Every Which Way But Dead. Ким Харрисон

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      Still crying, she shook her head.

      Ivy was waiting for me when I turned back around. “She can’t stay here, Rachel,” the vampire said, her brow tight.

      “She’ll be fine,” I whispered, appalled that Ivy was ready to kick her out. “I’ll bring my old cot down from the belfry and set it up in the living room. I’ve got some old T-shirts she can wear until I take her shopping.”

      Jenks buzzed his wings for my attention. “Then what?” he said from the spigot.

      I gestured my frustration. “I don’t know. She’s much better already. She wasn’t talking half an hour ago. Look at her now.”

      We all turned, finding Ceri sobbing quietly and drinking her tea in small reverent sips as the pixy girls hovered over her. Three were plating her long, fair hair and another was singing to her.

      “Okay,” I said as we turned back. “Bad example.”

      Jenks shook his head. “Rache, I really feel bad for her, but Ivy’s right. She can’t stay here. She needs professional help.”

      “Really?” I said belligerently, feeling myself warm. “I haven’t heard of any group therapy sessions for retired demon familiars, have you?”

      “Rachel …” Ivy said.

      A sudden shout from the pixy children brought Jenks up from the spigot. His eyes went past us to his kids as they descended upon the mouse, who had finally made a dash for the living room and found itself in its own personal hell. “Excuse me,” he said, flitting off to rescue it.

      “No,” I said to Ivy. “I’m not going to dump her in some institution.”

      “I’m not saying you should.” Ivy’s pale face had started to color, and the ring of brown about her eyes was shrinking as my body heat rose and my blood grew warm, triggering her instincts. “But she can’t stay here. The woman needs normal, and Rachel? We aren’t it.”

      I took a breath to protest, then let it out. Frowning, I glanced at Ceri. She was wiping her eyes, the hand curled about her mug shaking to make rings on the surface of her tea. My eyes went to the pixy children arguing over who was going to get to ride the mouse first. It was little Jessie, and the tiny pixy screamed in delight when the rodent darted out of the kitchen with her on its back. In a blur of gold sparkles, all but Jih followed. Maybe Ivy was right.

      “What do you want me to do, Ivy?” I said, calming. “I’d ask my mom to take her in, but she’s a step away from being in an institution herself.”

      Jenks buzzed back. “What about Keasley?”

      Surprised, I looked at Ivy.

      “The old guy across the street?” Ivy said warily. “We don’t know anything about him.”

      Jenks landed on the sill beside Mr. Fish and put his hands on his hips. “He’s old and on a fixed income. What more is there to know?”

      As Ceri collected herself, I sifted the idea through my mind. I liked the old witch whose slow speech hid a sharp wit and high intelligence. He had stitched me up after Algaliarept had torn my neck. He had stitched up my will and confidence, too. The arthritic man was hiding something, and I didn’t think his real name was Keasley any more than I believed his story that he had more medical equipment than a small emergency room because he didn’t like doctors. But I trusted him.

      “He doesn’t like the law and he knows how to keep his mouth shut,” I said, thinking it was perfect. Eyes pinched, I looked at Ceri talking to Jih in soft tones. Ivy’s eyes were doubtful, and peeved, I pushed into motion. “I’m calling him,” I added as I motioned to Ceri that I would be right back and went into the living room for the phone.

       Three

      “Ceri,” Jenks said as I flipped the switch and got a pot of coffee going. “If tea makes you cry, you gotta try french fries. Come here, I’ll show you how to use the microwave.”

      Keasley was on his way over. It might take him a while since he was racked by arthritis so badly that even most pain charms wouldn’t touch it. I felt bad for pulling him out into the snow, but it would have been even more rude to descend upon his house.

      With an intentness I didn’t understand, Jenks perched himself on Ceri’s shoulder and talked her through the task of microwaving frozen french fries. She bent to watch the little carton spin, my pink slippers on her feet looking overly large and awkward. Pixy girls swirled around her in a whirl of pastel silk and chatter, mostly ignored. The unending noise had driven Ivy into the living room, where she was currently hiding with her earphones on.

      My head came up when the air pressure shifted. “’Ello?” came a strong raspy voice from the front of the church. “Rachel? The pixies let me in. Where are you ladies?”

      I glanced at Ceri, recognizing her sudden apprehension. “It’s Keasley, a neighbor,” I said. “He’s going to check you over. Make sure you’re healthy.”

      “I’m fine,” she said pensively.

      Thinking this might be harder than I thought, I padded in my sock feet into the hallway to talk to him before he met Ceri. “Hi, Keasley, we’re back here.”

      His hunched, wizened figure limped down the hallway, eclipsing the light. More pixy children escorted him, wreathing him in circles of sifting pixy dust. Keasley had a brown paper grocery bag in his hand, and he brought the cold scent of snow in with him, mixing pleasantly with a witch’s characteristic redwood scent. “Rachel,” he said, his brown eyes squinting up at me as he got closer. “How’s my favorite redhead?”

      “I’m good,” I said, giving him a quick hug and thinking that after outwitting Algaliarept, good was an understatement. His overalls were worn and smelling of soap. I thought of him as the neighborhood’s wise-old-man and a substitute grandfather figure all in one, and I didn’t mind that he had a past he wasn’t willing to share. He was a good person; that’s all I needed to know.

      “Come on in. I have someone I want you to meet,” I said, and he slowed with a wary caution. “She needs your help,” I said softly.

      His thick lips pressed together, and the brown wrinkles of his face deepened. Keasley took a slow breath, his arthritic hands making the grocery bag crackle. He nodded, showing me a thinning spot in his tightly curled, graying hair. Blowing in relief, I led him into the kitchen, holding myself back so I could see his reaction to Ceri.

      The old witch rocked to a halt as he stared. But upon seeing the delicate woman standing in pink fuzzy slippers beside the microwave in her elegant ball gown with a folder of steaming fries, I could understand why.

      “I don’t need a physician,” Ceri said.

      Jenks rose from her shoulder. “Hi, Keasley. You gonna check Ceri out?”

      Keasley nodded, limping as he went to pull out a chair. He gestured for Ceri to sit, then carefully lowered himself into the adjacent seat. Wheezing, he set his bag between his feet, opening it to pull out a blood pressure cuff. “I’m not a doctor,” he said. “My name is Keasley.”

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