Dead Witch Walking (3 page)

Jenks never noticed when I quit listening. He hadn’t said a thing about his wing, so I knew he’d be okay. I slumped into the back of the booth and stewed, dead in the water with Jenks leaking dust as he was. I was royally Turned. If I came in empty-handed, I’d get nothing but full moon disturbances and bad charm complaints until next spring. It wasn’t my fault.

With Jenks unable to fly unnoticed, I knew I might as well go home. If I bought him some Maitake mushrooms, he might not tell the guy in appropriations how his wing got bent.
What the heck,
I thought.
Why not make a party of it?
Sort of a last fling before the boss nailed my broom to a tree, so to speak. I could stop at the mall for some bubble bath and a new disc of slow jazz. My career was taking a nosedive, but there was no reason I couldn’t enjoy the ride.

With a perverse glow of anticipation, I took my bag and the Shirley Temple, rising to make my way to the bar. Not my style to leave things hanging. Contestant number three stood with a grin and a shake of his leg to adjust himself. God, help me. Men can be so disgusting. I was tired, ticked-off, and grossly unappreciated. Knowing he would take anything I said as playing hard to get and follow me out, I tipped the ginger pop down his front and kept walking.

I smirked at his cry of outrage, then frowned at his heavy hand on my shoulder. Turning into a crouch, I sent my leg in a stiff half spin to trip him onto the floor. He hit the wood planking with a loud thump. The bar went silent after a momentary gasp. I was sitting on him, straddling his chest, before he even realized he had gone down.

My bloodred manicure stood out sharply as I gripped his neck, flicking the bristles under his chin. His eyes were wide. Cliff stood at the door with his arms crossed, content to watch.

“Damn, Rache,” Jenks said, swinging wildly from my earring. “Who taught you that?”

“My dad,” I answered, then leaned until I was in his face. “So sorry,” I breathed in a thick Hollows accent. “You want to play, cookie?” His eyes went frightened as he realized I was an Inderlander and not a bit of fluff out looking for a wild night of pretend. He was a cookie, all right. A little treat to be enjoyed and forgotten. I wouldn’t hurt him, but he didn’t know that.

“Sweet mother of Tinker Bell!” Jenks exclaimed, jerking my attention from the sniveling human. “Smell that? Clover.”

My fingers loosened, and the man scrabbled out from under me. He awkwardly gained his feet, dragging his two cohorts to the shadows with a whispered muttering of face-saving insults. “One of the bartenders?” I breathed as I rose.

“It’s the woman,” he said, sending a wash of excitement through me.

My eyes rose, taking her in. She filled out her tight, high-contrast uniform of black and green admirably, giving the impression of bored competence as she moved confidently behind the counter. “You flaking out, Jenks?” I murmured as I tried to surreptitiously pull my leather pants out from where they had ridden up. “It can’t be her.”

“Right!” he snapped. “Like
you
could tell.
Ignore
the pixy. I could be home right now in front of my TV. But no-oo-o-o. I’m stuck spending the night with some beanpole of backward feminine intuition who thinks she can do my job better than me. I’m cold, hungry, and my wing is bent nearly in two. If that main vein snaps, I’ll have to regrow the entire wing. Do you have any idea how long that takes?”

I glanced over the bar, relieved to see that everyone had returned to their conversations. Ivy was gone and had probably missed the entire thing. Just as well. “Shut up, Jenks,” I muttered. “Pretend you’re a decoration.”

I sidled to the old man. He grinned a gap-toothed smile as I leaned forward. Wrinkles creased his leathered face in appreciation as his eyes rove everywhere but my face. “Gimme something,” I breathed. “Something sweet. Something that will make me feel good. Something rich and creamy and oh-so-bad for me.”

“I’ll be needing to see yer ID, lassie,” the old man said in a thick Irish accent. “Ye dunna look old enough to be out from under yer mum’s shadow.”

His accent was faked, but my smile at his compliment wasn’t. “Why, sure thing, hon.” I dug in my bag for my driver’s license, willing to play the game, since we both obviously enjoyed it. “Oops!” I giggled as the card slipped to fall behind the counter. “Silly little me!”

