I followed Jenks down the shallow step to sit at the couch, farthest in, barking out a derisive, “Hurry up with that first-aid kit,” when the driver hustled everyone out.
He hefted his rifle in a show of aggression, and I gave him a simpering smile. “Right,” I said, flopping on the couch and stretching my arms out along the top of it. “You’re going to plug me in your boss’s living room and get blood all over his carpet because I was snippy. Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of carpet? Be a good little pup and do what you’re told.”
Jenks fidgeted, and the man flashed red, his jaw muscles clenching. “You keep backing into your corner,” he said as he lowered his weapon. “When it comes to it, I’ll be there.”
“Whatever.” I looked at the ceiling, baring my already bruised throat to him though my gut twisted. With Weres, your rank determined how you were treated, and I wanted to be treated well. So I was going to be a bitch in more than one definition of the word.
I never heard him leave, but I let out my held breath when Jenks relaxed. “He’s gone?” I whispered, and he made an exasperated face.
“Tink’s panties, Rache,” he said, sitting on the edge of the couch beside me and putting his elbow on his knee. “That was rash even for you.”
I brought my head back down to look at him. Surrounded by carpet and walls, I could smell the lake on me, and I ran a hand through my tangled damp curls, getting my fingers stuck. I thought about pushing his elbow off his knee, but didn’t since he was still bleeding. Instead I sat up and reached for the bandage pressed against his head.
“Don’t,” he said, sounding frantic as he drew back.
Lips pursed, I glared about the room at the unseen cameras. “Where’s my damn first-aid kit!” I shouted. “Someone better bring me my kit, or I’m going to get pissed!”
“Rache,” Jenks protested. “I don’t want to see the pit. It smelled awful.”
Seeing his worry, I tried to smile. “Believe me, I’m trying to stay out of it. But if we act like prey, they’ll treat us like a wounded antelope. You’ve watched Animal Planet, right?”
We both looked up when a small girl dressed in jeans and a sweater came in from the room’s only door. She had a tackle box in her hand, and she silently set it on the table before Jenks and me. Not meeting our eyes, she backed three steps away before turning around.
“Thank you,” I said. Never stopping, she looked over her shoulder, clearly surprised.
“You’re welcome,” she said, stumbling on the step up out of the sunken area. Her ears went red, and I guessed she was no more than thirteen. Life was good in a traditional Were pack if you were on top, crap if you were on the bottom, and I wondered where she fit in.
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.