Every Which Way But Dead

The coffee in my oversized mug was cold, but I wasn't going to go into the kitchen for more. Ivy was banging around there, baking more of her vile cookies despite us having already gone over that I wasn't going to eat them and was madder than a troll with a hangover that she'd been slipping me Brimstone.



The clatter of my pain amulet against the complexion charm hiding my bruised eye intruded as I set my mug aside and reached for the desk lamp. It had gotten dusky while Ceri tried to teach me how to store line energy. Cheery yellow light spilled over the plants strewn on my desk, the glow just reaching Ceri sitting on a cushion she had brought over from Keasley's. We could have done this in the more comfortable living room, but Ceri had insisted on hallowed ground despite the sun being up. And it was quiet in the sanctuary. Depressingly so.



Ceri sat cross-legged on the floor to make a small figure in jeans and a casual shirt under the shadow of the cross. A pot of tea sat beside her, steaming though my own mug was long cold. I had a feeling she was using magic to keep it warm, though I had yet to catch her at it. A delicate cup was cradled reverently in her thin hands - she had brought that from Keasley's, too - and Ivy's crucifix glimmered about her neck. The woman's hands were never far from it. Her fair hair had been plaited by Jenks's eldest daughter that morning, and she looked at peace with herself. I loved seeing her like this, knowing what she had endured.



There was a thump from the kitchen followed by the clatter of the oven door shutting. A frown crossed me, and I turned to Ceri as she prompted, "Are you ready to try again?"



Setting my sock-footed feet firmly on the floor, I nodded. Quick from practice, I reached out with my awareness and touched the line out back. My chi filled, taking no more or less than it ever did. The energy flowed through me much like a river flows through a pond. I had been able to do this since I was twelve and accidentally threw Trent into a tree at his father's Make-A-Wish camp. What I had to do was pull some of that energy out of the pond and lift it to a cistern in my mind, so to speak. A person's chi, whether human, Inderlander, or demon, could hold only so much. Familiars acted as extra chi that a magic user could draw on as his or her own.



Ceri waited until I gestured I was ready before she tapped the same line and fostered more into me. It was a trickle instead of Algaliarept's deluge, but even so, my skin burned when my chi overflowed and the force rippled through me, seeking somewhere to puddle. Going back to the pond and river analogy, the banks had overflowed and the valley was flooding.



My thoughts were the only place it could settle, and by the time it found them, I had made the tiny three-dimensional circle in my imagination that Ceri had spent most of the afternoon teaching me how to craft. Shoulders easing, I felt the trickle find the small enclosure. Immediately the warm sensation on my skin vanished as the energy my chi couldn't hold was drawn into it like mercury droplets. The bubble expanded, glowing with a red smear that took on the color of my and Al's aura. Yuck.



"Say your trigger word," Ceri prompted, and I winced. It was too late. My eyes met hers, and her thin lips twitched. "You forgot," she accused, and I shrugged. Immediately she stopped forcing energy into me, and the excess ran out in a brief spark of heat back to the line. "Say it this time," she said tightly. Ceri was nice, but she wasn't a particularly patient teacher.



Again she made ley line energy overflow my chi. My skin warmed, the bruise from where Algaliarept slapped me throbbing. The amperage, if you will, was a touch more than usual, and I thought that it was Ceri's not-so-subtle encouragement to get it right this time.



"Tulpa," I whispered, hearing it in my mind as well as my ear. The word choice wasn't important. It was building the association between the word and the actions that were. Latin was generally used, as it was unlikely that I would say it accidentally, triggering the spell by mistake. The process was identical to when I had learned to make an instant circle. The word tulpa wasn't Latin - it hardly qualified as English - but how often was it used in conversation?



Faster this time, the energy from the line found my enclosure and filled it. I pulled my gaze to Ceri and nodded for more. Green eyes serious in the dim light from the heat lamp on my desk, she returned it. My breath seeped out and my focus blurred when Ceri upped the level and a flash of warmth tingled over my skin. "Tulpa," I whispered, pulse quickening.