With the help of the bar stool, I leaned halfway across the counter to get a good peek behind it. Having my rear in the air not only distracted the menfolk admirably but afforded me an excellent look. Yes, it was degrading if you thought about it too long, but it worked. I looked up to find the old man grinning, thinking I was checking him out, but it was the woman I was interested in now. She was standing on a box.

She was nearly the right height, in the right place, and Jenks had marked her. She looked younger than I would have expected, but if you’re a hundred fifty years old, you’re bound to pick up a few beauty secrets. Jenks snorted in my ear, sounding like a smug mosquito. “Told you.”

I settled back on the stool, and the bartender handed me my license along with a dead man’s float and a spoon: a dollop of ice cream in a short glass of Bailey’s. Yum. Tucking the card away, I gave him a saucy wink. I left the glass where it was, turning as if scoping out the patrons that had just come in. My pulse increased and my fingertips tingled. Time to go to work.

A quick look around to make sure no one was watching, and I tipped my glass. I gasped as it spilled, and my distress wasn’t entirely faked as I lurched to catch it, trying to save at least the ice cream.

The kick of adrenaline shook me as the woman bartender met my apologetic smile with her patronizing one. The jolt was worth more to me than the check I found shoved into my desk every week. But I knew the feeling would wane as fast as it had come. My talents were being wasted. I didn’t even need a spell for this one.

If this was all the I.S. would give me,
I thought,
maybe I should blow off the steady pay and go out on my own.
Not many left the I.S., but there was precedence. Leon Bairn was a living legend before he went independent—then promptly got wasted by a misaligned spell. Rumor had it the I.S. had been the one to put the price on his head for breaking his thirty-year contract. But that was over a decade ago. Runners went missing all the time, taken out by prey more clever or luckier than them. Blaming it on the I.S.’s own assassin corps was just spiteful. No one left the I.S. because the money was good and the hours were easy, that’s all.

Yeah,
I thought, ignoring the whisper of warning that took me. Leon Bairn’s death was exaggerated. Nothing was ever proven. And the only reason I still had a job was because they couldn’t legally fire me. Maybe I should go out on my own. It couldn’t be any worse than what I was doing now. They would be glad to see me leave.
Sure,
I thought, smiling. Rachel Morgan, private runner for hire. All rights earnestly upheld. All wrongs sincerely avenged.

I knew my smile was misty as the woman obligingly swiped her towel between my elbows to mop up the spill. My breath came in a quick sound. Left hand dropping, I snatched the cloth, tangling her in it. My right swung back, then forward with my cuffs, clicking them about her wrists. In an instant it was done. She blinked, shocked. Damn, I’m good.

The woman’s eyes widened as she realized what had happened. “Blazes and condemnation!” she cried, sounding elegant with her Irish accent. Hers wasn’t faked. “What the ’ell do you think you’re doin’?”

The jolt flared to ash, and a sigh slipped from me as I eyed the lone scoop of ice cream that was left of my drink. “Inderland Security,” I said, slapping my I.S. identification down. The rush was gone already. “You stand accused of fabricating a rainbow for the purpose of misrepresenting the income generated from said rainbow, failure to file the appropriate requisition forms for said rainbow, failure to notify Rainbow Authority of said rainbow’s end—”

“It’s a lie!” the woman shouted, contorting in the cuffs. Her eyes darted wildly about the bar as all attention focused on her. “All a lie! I found that pot legally.”

“You retain the right to keep your mouth shut,” I ad-libbed, digging out a spoonful of ice cream. It was cold in my mouth, and the hint of alcohol was a poor replacement for the waning warmth of adrenaline. “If you forego your right to keep your mouth shut, I will shut it for you.”

The bartender slammed the flat of his hand on the counter. “Cliff!” he bellowed, his Irish accent gone. “Put the Help Wanted sign in the window. Then get back here and help me.”

“Yeah, boss,” came Cliff’s distant, I-couldn’t-care-less shout.

