"They're the ones who blew your cover, aren't they," I said, thinking back to his words-no, his threat-to Vivian. "They gave you to that vampire. Why?"

He turned, straightening when he realized I was watching him. "We disagreed."

Because you do black magic? I'm so surprised. "Disagreed? They bricked you in the ground," I said, but instead of becoming angry, he chuckled, stretching his legs out under the table, looking nothing like himself as he unb.u.t.toned his vest and relaxed. "Disagreed? They bricked you in the ground," I said, but instead of becoming angry, he chuckled, stretching his legs out under the table, looking nothing like himself as he unb.u.t.toned his vest and relaxed.

"Yes, they did, but here I am. Go to sleep, Rachel."

I slumped farther into the couch to breathe in his scent, lingering in the cushions. "Do you think you can get them to leave me alone?" I asked, eyes closing.

"Not likely," he said, his soft voice clear over the sounds of someone's music coming through the walls. "As you say, they did brick me in the ground."

Snuggling deeper under the afghan, I yawned as I listened to a car beep in the street below. "You're just like me. Nothing but trouble," I murmured, slurring.

"My apologies?" he said, making me smile at the simple sound of it.

I wasn't thinking anymore, and I had to shut my mouth. "Good night, Pierce," I said around another yawn, unable to stop myself.

"Good night, mistress witch." But as I drifted off, I could have sworn I heard him add softly, "We should have taken the bus."

The scent of brewing coffee stirred me into a half-awake, half-asleep haze. I hung there, warm and content, feeling yarn under my chin. I liked warm and content, but it had been so long since I'd been such that its very presence was a warning.

Taking a deep breath, I shrugged out of my sleep, sitting up in a smooth motion and holding Nick's afghan to me. Nick's place, Nick's place, I thought as my pulse slowed and I listened to the ticking of the four clocks. The blinds were night gloomed, and the plants in the corner of the kitchen were bright under hot spotlights. I'd slept for hours. My attention went to the kitchen table, finding Pierce's coat and vest draped over the chair-but no Pierce. I thought as my pulse slowed and I listened to the ticking of the four clocks. The blinds were night gloomed, and the plants in the corner of the kitchen were bright under hot spotlights. I'd slept for hours. My attention went to the kitchen table, finding Pierce's coat and vest draped over the chair-but no Pierce.

Instinct turned me to find him standing before the shelf of old books in a spotlight in the otherwise dim room. Faint rhythmic thumps told me the strip club was in full swing, but it was pleasant, sort of like a giant heartbeat. The dagger that Nick had placed on the high shelf was balanced across Pierce's palms, and the greenish-black haze covering it extended up almost to his elbows. It was his aura, and he must be doing something very powerful to make it visible like that. Even so, he probably wasn't seeing it. Auras were like that. I couldn't see mine either, apart from a reflection when I made a circle or threw a chunk of ley-line energy at someone. I had no idea what he was doing, but it looked like he was using a ley line.

"I listened to you wake," Pierce said to the books, not turning. "Hearing that makes a body feel powerfully content. I mean... it was nice?"

The glow about his hands flickered, then renewed itself. Smiling, I put my sock-footed feet on the floor and stretched before I wedged my boots back on. The thought to phone Ivy and Jenks rose and fell. If there was a change, they'd call.

"Nice," I affirmed around a yawn. It seemed odd that here, in Nick's place, I'd be able to find the rest that comes only from feeling safe, but I did. Or had, maybe. The thief had more safeguards than a paranoid psychic with delusions of grandeur. I couldn't help but wonder what Pierce thought of me after seeing my ex. Not that I cared, but Nick was slime. Embarra.s.sed, I eyed Pierce for any signs of distance.

Pierce looked absorbed as he stood before the books with that knife balanced across his hands and his brown shoes edging the spotlight. He had pulled his shirttails from his trousers, and a faint stubble was starting to show. It was the first time I'd ever seen him disheveled. "You look comfortable," I said, and he sighed.

"No one slicks up anymore," he breathed. "Why should I?"

It didn't sound like him at all, and rising, I went to the window, shifting the blinds to see that some of the cars had their lights on. "Trent dresses up," I said, letting the blind's slat click shut and turning. "Did you sleep at all?"

Still facing the books, Pierce rubbed his bristly chin. "Are you going to call Al?"