The new force found the first. My spherical protection circle within my unconsciousness expanded to take it in. Again my focus cleared, and I nodded to Ceri. She blinked when I gestured for more, but I wasn't going to let Al knock me out with an overload of force. "I'm fine," I said, then stiffened when the bruised skin around my eye throbbed, burning with the sensation of a sunburn even through the pain amulet. "Tulpa," I said, slumping as the heat vanished. See, I told my frazzled brain. It's an illusion. I'm not really on fire.



"That's enough," Ceri said uncomfortably, and I pulled my chin up from my chest. The fire was gone from my veins, but I was exhausted and my fingers were trembling.



"I don't want to sleep tonight until I can hold what he pushed into me," I replied.



"But, Rachel..." she protested, and I raised a hand slowly in denial.



"He's going to come back," I said. "I can't fight him if I'm convulsing in pain."



Face pale, she bobbed her head, and I jerked as she forced more into me. "Oh God," I whispered, then said my trigger word before Ceri could stop. This time I felt the energy flow like acid through me, following new channels, pulled by my word rather than finding its way to my bubble by accident. My head jerked up. Eyes wide, I stared at Ceri as the pain vanished.



"You did it," she said, looking almost frightened as she sat cross-legged before me.



Swallowing, I pulled my legs under me so she wouldn't see my knees tremble. "Yeah."



Unblinking, she held her cup in her lap. "Let it go. You need to recenter yourself."



I found my arms were wrapped around myself. Forcing them down, I exhaled. Letting go of the energy spindled in my head sounded easier than it was. I had enough force in me to throw Ivy into the next county. If it didn't flow back to my chi and then the line using the gently seared channels that Ceri had been burning through my nervous system, it was really going to hurt.



Steeling myself, I set my will around the bubble and squeezed. Breath held, I waited for the pain, but the ley line energy smoothly returned to my chi and then the line, leaving me shaking from spent adrenaline. Enormously relieved, I brushed my hair out of my eyes and put my gaze on Ceri. I felt awful: tired, exhausted, sweaty, and shaking - but satisfied.



"You're improving," she said, and a thin smile crossed me.



"Thanks." Taking my mug, I took a sip of cold coffee. She was probably going to ask me to pull it off the line by myself next; I wasn't yet ready to try. "Ceri," I said as my fingers trembled. "This isn't that hard compared to the benefits. Why don't more people know this?"



She smiled, her dusky shape in the shadow of the lamp going sage looking. "They do in the ever-after. It's the first thing - no, the second thing - that a new familiar is taught."



"What's the first?" I asked before I remembered I really didn't want to know.



"The death of self-will," she said, and my expression froze at the ugliness in how casually she said it. "Letting me escape, knowing how to be my own familiar, was a mistake," she said. "Al would kill me if he could to cover it up."



"He can't?" I said, suddenly frightened that the demon might try.



Ceri shrugged. "Maybe. But I have my soul, black as it is. That's what's important."



"I suppose." I didn't understand her cavalier attitude, but I hadn't been Al's familiar for a millennium. "I don't want a familiar," I said, glad Nick was so distant he couldn't feel any of this. I was sure if he was close enough, he would've called to make sure I was okay. I think.



"You're doing well." Ceri sipped her tea and glanced at the dark windows. "Al told me it took me three months to get to where you are now."



I looked at her, shocked. There was no way I could be better than her. "You're kidding."



"I was fighting him," she said. "I didn't want to learn, and he had to force me into it, using the absence of pain as a positive reinforcement."



"You were in pain for three months?" I said, horrified.



Her eyes were on her thin hands, laced about her teacup. "I don't remember it. It was a long time ago. I do remember sitting at his feet every night, his hand soft on my head while he relaxed as he listened to me cry for the sky and trees."



Imagining this beautiful wisp of a woman at Algaliarept's feet suffering his touch was almost too much to bear. "I'm sorry, Ceri," I whispered.



