“Ah . . .” Jenks chuckled. “She also wants all the credit and half the proceeds from the soul curse when it goes public.”

  My eyebrows rose. “Really?”

  “Whoa. Wait up.” Trent pushed forward. Behind him, Quen pinched his forehead as if in pain. “That’s not anywhere near going to happen. Rachel developed that curse. She gets the credit for it. You get credit for championing it through the FCSA.”

  The mouse rubbed her thumb and finger together, and Pike smirked.

  “Ah.” Trent glanced at me, and I gestured for him to have at it. “How about five percent of the profits, post-tax, once it’s approved and regulated. Twenty percent until it is approved, but you pay for distribution until it is.”

  “Twenty percent?” I questioned. “Why does she get more before it’s approved?”

  “It works out to be nearly the same when you include the bribes and kickbacks needed to get it on the street before approval,” he said, and Constance’s beady little eyes fixed on him. Her perfect little tail whipped around . . . and then she nodded.

  “Anything else?” I asked, and Jenks shook his head, wings rasping as he sat on my shoulder. “Okay. In return for my protection and a slice of the profits from the soul curse, you agree to play the part of city master vampire to keep out Finnis and anyone else the DC vampires send. In actuality, Ivy, Pike, and I are handling city issues, though I will solicit your advice as the occasion warrants it. Good?”

  There was a lot we hadn’t agreed upon, but as Jenks had said, I could always turn her back. Constance nodded, clearly eager. Ivy and Pike were obviously on board. Jenks was confident in my ability to bring her down should she renege on it. Trent wasn’t so keen, but he trusted me. Quen was not happy, but David had gone to watch Brad play his game, either knowing how this was going to end or simply not caring.

  Apart from the soul curse, it was very close to the deal I’d offered her six months ago, the same that she’d spit on. In hindsight, it was fortuitous that I hadn’t killed her then. Still, there was one more thing I wanted, and I came forward, looming over her, to make Ivy and Pike nervous.

  “I like this,” I said, and Constance flicked her tail, hearing the however. “I have a condition of my own.”

  The mouse stared up at me, whiskers trembling.

  “Me, my family, my team, and my team’s families are entirely off-limits.” I put a hand to either side of her, remembering what it was like to be so small. “Including but not limited to Ivy,” I said, to make things perfectly clear. “Jenks, Pike, Trent, David, and Zack. If I come to you and say no—on any person—you back off.”

  Hunching, Constance hissed.

  “Also, I want you to take lessons on how to act the part,” I added. “Ivy can teach you.” Ivy’s eyes were wide, and I wondered if I’d gone too far. “She’s been training for this her entire life. She knows how to keep the peace in Cincinnati through enormous respect and a little fear, not the other way around. Listen to her.”

  The mouse went silent, clearly thinking.

  “Well?” I prompted. “I need some kind of acknowledgment. We doing this, or not?”

  Whiskers trembling, the mouse spun to Pike and Ivy. Ivy had her arms over her middle in a rare show of unease, but Pike was bright and eager. Finally the mouse nodded.

  “Great!” Jenks said, startling me. “Who has the salt water?”

  Pike turned to his brother. “Brad, do you still have that jug you brought down?”

  Brad looked up from his game. “No,” he said, but then David found it, giving the forgetful vampire a reassuring pat on his shoulder before handing it to Pike.

  Constance stood at the bowl’s edge, holding it as he poured it in.

  “Wait,” I cautioned her as the last glugged in, and she hesitated, clearly afraid. “I want to make sure it’s the right concentration,” I said, dipping a finger in and finding that, yes, it tasted right. “It’s all yours.” I glanced between the surrounding faces. “You brought something for her to wear, right?”

  But it was too late. Constance had scrambled up and over, landing in the water with an ungraceful flop.

  “There she goes!” Jenks shrilled, and with a startling pop and whiff of burnt amber, a haze enveloped the bowl, expanding in a muffled woof.

  Constance shrieked, the high-pitched sound raking over my nerves, and then, with a sodden thump, she hit the floor, her sudden weight crushing the box and busting the bowl into three shards underneath her. A small, brown, naked, heavily scarred woman sat and shook, trying to figure out what had happened.

