Dov was indignant at the thought. “Hell no. I mean, I’ve used intimidation before to scare the shit out of somebody and yeah, it’s kind of fun, but we don’t do it just for shits and giggles. That’s just kind of a bonus. They’re bad guys and we want ‘em to know we mean business. But barstools? That’s just stupid. It would be like kicking a puppy.”

  Pinkie nodded. “When you’re addicted to power, you start to like kicking puppies.”

  “Did you like kicking puppies?” Col asked.

  “In a manner of speaking, yes,” she admitted, “Only in my case, I liked spilling chocolate pudding down the front of the pretty blonde who always made fun of me in the lunch room. I liked slamming the locker door on the hand of the quarterback who called me names. They never knew it was me and that was part of the fun, part of the high it gave me.”

  “I might have done those things if I’d known how,” Hope admitted and mimicked her tormentors in a sing-song voice. “Hope you can find a man bigger than you are. Hope he can afford to feed you.”

  Nico kissed her forehead and then whispered in her ear.

  Hope turned red, but she laughed. “Luckily, I found him.”

  Pinkie looked up at Broadbent, who nodded his encouragement and tightened his grip on her shoulder.

  “What I’m trying to say is it wasn’t the magic that was dark. It was me and my addiction that made it dark.

  “When you think of blood magic, you think of bloodletting and human sacrifice, and you’d be right. But the bad rep comes from. the abuse of power, not the magic. When I make my potions and tisanes for the shop, I use blood magic and I only use my blood, my sacrifice, though it’s not much of a sacrifice since I never use more than three drops. My potions don’t hurt and sometimes they help.” She smiled at Otto. “I meant it as a good deed and not just for Manon. It was a gift for you, too. I saw your eyes when you looked at her. I saw how much you miss her when she fades away. I saw how much all of you love her.” She looked up at Broadbent’s solemn face. “It won’t hurt her. I swear it. I’ll drink some myself to prove it to you.”

  “Dearest Patience, I need no proof. I never doubted your intent, though I think I must protest this image of evil you’ve drawn for yourself. It’s nonsense and I’ll hear no more of it.” He tapped her nose with the tip of his finger.

  “Atta boy, Professor. Show her who’s boss. Ow! What was that for?” Dov asked of another slap to the back of his head. “Who wants to hear the I’m-such-a-bad-person routine, when we all know she isn’t.”

  “And how do we know that?” Grace asked, eyes sparkling with humor.

  “She took care of the Professor, didn’t she? You’d have to be a good person to even talk to the old dork and Pinkie was ready to blow us all to hell if we hurt him. If she was a bad person, or if she had any sense, she’d have left him in the alley and gotten the hell out of there. So I figure the fluffball is okay.”

  “And you haven’t seen the cats.” Col shuddered. “They’re the nastiest looking, sorry-assed animals you’ve ever seen, but the fluffball worries about them. ‘Did you feed the cats? Did you feed the cats?’” He mimicked her, and then pointed at Broadbent, changing his voice to mock the Professor’s. “By the by, old chap, we’re almost out of the crunchy stuff and Blinky, that’s what we call the one eyed tiger with half a tail, doesn’t like the good stuff. He prefers the Brand X stuff the fluffball buys.”

  “Otto? Otto? You said you were coming right back.” Manon wandered into the kitchen. The pins that held her bun in place had come loose and the kaftan she wore was stained.

  A silent vote was taken as Otto looked from face to face. He nodded and then smiled as he held out his hand to his mate.

  “I was, my love, but our kindly new daughter has graciously offered to make us tea.”

  Chapter 18

  “I knew you were telling the truth, but I didn’t think there was a snowball’s chance in hell that tea would cure Manon.” JJ swung the van onto Canal.

  “You can’t turn down the alley. It’s garbage day.” Pinkie’s eyes kept moving, watching the street for any sign of demons or Abyar’s witch. “I didn’t cure her. I can’t. Healing isn’t my...um...gift. I used a spell for mental acuity, but I don’t know how long it will last.”