She jerked, as if only now realizing she had said it aloud. "Don't let him take you," she said, her wide eyes serious and solemn. "He liked me, and though he used me as they all use their familiars, he did like me. I was a coveted jewel in his belt, and he treated me well so I would be useful and at his side for a longer time. You, though..." Her head bowed, breaking our eye contact and pulling her braid over her shoulder. "He will torment you so hard and so fast that you won't have time to breathe. Don't let him take you."



I swallowed, feeling cold. "I wasn't planning on it."



Her narrow chin trembled. "You misunderstand. If he comes for you and you can't fight him off, make him so angry that he kills you."



Her sincerity struck me to the core. "He's not going to give up, is he?" I said.



"No. He needs a familiar to keep his standing. He won't give up on you unless he finds someone better. Al is greedy and impatient. He'll take the best he can find."



"So all this practice is making me a more attractive target?" I said, feeling sick.



Ceri squinted apologetically. "You need it to keep him from simply stunning you with a massive dose of ley line force and dragging you into a line."



I gazed at the darkening windows. "Damn," I whispered, not having considered that.



"But being your own familiar will help in your profession," Ceri said persuasively. "You'll have the strength of a familiar without the liabilities."



"I suppose." I set my mug aside, gaze unfocused. It was getting dark, and I knew she wanted to be home before the sun set. "Do you want me to try it alone?" I prompted hesitantly.



Her attention flicked to my hands. "I'd advise a small rest. You're still shaking."



I looked at my fingers, embarrassed that she was right. Curling them into a fist, I gave her a sheepish smile. She took a sip of her tea - clearly willing herself to be patient when I had no control over the situation - and I jumped when she whispered, "Consimilis calefacio."



She had done something; I had felt a drop in the line, even though I wasn't connected to it. Sure enough her gaze meeting mine was bright in amusement. "You felt that?" she said around a beautiful laugh. "You're getting very attached to your line, Rachel Mariana Morgan. It belongs to the whole street, even if it is in your backyard."



"What did you do?" I asked, not wanting to delve into what she had meant by that. She held her cup up in explanation, and my smile grew. "You warmed it up," I said, and she bobbed her head. Slowly my smile faded. "That's not a black charm, is it?"



Ceri's face lost its expression. "No. It's common ley line magic that acts on water. I will not add to the smut on my soul, Rachel. I'll be hard pressed to get rid of it as it is."



"But Al used it on David. It almost cooked him," I asserted, feeling sick. People were mostly water. Heat that up and you could cook them from the inside. God, I was sick for even thinking of it.



"No," she reassured me. "It was different. This one works only on things without auras. The curse strong enough to break through an aura is black and needs a drop of demon blood to twist. The reason David survived was because Al was drawing on a line through you, and he knew you couldn't handle the lethal amount - yet."



I thought about that for a moment. If it wasn't black, there was no harm in it. And being able to warm up my coffee without the microwave would blow Ivy away. "Is it hard to do?"



Ceri's smile blossomed. "I'll walk you through it. Give me a moment; I have to remember how to do it the long way," she said, extending her hand for my mug.



Oh, gotta slow to the witch's pace, I thought, leaning forward and handing it to her. But seeing as it was most likely the charm she used three times a day to cook Al's meals, she could probably do it in her sleep.



"It's sympathetic magic," she explained. "There's a poem to help remember the gestures, but the only two words you have to say are Latin. And it needs a focal object to direct the magic where to go," she explained, and took a sip of my cold coffee, making a face. "This is swill," she muttered, her words awkward as she spoke around the drop on her tongue. "Barbaric."



"It's better when it's hot," I protested, not having known you could hold a focal object in your mouth and still have it be effective. She could do the spell without it, but then she would have to throw the spell at my cup. This was easier, and less likely to spill my coffee, too.



Her face still showing her distaste, she raised her thin, expressive hands. "From candles burn and planet's spin," she said, and I moved my fingers, mimicking her gesture - I suppose if you used your imagination, it kind of looked like lighting a candle, though how her suddenly dropping hand related to spinning planets was beyond me. "Friction is how it ends and begins."



I jumped when she brought her hands together to make a loud pop, simultaneously saying, "Consimilis."



