Kim Harrison - Hollows 3 - Every Which Way But Dead

EVERY

WHICH

WAY BUT

DEAD

KIM HARRISON

To the guy who gave me my first pair of handcuffs.

Thanks for being there.

I’d like to thank the people closest to me for their understanding while I muddled through all this. But

most importantly, I’d like to thank my agent, Richard Curtis—who saw the possibilities before I knew

they existed, and my editor, Diana Gill—who guided those possibilities and brought them to life.

Contents

One

I took a deep breath to settle myself, jerking the…

Two

We were halfway to the church before I realized Ceri…

Three

“Ceri,” Jenks said as I flipped the switch and got…

Four

Squinting over my sunglasses, I leaned against my car and…

Five

Plastic hangers clattering, I stacked the clothes on the counter…

Six

I had gotten myself turned around and back over the…

Seven

I pulled my car carefully into the tiny garage, turning…

Eight

The rhythmic thumps of my running feet jolting up my…

Nine

Peace sat warm in me as I sprinkled the yellow…

Ten

I watched myself in the mirror above my new, solid-ash…

Eleven

“So,” I said slowly as I fought to keep myself…

Twelve

The familiar rumble of driving over railroad tracks woke me…

Thirteen

“What did you do, Rachel?” Kisten said flatly, stiffening as…

Fourteen

Fear flashed through me, and sensing it, Kisten took a…

Fifteen

The crunch of ice and salt was loud as Kisten…

Sixteen

Boots thumping in the hallway, I followed Ivy to the…

Seventeen

Skimmer’s departure left an awkward silence. As the cab accelerated…

Eighteen

The commercial cut in, the volume jarring me as I…

Nineteen

“Oh God,” I whispered, my words sounding as raw as…

Twenty

The coffee in my oversized mug was cold, but I…

Twenty-one

“It’s me, Rachel,” Kisten called, his voice faint over the…

Twenty-two

I smiled as the music ended, to leave a comfortable…

Twenty-three

“Damn!” I swore, backpedaling. The sanctuary. If I could reach…

Twenty-four

My sneakers were silent on the flat carpet of Trent’s…

Twenty-five

I settled into the seat of Trent’s limo, crossing my…

Twenty-six

I took a deep breath, listening to the silence. Trent…

Twenty-seven

The warm water I was sitting in was nice. I…

Twenty-eight

I scooped my shoulder bag up from the bathroom floor, makin…

Twenty-nine

Kisten had the heat on full, and the warm air…

Thirty

My head came up at the faint sound of knocking.

Thirty-one

“David Hue,” David said coolly, sounding bored and a little…

Thirty-two

The frost-rimmed rocks beside me slid, and I jerked out…

Thirty-three

“Coming!” I called out, my pace quickening as I strode…

About the Author

Praise

Other Books by Kim Harrison

Copyright

About the Publisher

One

Itook a deep breath to settle myself, jerking the cuff of my gloves up to cover the bare patch of skin at

my wrist. My fingers were numb through the fleece as I moved my next-to-largest spell pot to sit beside a

small chipped tombstone, being careful to not let the transfer media spill. It was cold, and my breath

steamed in the light of the cheap white candle I had bought on sale last week.

Spilling a bit of wax, I stuck the taper to the top of the grave marker. My stomach knotted as I fixed my

attention on the growing haze at the horizon, scarcely discernable from the surrounding city lights. The

moon would be up soon, being just past full and waning. Not a good time to be summoning demons, but

it would be coming anyway if I didn’t call it. I’d rather meet Algaliarept on my own terms—before

midnight.

I grimaced, glancing at the brightly lit church behind me where Ivy and I lived. Ivy was running errands,

not even aware I had made a deal with a demon, much less that it was time to pay for its services. I

suppose I could be doing this inside where it was warm, in my beautiful kitchen with my spelling supplies

and all the modern comforts, but calling demons in the middle of a graveyard had a perverse rightness to

it, even with the snow and cold.

