A Fistful of Charms (18 page)

Jenks made a rude sound, and I opened it up to find the usual stuff—minus anything sharp and pointy. “So why were you nice to her?” he asked.

I dug until I found a good-sized bandage and a packet of antiseptic wipes. “Because she was nice to me.” Pushing the tackle box aside to make room on the table, I sat sideways. “Now, are you going to be nice to me, or am I going to have to get bitchy?”

He took a deep breath, astonishing me when he went solemn and worried. “Okay,” he said, slowly peeling the bandage away. Eyes fixed to the blood on it, he started to breathe fast. I almost smiled, seeing that it was little more than a scratch. Maybe if he was four inches tall and had a thimbleful of blood it might be a problem, but this was nothing. It was still bleeding, though, and I tore open the antiseptic wipes.

“Hold still,” I said, pulling away when he fidgeted. “Darn it, Jenks. Hold still. It's not going to hurt that bad. It's just a scrape. The way you're acting, you'd think it was a knife wound that was going to need stitches.”

His jerked his gaze from the bloodstained bandage to mine. The light coming in from the courtyard made his eyes very green. “It's not that,” he said, reminding me that we were being watched. “No one but Matalina has ever tended me before. Except my mother.”

I set my hands on my lap, remembering hearing somewhere that pixies bonded for life. A trickle of blood headed
for his eyes, and I reached for it. “You miss Matalina?” I said softly.

Jenks nodded, his gaze going to the rag as I dabbed at his forehead, gently brushing aside his yellow curls. His hair was dry, like straw. “I've never been away from her this long before,” he said. “Ten years, and we've never been apart for more than a day.”

I couldn't help my twinge of envy. Here I was, tending an eighteen-year-old ready to die and missing his wife. “You're lucky, Jenks,” I said softly. “I'd be ecstatic if I could manage a year with the same guy.”

“It's hormonal,” he said, and I drew away, affronted.

“I think I saw some alcohol in here,” I muttered, flipping the tackle box back open.

“I meant between Matalina and me,” he said, the rims of his ears reddening. “I feel bad for you, stumbling about searching for love. With Matalina, I just knew.”

Making a sour face, I teased out another antiseptic wipe and carefully dabbed his scrape to pick out a leaf chip. “Yeah? Well witches aren't that lucky.”

I threw the bloodied pad on the table, and Jenks slumped, going soft and misty-eyed. “I remember the first time I saw her,” he said, and I made a
mmmm
of encouragement, seeing that he'd finally quit fidgeting. “I had just left home. I was a country boy. Did you know that?”

“Really?” The bandage I had pulled out was too big, and I rummaged for something smaller. Spotting a Handi Wipe, I gave it to him to clean his fingers with.

“Too much rain and not enough sun,” he said as he set his rag aside and opened the package as if it held gossamer. Carefully, he unfolded the cloth. “The garden was bad. I could either fend for myself or take the food out of my sibling's mouth. So I left. Hitched a ride on a produce truck and ended in Cincinnati's farmers' market. I got beat up the first time I trespassed in the streets. I didn't know crap.”

“Sorry,” I said, deciding that Jenks might take offense at the Barbie Band-Aid and shuffled through until I found a
He-Man one.
Just who were they giving first aid to? Kindergarteners?

“It was just plain luck Matalina found me sleeping under that bluebell plant and not one of her brothers. Luckily she found me, woke me, and tried to kill me in that order. I was even luckier when she let me stay the night, breaking her family's first rule.”

I looked up, my tension easing at the love in his eyes. It was shocking to see it there, honest and raw in so young a face.

He gave me a weak smile. “I left before sunup, but when I heard a new housing development was going in near Eden Park, I went to look over the plans. They were putting in lots of landscaping. I asked Matalina to help me, and when the trucks came, we were there. One person can't hold anything, but two can have the world, Rache.”

I had a feeling he was trying to tell me more than his words were saying, but I didn't want to listen. “Hold still,” I said, pushing his hair out of the way and putting the bandage on. I leaned back, and his bloodied hair fell to hide it. Turning to the table, I gathered my mess into a pile, not knowing what to do with it.

“Thank you,” Jenks said softly, and I flicked a glance at him.

“No prob. Matalina stitched me up right nice, so I'm glad to return the favor.”

