A Fistful of Charms

Chapter Nine

  Humming nervously, Jenks put the jar of honey in the basket with my bandages and the rest of his groceries. He fidgeted, and my eyebrows rose. "Honey, Jenks?" I questioned.

  "It's medicinal," he said, reddening and turning to stand before the array of baking supplies, feet spread wide in his Peter Pan pose. Reaching to a top shelf, he dropped a jar of yeast in with the rest. "Bee pollen," he grumbled under his breath. "Where in Tink's bordello do they keep the vitamin supplements? Can't find a bloody thing in this store. Who laid it out? Gilligan?" His head rose and he scanned the signs hanging over the aisles.

  "The vitamins would be with the medicines," I said, and he jerked.

  Clearly shocked, he stammered, "You heard that?" and I shrugged. "Damn," he muttered, walking away. "I didn't know you could hear that well. You never heard me before. "

  I trailed behind him, arms empty. Jenks insisted on carrying everything, insisted on opening every door for me, hell, he'd flush my toilet if I let him. It wasn't a macho thing, it was because he could. Automatic doors were his favorites, and though he hadn't played with one yet by getting on and off the sensor pad, I knew he wanted to.

  His pace was quick, his steps silent in the new boots I had bought him all of an hour ago. He wasn't happy about me insisting we go shopping before seeing if Jax was at The Butterfly Shack, a butterfly exhibit and wildlife store, but he agreed that if Jax was there, he was hiding or he would have had the owner call us to come get him. We didn't know the situation, and if we knocked on the door and told the proprietor he had been harboring a pixy, one possibly wanted in connection with a theft, we might start a few tongues wagging.

  So Jenks and I used the interim while the proprietor closed up shop and counted his money to do a little pre-break-in outfitting/shopping. I had been pleasantly surprised to find some upscale stores right beside the tourist-crap traps in an obviously new slab of light commercial buildings that had gone up in the last five years or so. The trees only had been in the ground that long. I was a witch; I could tell.

  Since it was just before the tourist season, the selections were high and the prices were almost reasonable. That would change next week when school let out and the town tripled its population when the "fudgies" - tourists named after the candy Mackinaw was known for - descended on them.

  Turns out, Jenks was a power shopper, which probably stemmed from his garden gathering background. In a very short time we had hit three clothes stores, a dance outlet, and a shoe mart. So now instead of a hunky young man in sweats and flip-flops, I was with a six-foot-four, athletic, angsty young man dressed in casual linen pants and matching fawn-colored shirt. Under it was a skintight two-piece suit of silk and spandex that had set us back a couple hundred dollars, but after seeing him in it, my head bobbed and my card came out. My treat.

  I couldn't help but let my eyes ramble over him as he crouched before a display of vitamins and took off the shades I had bought him, not wanting a repeat of him grumbling over the sun all the way up there. Clearly bothered, he ran a hand under his cap in worry. The red leather should have clashed with what he had on, but on him? Yum.

  Jenks looked really good, and I was wishing I had brought nicer clothes. And a camera. He was a hard man to keep up with once you got him out of sweats and flip-flops.

  "Bee pollen," he said as he jiggled the sleeve of his new aviator jacket down and reached forward, blowing the dust from the lid of the glass jar. "This stuff tastes like it's already been through the bee," he said, rising to place it with the rest, "but seeing as the only flowers they have here are stale daisies and dehydrated roses, it will do. "

  His voice carried a hard derision, and I silently looked at the price. No wonder pixies spent more time in the garden than working a nine-to-five to buy their food like most people. The two bottles of maple syrup he wanted cost a whopping nine dollars. Each. And when I tried to substitute the fake stuff, he had added a third. "Let me carry something," I offered, feeling useless.

  He shook his head, pace intent as he headed to the front. "If we don't go now, it will be too cold to find any pixies who might help. Besides, the owner has to be home and watching TV. It's almost nine. "

  I glanced at his phone clipped to his belt. "It's twenty past," I said. "Let's go. "

  "Past?" Jenks snickered, shifting the basket. "The sun's been down only an hour. "

  He skittered sideways when I snatched the phone from his belt and held it for him to see. "Nine-twenty," I said, not knowing if I should be smug or worried that his unerring time sense was off. I hoped Ceri hadn't ruined it.