  JJ laughed. “Well, I sure as hell hope it lasts a long time, because it tasted like shit. Was there really blood in it?” she asked as she turned the corner. Her wrinkled nose made Pinkie laugh.

  “No worries. You didn’t drink my blood. It’s the energy from it that gives the spell strength, not the blood itself.” She looked over her shoulder, saw no one, and looked back at JJ. “You didn’t have to taste it, you know.”

  “Sure I did. Everyone else did.”

  Pinkie laughed. “Didn’t your mother ever give you the jumping off the bridge speech?”

  “You mean if all your friends jump off a bridge, are you going to do it, too?” She slid the van into a parking space. “Nah. My mother would have told me to go for it.”

  “For all you knew, it could have been poison.”

  Her leather clad companion gave her a look Pinkie couldn’t quite fathom until JJ said, “It was a matter of trust. We did it to prove we believed in you. We all know you’re no killer. You don’t have the heart for it.” And then she laughed, uncomfortable with the sentimentality. “Besides, you drank the shit right along with us. And will you quit looking over your shoulder like that. You’re making me nervous. Now let’s get this show on the road.”

  She might not be a killer, but she was an accessory, both before and after the fact. Pinkie kept her face turned away, not because she was watching for demons, but because she didn’t want JJ to read what was written there.

  They were there to clean out the last of what remained in the shop. There was no way Good Fortune could reopen without extensive repairs and Pinkie was relieved to have a temporary excuse not to return.

  JJ, the one who was so anxious to get their job done, didn’t exit the car once she cut the engine. Instead, she put a hand on Pinkie’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Her voice was surprisingly gentle. “Look, Pinks, I know you have a secret and I know it’s killing you inside. And I know this because the look on your face is the same one I used to see on mine when I looked in the mirror. You’re safe with us. You can trust us.”

  Listening to them talk, Pinkie thought there were very few secrets among these women and those they withheld mostly concerned their mates. She wanted to trust them. She wanted to be a part of what they had with each other, but she just wasn’t ready. She was terrified of losing the sense of belonging she found among them.

  “We should have come during the day,” she said to change the subject.

  “We should have, but then those damned Neanderthals would have stopped us and tied us to our beds, or tried, anyway.” JJ elbowed Pinkie’s shoulder. “Though now that I think of it, that might have been fun.”

  Setting aside the boxes she carried, Pinkie unlocked the new back door using the key Broadbent had given her. “Broadbent’s not a Neanderthal.”

  “Which makes him the exception that proves the rule.”

  JJ cut her laugh short as she walked through the open door, fingers sparkling with blue fire, ready to zap whatever awaited them. One sniff said no demons were about, though the air smelled stale and a little musty. She stopped and stared. “Holy shit! When Col said you blew the room to hell and back, he wasn’t kidding, was he?” JJ looked around what was once the store room and shook her head. “Damn, girl, and I thought I was good.” She wiggled her fingers and the electric blue light danced on her fingertips. “More blood magic or can you just snap your fingers and wiggle your nose?”

  The storeroom looked like one of the pictures she’d seen of the damage left by a tornado. One wall was completely gone, exposing a tiny washroom with holes where the sink and plumbing had been torn out, yet the extra roll of toilet paper sat, untouched, on the tank right next to the spot where the sink had been. The small closet next to the lavatory was the same. Everything on the shelves above the safe was neatly in place, but the door now hung by one hinge. In the larger room, Pinkie’s workspace was intact. The rest was gone. Not destroyed. Gone. Right down to the studs. No broken glass, no plaster bits, just gone.

  “More blood magic and I can’t call it up instantly like you do. I have to repeat the spell and then I have to take the blood. The potions I sell only need a few drops, but some spells take a lot of blood.” Too much blood.

  Pinkie looked at the fine line on her arm, where she’d cut it to protect Broadbent. Grace’s stitching had been pretty professional looking, but there would always be a scar. She’d never used that much of her own blood before. She saw JJ watching her and turned away.

  “I don’t do those kinds of spells.” Not anymore.