  “Maybe you should have put the bowl on the floor,” Quen said sourly, and Constance glared at him, her red lips pulling away to show her teeth.

  “Mother pus bucket, that never gets old!” Jenks exclaimed, and Constance turned to him, her eyes pupil black as she flipped the wet coils of her hair back.

  “Give me my necklace,” she rasped at the pixy.

  Brad stood, hooting and tugging on his brother’s arm, pointing as if it was a grand trick.

  “Jenks, give her the necklace,” I said, nervous as the scent of the long undead thickened in the stale air. My neck began to tingle and my pulse quickened.

  “Why? She can’t wear it.”

  “Give it to her,” I said again, not sure I liked the submissive way Ivy was helping the woman stand up and shrug into a robe. Clearly they had come prepared. I would have been upset, thinking that my decision was a foregone conclusion, but Ivy would have brought the water and robe even if there’d been no chance that I’d uncurse her. And if you had asked me yesterday, those were the odds I would have given you.

  “Jenks, give her the necklace!” I exclaimed when he balked, and, sullen, he took it from around his neck and dropped it into her damp, shaking hand.

  Immediately she put it on her finger as a ring. “We’re good, right?” I said, and she wiggled her hand to make the jewels catch the light.

  “We are . . . adequate.” Constance’s gaze went sidelong to Pike. “I’m hungry.”

  I couldn’t tell if her eyes were dark from the dim light . . . or something else. Quen had gone ashen, his back to the wall as he drew Trent away. I’d forgotten that Piscary had given him a scar. It must be hell at the moment. “That’s from the transformation spell,” I started, my words faltering when she held her hand out for Pike.

  “Um . . .” I began. “We agreed hands off my people.”

  “It’s not my hands that I’m going to touch him with,” she said, but Pike only grinned, taking her tiny fingers in his own and kissing the top of them. For such a small woman, she had a lot of ugly charisma.

  “Ron is waiting for you,” Pike said, his voice throaty. “And Jessica. And if you’re still hungry after that, Abbie and Chuck.”

  “Four?” Constance made a rude scoff. “You misjudge me, Welroe. Acquire a fifth.”

  “Can you find your way out?” Ivy said, her own eyes edging toward a dangerous black. “Sundown isn’t for a few hours, but Finnis won’t be able to fly until then. If we’re lucky, we can ground his plane before it leaves DC.”

  David pushed from the wall, his stance tight with tension. “I have a car. Ivy, my people will be looking out for you. They’ll get you where you need to go, but I’d stick to the surface streets. The expressway has too few outs.”

  She nodded, but her hands were shaking. “Go. None of you can stay here.”

  David immediately went to the door. Trent and Quen were quick behind him, Jenks’s wings a tight hum in the tense air. “Are you going to be okay?” I asked Ivy, and she glanced at Constance sitting in one of the rickety chairs as if it was a throne. “Did we make a mistake?”

  “No, but you need to leave. We’ll take care of Finnis. You finish off Lee.”

  “Morgan, we are moving!” Quen exclaimed from the tunnel, and I gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. I wouldn’t give her a hug with her eyes that black.

  “Gotta go,” I said, walking backward. “So, where is Lee?” I asked, and Quen exhaled loudly, clearly glad when I shut the door and it cycled to locked from the inside.

  “Hiding in some back office,” Quen said. “But come sundown, he’ll be at Fountain Square to help close the circle and curse all demons to remain in the ever-after. You want to grab something to eat in the meantime?”

  Trent took my hand, and my worry eased as his strength tingled against mine.

  “Food sounds good,” I said, my stomach rumbling.

  CHAPTER

  29

  Jenks dusted a contented gold as he sat on the rearview mirror and cleaned a spot of ketchup from one of his wings as we made our way to Fountain Square. Dinner had been fries and paper-wrapped burgers out of brown bags, the five of us sprawled on a sagging queen-size bed as we watched the local news on bad cable. Trent had sulked at the delay, but I was firmly of the opinion that full bellies and informed decisions would serve us better than driving all over Cincy to find Lee. Especially when we only had to wait for sundown for him to show. Trent’s mood could have been because there hadn’t been enough ketchup for his fries, though.

