Black Magic Sanction (The Hollows 8)

Chapter Thirty-five

The scent of subgum rose from the softly steaming takeout box, filling the gray interrogation room at the FIB with the scent of steamed pea pods, sauteed mushrooms, and broccoli. My chopsticks were not the usual splintery pulpwood, but a nice set of olive wood. Apparently Glenn was a regular at whatever Asian eatery he'd placed the order. More than a regular, I'd imagine. The sticks were beautiful.

I wrangled a water chestnut into my mouth, jamming the sticks to stand straight up as I reached for the fortune cookie. I was never one to wait. The snap of the cookie breaking was familiar, and I smiled as I read, KEEP YOUR FRIENDS CLOSE, YOUR ENEMIES CLOSER.

Eating the entire cookie at one go, I pushed back from the scarred table, crossed my ankles, and gazed at the dirty ceiling as I chewed. I was dressed now in a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved top, patterned too brightly for my liking. Flip-flops kept my toes from the tile, and I was sporting brand-new blah underwear from the lockup downstairs. None of what I was wearing was mine, but it was clean and better than an orange jumpsuit. I didn't ask what had happened to the people who used to own these clothes. Someone had my red leather jacket.

I reached for the box of takeout and I rubbed my last demon mark, sore where Pierce's charm had burned me. My eyes drifted to Trent's statue, and I reached for it. Cripes, the thing was graphic. No wonder he hid it underground.

The knock at the door startled me, and I dropped it. Scrambling, I stood it upright. It was Jenks and Glenn, and I wiped my hands on my borrowed jeans as I saw the stack of paperwork in the FIB officer's hand. "Hi, Rache," the pixy said, doing a quick circuit and landing on the tips of my chopsticks, poking out of the takeout box, to enjoy the rising heat. "Trent's here. And the coven guy. Glenn's got your papers to sign first, though."

"Thanks, Jenks. Are you sure your wings are okay?"

Making a face, he sent them humming so fast that the dust from him rose high in a pixy-made draft. "Yeah, they're fine. Bastard I.S."

Glenn was smiling when he slapped the papers down on the table. "David is still stuck on the tarmac," he said as he handed me a pen, "but he had his brother fax everything here."

Nodding in understanding, I flipped to the first flag and signed with my first name, middle initial, and last name. "This is for the trial, yes?" I asked as I found the next flag.

"According to David," Glenn affirmed as I finished. "I won't file it unless you say so or go missing for more than three days." He glanced at Jenks, then me. "Rachel," he said, seeming to lose some of his professional polish, "I'm required by law to inform you that your proposed actions are both risky and prone to landing you in prison, permanently incarcerated if not worse - "

"It's all she's got, Glenn," Jenks said, rising up on a silver column of dust.

Hand raised, Glenn smiled. "Personally, I think it will work," he finished, and the pixy relaxed. "I don't know Oliver well enough to give an accurate estimation of what he might do, but if what you say is true, I think he'll go for it."

"He'll go for it," I said, worried. "Can I keep the paperwork here? Visual aids help."

Glenn nodded. "You signed two originals," he said as he took half the stack and tucked it under his arm. "If you're ready, I'll send them in." His gaze dropped to my dinner as I picked it up. "Good?" he asked.

"Delicious," I said, reaching for it. "Thanks, Glenn. For everything."

The man smiled wickedly. "Any time, Rachel. Have fun."

He left the door open, and I could hear Trent's beautiful voice in the hall. He was talking with Jonathan, and Jenks's wings clattered as my blood pressure rose. I hated the man. "Jenks," I said on impulse as I dug into my dinner. "You go, too."

"What?" Peeved, Jenks confronted me. "Why can't I stay?"

"If you're in here, Trent might want a witness, too. I don't want Jonathan with him."

The pixy turned in midair, hands on his hips. "I could do a little dusting," he said, and my lips curved up in a smile. Jonathan wouldn't know what hit him.

"You do that," I said, then drew back as Trent pushed the door open. Oliver was behind him, all bluster and huff. The two men gave Jenks a cautious look as the pixy laughed, darting out over their heads singing "London Bridge Is Falling Down."