And I wanted to meet it here so Ivy wouldn’t have to spend tomorrow cleaning blood off the ceiling.

Whether it would be demon blood or my own was a question I hoped I wouldn’t have to answer. I

wouldn’t allow myself to be pulled into the ever-after to be Algaliarept’s familiar. I couldn’t. I had cut it

once and made it bleed. If it could bleed, it could die.God, help me survive this. Help me find a way to

make something good here.

The fabric of my coat rasped as I clutched my arms about myself and used my boot to awkwardly

scrape a circle of six inches of crusty snow off the clay-red cement slab where I had seen a large circle

etched out. The room-sized rectangular block of stone was a substantial marker as to where God’s grace

stopped and chaos took over. The previous clergy had laid it down over the adulterated spot of once

hallowed ground, either to be sure no one else was put to rest there accidentally or to fix the elaborate,

half-kneeling, battle-weary angel it encompassed into the ground. The name on the massive tombstone

had been chiseled off, leaving only the dates. Whomever it was had died in 1852 at the age of

twenty-four. I hoped it wasn’t an omen.

Cementing someone into the ground to keep him or her from rising again sometimes worked—and

sometimes it didn’t—but in any case, the area wasn’t sanctified anymore. And since it was surrounded

by ground that was still consecrated, it made a good spot to summon a demon. If worse came to worst, I

could always duck onto sanctified ground and be safe until the sun rose and Algaliarept was pulled back

into the ever-after.

My fingers were shaking as I took from my coat pocket a white silk pouch of salt that I had scraped out

of my twenty-five-pound bag. The amount was excessive, but I wanted a solid circle, and some of the

salt would be diluted as it melted the snow. I glanced at the sky to estimate where north was, finding a

mark on the etched circle right where I thought it should be. That someone had used this circle to

summon demons before didn’t instill me with any confidence. It wasn’t illegal or immoral to summon

demons, just really, really stupid.

I made a slow clockwise path from north, my footprints paralleling the outside track of the salt as I laid it

down, enclosing the angel monolith along with most of the blasphemed ground. The circle would be a

good fifteen feet across, a rather large enclosure which generally took at least three witches to make and

hold, but I was good enough to channel that much ley line force alone. Which, now that I thought about

it, might be why the demon was so interested in snagging me as its newest familiar.

Tonight I’d find out if my carefully worded verbal contract made three months ago would keep me alive

and on the right side of the ley lines. I had agreed to be Algaliarept’s familiar voluntarily if it testified

against Piscary, the catch being that I got to keep my soul.

The trial had officially ended two hours after sunset tonight, sealing the demon’s end of the bargain and

making my end enforceable. That the undead vampire who controlled most of Cincinnati’s underworld

had been sentenced to five centuries for the murders of the city’s best ley line witches hardly seemed

important now. Especially when I was betting his lawyers would get him out in a measly one.

Right now the question on everyone’s mind on both sides of the law was whether Kisten, his former

scion, would be able to hold everything together until the undead vampire got out, because Ivy wasn’t

going to do it, scion or no. If I managed to get through this night alive and with my soul intact, I’d start

worrying about me a little less and my roommate a little more, but first I had to settle up with the demon.

Shoulders so tight they hurt, I took the milky green tapers from my coat pocket and placed them on the

circle to represent the points of a pentagram I wouldn’t be drawing. I lit them from the white candle I

used to make the transfer media. The tiny flames flickered, and I watched for a moment to be sure they

weren’t going to go out before I stuck the white candle back on the broken grave marker outside the

circle.

The hushed sound of a car pulled my attention to the high walls dividing the graveyard from our

neighbors. Steadying myself to tap the nearby ley line, I tugged my knit cap down, stomped the snow

from the hem of my jeans, and made one last check that I had everything. But there was nothing left to

procrastinate with.