There was a scuffing at the open archway and we turned. A small man in slacks and a red polo shirt had come in, his pace quick and confident—busy, was the impression I got. Two men in fatigues were right behind him. They had pistols in leg holsters, and I stood. Jenks was quick to follow, tossing his stained curls out of his way.

The man's hair was cut close to his head, military style, with a whiteness that stood out in sharp contrast to his deep tan and wind-roughened features. There was no beard or mustache, which didn't surprise me. Presence flowed from him like cologne as he stepped down into the living room, but it wasn't Trent Kalamack's confidence based on manipulation. No, it was a confidence born from knowing he could
pin you to the floor and hurt you. He was in his early fifties, I guessed, and I'd dare call him squat and compact. None of it was flab.

“Boss man, I presume?” I whispered, and he came to a jerky halt four feet away, the table between us. His intelligence was obvious as he looked Jenks and me over, fingers fumbling at his shirt pocket for a pair of glasses while we stood there in our thief-black outfits.

The man took a breath and let it out. “Hell,” he said to Jenks, his voice rough, as if he smoked a lot. “I've been watching you the last five minutes, and I don't know what you are.”

Jenks looked at me and I shrugged, surprised to find him that open and honest. “I'm a pixy,” Jenks said, tucking his hand behind his back so the man wouldn't try to shake it.

“By God, a pixy?” he blurted, brown eyes wide. Glancing at me, he put his glasses on, took a breath, and added, “Your work?”

“Yup,” I said, reaching out to shake his hand.

My breath hissed and I jerked back when the two men that had come in with him cocked their weapons. I hadn't even seen them pull them.

“
Stand
down!” the man bellowed, and Jenks jumped. It was shockingly loud and deep, carrying the crack of a whip. I watched, heart pounding until the two men lowered their sights. They didn't put the guns away, though. I was starting to hate those little hats of theirs.

“Walter Vincent,” the man said, hitting the
t
's sharp and crisp.

I glanced at the men behind him, then extended my hand again. “Rachel Morgan,” I said more confidently than I felt. “And this is Jenks, my partner.” This was weird, civilized.
Yes, I've come to rob you, sir. / How delightful; won't you have some tea before you do?

The Were before me pursed his lips, his white eyebrows going high. I could see his thoughts jumping and I found myself thinking he had a rugged attractiveness despite his age, and that he was likely going to have someone hurt me. I was
a sucker for a smart man, especially when the brains came packaged in a body that was carefully maintained.

“Rachel Morgan,” he said, his voice rising and falling in amazement. “I've heard of you, if you can believe it. Though Mr. Sparagmos is of the belief that you're dead.”

My heart gave one hard beat.
Nick was here. He was alive.
I licked my lips, suddenly nervous. “It was only a bad hair day, but try telling that to the media.” I exhaled, never looking away, knowing I was challenging him but feeling I had to. “I'm not leaving without him.”

Head bobbing, Walter backed up two quick steps. The men behind him had a better shot at me, and my heart found a faster pace. Jenks didn't move, but I heard his breathing quicken.

“Truer words may never have been spoken,” Walter said. It was a threat, and I didn't like the complete unconcern in his voice. Jenks moved to stand beside me, and the tension rose.

A small man in fatigues silently came in with a sheet of paper, distracting him. Walter's eyes slowly slid from me, and my pent-up shudder broke free. My lips pressed together in annoyance that he had gotten to me. Walter stood by the wide window, light spilling in over him and his paper as he squinted at it. While reading, he pointed to the first-aid kit, and silently the man collected it all and left.

“Rachel Morgan, independent runner and equal third holder in Vampiric Charms,” Walter said. “Broke from the I.S. last June and survived?” His attention came back to me. Curiosity high in his rugged, tanned face, he sat in an over-stuffed chair and let the paper fall to the floor. No one picked it up. I glanced at it, seeing a blurry shot of me with my hair all over the place and my lips parted like I was on Brimstone. I frowned, not remembering it being taken.

Walter put an ankle on one knee, and I pulled my gaze up, waiting.

“Only someone very smart or very wealthy survives an I.S. death threat,” he said, thick powerful fingers steepled. “You aren't smart, seeing as we caught you, and you clearly
work for your bread and butter. Being from Cincinnati, you're logically one of Kalamack's more attractive sacrificial sheep.”