Watching me, Trent shut the door with the tip of his shoe, and the silence of a sort-of-soundproof room soaked into me. "Please, sit down," I said to the two men, gesturing with my chopsticks. "I'm glad you agreed to see me. Do you want anything? Coffee? Subgum?"

Sitting on the green, thinly padded metal chair, Trent clasped his hands and rested them on his crossed knees. His face lacked all emotion, waiting. "No thank you." His eyes shifted from the paperwork to the statue, and I smiled. Thanks, Nick, even if you are a bastard. God! I couldn't believe he went behind my back to work a deal with Trent. On second thought, I could. And what was it with Trent not telling me he thought I might be able to do that elf trick of shifting realities using ley lines?

Oliver stood, his arms crossed. "You are a black witch," he started, his words harsh.

Going back to my subgum, I said mildly, "And the coven of moral and ethical standards is corrupt, having a demon-summoning black-arts practitioner among their number. You sure you don't want a coffee?"

"We do not!" the man exclaimed.

"Wrong!" Taking a breath, I jammed the sticks in the takeout box, thinking they looked too aggressive pointing at him like that. "Brooke tried to make a deal with me to put one of my demon children in her cradle and me off the lobotomy table intact and in her private army."

Oliver's round face looked horrified.

Trent unclasped his hands and tugged his sleeves. "Can we skip this part? I have an appointment in half an hour with the press."

His hand fumbling for the back of a chair, Oliver sat. I didn't think he'd known that. Good. Maybe he would listen to me. "Sure," I said slowly, answering Trent's question. "We can come back to it if we need to. Let me tell you what I want." I'm going to make a deal with two men who tried to kill me. Was I stupid or really smart? Sidereal didnt have a problem with it.

Oliver scoffed. "You're in jail. You're in no position to be asking anything."

Trent hid a smile, and I picked through my dinner to find a water chestnut. "I'm in jail because I choose to be. You don't think that performance in Fountain Square was anything other than to get the media's attention and you in front of me, do you? It's safe here, and the food's better than at Alcatraz." I looked up, allowing a sliver of my irritation to show. "Ever try it, Ollie? It's got this really tasty spice in the saturated fats."

Oliver frowned, and Trent interrupted with a brusque "Listen to the woman, or this will take all day. She'll make it quick, and then you can spout off all you want."

Expression cross, the witch leaned back in his chair, and I eyed Trent, thoughts of his Pandora charm and the deal with Nick making me tense. His words about me being honorable had been a surprise, and I'd swear he hadn't known about the bug before then. But lying was one of his skill sets. Bringing my conflicted gaze from Trent, I pointed my chopsticks at Oliver. "I want my shunning removed and the threats to my person stopped."

He huffed, tugging his sleeves, making his cuff links twinkle. "That action requires a full quorum, which we won't have until the next public meeting and we reestablish our number."

Public meeting... the witches' conference? Nice stall. "Give me something," I said, "or my next conversation will be with the press and it will come out that not only does a schism exist in the coven, but that some of you are corrupt and summon demons."

"We're not corrupt!" Oliver exclaimed, making Trent wince. "No one will believe you!"

My eyebrows rose. "Talk to Brooke lately?"

Oliver's bluster evaporated. Honestly, they needed to pick these people more carefully. He might be a crackerjack witch, but he was telegraphing his entire thought process, and my estimation of the coven dropped more.

"I didn't know what she was doing," Oliver said slowly. "And Vivian, as a minor coven member, had her hands somewhat tied. Brooke has been officially shunned, stripped of rank."

I dug into my subgum, saying, "Good thing she's in the ever-after, or you'd brick her in the ground alive, huh? Who'd ever think being a demon's lackey would be a good thing?"

Looking up, I caught Oliver's shocked look. "We will deny everything," he said, and Trent sighed loudly. "The words of a shunned witch are unheard!"

"How about the words of a coven member?" I asked. "I have a recorded conversation of Vivian telling me you did know of the attacks, that you were reassessing my case, and that action might be taken against my family if I didn't submit to chemically neutering my ability to have children and work magic. It's on my phone, Ollie. I think she's pissed you called her a liar."