I nodded. I had a couple of hours before the sun would set in San Francisco. Time enough to call Al and try to convince him to make good on our deal. But what I really was, was hungry. "How come you look so rested?" I asked as I came alongside him, and the green glow about his hands went out. "You couldn't have had much sleep."

"Perhaps because I made a die of it for so many years I don't need as much."

Eying him, I carefully took the knife off his hands. The tarnished metal was warm, feeling almost like putty, but the sensation quickly faded until it was just cold silver. "This is nasty," I said as I tried to piece together the words engraved around the handle. "What does it say?" Pierce hesitated, and my eyes narrowed. "Don't expect me to believe you can't read it."

With an odd expression, the man shifted uncomfortably as I caught him thinking about lying to me. "It's a delicate matter," he finally said, and I put one hand on my hip, the other carelessly holding the knife askew. "I won't say the words," he said, gaze following the knife as I shifted it about. "I'm not skeerylike, but it's arcane, black magic. I'm not of a mind to... know for sure what it does. The charm is long spent."

I squinted at him, weighing his words against his body language. I mean, he knew I knew he worked black magic. Did he think I couldn't take it? Whatever it it was? "What were you doing with it, then," I asked, waving the knife around just to irritate him, "if the spell is gone?" was? "What were you doing with it, then," I asked, waving the knife around just to irritate him, "if the spell is gone?"

Frowning, he gently grasped my wrist and took the knife. "Ley-line magic in good silver will leave a whisper of the spell after it is spent," he said, eyes on the dagger, not me. "If one is powerful delicate, applying a breath of ley-line potency into the charm can sometimes fill the channels again and bring it back to full stamina. Too much will destroy it, but if enough fills the spell before it overflows, one can make a fist of it. I've a fine enough touch, but I'm not eager to try lest I leave Nick with such an ugly thing."

Curious, I took the knife back, holding it with the right amount of respect. "You just direct a trickle of energy into it? You don't even need to know how to do the original charm?"

"That's the whole pie of it, yes." Pierce took the knife from me again and set it where Nick had left it, out of my easy reach. "It's enough to worry a man that Nick, a mere wizard, has it."

I frowned. If I wanted to look at the knife, I would. "Yeah, well, Nick has a lot of stuff he shouldn't, doesn't he?" I said, and Pierce glanced at the broken trunk. "My dad never told me that," I said to distract him. "About the imprint left on an object."

Pierce nodded. "It's not known to many, and your father was human."

I started, not having told him about that chunk of drama in my life, but then I remembered he'd been there in spirit. There probably wasn't much that had happened in the church in the past year that he didn't know about. And yet... he was here, standing in front of me, his shirt open to show pale skin, stubble on his face, and hair all over and tousled.

d.a.m.n it.

"Are you hungry?" Pierce asked, and I turned to the dimly lit kitchen. "Nick won't be back until long after candle lighting."

Candle lighting. I remembered that one. He meant dusk. "Famished." I flicked on the kitchen light and looked for the bathroom. "Can you hold that thought?"

Leaving Pierce to figure out what I meant, I shut the bathroom door behind me and hoped he couldn't hear as I took care of business. G.o.d, why did I even care if he might know I'd flushed the toilet, but I slumped when I caught sight of myself in the age-spotted mirror above the tiny white sink.

There were circles under my eyes, and I looked tired despite the sleep. My hair was a mess, and when I used Nick's brush, it only made it frizz out all the more. I contemplated taking my pain amulet off but decided I might need it if I was summoned out and had to fight, so I let it stay tucked under my shirt. The black camisole had been fresh this morning, and the jeans were probably good for another day. Eventually, though, I'd have to risk going home for a change of clothes and a toothbrush or spend a couple of hours at the mall.

How had I gotten here? Shunned and on the run from the coven, unable to go home for a change of undies. What scared me the most was that the coven didn't have to work within the law, or at least they felt they didn't. Maybe I should call Glenn and see if there was a warrant out for my arrest? That would be good news, because if there was, then they couldn't just pack me quietly away in a closet. Okay, so my kids being demons was a problem, but shouldn't the entire witch community have a say in whether I should be shoved in a hole or just castrated?