Similar, I thought, thinking it might be a catch phrase for sympathetic magic. And the pop might be an audible show of air molecules undergoing friction. In sympathetic magic, it didn't matter how nebulous the relationship was as long as it was real.



"Cold to hot, harness within," she continued, making another unfamiliar gesture, but I recognized the next finger movement from when I used a ley line charm to break the Howlers' bat in practice. Perhaps it was the motion that tapped into the focal object for direction. Huh. Maybe there was some sense to this ley line stuff after all.



"Calefacio!" she said happily, invoking the charm and setting it all into motion.



I felt a mild drop through me as the charm pulled energy from the line to excite the water molecules in the cup, warming the coffee. "Wow," I breathed when she handed me back my mug, softly steaming. "Thanks."



"You're welcome," she said. "You have to regulate the ending temperature yourself by how much line energy you put into it."



"The more energy, the hotter it gets?" I took a careful sip, deciding it was perfect. It must have taken her years to gain this much proficiency.



"Depending on the amount you have to warm up," Ceri whispered, her eyes distant in memory. "So be careful with your bathwater until you know what you're doing." Visibly pulling herself back to the present, she turned to me. "Are you settled now?"



Adrenaline zinged through me, and I set my warm coffee down. I can do this. If Ceri can warm her tea and spindle line energy in her head, then so can I.



"Fill your center," she encouraged. "Then pull some from it as if you're going to work a spell as you say your invocation word."



I tucked a curl behind my ear and settled myself. Exhaling, I closed my eyes and I tapped the line, feeling the pressures equalize in an instant. Setting my mind to the poised calmness I cultivated when I said a ley line charm, a curious, new sensation tingled through me. A tinge of energy flowed in from the line, replacing what I had unconsciously pulled from my chi. Tulpa, I thought, hope bringing me tight.



My eyes flew open as a wash of force flowed in from the line to replace what had darted from my chi to my head. In a torrent, the line raced through me and settled in my thoughts. My enclosure expanded to take it in. Shocked, I did nothing to stop it.



"Enough!" Ceri cried, rising to her knees. "Rachel, let go of the line!"



I jerked, pulling my focus from the ley line. There was a brief swish of warmth through me as a dribble of force back-washed from my thoughts to my chi, topping it off. Breath held, I froze in my chair, staring at her. I was afraid to move, there was so much energy in my head.



"Are you all right?" she said, not settling back down, and I nodded.



From the kitchen came a faint, "You okay in there?"



"We're fine!" I carefully shouted back, then looked at Ceri. "We're fine, right?"



Green eyes wide, she bobbed her head, not dropping my gaze for an instant. "You're holding a lot of energy outside your center," she said. "But I've noticed your chi doesn't hold as much as mine. I think..." She hesitated. "I think an elf's chi can hold more than a witch's, but witches seem to be able to hold more in their thoughts."



I could taste the energy in me, tinfoil-like on my tongue. "Witches make better batteries, huh?" I quipped weakly.



She laughed, her clear voice going up to the dusky rafters. I wished there were pixies up there to dance amid the sound. "Maybe that's why witches abandoned the ever-after sooner than elves," she said. "Demons seem to prefer witches over elves or humans for their familiars. I thought it was because there were so few of us, but maybe not."



"Maybe," I said, wondering how long I could hold all this force without spilling it. My nose tickled. I desperately didn't want to sneeze.



Ivy's boots in the hallway intruded, and we both turned as she strode toward us with her purse over her shoulder and a plate of cookies in her hand. "I'm headed out," she said lightly, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Want me to walk you home, Ceri?"



Immediately Ceri stood. "That's not necessary."



Ire flickered in Ivy's eyes. "I know it's not necessary."



Ivy's plate of steaming cookies hit the desktop before me in a harsh clatter. My eyebrows rose, and I swung my feet to the floor. Ivy wanted to talk to Ceri alone - about me. Bothered, I tapped my fingernails in a sharp staccato. "I'm not eating those," I said flatly.



"It's medicinal, Rachel," she said, her voice heavy with threat.



