For a Few Demons More (42 page)

This isn't the same,
I told myself, my two-handed grip tightening on the wheel of my convertible and the wind from the cracked window tugging a few strands from my braid. This wasn't anything like the night I had tried to tag Piscary last year. For one, Jenks was with me this time. I wasn't mad either—not blind mad anyway. It was daylight for at least a few more hours—not that that made a difference. Jenks was with me. I had a nice peace offering to buy my life with, and, lastly, Jenks was with me.

Signaling, I made a quick left turn, heading to the riverfront and going against the predominant flow of traffic. I had friends at Pizza Piscary's, but Piscary was back, and they wouldn't help me. Jenks was my confidence now that the focus really was at the post office, lost in the human bureaucracy so deep and jealously guarded that even the I.S. couldn't reach it. His presence meant more to me than my splat gun, fully stocked and tucked into my bag. I had an invoked pain charm around my neck, hanging outside my shirt so it wouldn't affect me until I needed it. And I had a feeling I was going to need it.

Other than that, I was going in pretty much naked of earth charms. I had a hefty amount of ley line energy spindled in my head, though, and in my pocket a pair of heavy-duty toenail clippers you might use on an elephant, which I hoped would be strong enough to cut an anti–ley line zip-strip. But it was Jenks I was counting on to be the difference
between my walking out with a new lease on life or spending an eternity of hell with Piscary or Al.

This was my best option. Trent knew I had the focus. The I.S. wasn't so dense that they hadn't realized it was still in my possession. I wanted Piscary's protection from all of them.

My God. How did I get to this place?

The breeze from my window shifted Jenks's wings. He was sitting on the rearview mirror, facing backward as he gazed vacantly into the past. His features were lined and worried. There wasn't a scrap of red on him—a symbol of his intent. If we lost the garden, the stress might tip Matalina into a downward spiral. I'd be hard-pressed to keep him from trying to kill Piscary if push came to shove. But if push came to shove, killing Piscary might be the only way to survive.

I didn't want to do that. The undead vampire was the only person I knew who could keep the focus safe until it could be hidden again.

Seeing Jenks's misery, I took a breath to ask him about his outfit. I'd never seen it before, sort of a combination of Quen's black uniform with the free-flowing folds of a desert sheik's robes. But Jenks's gaze flicked to mine, making me pause.

“Thanks, Rachel,” he said, wings utterly still. “For everything. I want to tell you in case we both don't make it through this.”

“Jenks…” I started, and he cut me off with a sharp wing chirp.

“Shut your mouth, witch!” he snapped, though I could tell he wasn't mad. “I want to thank you—this past year has been the best in my life. And not just for me. That sterility wish I got from you is probably why Matalina made it through last winter. The garden and everything that came with working with you?” Jenks's gaze went distant. “Even if they bulldoze everything, I want you to know that it was worth it. My kids know you can make it if you take risks and work hard. That we can work in the system you lunkers set up. That's all a parent really needs to give his kids. That, and how to love someone with all your soul.”

This was sounding like a last confession, and I flicked my gaze from the car braking in front of me to him. “Jeez, Jenks. We're going to be fine. I'll give Piscary the focus, and he'll rescind the eviction. And once everyone knows he has the thing, life will go back to normal. Matalina will be fine.”

He didn't say anything. Matalina wasn't going to be fine no matter
what happened in the next twenty-four hours. But I'd be damned if I wouldn't do what I could to get her through the coming winter. She was
not
going to hibernate and risk not waking up, that was for sure.

Jenks's wings drooped, and he pulled a fold of fabric up and polished his sword. Just as well. I wasn't enjoying the conversation, and Jenks's misery was making my stomach hurt. I wished he were bigger again, just so I could give him a hug.

Understanding hit me, and I stiffened. This inability to touch was what Ivy lived with every day. She couldn't touch anyone she cared about without her blood lust asserting itself.

We are so screwed up.

I forced myself back from the bumper of the guy in front of me. Piscary's was just ahead, and I wanted to get off the street before the I.S. found me. They were suspiciously absent, and I wondered if they were watching me from a distance to see if I had left to get the focus from someone. I suppose mailing it hadn't been the smartest thing, but I couldn't put it into a bus locker, and giving it to Ceri would've been a mistake. Humanity had steadfastly kept control of the mail system, and even Piscary would think twice about leaning on an overworked employee who might snap and go postal. There were some things even a vampire wouldn't mess with.

