mouth full again.

      “Until they find someone else who knows Al’s summoning name,” I amended, wiggling my fingers for the bowl of crackers. My thoughts shifted to Al telling me he’d finish the deal—even teach me how to jump the lines—if I told him who sold me out to the coven. Funny how things had changed when I’d brought up my ovaries. Lots of people knew Al’s summoning name, and what demon summoner wouldn’t trade an hour’s work for amnesty? But if I gave Nick to Al, then the council was right and I was a demon, trafficking in human flesh.

      Ivy passed the bowl, and grabbing a handful of crackers, I tilted my head back and dropped them in, sneaking a glance at her and wondering if she was in here trying to convince me to give Nick to the demon and be done with it. “I’ve always wanted to get to the West Coast,” I said around my chewing, not wanting her to bring it up. “Hey, did I tell you I got a ride on a boat? I saw the bridge and everything. It’s way smaller than the one in Mackinaw. There’s a big chocolate factory right across from Alcatraz. Talk about cruel and unusual punishment.”

      Ivy wasn’t listening, her eyes on that box my mother had sent. “When did that get here?” I asked as I worked a bit of cracker out from between my teeth.

      Shifting position on my bed, she flushed, putting her eyes everywhere but on it. “When you were gone.”

      Gone, not prison. I appreciated that. Brushing crumbs from myself, I reached for the last half of my sandwich. Ivy was silent, then, “Are you going to open it?”

      I smiled, my mouth full as I wiggled my fingers. She