"It's Brimstone, Ivy," I shot back. Ceri shifted from foot to foot in obvious discomfort, but I didn't care. "I can't believe you gave me Brimstone," I added. "I arrest people who do Brimstone; I don't share rent with them." I was not going to tag Ivy. I didn't care if she broke every law in the I.S. handbook. Not this time.



Ivy's stance went aggressive, her hip cocked and her lips almost bloodless. "It's medicinal," she said sharply. "It's specially processed and the amount of stimulant in it is so low you can't even smell it. You can't smell Brimstone, can you? Can you?"



The ring of brown about her pupils had shrunk, and I dropped my gaze, not wanting to trip her into pulling an aura. Not now, with the sun almost down. "There was enough in it to jerk the bane into play," I said sullenly.



Ivy, too, calmed, knowing she had reached her limits. "That wasn't my fault," she said softly. "I never gave you enough to even trigger a Brimstone dog."



Ceri raised her narrow chin. There was no remorse in her green eyes. "I apologized for that," she said tightly. "I didn't know it was illegal. It wasn't the last time I gave it to someone."



"See?" Ivy said, gesturing to Ceri. "She didn't know, and that insurance guy was only trying to help. Now shut up, eat your cookies, and stop making us feel bad. You've got a run tomorrow and you need your strength."



Leaning back in my swivel chair, I pushed the plate of vamp cookies away. I wasn't going to eat them. I didn't care that what I had kept down yesterday had upped my metabolism so my black eye was already turning yellow and my cut lip was healed. "I'm fine."



Ivy's usually placid face clouded over. "Fine," she said sharply.



"Fine," I shot back, crossing my legs and turning so I was eyeing her askance.



Ivy's jaw clenched. "Ceri, I'll walk you home."



Ceri glanced between us. Face empty of emotion, she bent to get her teapot and cup. "I'll take care of my dishes first," she said.



"I can do that," I rushed to say, but Ceri shook her head, watching her feet so as not to spill as she made her way to the kitchen. I frowned, not liking her doing domestic work. It was too much like what I imagined Algaliarept had forced on her.



"Let her do it," Ivy said when the sound of Ceri's steps ended. "It makes her feel useful."



"She's royalty," I said. "You do know that, don't you?"



Ivy glanced into the dark hallway as the sound of running water filtered out. "Maybe a thousand years ago. Now she's nothing, and she knows it."



I made a puff of air. "Don't you have any compassion? Doing my dishes is degrading."



"I have a lot of compassion." A flicker of anger set Ivy's thin eyebrows high. "But the last time I looked, there weren't any openings for princesses in the want ads. What is she supposed to do to give her life meaning? There aren't any treaties for her to make, no rulings to judge, and her biggest decision is to have eggs or waffles for breakfast. There's no way to give herself a feeling of worth with her old royalty crap. And doing dishes isn't degrading."



I leaned back in my chair in a show of acquiescence. She was right, but I didn't like it. "So you have a run?" I prompted when the silence stretched.



Ivy sent one shoulder up and down. "I'm going to talk to Jenks."



"Good." I met her eyes, relieved. Something we could talk about without arguing. "I stopped at that Were's house this afternoon. The poor guy wouldn't let me in. The pixy girls had been at him. His hair was solid cornrows." I had woken up one morning with my hair braided into the fringe of my afghan. Matalina had made them apologize, but it took me forty minutes to untangle myself. I would give just about anything to wake up like that again.



"Yeah, I saw him," Ivy said, and I sat up from my slouch.



"You've been over there?" I asked, watching Ivy get her coat from the foyer and return. She slipped it on, the short leather jacket making a soft hush of silk against silk.



"I've been over there twice," she said. "The Were won't let me in, either, but one of my friends is taking him out on a date so Jenks will have to answer the door, the little prick. Typical little man. He has an ego the size of the Grand Canyon."



I chucked, and Ceri came in from the back. Her borrowed coat was over her arm and the shoes that Keasley bought her were in her grip. I wasn't going to tell her to put them on. She could walk in the snow barefoot as far as I was concerned. Ivy, though, gave her a pointed look.



"You going to be all right for a while?" Ivy asked as Ceri dropped her shoes to the floor and snugged her feet into them.