"Thanks, Trent," I whispered as I cleaned Nick's brush. Dropping the fistful of his and my hair into the sink, I set it alight with a word of Latin. None of this would have happened if Trent hadn't told the council what his dad's tinkering with my mitochondria had done.

I'd been born with a common genetic "defect" that should've killed me before I was two. Thousands of witches were. The truth was that Rosewood syndrome was really an ancient elven biological-warfare device that kicked in when a witch able to invoke demon magic was born.

Turns out the elves had cursed the demons first, causing their children to be born stunted in their ability to do magic. Abandoned by demons as inferior, ancient elves called us witches and told us lies, recruiting us for what magic we retained to help them in their war. They couldn't get rid of the gene that enabled us to invoke demon magic without removing all our ability to do magic, and occasionally it recombined to full strength; hence the little genetic bomb they hooked into our DNA to kill us when the demon enzyme showed.

When Trent's dad tinkered enough, such that I could survive having the demon enzyme, he'd unknowingly fixed what his species had broken. Trent's claim that he hadn't told the coven was c.r.a.p, especially when the lie that he could control and destroy me followed it.

"Rachel?" came a worried call from the door, and I looked up from the bit of ash that was left of my hair. That and a really nasty stench.

"I'm fine!" I called back. "Just getting rid of potential focusing objects."

I heard his pleased mmmm, then his steps retreated. I ran the water a long time, cleaning the basin until there was not even a hint of ash. Forcing a smile, I came out to find Pierce at the stove. "Nick said there were eggs," he said, making an odd picture of domesticity as he turned with a spatula in his hand, "but I was of the mind you'd prefer hotcakes."

A splatter of batter marked his shirt, and my smile became real. Eggs gave me migraines, but there wasn't enough of them in pancakes to matter. "Fabulous," I said as I took one of the cups of coffee waiting on the faded table. "Is this mine?" I asked, and he nodded, expertly flipping the pancake to land back in the pan.

Three pancakes were already waiting in the oven, their scent covering up the reek of burning hair. "I've never made coffee before," he said, repositioning the pancake in the pan. "Not in that fashion. But I've seen you do it enough. Is it... okay?"

I took a sip, grinning as I remembered his drinking my mom's too-strong coffee in an effort to impress me the night we'd met. "It's good. Thanks. You've got batter on your shirt."

Pierce looked down, dropping everything with a mild oath and dabbing at it with the damp corner of a dish towel. There was no maple syrup in the microwave, but a bottle of corn syrup was warming in a pan on the stove. The table, too, was set, so as Pierce fussed over his shirt, I went to Nick's dresser, wondering what he'd shoved in it before he left.

Another mild cuss word drifted through the apartment, and Pierce gave up on the spot. "Do you trust him?" he asked, knowing what I was thinking as I stood before Nick's dresser.

My jaw clenched, and my head started to pound. "Not where it counts."

"Then look."

Why not? I set my mug down and opened the drawer. Lying atop Nick's socks and tighty whities was my splat gun. "Hey!" I exclaimed, reaching for it only to curl my fingers under before they could touch it. "It's my splat gun," I said, face burning. He must have lifted it from Vivian in Junior's coffeehouse, but why hadn't he returned it to me? I set my mug down and opened the drawer. Lying atop Nick's socks and tighty whities was my splat gun. "Hey!" I exclaimed, reaching for it only to curl my fingers under before they could touch it. "It's my splat gun," I said, face burning. He must have lifted it from Vivian in Junior's coffeehouse, but why hadn't he returned it to me?

Pierce leaned from the stove to see me. "Testing you? To see if you're trustworthy?"

Either that, or he wanted it for himself. "I guess I just got an F, then," I said, hefting my splat gun before I jammed it at the small of my back where it made an uncomfortable b.u.mp. Under the gun was a handful of ticket stubs, receipts, and handwritten notes on napkins. I peered closer, spotting a day pa.s.s to the zoo's off-hours runners' program. With a finger, I shifted a few things, not seeing a pattern to it-apart from everything being from places I frequented. "He's been watching me," I said, figuring it out. "Not lately," I added, seeing the dates, "but he has."

The oven opened, and I heard a plate sc.r.a.pe on the faded table. "Come and eat while it's warm," he called, sounding angry but willing to let me handle it.

