Страница 38 из 114
"Moving them?" Jenks questioned, and I looked to where he was examining my handiwork, his fists on his hips as he hovered at the mended rack.
"Maybe," I said glumly.
His wings made a soft hum, and I swung my hair out of the way as he approached, but he landed on the counter instead. "If that gargoyle weren't up there, I'd say put them in the belfry."
A wince crinkled my eyes as I imagined the extreme temperatures. "He's in the belfry?"
Jenks lifted a shoulder and let it fall. "No, but he's on the roof beside the window. Tink's titties, I never see the thing move. One minute he's here, the next he's there, and when he's not asleep, I don't know where he is. At any rate, it might be better than putting them under your bed. Ivy said the guy who blessed the church said the belfry was super holy."
Super holy, eh? Maybe I should sleep up there. Worried, I pushed the books to the corner to make room for the rest of the under-counter stuff. "I don't know…." My nose tickled as I weeded through the stack of herbs I'd been messing with to modify an existing charm to give Ivy a measure of control over her blood lust. It wasn't going well. She didn't like trying them out, taking them on her dates so if it didn't work, I wouldn't have to fight her off. Nothing seemed to have an effect, and I wondered if she was really trying them or just telling me she was. Ivy didn't like my magic touching her, though she thought me blasting anyone else was cool.
Jenks dropped to land beside the curse books. His tiny features were worried as he watched me shake a sheaf of feverfew to get the tansy off it. "You aren't going to keep that, are you?" he asked, and I glanced up from picking cat hair off it.
"You don't think I should?"
"They aren't pure anymore." He kicked a dry stem, making little chips fall off. "You got pieces of rosemary on the coneflower, and coneflower seeds sticking to the dandelions. Who knows what they will do, especially if you're experimenting."
I looked at the pile of dried herbs thinking it would be a lot easier to just chuck it out the back door, but I was afraid that if I did that, I might simply give up. Adapting charms was hard. I could follow a recipe, but my mother was like a gourmet chef, and I had never appreciated that until I tried to do it myself. "Maybe you're right."
Mood souring, I shook out a brown paper bag and shoved a year's worth of gardening into it. The rasping sound cut through the silence, and I felt sick as I wadded the top of the bag down and jammed it all into the trash under the sink. Turning, I deemed the kitchen reasonably clean. The rack was empty, and I wondered if I should just give up on the charm for controlling Ivy's blood lust. Ivy wasn't helping, and it was really hard. Depressed, I slumped into my chair at the table.
"I don't know if I can do this, Jenks," I said, putting my elbows on the table and exhaling with a sigh. "My mother makes it look so easy. Maybe I'll get farther if I mix some ley line magic with the earth charms. I mean, ley line magic is mostly symbolism and word choice, making it more flexible."
Jenks's wings blurred into motion and stopped. Tossing his blond hair from his eyes, he frowned, almost sitting on the demon text and catching himself at the last moment, wings going full tilt. "Mix earth and ley line magic? Isn't that what makes a demon curse?"
Fear slid through me and away. "It won't be a demon curse if I invent it, will it?"
His wings drooped and he seemed to slump. "I don't know. Marshal's here."
I sat up and glanced over the kitchen. "How do you know?"
"He drives a diesel, and one just pulled up to the curb."
A smile curved over me. "He's got a diesel engine?"
Spilling a glittering path of dust, Jenks rose. "Probably needs it to pull his big-ass boat out of the water. I'll get the door. I want to talk to him."
"Jenks," I warned, and he laughed, halfway to the hall.
"About Al being after you. God, Rachel! I'm not your daddy."
I relaxed, then got to my feet and shoved the demon books under the counter, vowing to do some rearranging tomorrow when the sun was up. I heard the front door open before the bell even rang, and a masculine greeting filtered softly back to me in a way that sounded really…comforting.
"Is she all right?" came Marshal's soft query from the sanctuary, but I didn't hear Jenks's response. "No, that's cool," he added, clearly closer, and I spun to the hallway at the soft sound of the floorboards creaking and the smell of hot rice.
"Hi, Marshal," I said, glad to see him. "You made it."
Marshal had taken the time to get out of his interview clothes, and he looked good in jeans and a soft fla
I glanced at Jenks, wondering what he had told Marshal. I shrugged, arms wrapping around my middle. "I survived."
"Survived?" Jenks landed on top of the rolled-down bag. "We kicked that demon's ass from here to the Turn. Don't sell yourself short, Rache."
Marshal hung his coat on the back of Ivy's chair, pausing to watch Jenks manhandle the bag open. "I like your church," he said, gazing at the kitchen. "It suits you."
"Thanks." A flash of gratitude went through me. He didn't pry, didn't ask why a demon had been in my kitchen, didn't take my hand and peer into my eyes and ask me if I was okay and did I need to sit down, didn't tell me I was going to die young and that I should take up canasta instead. He accepted my explanation and let it go. I didn't think it was because he didn't care either. I think it was because he wanted to wait until I was comfortable and told him myself. And that meant a lot. Kisten had been like that, too.
I will not compare Marshal to Kisten, I thought as I got two plates and the tea bag caddy Jenks used as a dish. Ivy was out on a date. She was able to move on with her life. It would get better, but only if I tried. Only if I wanted it to. And I did. I didn't like being unhappy. I hadn't realized I had been until I started to feel good again.
"Where," Marshal said into the silence as he peered under the table, "did you get such a big pumpkin? It is a pumpkin, isn't it?" the man asked, and Jenks's wings increased their pitch. "It's not one of those squash that looks like a pumpkin?"
"It's a pumpkin," Jenks said, his pride clear. "I grew it myself between the Jamesons' plots and the Davaros statue. Out in the graveyard," he added, as if it wasn't obvious. "We're going to carve it tomorrow. Just me and the kids. Give Matalina a break."
Matalina gets a break, and I get pumpkin guts on my ceiling. I'm sure it would start sedately enough, but it wouldn't be long before they started Pumpkin Wars, the sequel.
"So-o-o-o," I said as I hung up the dishcloth. "How did your last interviews go?"
Marshal edged closer when Jenks got the bag open and the scent of sweet-and-sour came wafting out. "Great." He started removing takeout boxes, and I looked up, suddenly conscious that our shoulders were almost touching. "I got the job," he said when our eyes met, and I smiled.
"Marshal, that's great!" I exclaimed, then gave him a neutral swat on the shoulder. "When do you start?" I added, not looking at him as I turned to fuss with the food. Maybe that was too much.
The man backed up a step and ran a hand over the new stubble atop his head. "November first," he said. "But I'll be on salary, so I can go back and forth to sell the business if I need to until classes start up after the winter solstice."
Jenks gave me a warning look, and I scowled at him, bumping the table to make him jump when I went to get a couple of serving spoons. The scent of oil and gas blended with a witch's redwood smell, making Marshal seem like a yummy piece of northern exposure. He dressed differently from anyone I'd spent much time with, smelled different, and had somehow skipped that uncomfortable stage of awkwardness most of my dates had, slipping into my church like he belonged. Not that this was a date. Maybe that was why. I had invited him over without any thoughts of a possible relationship, and we both could relax. But I expected the easy companionship was mostly because he had helped Jenks and me when we had really needed it.