"Good God," I muttered, twisting the chair back and forth. "I'll be fine."



"Stay on holy ground," she added as she gestured for Ceri to head out. "Don't tap a line. Eat your cookies."



"Not going to happen, Ivy," I said. Pasta. I wanted pasta in alfredo sauce. That's what Nick had cooked up for me the last time Ivy was bent on shoving these things down my throat. I couldn't believe she'd been slipping me Brimstone. Yes, I could.



"I'll call you in about an hour to make sure you're all right."



"I won't answer," I said, irritated. "I'm going to take a nap." I stood and stretched until my sweater and halter top rose to show my belly button. It would have gotten a wolf whistle from Jenks, and the silence in the rafters was depressing.



Ceri came forward with her cushion to give me a hug good-bye. It startled me, and I hesitantly returned it. "Rachel can take care of herself," she said proudly. "She's been holding enough ever-after to blow a hole in the roof for the last five minutes and has forgotten about it."



"Holy crap!" I exclaimed, feeling my face warm. "I am, aren't I!"



Ivy sighed as she strode to the church's front door. "Don't wait up for me," she called over her shoulder. "I'm having dinner with my folks and won't be home until after sunup."



"You should let it go," Ceri said as she edged after Ivy. "At least when the sun is down. Someone else might summon him, and if they don't banish him properly, he'll come looking for you. He might try to knock you out by adding to what you're holding now." She shrugged in a very modern gesture. "But if you stay on holy ground, you should be all right."



"I'll let it go," I said absently, my thoughts whirling.



Ceri smiled shyly. "Thank you, Rachel," she said softly. "It's good to feel needed."



I jerked my attention back to her. "You're welcome."



The scent of cold snow filtered in. I looked up seeing Ivy standing impatiently in the threshold of the open door, the fading light making her a threatening silhouette in tight leather. " 'By-y-y-y-ye, Rachel," she prompted mockingly, and Ceri sighed.



Turning, the slender woman made her unhurried way to the door, kicking off her shoes at the last moment and going barefoot out onto the icy cement steps.



"How can you stand the cold?" I heard Ivy say before the door shut behind them.



I soaked in the silence and the dusky light. Reaching over, I clicked off the desk lamp and it seemed to brighten outside. I was alone - for what was probably the first time - in my church. No roommate, no boyfriend, no pixies. Alone. My eyes closed, and I sat on the slightly raised stage and breathed. I could smell plywood over the almond scent of Ivy's stupid cookies. A soft pressure behind my eyes reminded me I was still holding that ball of ever-after, and with a nudge of my will, I broke the three-dimensional circle in my thoughts and the energy flowed back to the line in a warm wash.



I opened my eyes and headed for the kitchen, my sock feet soundless. I wasn't going to take a nap; I was going to make brownies as part of Ivy's present. There was no way I could compete with thousand-dollar perfume: I had to take the handmade-goodie track.



Detouring into the living room, I searched for the remote. The smell of plywood was almost an assault, and I glanced at the window Ivy had sketched on the panel, freehanding the view of the graveyard. I clicked on the stereo and Offspring's "Come Out and Play" spilled out. Grinning, I cranked it. "Wake the dead," I said, tossing the remote and dancing into the kitchen.



While the bouncy music lured me into a better mood, I pulled out my dented spell pot, which I couldn't use for spelling anymore, and the recipe book I had swiped from my mom. Thumbing through it, I found Grandma's fudgy brownie recipe penciled in beside the gourmet recipe that tasted like cardboard. Timing my motions with the music, I got out the eggs, sugar, vanilla, and dumped them on the center island counter. I had the chocolate chips melting on the stove and the evaporated milk measured out when the air shifted and the front door slammed. The egg in my hand slipped, cracking as it hit the counter.



"Forget something, Ivy?" I shouted. Adrenaline stabbed through me as my gaze went from the broken egg to everything scattered over the kitchen. I'd never get it hidden before she made it back here. Couldn't that woman stay away for even an hour?



But it was Kisten's voice that answered.