Jaw clenched, I picked the bits of my life out from between his socks and dropped them on the dresser. I was taking the gun. I may as well let him know I looked at everything. Slamming the drawer shut, I stomped to the table and sat down, exhaling to get rid of my tension. The gun was uncomfortable, and I put it on the table, not caring if it looked funny next to the domesticity of plates and pancakes.

"Don't worry about it," I said as I put my napkin on my lap. I couldn't meet his eyes as I poured the corn syrup over the very brown, almost burnt, pancakes. They were kind of tough to cut with my fork, but when I took a bite... "Hey, these are good," I said, feeling the different texture on my tongue. "This isn't from a box."

Pierce smiled as he sat across from me. "No. The fixings were here. Nick has more than eggs and beer, though he might know naught about what to do with them. I've made a feast on less than he has in his icebox. Uh, fridge," he amended, frowning.

He saw me look at the patch of skin at his neckline, and his smile deepened, becoming almost devilish, which for some reason made me flush. I'd seen him naked in the snow at Fountain Square; why this little bit of skin was so eye catching was beyond me. G.o.d! I was not not going to going to do do this. Pierce was off-limits. End of story. Not going to happen. Blow the ship up and maroon the crew on Celibate Island. this. Pierce was off-limits. End of story. Not going to happen. Blow the ship up and maroon the crew on Celibate Island.

Pulling the plate closer, I started shoveling it in, the clicks of my fork mixing with the ticking of the four clocks. I glanced at one like Cinderella, wondering if I was going to be jerked across the continent when the sun fell below the West Coast horizon. True, Nick was here-unless he'd hopped a plane back to San Francis...o...b..t lots of people knew Al's summoning name. The council had deep pockets. Not to mention an island full of demon summoners. Dangle a get-out-of-jail-free card in Alcatraz, and I bet someone would jump at it.

My chewing slowed, and elbow on the table, I eyed Pierce past my hanging fork, worried. This wouldn't be a problem if I could line jump. "How hard is it to travel the lines?" I asked him, and he sighed. "Give me a break, okay? I'm tired of being dragged around."

"I like coming to your rescue," he said. "You're such an independent filly. It does a man good to know he's needed-upon occasion. No. Al said not to teach you."

"Oh, I thought you did what you wanted?" I said, and he chuckled, knowing I was trying to goad him into it.

Head c.o.c.ked, I put down my fork and leaned back with my coffee, a silent statement that I'd not eat any more of his pancakes until he talked to me. My eyes went to the clock on the stove, and back to him. Newt had said it took a long time to learn, and apparently a gargoyle was involved. "Bis said you used him to hear the lines," I prompted.

Pierce's smile faded, and he eyed me from around the loose curls hanging in his eyes. "You're going to get me in trouble with Al," he muttered, gaze dropping.

"So? You got me in trouble with him. Teach me," I dared him.

"I can't," he said as he hid behind a sip of coffee. "Only a gargoyle can teach you how to listen to the lines, and none has the learning anymore."

Listen? That was curious. "You taught Bis in a day," I prompted.

He didn't even look up from shoving food in his mouth. "Bis is a gargoyle. If you could see ley lines in your mind, you could master it in a day as well."

Stymied, I fiddled with my fork. "Fine. I'll ask Bis the next time I see him."

Alarm made Pierce tense. "He's not skilled enough to teach you. He's a baby."

"Nice of you to notice. That didn't seem to bother you when you used him to find me."

Grimacing, Pierce set his fork down. "I know how to jump, Rachel," he said, a touch of irritation in his voice. "Bis was safe with me. A very old gargoyle taught me before she made a die of it. I think she only taught me because she knew she wouldn't last the winter. And before you go climbing any steeples, demons killed every last free gargoyle who retained the knowledge of line jumping when the elves migrated to reality."

"That's convenient," I said, and his brow furrowed.

"No, that's a fact. The only reason the gargoyle who taught me survived was because they thought she was too young to know."

He was starting to look angry, and I wedged a triangle of pancake free. They were too good to boycott. "You could try try to teach me," I said, pitching my voice high. to teach me," I said, pitching my voice high.

Pierce glanced up and down, making a little huff of amus.e.m.e.nt. "I'll allow you're smart as a steel trap, but it's not book learning, it's learning on one's own hook that gets you there and back. And for that, you need a gargoyle. An experienced one."

