“It’s a rope!” Jenks exclaimed, hovering over it, and I peeked inside the envelope to make sure there wasn’t a note. “Trent sent you a rope? Is that a joke?” he said, looking so angry that his kids started to back off, whispering. “To hang yourself with, maybe? Or is it an elven version of getting a horse head in your bed? It’s made out of horsehair.”
I cautiously picked up the short length of rough rope, feeling the knotted bumps. “It’s probably made from his familiar,” I said, remembering Trent once telling me that his familiar was a horse. “Jenks,” I said, heart beating fast. “I think it’s a Pandora charm.”
Immediately Jenks lost his anger. From behind us, I heard a rumble and chunk of an ice cube dropping onto the floor, and his kids swarmed it. Rex appeared at the doorway and hunched down, watching Jenks’s kids push and shove to be the first five on the long cube of ice. Wings going in tandem, they shot across the floor, under the table, and around the island. Pixy squeals rose high, and they all flew off an instant before the cube hit the wall, out of control.
“He just gave it to you?” Jenks said as he landed beside me, kicking it. “Are you sure that’s what it is?”
“I think so,” I said, not sure what to make of it. “You undo the knots, and a memory returns.” I picked it up, looking at the gray strand knotted with complex figures that reminded me of the sea. I’d be willing to bet Trent had made it himself. I could feel the rising tension of wild magic, making a quiver in me as it tickled my compromised aura. Or maybe elf magic always felt that way.
Jenks looked from the black-and-silver strand of knotted rope to me. “You gonna do it?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know what memory it’s for.”
“Kisten’s murder,” he said confidently, but I shook my head.
“Maybe.” I ran the string through my fingers, feeling the bumps like notes of music. “It might be something about my dad, or his dad, or the make-a-wish camp.”
Carefully, I set it down. I didn’t want to know what memory was there. Not yet. I’d had enough of memories. I wanted to live for a while without them, dealing with the present without the hurt of the past.
My phone rang from my bag, and I eyed Jenks when ZZ Top’s “Sharp Dressed Man” jingled out. The pixy gave me an innocent stare, but when Rex perked up, sitting to stare at the corner of the room with a familiar intensity, my expression left me, and I drew back from answering my phone. “Pierce?” I whispered.
The air pressure shifted, and with a soft pop, a misty shape in the corner grew, solidified, and turned into Pierce. Rex stood with a little kitty trill, and I jumped to my feet, shocked. It had to be Pierce. Unless it was Al disguised as him.
“Pierce?” I asked again, and he turned to me, his eyes twinkling, and dressed to the nines in mid-nineteen-hundreds high fashion. He looked like himself. I mean, he didn’t look like Tom, and I wondered what in hell was going on.
“Mistress witch,” he said, darting across the kitchen to take my hands. “I can’t stay,” he said breathlessly, eyes glinting. “Al will be of a mind to track me down faster than a dog trees a coon on a moonlit night, but I had to visit you first. To explain.”
“You took Tom’s body,” I said, pulling away. “Pierce, I’m glad to see you, but—”
He nodded, his hair sliding into his eyes until he tossed it back roguishly. “It’s black magic, yes, and I’m not proud of it, but it wasn’t me who killed the black witch. He killed himself.”
“But you look—”
“Like myself, yes,” he finished, drawing me into almost a dance, he was so happy. “That was part of the deal. Rachel…” His expression suddenly became concerned. “You’ve been burned,” he said, every last other thought clearly out of his head. His hand went out, and I stopped it before it touched my face.
My pulse was hammering, and I was hot. “Kisten’s pyre,” I said, flustered.
Pierce gave me a firm look. “It is ended, then.”
I nodded. “Please don’t tell me you sold your soul for this….” I looked him up and down, and he dropped my hands and stepped back.
“That is a matter of some debate. You must be able to hold what you claim, and though I entered into an agreement, he can’t hold me. None of them can hold me.”
His smile was way too smug, and I felt a quiver in myself. “You escaped!”
“Once I had obtained a body and could commune with a line, it was only a matter of time. Nothing can hold me forever. Except perhaps you.”
Beaming, he pulled me close, and knowing he was going to kiss me, I blurted, “Jenks is here.”
Immediately his hands flashed from me. Blue eyes wide in charming shock, he dropped back a step. “Jenks!” he said, flushing. “My apologies.”
I followed the sound of an angry humming to see Jenks hovering over the middle counter, staring at us with his hands on his hips and a grimace on his face. “Get out,” he said flatly. “I just got her normal again. Get out before you turn her into a sniveling, twitterpated…twit!”
“Jenks!” I exclaimed, and Pierce put a calming hand on me.
“That is my intent, Jenks,” he said gallantly, and I wondered if Pierce meant his intent was to leave or to turn me into a twitterpated twit.