The jitters started, and Jenks's wings shifted fitfully as we pulled into Piscary's parking lot. Yeah, the plan looked good on paper, but Piscary might be more ticked than I thought about my putting him in jail. That I'd just been doing my job probably wouldn't go very far with him.

Nervous, I scanned the area. There were a few cars clustered about the kitchen entrance that were clearly not patrons'. I didn't see Ivy's cycle, but there was a huge mound of stuff piled at the curb. Sheets of paneling that once covered the upstairs windows and the tall, trendy tables and stools that Kisten had put in were now carelessly piled to make a five-foot wall between the lot and the street, waiting for pickup. Apparently Piscary was doing a little remodeling.

My eyes widened, and I took my foot off the gas when I realized Kisten's light show was among it, the metal scaffolding bent and twisted as if it had been pulled from the ceiling without regard. The colored lights were smashed, and his pool table was leaning atop it.

“Rache,” Jenks said, chilling me, “that pile of trash just moved.”

Fear slid through me, and my heart jumped. It was Kisten sitting on the curb between the mounds of debris. Sun glinting on his blond hair, he threw something into the pile with a metallic ting. He looked rumpled in his red silk shirt and black linen slacks. Discarded.

“Oh, my God,” I whispered. His head came up as I swung the car around to point my nose to the exit, parking sideways against the faded lines. There was anger in his absolutely black eyes—utter hatred blending with betrayal and frustration.

“Ah, Rachel, maybe you should stay in the car.”

Heart pounding, I fumbled for the door, and Jenks zipped out before me, aggressive and wary. Kisten stood, and, leaving the car running, I glanced at the dark restaurant and the upper windows overlooking the parking lot. Nothing moved but a scrap of paper taped to the door. Worried, I paced to him, my kick-butt boots tapping. “Kisten?”

“What are you doing here?” he barked, and I jerked to a stop, confused.

I stood there for a moment with the nearby cars whooshing past, trying to realign my thinking. “Piscary evicted us,” I said, Jenks's wings clattering as he hovered. “What happened?” I said, gesturing to his club, now on the curb.

“What do you think happened!” he shouted, looking at the silent restaurant. “The son of a bitch kicked me out! He kicked me out and gave my last blood to someone.”

God help us.
His last blood? As in “Here he is, have fun draining him to death”?

Pulse quickening, I dropped back when Kisten swooped down to the fragments of his dance club. With vampiric strength he flung a chair at the front door, the metal tumbling and clanking to a stop short of the entryway. The wind from the nearby river tugged at my braid, and I felt cold despite the two shirts I had on. “Kisten,” I said, frightened, “it's going to be okay.”

But my confidence trickled away when he turned to me, his shoulders hunched and dark fear and hatred in his eyes. “No,” he rasped. “It isn't. He gave me to someone as a thank-you. To kill. For their enjoyment. And no one will stop him because he's a
fucking god
!”

The draft from Jenks's wings tickled my neck, and an iron-cold band of fear slithered through my heart. There was death in Kisten's eyes.
There in the sunshine, death waited. Backing up another step, I felt my mouth go dry.

Kisten dipped a hand into a leather pocket of the pool table to come up with the five ball. “When Ivy says no, she gets praised for her strength of will,” he said bitterly, hefting it experimentally for weight. “When I say no, I get fucking
kicked out
!” With a grunt he threw the ball. It sped over the parking lot, almost unseen. “
Fuck you, you bastard
!” he shouted, and a window broke in the upper story.

I jumped when Jenks landed on my shoulder. “Ah…Rachel?” he said, and gold dust spilled over me. “Leave. Please just get in the car and leave.”

Swallowing, I took a hesitant step forward while Kisten found another pool ball. “Kisten?” I whispered, frightened at his show of temper. Never had I seen him this bad. “Come on,” I said, reaching out to take his arm. “We have to go.”