  For an instant Jenks looked horrified, then his mouth quirked. "We shifted latitude," he said. "I'm going to be. . . " He took the phone from me and peered at the clock. ". . . twenty minutes slow at sunset and twenty minutes fast at sunrise. " Jenks chuckled. "Never thought I'd need a watch, but it would be easier than trying to switch over and then have to switch back. "

  I shrugged. I'd never felt the need for a watch unless I was working with Ivy and had to "synchronize" to keep her from having a fit, and then I just used Jenks. Feeling short next to his height, I steered him from the self-service line, or we would have been there all night. Jenks took charge of the basket, unloading it and leaving me to smile neutrally at the woman.

  Her plucked eyebrows rose upon taking in the bee pollen, yeast, honey, maple syrup, beer, Band-Aids, and the ailing plant Jenks had rescued from the half-price rack in the tiny floral department. "Doing a little cooking?" she asked slyly, her grin thick with an amused conclusion as to what two people might be doing with a shopping list like ours. Her name tag said TERRI, and she was a comfortable twenty pounds overweight, with swollen fingers and too many rings.

  Jenks's green eyes were innocently wide. "Jane, honey," he said to me. "Be a dear and run back for the instant pudding. " His voice dropped, taking on a sultry depth. "Let's try butterscotch this time. I'm bored with chocolate. "

  Feeling wicked, I leaned against him, reaching to play with the curls about his ears. "You know Alexia is allergic to butterscotch," I said. "Besides, Tom will do a-a-a-a-anything for pistachio. And I have some of that in the fridge. Right beside the caramel drizzle and the whipped cream. " I giggled, tossing my red hair. "God, I love caramel! It takes forever to lick off. "

  Jenks broke into a devilish grin, eyeing the woman from under his hat as he took a handful of toothbrushes from the grab rack and set them on the conveyer belt. "That's what I love so much about my Janie," he said, giving me a sideways hug that pulled me off balance and into him. "Always thinking of others. Isn't she the kindest soul you've ever met?"

  The woman's face was red. Flustered, she kept trying to ring up the marked-down plant, finally giving up and putting it into a plastic bag. "Sixty-three twenty-seven," she stammered, not meeting Jenks's eyes.

  Smug, Jenks pulled out the wallet he had bought all of fifteen minutes ago, shuffling to find the Vampiric Charms credit card. He carefully ran it through the machine, clearly enjoying himself as he punched the right buttons. Ivy had arranged for it ages ago, and Jenks's signature was on file as a matter of course. This was the first time he'd been able to use it, but he looked like he knew what he was doing.

  The woman stared at the name of our firm when it popped up on her screen, her jaw falling to make a double chin.

  Jenks signed the pad with a careful seriousness, smiling at the cashier as she extended the receipt and a strip of coupons. "Cheerio," he said, the plastic a soft rustle when he took all the bags and looped his arm through them. I glanced back when the glass doors swung apart and the night air, cold off the straits, set a few strands of hair to tickle my face. She was already gossiping with the manager, putting a hand to her mouth when she saw me look at her.

  "Jeez, Jenks," I said, taking one of the bags so I could look at the receipt. Over sixty dollars for two bags of groceries? "Maybe we could have done something really disgusting, like lick her microphone. " And wh
y had he bought so many toothbrushes?

  "You enjoyed it, and you know it, witch," he said, then snatched the ticker tape from me when I tried to throw it and the coupons away. "I want that," he said, tucking them in a pocket. "I might use them later. "

  "No one uses those," I said, head bowed while I dug in my bag for the keys. The lights flashed and the locks disengaged. Jiggling the bag on his arm, Jenks opened my door for me before going to the other side of the van and dropping his groceries beside his bags of slacks, shirts, silk boxers, socks, and a silk robe I would have protested over except that he was eventually going to get small again and I was going to claim it. The man couldn't have anything cheap, and I would've questioned his claim that oil-based fabrics would make him break out if I hadn't seen it for myself.

  His door opened and he settled himself, carefully buckling in as if it was a religion. "Ready?" I said, feeling the ease of shopping start to shift into the anticipation of a run. An illegal run. Yes, we were rescuing Jenks's son, not robbing the place, but they would still throw our butts in jail if we were caught.

  Jenks's head went up and down, and he zipped and unzipped the small waist pack he had put his few tools in. Taking a steadying breath, I started the van and headed to the shops and the theater. Bridge traffic was congested, and had been for the better part of the month, according to the disgruntled clerk in the shoe outlet. Apparently it was down to one lane either way while they scrambled to make maintenance repairs round-the-clock to finish before Memorial Day. Fortunately we didn't have to cross the huge suspension bridge, just weave past the confusion.

  The van was blowing cold air even though I had the heater on, and I thanked the stars that Jenks was big. Tonight would have been iffy for him if he were four inches tall. I only hoped Jax had found somewhere warm. A butterfly exhibit would have enough food, but why heat it to a comfortable seventy-five degrees when fifty will do?