  The display portion of the shop had suffered some damage from the silent blast of energy as well. Shaken shelves had tumbled their contents to the floor. Pinkie searched through the mess, packing up anything the twins had missed. The few pictures on the walls remained intact and most of the witch balls still hung in place, though a few were cracked. JJ began taking them down.

  “You get the low stuff, I’ll get the high.”

  Someone, probably Dov and Col, had covered the front windows in a patchwork of white paper, the kind she used to protect glass purchases from breakage. Several pieces had fallen where the tape failed to adhere. Curiosity drawn by the sudden light in the shop, Pinkie saw several people hood their eyes with their hands against the glass to peer through to the inside. There was someone behind them, hand flat on the glass, leaning forward and looking in, too. The figure was hooded and that was what caught her attention. It was too warm for a hood.

  “Let’s get this done and get out of here,” she said and bent to the old safe, dialing in the numbers on the lock.

  When she looked up again, the hooded figure was gone. On impulse, Pinkie ran to the window, looked left and then right, and caught a glimpse of the hooded figure turning the corner two blocks away. The figure’s movement gave her sex, and therefore her identity, away.

  “I’ll be in the reading room,” Pinkie called to JJ. “I need a few minutes alone. Can you finish emptying the safe?”

  “Yeah, sure. Not too long, though, okay?”

  “Promise.”

  Knowing JJ watched and appreciating that she asked no questions, Pinkie opened the front door, crossed to the window and placed her hand over the spot the witch had touched. She wasn’t sure it would work, had only heard snippets of rumor about leaving traces of aura behind on whatever a person touched, but it was worth a try. General scrying was simple, but to search out an individual, she needed to touch something they owned. She knew nothing about auras, but hoped it was enough.

  Holding her aura stained hand out from her body, Pinkie headed straight for the reading room, carefully cradling her crystal ball from its pedestal with the other. She placed what little she had of the witch’s aura onto the ball and forced her concentration into it, surprised at how quickly the swirls began to form. She almost jumped from her chair when, like one of her movies, the hooded figure walked out of the fog as she reached the corner where Pinkie had last seen her.

  The streets around the figure faded into the haze, but the figure’s direction was clear. Pinkie barely caught a glimpse of the building the figure entered and then, like the television suddenly going dark, the picture went blank and Pinkie knew, knew as sure as she sat in that chair, that the witch had warded the building in much the same way Pinkie’d warded her shop.

  ~*~

  “I’m sorry, Broadbent. It’s your first night off since you’ve been back on your feet and you probably had plans. I tried to tell him that I would be fine, but Canaan has lost all reason when it comes to this baby.”

  Grace sat heavily in her kitchen chair. She hefted her baby belly with both hands as if she could hoist the bulge back up where it was just a few days before. She arched her back, pressing with her hands at the small of it.

  “My plans are of no concern. I feel privileged that Canaan entrusted me with your care.”

  Grace released her hand long enough to wave the comment away. “Bullshit. You drew the short straw and we both know it.”

  “Actually, I volunteered for the job. Tea?” he asked as he filled the kettle and set it on the stove.

  “Please. But it has to be that herbal stuff. I swear, the first thing I want after this baby is born is a cup of coffee. Why on earth would you volunteer?”

  “Because I wished for a private moment of your time which, under the circumstances, has been rather difficult to arrange. I seek your expertise. Are you allowed sugar?”

  “I am. One, please. Are you planning to cook a meal or renovate a house? Because those are the only things I qualify for.”

  Broadbent didn’t smile as he set the necessities out for tea. When everything was in order, he turned back to Grace. “I wish to speak to you of love.”

  “Hoo-boy, I’m listening.”

  “I think I’m suffering from it. I have all the symptoms.”

  “It’s not a disease, Broadbent.” Grace did her best to hide her smile.

  “A condition, then, and I’m not quite sure I like it. It makes me think and act irrationally. The other night when I saw the blood on her blouse, I wanted to kill someone. I do my duty as a Guardian, but I am not a violent man. I come in from patrol knowing she is here and yet my heart pounds and I am not satisfied until I see her face. I cannot open a book without my mind wandering to what movie she has chosen. Why would I choose a movie over a book?”

