Kim Harrison - Pale Demon

Brown or green for the drapes, Rache?

Trent rose to his feet, stupidly staring at the tree

Hollows International wasnt a huge airport, but it was busy

If looks could kill, my face would show the imprint

A narrow slice of early-afternoon sun made it into the

Rache! Jenks shrilled, scaring the crap out of me as

The faint smell of cinnamon, blood, and wine drifted forward

The hum of the engine shifted, becoming deeper. It stirred

Trent! I shouted, hammering on the bathroom door. It was

My grip on the wheel tightened until my knuckles hurt.

Um, Jenks? I said, taking a stumbling step back into

The warmth of the sun on my face turned into

If it wasnt for the lack of an ocean, I

Heart pounding, I ran back down the corridor. I hit

It was the changing sound of the engine that woke

The sun was almost up, and I stretched beside the

The intention was for me to say good-bye, I said,

Id already used the glass-and-tile shower in the front bathroom,

I stared at the closed door, hearing a muttered conversation

I leaned forward over the backseat to look up at

I said pipe down! Vivian said crossly when the room

Trent bowed his head as the auditorium erupted in noise.

Sliding, I hit the red soil face-first, eyes clenched shut

The transition was smoother this time as we crossed merely

Frightened, I stood amid a smattering of exclamations. Some were

The dry hush of sliding coals woke me, and I

The discordant jangle of San Franciscos broken ley lines flooded

The vivid maroons and contrasting golds of the carpet had

The rasp of the side door opening was loud, and

I screamed, raw and pained, and it was real. My

I looked at my hands as they pressed the cookie

Trents long black car pulled up to the curb, a

B rown or green for the drapes, Rache?

Jenkss voice slid into my dozing state, and I opened an eyelid a crack to find him hovering inches from my nose. The sun was hot, and I didnt want to move, even if his wings provided a cold draft. Too close. I cant see, I said as I shifted in the webbed lounge chair, and he drifted back, his dragonflylike wings humming fast enough to spill a red-tinted pixy dust over my bare middle. June, sunbathing, and Cincinnati normally didnt go together, but today was my last day to get a tan before I headed west for my brothers wedding.

Two bundles of fabric were draped over Jenkss arms, spider silk most likely dyed and woven by one of his daughters. His shoulder-length curly blond hairuncut since his wifes deathwas tied back with a bit of twine to show his angular, pinched features. I thought it odd that a pixy able to fend off an entire team of assassins was worried about the color of his drapes.

Well, I hedged, not more confident in this than he was, the green goes with the floor, but Id go with the taupe. You need some visual warmth down there.

Brown? he said, looking at it doubtfully. I thought you liked the green tile.

I do, I explained, thinking that breaking up a pop bottle for floor tile was ingenious. But if you make everything the same color, youll wind up back in the seventies.

Jenkss wings dropped in pitch, and his shoulders slumped. Im not good at this, he whispered, becoming melancholy as he remembered Matalina. Tell me which one.

I cringed inside. I wanted to give him a hug, but he was only four inches tall. Small, yes, but the pixy had saved my life more times than I had spell pots in my kitchen. Sometimes, though, I felt as if we were worlds apart. Taupe, I said.

Thanks. Trailing dull gold dust, Jenks flew in a downward arc to the knee-high wall that separated my backyard from the graveyard. The high-walled graveyard was mine, too, or Jenkss, actually, seeing that he owned the deed, but I was the one who mowed the lawn.

Heartache took me, and the sun seemed a little cooler as I watched Jenkss dust trail vanish under the sprouting bluebells and moss, and into his new bachelor-size home. The last few months had been hard on him as he learned to live without Matalina. My being able to become small enough to help him through that first difficult day had gone a long way in convincing me that demon magic wasnt bad unless you used it for a dark purpose.

The breeze cooled the corner of my eye, and I smiled even as I dabbed the almost tear away. I could smell the newly cut grass, and the noise of a nearby mower rose high over the distant hum of Cincinnati, across the river. There was a stack of decorating magazines beside my suntan oil and a glass of melted iced teathe lull before the storm. Tomorrow would be the beginning of my personal hell, and it was going to last the entire week, through the annual witches conference. What happened after that was anyones guess.

Nervous, I shifted the straps of my bikini so there wouldnt be any tan lines showing in my bridesmaids dress, already packed and hanging in a garment bag in my closet. The witches annual meeting had started yesterday on the other side of the continent. I was the last on the docketlike saving the biggest circus act for the end.

The coven of moral and ethical standards had already shunned me, tried to incarcerate me without a trial in Alcatraz, sent assassins when Id escaped, and finally accepted a stalemate only when I threatened to go public with the fact that witches had their beginnings in demons and I was the proof. The rescindment would become permanent after they replaced the missing member of the council and pardoned me for using black magic. At least that was the theory.

As much as I needed to do this, I was so-o-o-o not looking forward to it. I mean, Id been accused of being a black witchof doing black magic and consorting with demons, both of which I did. Do. Whatever. That wasnt going to change, but if I couldnt pull this off, Id be hiding out in the ever-after for the rest of my life. Not only did I not particularly like demons, but Id miss my brothers wedding and hed never let me live it down.

I looked up, squinting into the oak tree as the familiar, almost ultrasonic whistle of a pixy cut through the drone of a mower. It was no surprise when Jenks darted out from behind the knee-high wall, going to meet Jumoke, one of his kids, coming in from sentry duty at the front of the church.

Whats up, Jenks? I called out as I grabbed my sunglasses, and the pixies angled toward me, still talking.

Black car at the curb, Jenks said, his hand on the hilt of his garden sword. Its Trent.

My adrenaline pulsed, and I almost jabbed the earpiece of my sunglasses into my eye as I put them on. Hes early! I exclaimed, sitting up. Trent and I had an appointment for me to annul his familiar mark, but that wasnt until five. The curse wasnt ready yet, and the kitchen was a mess. Maybe he wanted to see the prep, afraid of what might be in it.

Jumokes wings hit a higher pitch when the front bell rang, and we all turned to the back of the church as if we could see through it to where Trent was standing on the front porch. The bell was one of those big farm bells with a pull, and the entire sleepy neighborhood could hear it. Maybe hell go away if we dont answer, I said, and Jenks rosesixty feet in a mere second. In another second, he dropped back down.

Hes coming around back, he said, his gold dust looking black through my sunglasses.