The Witch with No Name

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Ivy whispered as I leaned into Red for leverage to tighten her cinch. “You deserve this, and I wanted to be here to see it.”

“Yeah, it’s your big day!” Jenks said, wings clattering. “Make-it-or-break-it time!” he said, gyrating wildly. “Time to crap or get off the pot!” he added, and Ivy shot him a look to shut up.

Excuse me? My motion to cinch Red’s saddle hesitated. “I suppose,” I said. I’d miss Ray, but Trent and I had been empty nesters before when both girls had been at school.

“He means this wedding is a big step,” Ivy said, glaring at him. “The demons and the elves formally joined and their war officially ended.”

“It took me forever to convince Dali to help with the vows,” I said, glad the grumpy demon had finally agreed to it, threats and promises aside.

“Tink’s last will and testicles, you should have been there, Ivy,” Jenks said, and Red flicked her ears, threatening to snap if he got any closer. “She laid down the law. Started every other sentence with ‘Look, you,’ and had a list a mile long just to get him to come.”

“You do what you have to do,” I said, smiling. Al had been there, and I swear I’d felt Newt’s laugh in my mind. I was smart enough not to tempt fate with trying to contact the Goddess directly. Newt was gone but not dead, her spirit showing itself when elven magic spun out of control and into something unexpected and not always nice.

“Jenks . . . ,” I protested as he teased Red, but Ivy just smiled and shrugged. Seeing Ivy happy was all I’d ever wanted, and she was happy. What would happen when she died was anyone’s guess, which was probably why Ray was an expert in auratic physics and Lucy had focused on business law with a heavy slant toward vampiric living wills and trusts.

“I still say I should be with the elven emissary and Dali in the woods wearing this rag,” a low, cultured voice with a hint of a British accent said, and I started, not having felt Al pop in. “My God, it still smells like wolf. You’re looking well, Ms. Tamwood.”

Ivy’s eyes slid to Al as the demon brushed at the wolf pelt he wore over his extravagant suit. It almost rivaled Takata’s in marks for “Look at me! I don’t care that you’re staring!” the fabric almost glowing from silver threads and dark dyes.

“And you look ridiculous,” Ivy said, making Jenks snort in agreement.

“It is the required uniform.” But still, he winced as he took off his hat and hunched, pleading with me. “Rachel, love, talk to Ray. Tell her this is undignified. It’s a wolf skin, and not a very big one. She said she’d turn my ears to snakes if I took it off.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have taught her that curse,” I said, remembering getting that call at three in the morning. It was the last sleepover Ray had been invited to. Mothers of fourteen-year-olds have no sense of humor.

“She listens to you!” Al protested, and Ivy let go of Red when the horse got a whiff of Brimstone and tossed her head.

“Al, just wear it,” I said. “And get your ass back out with the wedding party. You’re going to make them late coming in.”

“I will not,” he said stiffly, frowning as Ivy gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Quen has my steed. I have plenty of time to pop back. Listen, they haven’t even found her yet.”

It was true. The hounds still bayed, and I shivered. I’d asked Trent to forgo that part, but Ray had insisted. The dogs wouldn’t be allowed to follow them back to the glen, though.

“See you at the reception,” Ivy said, turning to stand right in front of Al until he moved out of her way.

“Damn cheeky vampires,” he grumbled as he moved. “Thinks she owns the world.”

I soothed Red before reaching for her bridle. “She’s in love,” I said softly. “She does own the world.”

Al was silent, and I turned to see him staring at me, the wolf pelt hanging half off his shoulders. “You took your hair down,” he said, his voice shifting, deeper and less flamboyant. “Is that for your elf?”

“No.” The pelt was slipping off his shoulder, and I stood before him and tugged it straight. “Jumoke’s kids took Ray’s cap, and I gave her mine.” He wasn’t jealous—not really.

“I suppose if you have stood with him this long against all the forces of nature opposing you that you’d be afraid to do anything . . . else?” Al said, his tone rising in question at the end.

Jenks’s wings clattered in warning that I was going to be late, but it was Al who grimaced. “I’m not afraid of anything except missing my cue,” I said. “Will you just wear the pelt?” I grumped as I adjusted it. “It’s only for an hour. Pretend that it’s a job. I’ve seen you wear worse.” A horn blew, and I frowned. Damn it, I was late.

“It’s undignified!” Al moaned, his usual mood restored.

Jenks’s wings shivered against my neck. I hadn’t even felt him land. “This coming from the demon who let a live Tyrannosaurus rex eat him so he could blow him up from the inside during the last ten minutes of the film?”

Al frowned. “I do my own stunts. It was in the script.”