Another slow breath, and I touched my will to the tiny ley line running through the church’s graveyard.

My breath hissed in through my nose and I stiffened, almost falling as my equilibrium shifted. The ley line

seemed to have picked up the winter chill, slicing through me with an unusual coldness. Putting out a

gloved hand, I steadied myself against the candlelit tombstone while the incoming energy continued to

build.

Once the strengths equilibrated, the extra incoming force would flow back to the line. Until then I had to

grit my teeth and bear it as tingling sensations backwashed at the theoretical extremities in my mind that

mirrored my real fingers and toes. Each time it was worse. Each time it was faster. Each time it was more

of an assault.

Though it seemed like forever, the force balanced in a heartbeat. My hands started to sweat and an

uncomfortable sensation of being both hot and cold took me, like being in a fever. I took off my gloves

and jammed them into a deep pocket. The charms on my bracelet jingled, clear in the winter-silenced air.

They wouldn’t help me. Not even the cross.

I wanted to set my circle quickly. Somehow Algaliarept knew when I tapped a line, and I had to

summon it before it showed up on its own and robbed me of the thread of power I might claim as its

summoner. The copper spell pot with the transfer media was cold when I picked it up and did something

no witch ever did and lived to tell of it; I stepped forward, putting myself into the same circle I was going

to call Algaliarept into.

Standing across from the person-sized monument cemented to the ground, I exhaled. The monolith was

covered in a black smut from bacteria and city pollution, making it look like a fallen angel. That the figure

was bowed weeping over a sword held horizontally in his hands as an offering only added to the creepy

feeling. There was a bird’s nest wedged into the fold of the wings as they curved around the body, and

the face didn’t look right. The arms, too, were too long to be human or Inderlander. Even Jenks didn’t let

his kids play around this one.

“Please let me be right,” I whispered to the statue as I mentally moved the white rill of salt from this

reality to that of the ever-after. I staggered as most of the energy pooling in my center was yanked out to

force the shift. The media in the pot sloshed, and still not having found my balance, I set it down in the

snow before it spilled. My eyes went to the green candles. They had turned eerily transparent, having

been moved to the ever-after with the salt. The flames, though, existed in both worlds, adding their glow

to the night.

The power from the line began to build again, the slow increase as uncomfortable as the first quick influx

of tapping a line, but the ribbon of salt had been replaced with an equal amount of ever-after reality

arching high to close over my head. Nothing more substantial than air could pass the shifting bands of

reality, and because I set the circle, only I could break it—providing I had made it properly to begin with.

“Algaliarept, I summon you,” I whispered, my heart pounding. Most people used all sorts of trappings to

summon and contain a demon, but seeing as I already had an arrangement with it, simply saying its name

and willing its presence would pull it across the lines. Lucky me.

My gut clenched when a small patch of snow melted between the warrior angel and me. The snow

steamed, the cloud of reddish vapor billowing up to follow the confines of a body not yet taken shape. I

waited, my tension growing. Algaliarept varied its shape, sifting through my mind without me even

knowing to choose what scared me the most. Once it had been Ivy. Then Kisten—until I had pinned him

in an elevator in a foolish moment of vampire-induced passion. It’s hard to be scared of someone after

you’ve French-kissed him. Nick, my boyfriend, always got a slavering dog the size of a pony.

This time, though, the mist was definitely a human shape, and I guessed it was going to show up either as

Piscary—the vampire I had just put in prison—or perhaps its more typical vision of a young British

gentleman in a green velveteen coat with tails.

“Neither scares you anymore,” came a voice from the mist, jerking my head up.

It was my voice. “Aw, crap,” I swore, picking up my spell pot and backing away until I almost broke

my circle. It was going to show up as me. I hated that. “I’m not afraid of myself!” I shouted, even before

it finished coalescing.

“Oh, yes you are.”