  The theater was in a mazelike cluster of new shops catering to tourists on foot - sort of a mini-open-aired mall plopped beside the original downtown - but they had a special lot for the cinema, and I parked between a white truck and a rusting Toyota with a bumper sticker that said FOLLOW ME TO THE U. P. , EH?

  The engine cut out, and I looked across the van at Jenks in the new silence. The sound of slow crickets came in from the nearby empty field. He seemed nervous, his fingers quick as they fussed with the zipper on his pack. "You going to be okay?" I said, realizing this was the first time he had been on a run where he couldn't just fly out of danger.

  He nodded, the deep concern on his face appearing out of place on someone so young. Rustling in a bag, he pulled a bottle of maple syrup out from behind the seat. His green eyes met mine in the uncertain light, looking black. "Hey, um, when we get out, will you pretend to fix your shoe or something? I want to take care of the cameras on the back of the building, and a distraction might help. "

  My gaze went to the bottle in his hand, then rose to his wary expression, not sure how a bottle of syrup was going to fix the cameras but willing to go along with it. "Sure. "

  Relieved, he got out. I followed suit, leaning against the van to take off my shoe and shake a nonexistent pebble out. I watched Jenks with half my attention, understanding when he let out a trill of a whistle, anxiously touching his red hat as a curious, aggressive pixy zipped up to him in the cooling dusk.

  I missed what was said, but Jenks returned looking satisfied, the bottle of maple syrup gone. "What?" I said as he waited for me to fall into step with him.

  "They'll put the cameras on loop for us when we leave the building," he said, not taking my arm as Kisten or Nick might, but walking beside me with an odd closeness. The shops lining the thoroughfare were closed, but the theater had a small crowd of what were clearly locals, to judge by the amount of noisy banter. The movie showing had been out for three weeks in Cincy, but there must not be a lot to do up here.

  We neared the ticket booth and my pulse quickened. "They'll loop the cameras for a bottle of maple syrup?" I asked, voice hushed.

  Jenks shrugged, glancing at the marquee. "Sure. That stuff is liquid gold. "

  I dug in my bag for a twenty as I took that in. Maybe I could make more pimping maple syrup to pixies than running? We bought two tickets to the SF film, and after getting Jenks a bag of popcorn, we headed into the theater, immediately going out the emergency exit.

  My eyes went to the cameras atop the building, catching the faintest glint of streetlight on pixy wings. Maybe it was a little overkill, but being placed at the theater if The Butterfly Shack's alarms went off might be the difference between keeping my feet on the street and cooling them on a jail cot.

  Together we made our way from the service entrances in back to the front, Jenks shedding clothes and handing them to me to stuff in my bag every few yards. It was terribly distracting, but I managed to avoid running into the Dumpsters and recycling bins. Upon reaching the shuttered tourist area, he was in his soft-soled boots and his skintight outfit. We had come out a few blocks from the theater, and it was creepy being on the street at night with everything closed, reminding me how far from home and out of my element I was. The Butterfly Shack was tucked into the end of a cul-de-sac, and we headed for it, feet silent on the cement.

  "Watch my back," Jenks whispered, leaving me in a shadow while he twirled the long tool in his fingers into a blur, crouching to put his eyes even with the lock.

  I gave him long glance, then turned to watch the empty foot street. No prob, Jenks, I thought. Sure, he was married, but I could look. "People," I breathed, but he had heard and was already behind the scrawny bushes beside the door. They were butterfly bushes, if I guessed right, and scraggly. Any other business would have torn them out.

  Shrinking into my shadow, I held my breath until the couple passed, the woman's heels fast and the man griping they were going to miss the previews. Five seconds later Jenks was back at the door. A moment of tinkering, and he stood to carefully try the latch. It clicked open, a nice cheery green light blinking a welcome from the lock pad.

  He grinned, jerking his head for me to join him. I slipped inside and moved to get out of his way. If there was more security, Jenks could tell better than I.

  The door shut, leaving the wash of streetlight coming in the large windows. As smoothly as if on wings, Jenks glided past me. "Camera behind the mirror in the corner," he said. "Can't do anything about that one if I'm six feet tall. Let's get him, get out, and hope for the best. "

  My gut tightened. This was more loosey-goosey than even I liked. "The back?" I whispered, cataloging the silent shelves and displays of Amazon rain forest stuffed animals and expensive books on how to design a garden for wildlife. It smelled wonderful, rich with subtle perfumes of exotic flowers and vines filtering out from behind an obvious pair of glass doors. But it was cold. The tourist season wouldn't officially begin till next week, and I was sure they kept the temp low at night to extend the life of the insects.