  “Because you’re not reading the book with her.”

  He wasn’t listening. “I find myself laughing at the most ridiculous things and in matters of a more personal nature I find myself wondering what the twins would say or do.”

  He looked so horrified at the thought of using the twins as an example, Grace finally had to laugh. “Yep, you’re in love alright.”

  “There is nothing amusing about this Grace. You may find this surprising, but I have compiled a list of requirements that I would seek in a mate and Patience fills none of them. She doesn’t read. She doesn’t enjoy opera. For God’s sake, the woman eats her fried chicken with her fingers.”

  “Well, that’s a real turn off,” Grace muttered.

  “It should be, but it isn’t. I find myself wanting to lick the juices from her fingers.”

  Horrified by what he’d just admitted, he turned his back to her, which was probably a good thing since he missed Grace’s reaction. She had her hand over her mouth, thumb and finger holding her nose. When she was sure she wouldn’t snort, she spoke.

  “Have you spoken to her about this?”

  He whirled back to her, hands in the air. “I can’t,” he shouted. “When I am in the same room with her, none of this matters. All I can think of is her face, the sound of her voice, her laughter, her...” He formed a woman’s body with his hands.

  Grace nodded and released a deep sigh. “Broadbent, sweetie, I want you to listen carefully to me. I’m no expert in these matters, but I think there’s a flaw in your reasoning. You have this image of the woman you want, but maybe Pinkie is the woman you need.”

  He shrank back onto his stool and hung his head. “I think she loves me. She calls me her hero, Grace, and I’m no one’s hero,” he said quietly. “She’s in love with someone that isn’t me.”

  “And you’re afraid that when she finds the chinks in your armor, she’ll turn away.” Grace’s voice was as quiet as his.

  Broadbent nodded slowly.

  Grace struggled up from her chair to go to him and lay a hand on his shoulder. “That’s a risk worth taking, sweetie. We women are good at finding the chinks in the armor and the funny thing is those chinks are what make us love our men all the more. Chances are she’s already found some of those chinks. Chances are she already sees the real you and likes what she sees. Chances are she sees in you what you can’t see in yourself.”

  The kettle started to whistle and Broadbent started to rise. Grace stopped him with her hand.

  “I’ve got it,” she said and then the hand on his shoulder turned into a claw as she dug her nails into it. “Oh, shit,” she ground out as a puddle of water formed between her feet.

  Broadbent was on his feet, too. “Good Lord, I’ve been going on about myself without thinking of your needs at all. You should have interrupted me, Grace. I would have gladly waited while you used the facilities. No matter, I’m sure this has happened to other women in your condition. No need for embarrassment,” he said as the color rose up his face.

  “I didn’t wet myself,” she snapped. “My water broke. I’m going into labor.”

  “Good Lord. I’ll call Canaan.” He looked around the kitchen for the elusive phone.

  “No, you won’t. You’ll take the kettle off the burner and make us tea while I go upstairs and get out of these wet things. It’ll be hours before anything happens. Hope will be back from the grocery soon. She knows what to do. Pinkie and JJ won’t be late, either.”

  “But my Lord Canaan said...”

  “Your Lord Canaan is a bossy old woman and I’m not going to have him fussing and clucking over me for the next eight hours telling me what I should and shouldn’t be doing.”

  “And when he finds out?”

  “He won’t find out because we won’t tell him. Please, Broadbent, just get the tea and bring it upstairs. Keep me company. As soon as Hope gets home, you can go and call Canaan.”

  She pulled a half dozen paper towels from the roll and dropped them on the mess. Broadbent stopped her.

  “Go and get yourself comfortable, my lady. I will see to this and the tea.”

  “Thank you, Broadbent, and bless you for understanding. I’ll see you upstairs.” The picture of calm, Grace waddled from the room with her hands pressed against the small of her back.

 

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