Page 29 of Demon's Bluff

Ivy had brought the leftoverpizza, still in its box, in case we wanted to play pizza delivery to get into Elyse’s bungalow. Cold or not, it smelled delicious, and I nibbled a crust down to nothing as we sat in the curbside parking and waited for Bis to return from his recon. The narrow two-story had a postage-stamp yard, but it was more elaborately landscaped than the others in the old-school neighborhood. If I had to guess, I’d say it was the original show home to help the developer sell as-yet unrestored properties.

The area was quiet despite the plethora of cars parked on both curbs, having a busy nightlife just a street over with eateries, a niche market, and a couple of trendy bars. Clearly the developers were taking a page from the Detroit rebuild and were trying to create a small-town feel in a large metropolis by keeping the buildings low and fostering a mix of chic commerce and residences. Which, when you broke it down, was really an old idea given new life. More to the point, it was working to keep property values high by restoring much of Cincy’s old architecture. Unfortunately, until there were more of these “recovered” neighborhoods, everyone wanted to be here and the bars were servicing more than the small community. Parking was dear.

Ivy jumped at the thump on the roof, her pale hands on the wheel tensing at the sliding hiss of wings as Bis craned his neck to look into the car. The cat-size gargoyle’s red eyes were eager, and his pebbly black skinonly made the white tufts on his ears and tail stand out all the more. His great leathery wings were extended for balance, and he beat them once when he slipped off the roof and lurched to find a perch on the open window like a drive-in-eatery tray.

I’d felt his presence before he had landed, and that our mental link was slowly returning was a huge relief. Maybe in a decade or so it would again be strong enough that he could teach me to jump the ley lines and I wouldn’t be so damned vulnerable.

“I didn’t go in,” the gargoyle said, now a rosy pink for having slipped. He was only fifty, barely old enough to be out from under his parents’ watchful attention. That he had bonded himself to me was an honor, but I was scared to death that I’d fail him. As usual, he wasn’t wearing any clothes. He didn’t need them, being able to create his own heat at will. He was lightweight despite his stony mien and could triple his size and weight by absorbing water much as a bridge troll did.

“The TV is going,” Bis added, angling his white-tufted ears to the townhome. “Elyse isn’t there, though. It’s a little boy. Maybe ten?”

I glanced at Ivy as Bis’s great claws carefully pinched the open window. “Elyse has a kid?” I guessed, immediately dismissing it. She was only twenty herself—best case.

“Brother, maybe,” Ivy said, her focus going distant in thought.

My brow furrowed as I had second thoughts as well. Our assumption that the coven would be waiting for me at the offices seemed right, but we hadn’t planned on a kid being here. Violating the sanctity of her home, as temporary as it was, didn’t feel like an option anymore.

“I don’t know about this,” I said, fiddling with the transposition stone around my neck. I had spent some time wrapping it in a copper wire and attaching it to a lanyard, and the strand of black gold was cool in my fingers.

Bis’s tail curved around his feet, the tip twitching. “He’s asleep in front of the TV with a spell book. I think it’s the one you want.”

I heaved a sigh, torn. If the kid wasn’t there, it would be a no-brainer. But a small part of me wondered what a ten-year-old was doing reading ademon text. “I don’t want to scare anyone,” I said, looking at my bag with its splat gun. “Or be seen.”

Ivy reached for the door handle. “You need the spell to recover Kisten.” As if that was all there was to it, she pushed open the door with her foot, grabbed the pizza box, and got out, shutting the door hard. “It’s not breaking and entering if they open the door,” she said through the open window.

Bis grinned. “That’s unlawful entry,” he said, and with one wing pulse, he was in the air.

Uneasy, I grabbed my bag and got out. “It’s still breaking and entering if it involves coercion or deceit,” I grumbled as we crossed the street. “The place was supposed to be empty.”

“Relax, I do this all the time.” Ivy’s boot heels clicked smartly. “I ring the bell, you hit him with a sleepy-time charm. I catch him. He’ll be fine. No drama, no trauma.”

Perhaps,I thought, head up as I fumbled in my bag for my cherry-red splat gun. I hadn’t counted on leaving a witness, much less a minor, and I wondered at Ivy’s zeal. She was usually overly protective of kids.But this is about Kisten,I realized. The way she probably saw it, the coven was withholding Kisten’s resurrection from her.

A gust of wind blew an escaped strand of hair into my face as Bis hovered over us. “I’ll get the camera,” he said, gravelly voice eager—and then he was gone until his black shadow clung like a bat to the peak of the roof and he tilted the camera away from the steps. It wasn’t as slick as when Jenks put them on a loop, but it worked.

Confident and sure, Ivy strode up the front steps and rang the buzzer. “Maybe you should…” she suggested, making a nod toward the shrubbery by the door, and I slid out of sight.

That ugly feeling rose at the sound of light feet inside. It was too late to change our plan, though, as the door opened to show a kid dressed in a pair of jeans and a Howlers’ hoodie.

“Ah, I didn’t order a pizza,” he said, his high voice holding a questioning lilt. “You have the wrong house.”

From the other side of the door, Bis pantomimed shooting him, but he was ten, and I was not happy with this.

Sighing, Ivy looked at the box as if reading a label. “Is this 12A Walnut Street, Mount Arrie?”

The kid rocked back. “Right street, wrong subdivision. This is Circle Bluffs.”

Ivy’s lip twitched in annoyance, probably because I hadn’t shot him yet. “It’s cold, anyway,” she said, buying time for me to move. “You want it?”

“That’s from Piscary’s, isn’t it?” he said, his eagerness sounding nothing like a ten-year-old, and then he hesitated, his mood becoming suspicious. “You’re not a witch. Why do I smell witch?”

Bis winced, and I stepped forward. “Because she’s with me,” I said, and the kid’s breath caught. If he was ten, he was a small ten, black hair and hazel eyes. Slim.

“Morgan!” the kid blurted, shocking all three of us. “I knew it!” he crowed as if pleased.

Ivy moved, eerily fast as she took a step forward and shoved him inside. “Quiet, Junior,” she said as the kid pinwheeled over the threshold, his shock melting into anger.

He knows me?I followed Ivy in and shut the door. Bis was a white shadow on the ceiling, having shifted his color to remain unnoticed. Stumbling, the boy caught his balance and stood in the hallway as if to bar our way.

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