Setting my spoon aside, I reached across the bar and yanked the leprechaun over the counter and onto the floor before she got much smaller. She was shrinking as the charms on my cuffs slowly overpowered her weaker size spell. “You have a right to a lawyer,” I said, tucking my ID away. “If you can’t afford one, you’re toast.”

“You canna catch me!” the leprechaun threatened, struggling as the crowd’s shouts became enthusiastic. “Rings of steel alone canna hold me. I’ve escaped from kings, and sultans, and nasty little children with nets!”

I tried to finger-curl my rain-damp hair as she fought and wrestled, slowly coming to grips that she was caught. The cuffs shrank with her, keeping her confined. “I’ll be out of this—in—just a moment,” she panted, slowing enough to look at her wrists. “Aw, for the love of St. Pete.” She slumped, sending her eyes over the yellow moon, green clover, pink heart, and orange star that decorated my cuffs. “May the devil’s own dog hump your leg. Who squealed about the charms?” Then she looked closer. “You caught me with four?
Four?
I didn’t think the old ones still worked.”

“Call me old-fashioned,” I said to my glass, “but when something works, I stick with it.”

Ivy walked past, her two black-cloaked vamps before her, elegant in their dark misery. One had a bruise developing under his eye; the other was limping. Ivy wasn’t gentle with vamps preying on the underage. Remembering the pull from the dead vamp at the end of the bar, I understood why. A sixteen-year-old couldn’t fight that. Wouldn’t
want
to fight that.

“Hey, Rachel,” Ivy said brightly, looking almost human now that she wasn’t actively working. “I’m heading uptown. Want to split the fare?”

My thoughts went back to the I.S. as I weighed the risk of being a starving entrepreneur to a lifetime of running for shoplifters and illegal-charm sellers. It wasn’t as if the I.S. would put a price on my head. No, Denon would be thrilled to tear up my contract. I couldn’t afford an office in Cincinnati, but maybe in the Hollows. Ivy spent a lot of time down here. She’d know where I could find something cheap. “Yeah,” I said, noting her eyes were a nice, steady brown. “I want to ask you something.”

She nodded and pushed her two takes forward. The crowd pressed back, the sea of black clothing seeming to soak up the light. The dead vamp at the outskirts gave me a respectful nod, as if to say “Good tag,” and with a pulse of emotion giving me a false high, I nodded back.

“Way to go, Rachel,” Jenks chimed up, and I smiled. It had been a long time since I’d heard that.

“Thanks,” I said, catching sight of him on my earring in the bar’s mirror. Pushing my glass aside, I reached for my bag, my smile widening when the bartender gestured it was on the house. Feeling warm from more than the alcohol, I slipped from my stool and pulled the leprechaun stumbling to her feet. Thoughts of a door with my name painted on it in gold letters swirled through me. It was freedom.

“No! Wait!” the leprechaun shouted as I grabbed my bag and hauled her butt to the door. “Wishes! Three wishes. Right? You let me go, and you get three wishes.”

I pushed her into the warm rain ahead of me. Ivy had a cab already, her catch stashed in the trunk so there would be more room for the rest of us. Accepting wishes from a felon was a sure way to find yourself on the wrong end of a broomstick, but only if you got caught.

“Wishes?” I said, helping the leprechaun into the backseat. “Let’s talk.”

“W
hat did you say?” I asked as I half turned in the front seat to see Ivy. She gestured helplessly from the back. The rhythm of bad wipers and good music fought to outdo each other in a bizarre mix of whining guitars and hiccuping plastic against glass. “Rebel Yell” screamed from the speakers. I couldn’t compete. Jenks’s credible imitation of Billy Idol gyrating with the Hawaiian dancer stuck to the dash didn’t help. “Can I turn it down?” I asked the cabbie.

“No touch! No touch!” he cried in an odd accent. The forests of Europe, maybe? His faint musky scent put him as a Were. I reached for the volume knob, and he took his fur-backed hand from the wheel and slapped at me.

The cab swerved into the next lane. His charms, all gone bad by the look of them, slid across the dash to spill onto my lap and the floor. The chain of garlic swinging from the rearview mirror hit me square in the eye. I gagged as the stench fought with the odor of the tree-shaped cardboard, also swinging from the mirror.