It had the right sound, but the cadence and accent were wrong. I stared, riveted, as Algaliarept took on

my outline, running its hands suggestively down itself, flattening its chest to my lame excuse of

womanhood and giving me hips that were probably a little more curvaceous than I deserved. It dressed

itself in black leather pants, a red halter top, and high-heeled black sandals that looked ridiculous out in

the middle of a snowy graveyard.

Eyelids lightly closed and lips open, it shook its head to make my frizzy shoulder-length red curls take

shape out of the lingering haze of ever-after. It gave me more freckles than I could possibly have, and my

eyes weren’t the red orbs it showed when it opened them, but green. Mine weren’t slitted like a goat’s

either.

“You got the eyes wrong,” I said, and I set my spell pot down at the edge of the circle. I gritted my

teeth, hating that it heard my voice quaver.

Hip cocked, the demon put out a sandaled foot and snapped its fingers. A pair of black shades

materialized in its grip, and it put them on, hiding its unnatural eyes. “Now they’re right,” it said, and I

shuddered at how close it matched my voice.

“You don’t look anything like me,” I said, not realizing I had lost so much weight, and deciding I could

go back to eating shakes and fries.

Algaliarept smiled. “Perhaps if I put my hair up?” it mocked coyly as it gathered the unruly mass and

held it atop my, er, its head. Biting its lips to redden them, it moaned and shifted as if its hands were tied

above it, looking like it was into bondage games. Falling back onto the sword the angel held, it posed like

a whore.

I hunched deeper into my coat with the fake fur around the collar. From the distant street came the slow

sound of a passing car. “Can we get on with this? My feet are getting cold.”

It pulled its head up and smiled. “You aresuch the party pooper, Rachel Mariana Morgan,” it said in my

voice, but now with its customary highbrow British accent. “But avery good sport. Not making me drag

you into the ever-after shows afine strength of mind. I’m going to enjoy breaking you.”

I jerked when a smear of ever-after energy cascaded over it. It was shifting forms again, but my

shoulders eased when it turned itself into its usual vision of lace and green velvet. Dark hair styled long

and round smoked glasses twisted into existence. Pale skin and a strong-featured face appeared,

matching its trim, narrow-waisted figure in elegance. High-heeled boots and an exquisitely tailored coat

finished the outfit, turning the demon into a charismatic young businessman of the eighteenth century,

possessing wealth and poised for greatness.

My thoughts touched on the horrific crime scene I had contaminated last fall while trying to pin the

murders of Cincinnati’s best ley line witches on Trent Kalamack. Al had slaughtered them in Piscary’s

name. Each of them had died in pain for its enjoyment. Al was a sadist, no matter how good the demon

looked.

“Yes, let’s get on with it,” it said as it took a tin of a black dust that smelled like Brimstone and inhaled a

pinch deeply. It rubbed its nose and moved to poke at my circle with a boot, making me wince. “Nice

and tight. But it’s cold. Ceri likes it warm.”

Ceri? I wondered as all the snow within the circle melted in a flash of condensation. The scent of wet

pavement rose strong, then vanished as the cement dried to a pale red.

“Ceri,” Algaliarept said, its voice shocking me in its soft tone, both coaxing and demanding. “Come.”

I stared when a woman stepped from behind Algaliarept, seemingly from nowhere. She was thin, her

heart-shaped face sallow and her cheekbones showing too strongly. Standing substantially shorter than I,

she had a diminutive, almost childlike mien. Her head was down, and her pale translucent hair hung

straight to her mid-back. She was dressed in a beautiful gown that dropped to her bare feet. It was

exquisite—lush silk dyed in rich purples, greens, and golds—and it fitted her curvaceous form like it had

been painted on. Though she was small, she was well-proportioned, if perhaps a shade fragile looking.

“Ceri,” Algaliarept said, putting a white-gloved hand to tilt her head up. Her eyes were green, wide, and

empty. “What did I tell you about going barefoot?”

