A Perfect Blood (The Hollows #10)(24)

“The tails are appropriate.” Belle shook it out and draped it carefully over her arm. “That is not a suit for going to war. It’s for celebrating. You won’t wear it until I say you can. I can tell you’re not planning on war. The lines are full of holes. I don’t know how you ever survived without me.”
Jenks spilled a red dust and sputtered, “I just spent all morning tending the lines. There’s nothing wrong with them. Rex, knock it off!”
But Belle only smiled. “If you like it, I’ll put the final trim on it and hang it in your clos-s-set. Thank you for allowing Jezabel to teach me that stitching for the wings. It’s more complicated than I’m used to, but it gives wonderfully where you need it. Would you take offense if I s-sshow my sister when I s-see her again?”
“Tink’s titties, I don’t care,” Jenks said sullenly. Belle stood there, waiting, and when I cleared my throat, he added, “Thanks. It’s nice.”
My mouth dropped open, and even Marshal shifted his feet uncomfortably. “Nic-c-ce?” Belle said, a pale green coming to color her face, a fairy’s version of a flush, perhaps. “You think this is nic-c-ce?” She squinted at him for a moment with her lips closed over her long teeth. “Thank you,” she said stiffly, knocking into him as she walked past the purring cat, her back stiff and her pace slow. With a little trill of sound, Rex got to her feet and padded after her.
I looked at Jenks, his feet on the linoleum as he watched her leave, then up at Marshal. “Wow, Jenks,” I said as I got up. “You’re a bigger ass than even me sometimes. Nice? That wasn’t nice. That was exquisite.”
His expression twisted up in annoyance and guilt, Jenks flew up to my eye level. “She keeps making me stuff,” he said plaintively. “And she keeps trying to plant things. Nothing has even come up. The kids are laughing at her.”
“Then maybe you should stop giving her bad seeds. She’s trying,” I said, not wanting to be too hard on him, but honestly, that had been a beautiful coat. “It must have taken her at least two weeks to make that, and you call it nice?”
Jenks looked at the hall when the cat door squeaked shut. “Actually, it was twice that if you count dyeing the thread. Um.” His altitude shifted up and down. “Could you excuse me?”
I nodded, and Jenks darted off. “Belle?” I heard him shout, and my frown eased. Her kin had killed Matalina. I had destroyed their wings. And now we were all learning to get along. What was wrong with me? 
“Rachel,” Marshal said, and I looked up at the pure delight in his voice. “I’d forgotten how much fun you are to be around. That was a fairy, right? Why is she making Jenks clothes?”
I swallowed back a heavy sigh before it came out, wondering how this new wrinkle was going to iron out. No one could take Matalina’s place, but Belle had begun to see where there was a need and did what she could. “She’s keeping an eye on me,” I said. “She’ll murder me in my sleep if she thinks I’m going to betray her or her surviving family, now living with Trent.”
Still laughing, Marshal set his cup down. Slowly his smile faltered as he realized I was serious. “Is this them?” He looked at the charms, obvious on the counter between us.
I pushed myself from the counter, feeling more space fall between us. “Yup. Let me get you a finger stick. I really appreciate this.”
“Not a problem.” Marshal took the tiny blade as I held it out, and he broke the safety seal with his thumb in a practiced motion. “How is Jenks doing? I talked to Glenn yesterday, and he said his wife died. Is that why Belle is here?”
The scent of redwood blossomed as Marshal massaged his finger and three drops of blood soaked into the first disk. A feeling of relief swept over me, and a slight headache I hadn’t realized I was fighting began to dissipate. I’d spelled the charms right, and now I had something to use to find these bastards.
“Jenks is doing okay,” I said. “He has his ups and downs, but he smiles a lot more.”
“Good.” Marshal looked at me, then back down at the next amulet. “How about you?”
Me? “The shunning?” I said, flustered. “Okay. It’s been nice not having to go to the ever-after every week. Kind of weird. The demons think I’m dead, and I want to keep it that way.” I shook my arm to show off my charmed silver, adding, “I don’t even mind that I can’t do ley-line magic.” But I did, if I was honest.