Peeved, I stared at him, waiting. Pierce ate three forkfuls, each one getting a harder stab than the one before. My foot began to bob.

Making a rude noise, Pierce pushed his plate aside. "It takes a body a year of line theory to even hope-"

"So give me the basics," I interrupted. "Something to chew on. Al won't object to that. I mean, you're not teaching me anything. Just talking shop."

Taking a slow breath, Pierce brought his coffee into his hands, holding it to warm his fingers as he gathered his thoughts. "I've heard it said that a body would do well to think of time much like a stream, and we are flotsam, buoyed along," he finally said, and a surge of antic.i.p.ation brought me straight up in my chair.

"Got it," I said as I stuffed another triangle in my mouth. "Next big idea," I mumbled.

Pierce's eyebrows rose. "Now you're being evil," he accused, and when I smiled and shrugged, he took a last bite from his plate. "The ever-after is said to have found its beginning when a considerable calamity struck across time, splashing a chance amount over the banks, as it were." He hesitated; then as if I wouldn't believe him, he added, "It's not really a bank, more like a straw, the insides held within it by the same fixative that holds the stars to the heavens."

I scrunched my face up, trying to put that into modern terms. "Uh, gravity?" I guessed, then added, "What makes things fall down but keeps the moon up?"

His eyes going wide, Pierce blinked at me. "To put it in a pie, yes. It's gravity, and a potency I'm constrained to call... sound?"

I licked corn syrup off my finger, wondering how sound had anything to do with gravity, s.p.a.ce, or anything.

"Old sound?" Pierce tried again. "The word of G.o.d, some say."

Word of G.o.d. Old sound. I'm not getting this. "Oh!" I exclaimed, brightening. "Sound! Like the big bang that started the universe!" "Oh!" I exclaimed, brightening. "Sound! Like the big bang that started the universe!"

"Explosions have naught to do with it," he said quizzically, but I waved my fork at him.

"Some people think the universe started with a big explosion," I said. "And everything is still moving away from it. They say s.p.a.ce is still ringing from the bang like a big bell, but we re so small we can't hear it. Like us not being able to hear all the sounds elephants make."

He didn't look convinced. "Do tell. Students of the arcane, ah, some people believe that such drops of time that are flung near enough slip back like water drops, leaving a body with the sensation of deja vu, but if they are large enough and are flung far enough apace, they're constrained to dry up and vanish, leaving unexplained lost civilizations."

His eyes were alight. I'd seen that look on college students debating such ridiculous stuff as how the world would be today if Napoleon hadn't stirred that misaligned spell and won Waterloo, or if the Turn had never happened and we'd gone to the moon instead. "Okay, I got that," I said, and Pierce pushed from the table to take his plate to the sink.

"Are you sure?" he asked as he worked the taps and squirted soap into the empty batter bowl. He must have seen Ivy and me do it a hundred times.

"I saw a movie about it once," I said, and he turned to me, eyebrows high.

"You are a clever woman, Rachel, but I'm not sure you comprehend the complexity," he offered over the sound of running water. But at my frown, he cautiously took my empty plate as I extended it and continued. "The ever-after is believed to have its origins in such a calamity," he said as he rolled up his sleeves to show nicely muscled arms, darker than that spot of skin at his throat. "It was orchestrated by the demons to kill the majority of the elven population during their yearly gathering. An almighty span of time was spelled from its course, landing it too far to rejoin yet being so considerable that it didn't vanish straight on, lingering enough such that the no-account makers of the curse could return full chisel to reality, leaving the elves to make a most horrible die of it."

"Demons," I said, and Pierce nodded. Demons and elves. Why did it always come back to them fighting their stupid war?

"Demons," Pierce agreed. "Upon banishing the elves, they flung themselves back to reality, their tracks scarring time and making ley lines."

"Demons made the ley lines?" I interrupted, surprised, and he nodded.

"And such was their downfall, for not only did the lines continue to funnel potency, ah, energy, into the ever-after and keep it from vanishing, as they had schemed, but it also fixed the demons to the very place they sought to escape. I'll allow the elves must have rejoiced for their continuing lives, even banished as they were, until the sun rose and the same demons who'd cursed them were flung back, trapping all together in an almighty wrathy state."