A glimmer of annoyance crossed her face, far away and distant behind the numb state she was in. My

attention dropped as a matching pair of embroidered slippers materialized about her feet.

“That’s better.” Algaliarept turned from her, and I was struck by the picture of the perfect couple they

made in their finery. She was beautiful in her clothes, but her mind was as empty as she was lovely,

insane from the raw magic the demon forced her to hold for it, filtering the ley line power through her

mind to keep itself safe. Dread twisted in my gut.

“Don’t kill her,” I whispered, my mouth dry. “You’re done with her. Let her live.”

Algaliarept pulled its smoked glasses down to look over them, its red orbs fixing on me. “You like her?”

it said. “She is pretty, isn’t she? Over a thousand years old, and aged not a moment since the day I took

her soul. If I were honest, she’s the reason I was invited to most of the parties. She puts out without a

fuss. Though, of course, for the first hundred years it was all tears and wailing. Fun in itself, but it does get

old. You’ll fight me, won’t you?”

My jaw clenched. “Give her back her soul, now that you’re done with her.”

Algaliarept laughed. “Oh, you are a love!” it said, clapping its white-gloved hands once. “But I’m giving

that back to her anyway. I’ve sullied it beyond redemption, leaving mine reasonably pure. And I will kill

her before she has the chance to beg forgiveness from her god.” Its thick lips split in a nasty grin. “It’s all

a lie, anyway, you know.”

I went cold as the woman slumped into a small spot of purple, green, and gold at its feet, broken. I

would die before letting it drag me into the ever-after to become…become this. “Bastard,” I whispered.

Algaliarept gestured as if to say, “So what?” It turned to Ceri, finding her small hand in the mass of fabric

and helping her rise. She was barefoot again. “Ceri,” the demon coaxed, then glanced at me. “I should

have replaced her forty years ago, but the Turn made everything difficult. She doesn’t even hear anymore

unless you say her name first.” It turned back to the woman. “Ceri, be a love and fetch the transfer media

you made this sundown.”

My stomach hurt. “I made some,” I said, and Ceri blinked, the first sign of comprehension crossing her.

Big eyes solemn and blank, she looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. Her attention went to the

spell pot at my feet and the milky green candles about us. Panic stirred in the back of her eyes as she

stood before the angel monument. I think she had just realized what was going on.

“Marvelous,” Algaliarept said. “You’re trying to be useful already, but I want Ceri’s.” It looked at Ceri,

her mouth open to show tiny white teeth. “Yes, love. Time for your retirement. Bring me my cauldron and

the transfer media.”

Tense and shirking, Ceri made a gesture and a child-sized cauldron made of copper thicker than my

wrist appeared between us, already filled with amber liquid, the flecks of wild geranium suspended as if it

were a gel.

The scent of ozone rose high as it grew warmer, and I unzipped my coat. Algaliarept was humming,

clearly in a grand mood. It beckoned me closer, and I took a step, fingering the silver knife tucked in my

sleeve. My pulse quickened, and I wondered if my contract would be enough to save me. A knife wasn’t

going to be much help.

The demon grinned to show me flat, even teeth as it gestured to Ceri. “My mirror,” it prompted, and the

delicate woman bent to retrieve a scrying mirror that hadn’t been there a moment ago. She held it before

Algaliarept like a table.

I swallowed, remembering the foul sensation of pushing my aura off of me and into my scrying mirror last

fall. The demon took off its gloves, one by one, and placed its ruddy, thick-knuckled hands atop the

glass, long fingers spread wide. It shuddered and closed its eyes while its aura precipitated out into the

mirror, falling from its hands like ink to swirl and pool in its reflection. “Into the medium, Ceri, love. Hurry

now.”

She was almost panting as she carried the mirror holding Algaliarept’s aura to the cauldron. It wasn’t the

weight of the glass; it was the weight of what was happening. I imagine she was reliving the night she had

stood where I was now, watching her predecessor as I watched her. She must have known what was

going to happen, but was so deadened inside that she could only do what was expected. And by her

obvious, helpless panic, I knew that something was left in her worth saving.