“Bad girl,” he accused, veering back into his lane and throwing me into him.

“If I good girl,” I snarled as I slid back into my seat, “you let me turn music down?”

The driver grinned. He was missing a tooth. He would be missing another one if I had my way. “Yah,” he said. “They talking now.” The music fell to nothing, replaced by a fast-talking announcer shouting louder than the music had been.

“Good Lord,” I muttered, turning the radio down. My lips curled at the smear of grease on the knob. I stared at my fingers, then wiped them off on the amulets still in my lap. They weren’t good for anything else. The salt from the driver’s too-frequent handlings had ruined them. Giving him a pained look, I dumped the charms into the chipped cup holder.

I turned to Ivy, sprawled in the back. One hand was up to keep her owl from falling out of the rear window as we bounced along, the other was propped behind her neck. Passing cars and the occasional functioning streetlight briefly illuminated her black silhouette. Dark and unblinking, her eyes met mine, then returned to the window and the night. My skin prickled at the air of ancient tragedy about her. She wasn’t pulling an aura—she was just Ivy—but it gave me the willies. Didn’t the woman ever smile?

My take had pressed herself into the other corner, as far from Ivy as she could get. The leprechaun’s green boots just reached the end of the seat, and she looked like one of those dolls they sell on TV.
Three easy payments of $49.95 for this highly detailed rendition of Becky the Barmaid. Similar dolls have tripled, even quadrupled, in value!
This doll, though, had a sneaky glint in her eye. I gave her a sly nod, and Ivy’s gaze flicked suspiciously to mine.

The owl gave a pained hoot as we hit a nasty bump, opening its wings to keep its balance. But it was the last. We had crossed the river and were back in Ohio. The ride now was smooth as glass, and the cabbie’s pace slowed as he seemed to remember what traffic signs were for.

Ivy removed her hand from her owl and ran her fingers through her long hair. “I said, ‘You never took me up on a ride before.’ What’s up?”

“Oh, yeah.” I draped an arm over the seat. “Do you know where I can rent a cheap flat? In the Hollows, maybe?”

Ivy faced me squarely, the perfect oval of her face looking pale in the streetlights. There were lights now at every corner, making it nearly bright as day. Paranoid norms. Not that I blamed them. “You moving into the Hollows?” she asked, her expression quizzical.

I couldn’t help my smile at that. “No. I’m quitting the I.S.”

That got her attention. I could tell by the way she blinked. Jenks stopped trying to dance with the tiny figure on the dash and stared at me. “You can’t break your I.S. contract,” Ivy said. She glanced at the leprechaun, who beamed at her. “You’re not thinking of…”

“Me? Break the law?” I said lightly. “I’m too good to have to break the law. I can’t help it if she’s the wrong leprechaun, though,” I added, not feeling a bit guilty. The I.S. had made it abundantly clear they didn’t want my services anymore. What was I supposed to do? Roll on my back with my belly in the air and lick someone’s, er, muzzle?

“Paperwork,” the cabbie interjected, his accent abruptly as smooth as the road as he switched to the voice and manners needed to get and keep fares on this side of the river. “Lose the paperwork. Happens all the time. I think I’ve Rynn Cormel’s confession in here somewhere from when my father shuttled lawyers from quarantine to the courts during the Turn.”

“Yeah.” I gave him a nod and smile. “Wrong name on the wrong paper. Q.E.D.”

Ivy’s eyes were unblinking. “Leon Bairn didn’t just spontaneously explode, Rachel.”

My breath puffed out. I wouldn’t believe the stories. They were just that, stories to keep the I.S.’s flock of runners from wanting to break their contracts once they learned all the I.S. had to teach them. “That was over ten years ago,” I said. “And the I.S. had nothing to do with it. They aren’t going to kill me for breaking my contract; they want me to leave.” I frowned. “Besides, being turned inside out would be more fun than what I’m doing now.”

Ivy leaned forward, and I refused to back away. “They say it took three days to find enough of him to fit in a shoe box,” she said. “Scraped the last off the ceiling of his porch.”

