White Witch, Black Curse

As one, we all looked at Pierce. The elevator dinged, and our attention was diverted as the doors opened. "Splendid! A fire!" Al cried cheerfully, striding out into the noisy crowd that had filled the downstairs lobby. The smell of smoke hit me, and I lurched to follow, not wanting Al to get out of my sight. It was crowded as people in evening gowns and suits talked loudly, mixing with people in jeans and heavy coats coming in to get warm but not ready to leave. Or perhaps they couldn't with the streets blocked off.

Trying to watch Al and Pierce both, I shuffled over to the coat clerk. Pierce's hand landed on my arm as I extended my ticket, and I spun, almost smacking him. "Best stay away from that one, mistress witch. His father was a devil on earth," the dead witch said, his eyes going to Trent.

"No kidding." Who should I believe, a ghost, or my dad? My dad was a good man, wasn't he? He wouldn't work for the devil on earth. Would he?

Confused, I took my coat and scanned the crowd for Al's velveteen one. Seeing Quen, I gave Trent's security a little shrug to try to tell him everything was okay and to keep him from going into battle mode when he saw Al. The demon had once mauled Trent.

Trent was making his way to Quen, his pace slow for being recognized and delayed. I pointed him out to Quen, and the security officer jumped into motion, his employer's coat over his arm.

I finally spotted Al by the doors, chatting up a pair of twins wearing baby bonnets for the year's end, and I unzipped my bag. "Inside, Jenks," I offered as I went to rescue the twins, and the pixy dropped down, cold and probably ready for that hand warmer. I knew it killed him being shoved in a bag like this, but he had no choice. And as I zipped it up, I vowed to be very careful with him tonight.

I shuffled into my coat as we went, jerking from Pierce's reach when he tried to help me. "I've got this okay," I said, then winced when Al grabbed my shoulder, pinching me into submission as he helped me into my coat. "Let go," I demanded, but my options were limited by the crowd. My last arm went sliding into the cold sleeve, and Al leaned in, reaching over my shoulders to fasten my top button.

"I admire the way you are breaking Trent," Al whispered from behind me, his white-gloved fingers moving to my chin to force my gaze to Trent and Quen. "So slow, like melting ice. And with his own pride. Masterful. I didn't know you had it in you, Rachel. Pain gets old after a time, but it's faster, and profit is the name of the game unless you're making art."

"I'm not breaking him," I said softly as Al backed up and I shifted my shoulders to get my coat to hang right. Trent and Quen were leaving, and the security officer looked back once before they vanished, his expression blank. I breathed easier when they were gone. At least I wouldn't be responsible for Trent's death. Not tonight, anyway.

The wail of sirens grew louder, and I turned to a second door. Pierce jumped ahead of us to open it, and I did a double take. "Where did you get a coat?"

Pierce's face reddened, but it was Al who leaned forward, saying, "He stole it, of course. The man has many talents. Why do you think I'm so interested in him? Or you, my itchy witch?"

Mood sour, I headed out into the cold, ducking down into my scarf and wishing I was anywhere other than here. If Ivy and Glenn weren't okay, I was going to freaking kill someone.

Twenty-eight

This is not going to go well, I thought, glancing ruefully at Al beside me as we strode down the closed-off street toward Fountain Square. I was cold, and I hunched into my coat and squinted through the flashing lights for Ivy. Pierce trailed behind us, trying not to look like a goober, but he was wide-eyed and clearly from out of town, if not from out of this century.

The square was organized chaos, with what looked like five I.S. vehicles just arriving, the original two FIB and I.S. cruisers stationed at the event, the expected news vans and ambulance. Topping it off, we now had fire trucks, and the spray from the hoses was turning into little pinpricks of ice on my face. It was the cold that made it miserable, the wind going right through my coat and to my core. Even in my bag, Jenks was going to have a hard go of it.

There were fewer people than one might have expected, Inderlanders being good at disappearing and naturally avoiding anything that breathed of scandal. A handful of onlookers vied for the news crews' attention.

Avoiding eye contact, I quickened my pace to get behind the yellow tape where they could only shout questions I could pretend not to hear.