For a Few Demons More(160)

“I can’t leave you.”

Twisting, I grabbed my bag from the back and fumbled until I had my splat gun on my lap. Eyeing Jenks’s expression, torn with indecision, I pulled to the curb and hit the brakes. Kisten weakly braced himself as he shifted forward and back. Horns blew, and I ignored them.

“Get your little pixy ass out of the car and get home,” I said, voice even and level as I rolled the window down. “Take care of your family.”

“But you’re my family, too,” he said.

My throat tightened. Every time I screwed up big-time, Jenks was gone. “I’ll be fine.”

“Rache—”

“I’ll be fine!” I shouted, frustrated, and Kisten turned to us, squinting and breathing hard. “I’m a witch, damn it! I’m not helpless. I can handle this. Go!”

Jenks lifted into the air. “Call me if you need me. I’ll have my phone on.”

I managed a smile. “Deal.”

He nodded, his face looking old and young all at the same time, and I froze when he flew close, his wings brushing my cheek for an instant. “Thank you,” he said.

And then he was gone.





THIRTY-ONE


As expected, I had found Nick’s place empty. I didn’t think anyone had noticed me helping Kisten inside and up the steps to the one-bedroom apartment. Kisten had revived somewhat on the way, and he had gotten himself into a warm tub of water without my help. There was no shower curtain, and I thought a soak would be better anyway. He was still in there, and if I didn’t hear some water draining soon, I was going to go check on him.

The sound of the street noise coming through the open windows was nice. It had smelled musty when I hesitantly opened the door to find empty walls and barren carpet. Clearly, Nick had packed up everything on the solstice, leaving very little to return to if he ever found himself in Cincy again. Where all his stuff was now, I didn’t know or care. His mom’s, maybe?

I couldn’t help but feel betrayed all over again, though there was nothing here to trigger the memories but worn carpet and empty shelves. I tried not to feel bitter as I drank the coffee Nick had left along with a sleeping bag, three cans of stew, and the pan to heat it up in. There was one plate, one bowl, and one set of silverware—nothing he would miss if he never came back, but there if he found himself on the run and needed somewhere to hide for a night or two.

“Bastard,” I mumbled, not putting much emotion behind it. If he had just been a thief, I might have been able to see past it, what with my new and improved outlook on life, but he had been buying demon favors from Al with pieces of me. Innocent things, he’d said, worthless. But if they were worthless, why had Al agreed to it?

So I sat at the metal and Formica table that came with the apartment, drinking stale coffee and staring at the stains on the matted carpet. The traffic sounds were both soothing and unfamiliar. Nick’s apartment wasn’t in a residential area but what passed for downtown Hollows. There was no scent of Nick in the air, yet I could almost feel the stale magic.

I looked at the scratched linoleum for the circle Nick had said was there, scribed with a black-light marker. The memory of standing in Nick’s closet to summon Al lifted through me. God, I should’ve walked away right then, even if calling up Al for information had been my idea. But I hadn’t thought anyone who claimed to love me could willingly betray me like that.

The water in the bathroom sloshed, and the gurgle as it left the tub intruded into my thoughts. I sat up. Feeling bitter and stupid, I scooted my chair back and went to warm up a can of stew. The can opener was one of those cheap, flimsy things, and I was still fighting it when a soft breath and hesitant steps turned me around.

I smiled when I saw Kisten, wearing a towel, his hair damp. He had his torn and scuffed clothes in his hands, as if he didn’t want to put them back on. Ugly bruises brought out by the warm water splotched his torso, and his eye was swollen bigger than before. Red-rimmed scratches marked his arms and face. His hair had been washed, and despite his beating, he still looked good—standing there in the kitchen wrapped in a towel, the definition of his muscles all damp and glistening….

“Rachel,” he said, looking relieved as he set his wad of clothes on a vacant chair, “you’re still here. Um, don’t take this the wrong way, but where are we?”

“Nick’s old apartment.” The can’s lid finally popped off. Angst spiked though me at Jenks’s warning, but I had to trust Kisten. Otherwise what was the point of loving him?

Kisten’s blue eyes widened, and I licked a spot of cold gravy off my thumb. “Your old boyfriend’s?” he said, turning to the empty living room with only the curtains moving in the slight breeze. “Kind of spartan with the decorating, wasn’t he?”