  Jenks slipped to the back, making me feel clumsy behind him. I wondered if he would even show up on the camera, he moved so stealthily. The soft sucking sound of the outer glass door of the casual airlock was loud, and Jenks held it for me, his eyes wide to take in what little light there was. Nervous, I ducked under his arm, breathing deeply of the scent of moist dirt. Jenks opened the second door, and the sound of running water joined it. My shoulders eased despite my tension, and I hastened to keep up as he entered the walk-through exhibit.

  It was a two-story-tall room, glass-walled from ten feet up. The night was a black ceiling festooned with vines and hanging planters of musky smelling petunias and jewel-like begonias. Maybe forty feet long and fifteen feet wide, the room made a narrow slice of another continent. And it was cold. I clasped my shoulders and looked at Jenks, worried.

  "Jax?" Jenks called, the hope in his voice heartrending. "Are you here? It's me, Dad. "

  Dad, I thought in envy. What I would have given to have h
eard that directed at me when I needed it. I shoved the ugly feeling aside, happy that Jax had a dad who was able to rescue his ass. Growing up was hard enough without having to pull yourself out of whatever mess you got yourself into when your decisions were faster than your brain. Or your feet.

  There was a chirp from the incubators tucked out of the way. My brows rose, and Jenks stiffened. "There," I said breathlessly, pointing. "Under that cupboard, where the heat lamp is. "

  "Jax!" Jenks whispered, padding down the slate slabs edged with moss. "Are you okay?"

  A grin heavy with relief came over me when, with a sprinkling of glowing dust, a pixy darted out from under the cupboard. It was Jax, and he zipped around us, wings clattering. He was okay. Hell, he was more than okay. He looked great.

  "Ms. Morgan!" the young pixy cried, lighting the small space with his excitement and zipping around my head like an insane firefly. "You're alive? We thought you were dead! Where's my dad?" He rose to the ceiling, then dropped. "Dad?"

  Jenks stared, transfixed at his son darting over the exhibit. He opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly struggling to find a way to touch his son without hurting him. "Jax. . . " he whispered, his eyes both young and old - pained and filled with joy.

  Jax let out a startled chirp, slamming back a good two feet before he caught himself. "Dad!" he shouted, pixy dust slipping from him. "What happened? You're big!"

  Jenks's hand shook as his son landed on it. "I got big to find you. It's too cold to be out without somewhere to go. And it's not safe for Ms. Morgan to be out of Cincinnati unescorted. "

  I made a face, chafing at the truth, though we hadn't even seen a vampire, much less a hungry one. They didn't like small towns. "Jax," I said impatiently, "where's Nick?"

  The small pixy's eyes widened and the dust slipping from him turned thin. "They took him. I can show you were he is. Holy crap, he'll be glad to see you! We didn't know you were alive, Ms. Morgan. We thought you were dead!"

  That was the second time he had said it, and I blinked in understanding. Oh God. Nick had called the night Al snapped the familiar bond between us. Al answered my phone and told Nick I belonged to him. Then the media thought I'd died on the boat Kisten blew up. Nick thought I was dead. That's why he had never called. That's why he didn't tell me he was back on the solstice. That's why he cleared out his apartment and left. He thought I was dead.

  "God help me," I whispered, reaching out for the filthy incubator full of butterfly pupa. The budded rose left on my doorstep in the jelly jar with the pentagram of protection on it had been from him. Nick hadn't left me. He thought I had died.

  "Rache?"

  I straightened when Jenks tentatively touched my arm. "I'm okay," I whispered, though I was far from it. I'd deal with it later. "We have to go," I said, turning away.

  "Wait," Jax exclaimed, dropping down to the floor and peering under the cupboard. "Here kitty, kitty, kitty. . . "

  "Jax!" Jenks shouted in horror, scooping his son up.

  "Dad!" Jax protested, easily slipping the loose prison of his father's fingers. "Let go!"

  My eyes widened at the ball of orange fluff squeezing out from under the counter, blinking and stretching. I looked again, not believing. "It's a cat," I said, winning the Pulitzer prize for incredible intellect. Well, actually it was a kitten, so points off for that.

  Jenks's mouth was moving but nothing came out. He backed up with what looked like terror in his wide eyes.

  "It's a cat!" I said again. Then added a frantic, "Jax! No!" when the pixy dropped down. I reached for him, drawing away when the fluffy orange kitten arched its back and spit at me.