“What am I supposed to do?” I said, pulling my arm back. “I haven’t had a decent run in months. Look at this.” I gestured to my take. “A tax-evading leprechaun. It’s an insult.”

The little woman stiffened. “Well, excu-u-u-u-use me.”

Jenks abandoned his new girlfriend to sit on the back rim of the cabbie’s hat. “Yeah,” he said. “Rachel’s gonna be pushing a broom if I have to take time off for workman’s comp.”

He fitfully moved his damaged wing, and I gave him a pained smile. “Maitake?” I said.

“Quarter pound,” he countered, and I mentally upped it to a half. He was okay, for a pixy.

Ivy frowned, fingering her crucifix chain. “There’s a reason no one breaks their contract. The last person to try was sucked through a turbine.”

Jaw clenched, I turned to look out the front window. I remembered. It was almost a year ago. It would have killed him if he hadn’t been dead already. The vamp was due back in the office any day now. “I’m not asking for your permission,” I said. “I’m asking you if you know anyone with a cheap place to rent.” Ivy was silent, and I shifted to see her. “I have a little something tucked away. I can put up a shingle, help people that need it—”

“Oh, for the love of blood,” Ivy interrupted. “Leaving to open up a charm shop, maybe. But your own agency?” She shook her head, her black hair swinging. “I’m not your mother, but if you do this, you’re dead. Jenks? Tell her she’s dead.”

Jenks nodded solemnly, and I flopped around to stare out the window. I felt stupid for having asked for her help. The cabbie was nodding. “Dead,” he said. “Dead, dead, dead.”

This was better and better. Between Jenks and the cab driver, the entire city would know I quit before I gave notice. “Never mind. I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I muttered.

Ivy draped an arm over the seat. “Did it occur to you someone may be setting you up? Everyone knows leprechauns try to buy their way out. If you get caught, your butt is buttered.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I thought of that.” I hadn’t, but I wasn’t going to tell her. “My first wish will be to not get caught.”

“Always is,” the leprechaun said slyly. “That your first wish?” In a flash of anger, I nodded, and the leprechaun grinned, dimples showing. She was halfway home.

“Look,” I said to Ivy. “I don’t need your help. Thanks for nothing.” I shuffled in my bag for my wallet. “Drop me here,” I said to the cabbie. “I want a coffee. Jenks? Ivy will get you back to the I.S. Can you do that for me, Ivy? For old times’ sake?”

“Rachel,” she protested, “you’re not listening to me.”

The cabbie carefully signaled, then pulled over. “Watch your back, Hot Stuff.”

I got out, yanked open the rear door, and grabbed my leprechaun by her uniform. My cuffs had completely masked her size spell. She was about the size of a chunky two-year-old. “Here,” I said, tossing a twenty onto the seat. “That should cover my share.”

“It’s still raining!” the leprechaun wailed.

“Shut up.” Drops pattered against me, ruining my topknot and sticking the trailing strands to my neck. I slammed the door as Ivy leaned to say something. I had nothing left to lose. My life was a pile of magic manure, and I couldn’t even make compost out of it.

“But I’m getting wet,” the leprechaun complained.

“You want back in the car?” I asked. My voice was calm, but inside I was seething. “We can forget the whole thing if you want. I’m sure Ivy will take care of your paperwork. Two jobs in one night. She’ll get a bonus.”

“No,” came her meek, tiny voice.

Ticked, I looked across the street to the Starbucks catering to uptown snits who needed sixty different ways to brew a bean in order to not be happy with any of them. Being on this side of the river, the coffeehouse would likely be empty at this hour. It was the perfect place to sulk and regroup. I half dragged the leprechaun to the door, trying to guess the cost of a cup of coffee by the number of pre-Turn doodads in the front window.

“Rachel, wait.” Ivy had rolled down her window, and I could hear the cabbie’s music cranked again. Sting’s “A Thousand Years.” I could almost get back in the car.