“Free her,” I said, hunched in my ugly coat as my attention flicked from Ceri to the cauldron, and then to

Algaliarept. “Free her first.”

“Why?” It looked idly at its nails before putting the gloves back on.

“I’ll kill you before I let you drag me into the ever-after, and I want her free first.”

Algaliarept laughed at that, long and deep. Putting a hand against the angel, the demon bent almost

double. A muted thump reverberated up through my feet, and the stone base cracked with the sound of a

gunshot. Ceri stared, her pale lips slack and her eyes moving rapidly over me. Things seemed to be

starting to work in her, memories and thoughts long suppressed.

“Youwill struggle,” Algaliarept said, delighted. “Stupendous. Iso hoped you would.” Its eyes met mine,

and it smirked, touching the rim of its glasses.“Adsimulo calefacio.”

The knife in my sleeve burst into flame. Yelping, I shrugged out of my coat. It hit the edge of my bubble

and slid down. The demon eyed me. “Rachel Mariana Morgan. Stop trying my patience. Get over here

and recite the damned invocation.”

I had no choice. If I didn’t, it would call my deal breached, take my soul in forfeit, and drag me into the

ever-after. My only chance was to play the agreement out. I glanced at Ceri, wishing she would move

away from Algaliarept, but she was running her fingers over the dates engraved in the cracked

tombstone, her sun-starved complexion now even paler.

“Do you remember the curse?” Algaliarept asked when I came even with the knee-high cauldron.

I snuck a glance in, not surprised to find the demon’s aura was black. I nodded, feeling faint as my

thoughts went back to having accidentally made Nick my familiar. Was it only three months ago? “I can

say it in English,” I whispered.Nick. Oh God. I hadn’t said good-bye. He had been so distant lately that I

hadn’t found the courage to tell him. I hadn’t told anyone.

“Good enough.” Its glasses vanished and its damned, goat-slitted eyes fixed on me. My heart raced, but

I had made this choice. I would live or die by it.

Deep and resonate, seeming to vibrate my very core, Algaliarept’s voice slipped from between its lips. It

was Latin, the words familiar, yet not, like a vision of a dream.“Pars tibi, totum mihi. Vinctus vinculis,

prece factis.”

“Some to you,” I echoed in English, interpreting the words from memory, “but all to me. Bound by ties

made so by plea.”

The demon’s smile widened, chilling me with its confidence.“Luna servata, lux sanata. Chaos statutum,

pejus minutum.”

I swallowed hard. “Moon made safe, ancient light made sane,” I whispered. “Chaos decreed, taken

tripped if bane.”

Algaliarept’s knuckles gripping the vat went white in anticipation.“Mentem tegens, malum ferens.

Semper servus dum duret mundus,” it said, and Ceri sobbed, a small kitten sound, quickly stifled. “Go

on,” Algaliarept prompted, excitement making its outline blur. “Say it and put your hands in.”

I hesitated, my eyes fixing on Ceri’s crumpled form before the gravestone, her gown a small puddle of

color. “Absolve me of one of my debts I owe you, first.”

“You are a pushy bitch, Rachel Mariana Morgan.”

“Do it!” I demanded. “You said you would. Take off one of your marks as agreed.”

It leaned over the pot until I could see my reflection, wide-eyed and frightened, in its glasses. “It makes

no difference. Finish the curse and be done with it.”

“Are you saying you aren’t going to hold to our bargain?” I goaded, and it laughed.

“No. Not at all, and if you were hoping to break our arrangement on that, then you’re sadly the fool. I’ll

take off one of my marks, but you still owe me a favor.” It licked its lips. “And as my familiar, you

belong—to me.”

Kim Harrison - Hollows 3 - Every Which Way But Dead

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: