“Look, it’s devilishly hard to talk to you when you’re a crow,” I said. “You want to shift and tell me what you’re mad about so I don’t have to keep guessing?”
Zack squeaked as the crow dissolved into a silver mist, his tiny paws patting my palm as he tried to back deeper into my cupped hands. “It’s okay,” I whispered as the mist spilled into the car, thickening and taking form until a narrow-faced, angry-eyed, sullen demon sat beside me. He had chosen to show up in dark jeans and a leather jacket, his black hair long and shining like a raven’s wing. And really nice boots, I noticed as I twisted to face him squarely.
“I did not help you bury an elf. I taught you an ancient elven funeral rite. And in return you put a bell on your grounds?” he said, low voice harsh.
“Oh.” My gaze went to the belfry. “Yeah. Well, maybe it’s not for you, huh? Ever think of that?”
Hodin sniffed, turning to look out the window at nothing.
“Al isn’t talking to me,” I said, but he didn’t move, either to leave or to look at me. “He flung me to Alcatraz. I let him do it because at the time I thought I deserved it,” I added, and his hand tightened into a fist. “He did it because I reminded him that I wasn’t going to let them put you in a bottle because you mix demon and elf magic. He thinks you’re to blame—”
“I know what he blames me for,” Hodin interrupted, his gaze still turned from mine. “What do you want?”
I truly didn’t know, but clearly something hung between us. “Demon and elf magic is water from the same stream,” I said, feeling Zack’s warmth in my palm. “You’re the only one with the experience to maybe help me stitch them back together. The rest of the demons . . .” I hesitated. I was sure that Dali had sent me to Al in the expectation that Al would force me to cut off all communication with Hodin and stop using elf magic. Seeing as he hadn’t, they might take things into their own hands.
“I’m following what I believe will heal us,” I said, voice quavering. “Both the demons and the elves. Ignoring and denying doesn’t heal. Inclusion and acceptance does. And if Al won’t help me . . .” My words trailed off, and my eyes dropped to Zack. “I’ll miss him,” I whispered, feeling his loss to my core. But I couldn’t look to him anymore if he refused to see past his pain.
I blinked back the hint of tears when Hodin turned to me, the ugly, harsh unforgiveness gone. “He dropped you into Alcatraz?”
I nodded. “His way of telling me I’m being uncommonly stupid.”
“At least he put you somewhere you could get out,” he muttered, looking almost jealous.
“What’s going on in the church?” I asked, feeling as if the new understanding between us was paper-thin and gossamer—but it was there.
Hodin grimaced. “They’re arguing over what to do about you and Constance,” he said. “One wants to kill you to resume normal operations. The rest disagree.”
“That’s nice.” Normal operations? There would be no normal under Constance, and my worry flooded back. I didn’t have to guess as to who wanted to buy Constance’s favor with my death. “You want to come in?” I asked suddenly. “I mean, since you’re here.”
Zack made a tight squeak. Hodin blinked, a soft smile easing the faint wrinkles about his brow and eyes. “Thank you, yes,” he said, and I nodded, head down as I reached for the door.
Thank the Goddess I have Zack, I thought, then said aloud, “Zack, you mind if I carry you in? There’s a lot of magic users in there, and not everyone might know you’re a mouse.”
He nodded, and I awkwardly got out, taking a moment to simply stand there and breathe in the late-afternoon air, relishing it. I’d almost forgotten it was spring. The robins were singing to the coming sunset, wanting rain for the mud to build their nests. The church looked beautiful all lit up, still and serene with the shadows hiding the construction-flat grass and new paint around the windows. Someone had cut the grass in the graveyard, and the scent was like heaven.
Calm, I butt-bumped my door shut, the thump loud in the shadow-drenched street. The graveyard was quiet and only a thin trail of smoke rose from the fire, unseen behind the six-foot wall.
“You’re going to make a stir,” I said as I turned to Hodin, but he was gone. “Ah, Hodin?” I called, then froze, stock-still at the flurry of black wings and trailing feathers coming at me. “Damn it, Hodin!” I hissed, flinching as he landed on my shoulder, head bobbing in amusement and his claws pinching right through my shirt. My heart pounded, and I hesitated, tasting how it felt to have him there, finally deciding it was okay. “Crap on toast, warn a person,” I muttered, and he made a soft, amused throat rattle as I started up the walk. Trent might guess who was actually on my shoulder, and Jenks, of course. But to the rest it would look like crazy Rachel Morgan coming back to her church with a new stray.
“I’ve got salt to break the spell up in my belfry,” I said to Zack, cupping him close when three scruffy Weres came out of the church, all of them cocky and smug with boxes of what looked like construction waste in their arms.
“Morgan,” the first said as she passed me, her steps silent.
“Morgan.” The second gave me a wink, and my nose wrinkled at the scent of Brimstone.
The third didn’t say anything, flushed as he ducked his head and smiled shyly at me.
Chatting amicably between themselves, they loaded their boxes into a beater station wagon, voices rising as it started and they drove toward town in a puff of blue smoke.
“Brimstone,” I whispered, and Hodin bobbed his head, content, apparently, to “be the bird.” Weres and Brimstone didn’t go together. Clearly Trent had been successful. My steps quickened, and a glow of pride gave my feet an extra boost as I took the steps two at a time. My boyfriend the drug lord, common thief, and distributor.
My smile deepened at the sight of the polished nameplate, and I ran my fingers across it as if it was a touchstone as I opened the door and went in. “Trent?”
“Where is he?” Kaspar bellowed, and I fell back, my shoulder thumping into the wall by the door as the tall, angry elf practically pinned me to it.
Hodin took to the air, his crow chortle sounding like laughter as he flew to the open rafters in the sanctuary. Cries of surprise rose and, ticked, I stared at Kaspar. The air crackled between us, and it was all I could do to not slam him across the dark foyer with a burst of line energy. “I got you your Brimstone, and you walked out of there without Zachariah,” Kaspar bellowed. “Explain—”
“Cool your jets, Kaspar,” I said, giving him a shove. The piano stopped, and Trent’s silhouette loomed in the archway to the sanctuary. Relief filled me. He was okay. Someone would have called if he wasn’t, but it was still . . . “Zack is fine,” I added, eyes on Trent.