Jenks left me, and Kisten froze when I tugged on him. Face empty, he turned, his black eyes freezing me as they glinted from behind his blond-dyed bangs. Feeling like I'd made a mistake, I let go. “We have to leave,” I said, worried someone would come out.

“Go where?” he said around a harsh laugh that didn't sound like him at all. “I'm dead, Rachel. Soon as the sun goes down, someone's going to kill me. As slowly as their anticipation can stand. I gave everything to that bastard, and now he won't—” His words broke off, and fear and pain crossed his face. “I did everything for him,” he said, betrayal staining his anger. “Made a shitload of
profit
off his bar when it lost its MPL, and now he fucking won't
touch me
!”

His rage and desperation finding a release in a movement of controlled anguish, Kisten threw another pool ball. I fell back, almost tripping on the wreckage of his light show.

“I made more on his damned business after he lost his MPL than he did all of last year!” he shouted, and the ball thunked low and to the left of a wide plate-glass window.

“He never even looked at the books!” Kisten threw a third, and my pulse raced when it went through the wall. “He doesn't
fucking care
!” he raged, and the eight ball hit the window.

I gasped when it shattered completely and a shadow came forward to investigate.

Kisten turned away, palm on the pool table sitting at a forty-five-degree cant atop a stacked pile of little round tables. Beyond the rubble, cars passed, oblivious. “He never looked at the books,” he said softly, as if trying to figure it out. “I thought that would mean something.”

The creak of the restaurant's door opening sent alarm spiking through me. Fear for what was coming beat the fear of Kisten's having lost it, and I pulled on his arm, the scent of old blood mixing with his usual scent of leather. “Get in the car. Kisten, get in my car!”

“He never looked at the books,” Kisten said again, in shock. “Just put down an ultimatum, then gave my last blood to the vampire who set up the deal between him and that demon to get him out. Someone who doesn't care about me. I…I wanted him to have it.”

This was just too sick. “Kisten, we have to go!” I exclaimed, my gaze darting to the five big men walking toward us, their pace slow and their wide shoulders swinging. One hesitated at the chair Kisten had thrown, twisting a metal leg free before falling back into step.
Ah, shit.

Kisten's head came up at the sound of metal tearing. My face went cold. He was dead inside. Though he breathed and his heart beat, Kisten was dead, killed by an anger and betrayal that I'd never comprehend. He'd known Piscary his entire life. Bound his life to him. Was given power and authority over others through him. Found and relished the power of living above the law because of him. And Piscary had ripped all the promises away and thrown him to the curb without pity or thought. Discarded. Given to someone as a gift to take pleasure in killing him.
This is who I wanted to buy protection from?

“Please,” I whispered, both wanting and fearing Kist's turning his black eyes to me. My hand was on his shoulder, and the muscles of his arm tightened as he made a fist. I saw his determination before he voiced it.

“I need to hurt someone, Rachel,” he said, brushing my hand from him. “Don't stop this until I can't move.” He pulled a pool cue from the wreckage and hefted it.

“Kisten!” I pleaded, but he shoved me backward. I stumbled to catch my balance, frightened, and Kisten went to meet them, never looking back. Panicking, I shifted my weight to follow, but Jenks dropped down to block my way.

“Let him go,” he said, his hands on his hips and a grim determination on his face.

“They're going to kill him!” I said, pointing to the advancing vampires as Kisten took up a stance between me and my car, but Jenks shook his head.

“No they won't,” he said, eyes never leaving them. “He belongs to someone else.” His eyes went to me, filled with deep fear. “After they finish beating him up, you've got to get him out of Cincy before whoever that is finds him.”

“That's what I'm trying to do!” I shouted, almost stamping my foot. Stupid, asinine men. How could I give Piscary the focus now? But then a thought hit me, painful and hard. If the focus was as important as I thought, then maybe I could buy Kisten's safety as well as mine? I had to let Ivy find her own way out, but Kisten…

My panic rose anew, and I shifted from foot to foot out of helplessness as the men closed on Kisten. One of the vampires slid across the hood of my car while four more continued forward to trap him against the trash. The one in the lead was familiar. I recognized the slant to his cruel smile. It was the guy Kisten had beat up last year before taking me down to see Piscary. Sam.