Marshal’s eyes were outraged as he straightened from over the amulets. “The coven of moral and ethical standards is making you wear that?”
“This? No. I put this on myself. You think I liked going to the ever-after every weekend?” Al would friggin’ kill me if he knew I was alive. If the demon hated one thing, it was being broke.
Marshal’s eyes became worried, and he looked back at the amulets. He invoked two more, and I started putting them in my shoulder bag, one by one.
“Thanks again,” I said, not liking the silence. If Marshal was silent, Marshal was thinking, and that made me uneasy. “I can still do earth magic. The higher spells can tell the difference in my blood and don’t invoke, is all.”
He looked up as he finished the last, his expression brightening with understanding. “Oh! That’s why the ones you made last year . . .”
I nodded. “Yes. I thought I’d done them wrong . . . but it’s my blood.”
Marshal knew I wasn’t a witch—he was there the week I figured it out for myself—but I could tell by his suddenly sick expression that he hadn’t really believed it. He thought that I’d taken a label to get the coven to back off. “Then you really are . . .”
His words faltered, and I slumped, tired beyond belief. “I’m a demon,” I said, looking away. A demon with no demon magic. “Well, thanks,” I said as understanding, and even worse, pity, cascaded over him. “I don’t know any other witches I could have asked to do this. Isn’t that stupid?” I tried to laugh, but it came out wrong, and the silence afterward was worse.The amulets were invoked, and still he stood there, four feet and an entire chasm of unspoken thought between us. “No,” he said softly, and I looked up, seeing his pity, his fear, and his reluctance all wrapped up in one terrible expression. “Rachel, I’m sorry this happened. And I’m glad you got your shunning removed. I didn’t like the way things ended.”
“Me neither,” I said, backing slowly away. My stomach hurt. This was such a bad idea. I couldn’t go back—this proved it—but what hurt wasn’t Marshal as much as it was me grieving, letting go of the hope that I could be the person I’d always thought I was. It was going to be harder now that I couldn’t pretend.
“That’s why I came over today,” he said, but I didn’t know if I believed him. “Not because I wanted to start dating again or anything. I just wanted to see that you were really okay and not just surviving.”
I leaned against the sink, wishing he would go away. I hadn’t invited him over here to see if he was available, but now I felt even more alone. “I’m doing okay,” I said, wishing I could say it louder.
“You’re doing great!” he said, but it sounded flat. I jumped when he touched my elbow, and his hand fell away. “You’re doing great,” he said again, softer this time. “I’m glad that no one is telling me I can’t talk to you anymore, because you are a very special woman.”
My gut hurt, and I made a fist, jamming it into my side. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.” I was not going to cry, damn it.
“You deserve good things,” Marshal said, but he was still wearing that damn pitying smile. “There’s someone out there for you. I really believe that.”
“Me, too,” I lied, then swallowed the pain down where it could fester. “I’m glad you’re doing okay, too. And thanks again. For the amulets.” I was never going to call him again.
Marshal reached out and I shook my head, unable to look at him. The soft slap of his hand meeting his leg was loud. “Bye, Rachel,” he said, and I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t cry when he leaned in and gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek.
“Bye, Marshal,” I said, my voice surprisingly firm, though my chest felt like it was caving in. It wasn’t Marshal, it was everything else.
“I’ll let myself out.”
“Thank you,” I said softly, and I looked up as he walked away. I took a deep breath, gazing at the ceiling as I shook my hair out. It was almost dry. I wasn’t looking for someone to complete me, but having someone to do stuff with would be nice. And I didn’t think I could even have that anymore. 
“I have to get out of here,” I said softly, feeling the walls close in on me. If I didn’t do something, I’d explode in a puff of self-absorbed pity. But not with Wayde watching me. Yes, he was right that I was vulnerable without my ley-line magic. Yes, Trent was right that I was putting those I cared about at risk by not accepting my full abilities. But I was not helpless. I had survived an I.S. death threat, banshees, Weres with guns, and political witches—all without demon magic. It would’ve been an entirely different story last night if I had been prepared and had had my splat gun. Perhaps Wayde needed to know that.