I yanked the door of the café open, sneering at the chimes’ merry jingle. “Coffee. Black. And a booster seat,” I shouted to the kid behind the counter as I strode to the darkest corner, my leprechaun in tow. Tear it all. The kid was a vision of upright character in his red-and-white-striped apron and perfect hair. Probably a university student. I could have gone to the university instead of the community college. At least for a semester or two. I’d been accepted and everything.

The booth, though, was cushy and soft. There was a real tablecloth. And my feet didn’t stick to the floor, a definite plus. The kid was eyeing me with a superior look, so I pulled off my boots and sat cross-legged to harass him. I was still dressed like a hooker. I think he was trying to decide whether he should call the I.S. or its human counterpart, the FIB. That’d be a laugh.

My ticket out of the I.S. stood on the seat across from me and fidgeted. “Can I have a latte?” she whined.

“No.”

The door chimed, and I looked to see Ivy stride in with her owl on her arm, its talons pinching the thick armband she had. Jenks was perched on her shoulder, as far from the owl as he could get. I stiffened, turning to the picture above the table of babies dressed up as a fruit salad. I think it was supposed to be cute, but it only made me hungry.

“Rachel. I have to talk to you.”

This was apparently too much for Junior. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said in his perfect voice. “No pets allowed. The owl must remain outside.”

Ma’am?
I thought, trying to keep the hysterical laughter from bubbling up.

He went pale as Ivy glanced at him. Staggering, he almost fell as he sightlessly backed up. She was pulling an aura on him. Not good.

Ivy turned her gaze to me. My air whooshed out as I hit the back of the booth. Black, predator eyes nailed me to the vinyl seat. Raw hunger clutched at my stomach. My fingers convulsed.

Her bound tension was intoxicating. I couldn’t look away. It was nothing like the gentle question the dead vamp had poised to me in The Blood and Brew. This was anger, domination. Thank God she wasn’t angry with me, but at Junior behind the counter.

Sure enough, as soon as she saw the look on my face, the anger in her eyes flickered and went out. Her pupils contracted, setting her eyes back to their usual brown. In a clock-tick the shroud of power had slipped from her, easing back into the depths of hell that it came from. It had to be hell. Such raw domination couldn’t come from an enchantment. My anger flowed back. If I was angry, I couldn’t be afraid, right?

It had been years since Ivy pulled an aura on me. The last time, we had been arguing over how to tag a low-blood vamp under suspicion of enticing underage girls with some asinine, role-playing card game. I had dropped her with a sleep charm, then painted the word “idiot” on her fingernails in red nail polish before tying her in a chair and waking her up. She had been the model friend since then, if a bit cool at times. I think she appreciated that I hadn’t told anyone.

Junior cleared his throat. “You—ah—can’t stay unless you order something, ma’am?” he offered weakly.

Gutsy,
I thought.
Must be an Inderlander.

“Orange juice,” Ivy said loudly, standing before me. “No pulp.”

Surprise made me look up. “Orange juice?” Then I frowned. “Look,” I said, unclenching my hands and roughly pulling my bag of charms onto my lap. “I don’t care if Leon Bairn did end up as a film on the sidewalk. I’m quitting. And nothing you say is going to change my mind.”

Ivy shifted from foot to foot. It was her disquiet that cooled the last of my anger. Ivy was worried? I’d never seen that.

“I want to go with you,” she finally said.

For a moment, I could only stare. “What?” I finally managed.

She sat down across from me with an affected air of nonchalance, putting her owl to watch the leprechaun. The tearing sound as she undid the fasteners of her armband sounded loud, and she set it on the bench beside her. Jenks half hopped to the table, his eyes wide and his mouth shut for a change. Junior showed up with the booster chair and our drinks. We silently waited as he placed everything with shaking hands and went to hide in the back room.

My mug was chipped and only half full. I toyed with the idea of coming back to stick a charm under the table that would sour any cream that got within four feet of it, but decided I had more important things to contend with. Like why Ivy was going to flush her illustrious career down the proverbial toilet.

“Why?” I asked, floored. “The boss loves you. You get to pick your assignments. You got a paid vacation last year.”

Ivy was studying the picture, avoiding me. “So?”