  "Her name is Rex," Jax said proudly, his wings still as he stood on the dirty floor beside the incubator and scratched vigorously under her chin. The kitten relaxed, forgetting me and stretching its neck so Jax could get just the right spot.

  I took a slow breath. As in Tyrannosaurus rex? Great. Just freaking great.

  "I want to keep her," Jax said, and the kitten sank down and began to purr, tiny sharp claws kneading in and out and eyes closed.

  It's a cat. Boy, you couldn't slip anything past me tonight. "Jax," I said persuasively, and the small pixy bristled.

  "I'm not leaving her!" he said. "I would have frozen my first night if it wasn't for her. She's been keeping me warm, and if I leave, that mean old witch who owns the place will find her again and call the pound. I heard her say so!"

  I glanced from the kitten to Jenks. He looked like he was hyperventilating, and I took his arm in case he was going to pass out. "Jax, you can't keep her. "

  "She's mine!" Jax protested. "I've been feeding her butterfly pupa, and she's been keeping me warm. She won't hurt me. Look!"

  Jenks almost had a coronary when his son flitted back and forth before the kitten, enticing her to take a shot at him. The kitten's white tip of a tail twitched and her hindquarters quivered.

  "Jax!" Jenks shouted, scooping him up out of danger as Rex's paw came out.

  My heart jumped into my throat, and it was all I could do to not reach for him too.

  "Dad, let me go!" Jax exclaimed, and he was free, flitting over our heads, the kitten watching with a nerve-racking intensity.

  Jenks visably swallowed. "The cat saved my son's life," he said, shaking. "We aren't leaving it here to starve or die at the pound. "

  "Jenks. . . " I protested, watching Rex pace under Jax's flitting path, her head up and her steps light. "Someone will take her in. Look how sweet she is. " I clasped my hands so I wouldn't pick her up. "Sure," I said, my resolve weakening when Rex fell over to look cute and harmless, her little white belly in the air. "She's all soft and sweet now, but she's going to get bigger. And then there will be yelling. And screaming. And soft kitty fur in my garden. "

  Jenks frowned. "I'm not going to keep her. I'll find a home for her. But she saved my son's life, and I won't let her starve here. "

  I shook my head, and while Jax cheered, his father gingerly scooped the kitten up. Rex gave a token wiggle before settling into the crook of his arm. Jenks had her both safe and secure - as if she was a child.

  "Let me take her," I said, holding out my hands.

  "I've got her okay. " Jenks's angular face was pale, making him look as if he was going to pass out. "Jax, it's cold out. Get in Ms. Morgan's purse until we get to the motel. "

  "Hell no!" Jax said, shocking me as he lit on my shoulder. "I'm not going to ride in no purse. I'll be fine with Rex. Tink's diaphragm, Dad. Where do you think I've been sleeping for the last four days?"

  "Tink's diaph - " Jenks sputtered. "Watch your mouth, young man. "

  This was not happening.

  Jax dropped down to snuggle in the hollow of Rex's tummy, almost disappearing in the soft kitten fur. Jenks took several breaths, his shoulders so tense you could crack eggs on them.

  "We have to go," I whispered. "We can talk about this later. "

  Jenks nodded, and with the wobbling pace of a drunk made his way to the front of the exhibit, Jenks holding the kitten and me opening doors. The scent of books and carpet made the air smell dead as we crept into the gift shop. I fearfully looked for flashing red and blue lights outside, relieved at finding only a comforting darkness and a quiet cobble street.

  I said nothing when Jenks awkwardly got his wallet out from his back pocket with one hand and left every last dollar of cash I had given him on the counter. He nodded respectfully to the camera behind the mirror, and we left as we had come in.

  We didn't see anyone on the way back to the parking lot, but I didn't take one good breath until the van door slammed shut behind me. Fingers shaking, I started the engine, carefully backing up and finding my way to the strip.

  "Rache," Jenks said, eyes on the kitten in his arms as he broke his conspicuous silence. "Can we stop at that grocery store and pick up some cat food? I've got a coupon. "

  And so it begins, I thought, mentally adding a litt
er pan and litter. And a can opener. And a little saucer for water. And maybe a fuzzy mouse or ten.

  I glanced at Jenks out of the corner of my eye, his smooth, long fingers gentling the fur between Rex's ears as the kitten purred loud enough to be heard over the van. Jax was cuddled between her paws, sleeping the sleep of the exhausted. A misty smile came over me and I felt myself relax. We'd get rid of her as soon as we found a good home.

  Ri-i-i-i-ight.