Pierce bent to Rex, who was twining about his ankles. “I have to go,” he said as he rose with her in his arms. “I was of a mind to explain before Al fills your head with his view of what happened this past week. I will see you as soon as I can. Al is a devilishly fine demon. More fun than a nest of bunnies to outwit.”
He’s playing with Al? “Pierce…,” I said, almost laughing. I was so confused. He had escaped him? He had used Al to gain a body, and then escaped him?
Pierce brought his gaze back to me. “I must pull foot, but until I find myself in a better situation, I will think of you every evening between candle lighting and dawn.”
“Wait a minute, Pierce. I’m not—”
But he had swooped forward, and as Jenks angrily dusted silver sparkles on us, he kissed me soundly. He stole it. That was the only way I could describe it. He stole a kiss, wrapping his arms about me and holding me tight as he took a kiss from me and left me breathless.
“Hey!” I exclaimed, not shoving him away but pulling back. Letting go, he inclined his head…and vanished with the soft scent of coal dust and shoe polish.
I stared at where he had been. From behind me, a forgotten cube of ice slipped down and hit the floor. “Uh, Jenks?” I warbled. He had come. He had befuddled me. He had escaped Al on his own and come to crow to me about it. Oh-h-h-h-h crap. I was in trouble.
“No!” Jenks shouted. “Damn it to the Turn and back!” he shrilled, throwing a hot-sparkled tantrum two feet above the counter. “I’ll not have you falling for him, Rachel. No!”
But as I ran my fingers over my lips, remembering his there, I thought it might be too late. He was just so…Rachel-ly. Hitting a spot in me that hadn’t been alive since I was eighteen. And with that thought, my face went blank. Damn it, Ford had been right. This was why I hadn’t had any luck with guys. I had been measuring them against Pierce all this time, and they had all come up lacking. I was in big trouble. Big. Maybe as an eighteen-year-old I thought it was romantic to be involved with a smart, intelligent, devil-may-care, handsome witch who could take on demons, vamps, and the I.S., but I was smarter now, right? Right?!
The air pressure shifted with a bang. I cowered below the level of the counter, and Jenks shot up to the ceiling.
“Witch!” Al bellowed, and I peeked over the counter. His eyes met mine, and he yelled, “Where is my familiar?”
I stood, a smile quirking the corners of my lips. “Uh, he was here,” I said. “I didn’t summon him, he just kind of showed up.” My focus sharpened on Al, and he narrowed his eyes, trying to gauge the truthfulness of my words. “Kind of like how you just did,” I added. “He popped in, and then he left.”
“Where did he go!” he bellowed, gloved hands clenching. “I had him in a
snare that would take Alexander the Great a lifetime to untwist, and he did it in a week!” Al took a step, pinwheeling as his booted heel found an ice cube.
“I don’t know,” I said, then shouted, “I don’t know!” when Al growled at me. “I think he went that way.” I pointed off in a vague direction.
Making an mmmm of discontent, Al tugged his frock coat. “I’ll see you Saturday, Rachel,” he said roughly. “And bring a silver-core rope to tie Gordian Nathaniel Pierce down with. If I ever find him, I’m going to sell him to Newt. I swear, if I didn’t need him, I’d kill him myself!”
With a foul-smelling gust of air, Al vanished.
I stared at the spot, blinking.
“Sweet mother of Tink,” Jenks whispered from the ladle. “What just happened?”
Leaning against the counter, I shook my head. From the front of the church came the sound of the door opening. “Rachel?” Ivy’s voice filtered in. “I’m home. Why did Pierce pop into the car and tell me to pick up a grande latte, double espresso, Italian blend, light on the froth, heavy on the cinnamon, with a shot of raspberry?”
My lips curved up in a smile.
I loved my life.
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank my editor, Diana Gill. The more I know, the harder her job looks. And my agent, Richard Curtis, my knight in shining armor.
About the Author
New York Times bestselling author KIM HARRISON was born and raised in the upper Midwest, but has since fled south to better avoid snow. When not at work on the Hollows series, she spends her time tending orchids, cooking with some guy in a leather jacket, and training her new dog. Her current vices include good chocolate and exquisite sushi. Her bestselling novels include Dead Witch Walking; The Good, the Bad, and the Undead; Every Which Way But Dead; A Fistful of Charms; For a Few Demons More; and The Outlaw Demon Wails.
www.kimharrison.net
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ALSO BY KIM HARRISON
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Credits
Jacket illustration by Larry Rostant
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
WHITE WITCH, BLACK CURSE. Copyright © 2009 by Kim Harrison. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub © Edition JANUARY 2009 ISBN: 9780061853630
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Kim Harrison, White Witch, Black Curse
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