I took an angry breath, and Jenks caught my elbow, jerking me back. “I don't work for Trent,” I said, feeling myself warm. “I broke my I.S. contract on my own. He had nothing to do with it, except that I paid for my freedom by almost nailing his ass for trafficking in biodrugs.”

Walter smiled to show me small white teeth. “Says here you had breakfast with him last December after a night on the town.”

My flush of anger turned to one of embarrassment. “I was suffering from hypothermia and he didn't want to drop me at the hospital or my office.” One would have gotten the law involved, the other my roommate, both to be avoided if one's name was Kalamack.

“Exactly.” Walter leaned forward, his eyes fixed on mine. “You saved his life.”

Rubbing my fingers into my forehead, I said, “It was a one shot deal. Maybe if I had been thinking I would've let him drown, but then I would've had to give the ten thousand back.”

Walter was smug as he leaned into his chair by the window, the sun glinting on his white hair. “The question you will answer is how did Kalamack find out about the artifact's existence, much less that someone knew where it was and where that person is?”

Slowly I sat on the edge of the couch, feeling sick. Jenks moved to the other side of the coffee table, sitting to watch my back, Walter, and the door all at the same time. Male Weres were known to cut females of any species a lot of slack since their hormones guided their thoughts, but eventually logic would kick in and things were going to get nasty. I glanced at the two men by the door, then the plate-glass window. Neither one was a good option. I had nowhere to go.

“I've nothing against you,” Walter said, bringing my attention from the possibility of throwing one of them into the
glass to break it, thus solving two problems at once. “And I'm willing to let you and your partner go.”

Astonished, I stupidly did nothing when the small man pushed up from his chair in a smooth, very fast motion. The two men by the door were already moving. My breath caught and I stifled a gasp when the compact Were was suddenly on me.

“Rache!” Jenks shouted, and I heard the click of safeties. There was a scuffle that ended with his grunt of pain, but I couldn't see him. Walter's face was in the way, calm and calculating, his fingers lightly around my neck, just under my chin. Adrenaline pulsed to make my head hurt. Almost too fast to realize, the older Were had pinned me to the couch.

Heart pounding, I jerked back my first instinct to struggle, though it was hard, really hard. I met his placid brown eyes, and fear struck me. He was so calm, so sure of his dominance. I could smell his aftershave and the rising scent of musk under it as he hung over me, his small but powerful hand under my chin the only place we touched. His pulse was fast and his breathing quick. But his eyes were calm.

I didn't move, knowing it would trigger an entirely new set of ugliness. Jenks would suffer and then me. As long as I didn't do anything, neither would Walter. It was a Were mind game, and though it went against all my instincts, I could play it. My fingers, though, were stiff and my arm was tense, ready to jab his solar plexus even if it did get me shot.

“I'm willing to let you go,” he repeated softly, his breath smelling of cinnamon toothpaste and his thick lips hardly moving. “You will return to Kalamack and tell him that it's mine. He won't have it. It belongs to me. Damn elf thinks he can rule the world,” he whispered so only I could hear. “It's our turn. They had their chance.”

My heart pounded and I felt my pulse lift against his fingers. “Looks to me like it belongs to Nick,” I said boldly.
And how had he known Trent was an elf?

I took a quick breath of air, jerking when he pushed himself
away and was suddenly eight feet back. My gaze shot to Jenks. He had been dragged to the middle of the room, and he now held himself to favor his right leg. He gave me an apologetic look he didn't owe me, and the two men holding him let go at a small gesture from Walter. The dry blood in Jenks's his hair was turning a tacky-looking brown, and I forced my eyes from him and back to Walter.

Ruffled, I refused to touch my neck, instead draping my arms over the top of the couch. Inside I was shaking. I didn't like Weres. Either hit me or back off, but this posturing and threats was useless to me.

Exuding confidence and satisfaction, Walter sat, taking the couch opposite me and mirroring me almost exactly. Clearly the Were wasn't going to break the silence, so I would. It would cost me points in this inane game, but I wanted to see the end of it before the sun went nova. “I don't give a damn about your artifact,” I said, voice soft so it wouldn't shake like my hands were threatening to. “And as far as I know, Trent doesn't either. I don't work for him.
Intentionally.
I'm here for Nick. Now…” I took a slow breath. “…are you going to give him to me, or am I going to have to hurt a few people and take him?”