  Even better, I had taken a long, hot shower, rinsing the scent of damp cement and woodsmoke from me before slipping into the same worn jeans and sweater. The hotel shampoo hadn’t come close to taming my hair, but Jenks and David had gone out for some hair charms and shoes so I wouldn’t have to kick coven ass in a second-rate braid and soggy slippers. David, I wasn’t surprised, had very good taste in footwear, and I tapped my new ankle-high, stylish boot against the car’s door to release some tension.

  My focus blurred on the passing city as I slumped deeper into the cab’s stiff cushions and curled a strand of clean hair around a finger, wishing I had my bag and my splat gun. The front windows were cracked open, but not enough, and I gave Trent’s knee a squeeze. The sun still had yet to slip below the horizon, and the reflected light made the clouds pink and blue. Bis would join us after sundown to bring our number to six.

  Five too many, I thought, worried. Everyone but Jenks was stressed, and there was more than a hint of excited Were and the familiar tang of snickerdoodles and good wine. Quen was up front with David, giving us three magic users, a Were, a pixy, and an adolescent gargoyle against the entire coven—now supported by who knew how many of Cincy’s resident witches after Lee’s afternoon of propaganda. Witches were the largest minority demographic, and whereas they tended to keep a low profile, getting them riled enough to curse the demons into exile wouldn’t be difficult if the coven was behind it. Spelling with the coven of moral and ethical standards was on everyone’s bucket list.

  The streets had been suspiciously clear at the city outskirts where we had spent the afternoon, but here, downtown, it was curb-to-corner cars and excited people. With only a few blocks left to go, getting out and walking was an option, but it felt dangerous even with the fading light. Overly casual I.S. agents and bright-eyed vigilantes were on every corner. Trent and I were both wanted, and though we could handle ourselves, there was a time issue. Magical fights were often fast but seldom discreet.

  “We are not getting any closer to Fountain Square in this traffic,” Trent grumbled. “It’s worse than game day. I’ve never seen so many people trying to get into one square mile.”

  David, who was driving, glanced at him through the rearview mirror. “Which is exactly how we want it,” he said as his gaze returned to the crowd, his pride obvious.

  “The I.S. is everywhere,” Quen muttered, clearly not happy.

  “Ya want me to distract ’em so you can get out?” said Jenks, and David took a breath.

  “It’s too cold,” I interrupted, and when Jenks turned to me to protest, I cut him off. “The sun is almost down, and it’s cold!” I exclaimed. “You either promise me that you will find somewhere warm to serve as lookout and watch my back, or you will be in my bag.”

  “You don’t have your bag,” Jenks practically barked, and I leaned over the seat.

  “Then you had better find a light to park your ass on and be a lookout! I’m not going home to Getty and telling her I let you fall into an ill-prepared hibernation coma.”

  “Fine!” he yelled, sullen as he went to sit on Trent’s shoulder.

  Trent cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable as Jenks belligerently checked his garden sword before slamming it back into his scabbard.

  “Okay, then,” David said as he sent his window all the way down. I thought he was proving a point until he made a sharp whistle, following it up with a rolling motion.

  Immediately several heavily tattooed Weres jogged from the crowd, our headlights brightening against their jeans as they went not to us, but the I.S. cruiser parked at the curb.

  “A distraction,” I mused as I leaned farther over the seat. “Nice!”

  “On steroids,” David said in pride as two of the Weres engaged the officers, leaving a third to hop in behind the wheel and slam the door shut.

  The officers spun, but it was too late and the cruiser took off, lights and sirens blaring.

  “Tink’s a Disney whore. That was slicker than snot on a doorknob, Mr. Peabody,” Jenks said as the I.S. cruiser slowly outdistanced the furious agents.

  Lips quirked wryly, David slipped in behind the stolen vehicle and accelerated.

  “I like,” I said, settling deeper into the seat as we ran a red light. “Do you do weddings?”