The man looked aghast, and Trent cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the man's ineptness. I was kind of embarrassed, too, and I picked past the broccoli to find a squash slice. This was what our yearly dues bought?

"This is how it works," I said, trying not to sound irate. "I give you something, you give me something. We all go home happy." Seeing him silent, I added, "This is what is going to happen. If you don't rescind my shunning and agree to stop trying to kill me, I'm going to demand a fair trial of my peers, thanks to this pile of paperwork here. And the press running with the idea that the coven is corrupt means I'll get it. TV coverage, radio, everything."

Oliver was eying my papers, and I rested my hand on them protectively. "Even if you do manage to refute my claim that the coven is corrupt, the truth will come out that our history is based on ancient elf propaganda and our beginnings are rooted as stunted demons, the result of an elf curse. Ought to do wonders for our public image, both witches and elves." I glanced at Trent. "Not that anyone thinks they're still around, but hey, there it is. I'll probably end up in jail, but any time I want, I just talk to my demon teacher, and I'm out of there, leaving you to deal with the fallout."

"You wouldn't!" Oliver said, appalled. "It would mean genocide!"

"She would," Trent muttered, clearly not pleased I'd brought the elves into it.

"I will," I said, putting my dinner aside. "Thanks to you gentlemen, I've got nothing to lose. You put me in this place, and I'm going for broke. If I'm going to be persecuted solely on the basis of being a stepping-stone between witches and demons, then I'm taking you down with me." I glanced at Trent. His public persona was cracking, and he looked pissed. "And if you don't go along with it, Mr. Kalamack, I'll tell them how I got that way."

His focus on me sharpened. "My father saved your life," he said bitterly.

"Which doesn't give you the right to run it." Tired, I fingered the fortune cookie's advice. I didn't want to bring this up in front of Oliver, but why not? "Trent, I'd appreciate it if you would drop your attempts at trying to make me your property, okay? If you've got a problem you want help with, come talk to me. If you give me five minutes' notice, I'll even make sure the pixies are in the garden."

Trent uncrossed his legs, the rasping silk loud in the hush. "I didn't tell the coven, but I'll be damned if I don't capitalize on it. I am not anyone's familiar."

"Trent... ," I almost whined. "I'm not going to make good on that. Will you let it go?"

Brow furrowed, he leaned forward, flicking a glance at Oliver. "Listen this time. You claimed me. I don't care if you never enforce it. There is a mark on my shoulder. It matches yours. Get it annulled."

My hand crept up and touched it, hidden under someone else's shirt. Slowly my face became empty of emotion. He was right. The truth of the matter was, I'd been enjoying the little bit of power I had over him - like Al had over me. "You're right," I said, hating to admit it. "But I've been mad at you for a long time." I put my hand on the table and met his gaze. His green eyes were intent, fixed on me with frustration, irritation... but nowhere did I see the hatred in him that I had when he hammered my head into a tombstone and tried to choke the life out of me. Maybe it was time to stop taking enjoyment from making him angry and... grow up.

"Trent, I need to know," I said, gaze fixed on his. "The Pandora charm you gave me was modified to not break cleanly, and I almost suffocated. Is that what you intended?"

Trent frowned, and his gaze flicked to the hallway, where Jonathan waited. "No," he said, looking exceptionally pissed. "I apologize, and I'm taking care of it."

Feeling oddly satisfied, I leaned back in my chair. Jonathan. Son of a bitch. "Thanks," I said, believing him. I'd find out about the ley-line door later when Oliver wasn't around. I took a breath, gaze flicking to Oliver and back. "I'll ask Al how to break a familiar bond. If there's a way without hurting either of us, I'll do it. But you need to stop trying to make me your slave in all but name, okay? And maybe stop telling people I can invoke demon magic? Can you do that? Give me my life back?"

Head shaking, Trent leaned forward. "I never told anyone, Rachel. It wasn't me."

Oliver snickered. "It was Nick Sparagmos, children."