  Jenks snickered, but Quen, clearly not amused or impressed, cracked his knuckles, the play of line energy dancing about them obvious.

  The last few blocks took less than a minute, but my tension returned tenfold when the ambient light suddenly brightened and our stolen escort slowed to a crawl.

  Fountain Square was packed. People made a living, moving, noisy wall, and when our escort whooped his siren and continued on, David double-parked so we could get out.

  “I’m not sitting in no bag,” Jenks muttered from Trent’s shoulder, and I reached for the door handle, suddenly unsure. My memories of being cuffed and dragged onto the stage were not that old, and whereas one person is hard to convince, a mob is ready to believe the worst.

  Trent gave my hand a squeeze and I got out. The wind from the river lifted through my blessedly clean hair, and I squinted up at Carew Tower. The noise was tremendous, sound rocking between the shaded buildings to build upon itself. Over it all, a woman onstage yelled through a bullhorn. I couldn’t understand her, but the crowd cheered at every other sentence.

  Trent took my elbow and led me to the curb as I gawked. Behind me, a tattooed Were dove into the cab and drove away, leaving us to melt into the crowd and avoid the I.S. officers still trying to recover their stolen cruiser.

  “Is that Lee with the woman with the bullhorn?” I said, and Jenks darted from Trent’s shoulder to check. “This is worse than the solstice,” I added, shouting to be heard.

  “We’ve got all three major demographics down here, not just one.” David frowned, his good mood tempered. So far it had been a mischief-and-annoyance campaign. Neither one of us wanted those looking to him to do more—but they would if pressed. It was up to me to see that it didn’t come to that.

  “It’s Lee,” Jenks said as he returned, his dust dull from the cold. The wind coming up from the river ripped away any heat that the streets might have held. This was not a good situation, but as I took a breath to say something, the pixy practically exploded. “God, woman!” he yelled, hands on his hips and dusting red. “I’ll find a light!”

  “Wait, Jenks?” I said as he darted off, and he came back, clearly frustrated. “Will you do something for me?” I asked, knowing he would risk his life if I didn’t get him to leave. “Will you find Doyle? He’s got to be out here. You own the church. You can request that he take a scraping of that wax pentagram. I want it tested against Lee’s aura on file.”

  Jenks’s angular face tightened. “You’re getting rid of me,” he muttered.

  “Bet your lily-white ass I am. Will you do it?”

  Hand on his sword hilt, Jenks scowled at Trent. “Keep her alive.”

  Trent lifted our laced fingers, and I stifled a shiver when our internal energy balances equalized. “With my last breath,” he said, and Jenks darted up, his dust an angry red.

  “Last breath?” I leaned to put my lips to his ear. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “He’s not happy,” Trent said as he tugged me protectively closer.

  “True, but he’ll be alive tomorrow.” Trent’s grip tightened as I went up on my toes, using him for balance as I tried to get a better view of the stage. Lee stood quietly beside the woman with the bullhorn. His coven regalia was impressive, the black robes fluttering about his ankles and a ribbon embroidered with a Möbius strip whipping about his neck. Four more people had taken to the stage, all dressed as he was. Brow furrowed, I dropped to my heels. The entire coven was here—well, apart from Vivian—and they were children.

  “Trent . . .” I said, worried, and then I stumbled, jostled by the crowd. Most coven members were born to the position, trained by their predecessors from an early age. I’d thought it odd that Vivian had asked Lee to be a coven member, but clearly the last few years of dealing with me, the demons, and Ku’Sox had taken their toll, and the members in waiting had been forced to step into vacant shoes—far too soon.

  Quen immediately stiff-armed the guy who’d knocked into me, staring at him until the man retreated, cowed by Quen’s toothy aggression. “They have yet to organize a circle,” Quen said, gesturing for us to put our backs against a large planter.

  “They will soon. The sun is almost down,” Trent said, but I wondered if that made any difference. It felt as if it might already be too late. The I.S. was at the outskirts, simply waiting. As soon as Finnis took control, they’d move. We had hours, maybe, and an entire city to convince I was not responsible for Vivian’s death.