A Perfect Blood

Come smell this! It stinks!” Shaking his head, he dropped his voice and added, “Why the hell would I want to smell something if it stinks?”
    I put my forearms on the counter and loomed over him. “Seriously. Wine and salt?”
    Eyeing me, he stood, walking over and making a big show of smelling it. “Yeah,” he finally said, and my heart gave a thump. “Once you get past the meadow.”
    “Thanks,” I said, and he went back to his dinner, his attitude cautious. Wine and salt . . . Motions slow, I set the hair aside and dropped one strand into the cooled liquid before adding the egg white and the fairy dust. All that was left was my blood to kindle it. I was afraid to try. It might not work, and it wasn’t as if I could do the demon equivalent anymore.
    My gaze dropped to the counter, as if I could see through it to the shelf where I kept my demon books next to my missing scrying mirror. I’d lost it and never replaced it since I didn’t need the interdimensional chat charm if I was playing dead to the demons.
    That’s when it clicked.
    Scrying mirror. Someone was trying to make a scrying mirror into a calling glyph. But to do that, they’d need demon blood.
    Shit.
    I gripped the counter, feeling my face go cold and wavering, as if I’d moved too quickly. That’s what HAPA was doing. This wasn’t merely a scare tactic and hate crime. They were trying to duplicate demon blood in order to perform curses. The mutilated corpses the I.S. had found were their attempts to turn a witch into a demon.
    “Oh my God . . .” I whispered, and Ivy and Glenn both looked up, their expressions holding curiosity as well as banked heat. HAPA wanted a little magic of its own, and since demons were considered tools, they didn’t have a problem using demon magic.
    “You want to share with the class, Rache?” Jenks said, and I tried to find my voice.
    “The blood analysis,” I said softly, holding the counter to keep from swaying. “Ivy, what does it say about the magic-enzyme levels?”
    Ivy shifted a few inches from Glenn as she reached for it, crossing her knees as she rocked back in the chair. “ ‘Blood composition in all the victims show elevated levels, progressively worse with each victim.’ ” She slowly blinked, her eyes going blacker as she sensed my dread. “Is that important?”
    I nodded. “If they started from someone with naturally high levels of those enzymes, everything would go faster. Does it say if they are carriers for the Rosewood syndrome?”
    Jenks made a high-pitched noise, and Ivy shook her head, her lower lip between her teeth as she double-checked. “You think . . .” she said, her words trailing off as I nodded.
    Rosewood syndrome. I wasn’t a carrier. I was a survivor. I had twice the enzymes they were playing with now. Crap on toast.
    Glenn’s chair creaked as he leaned back, concern pinching his usually smooth brow. “Aren’t you—” he started.
    “Rache!” Jenks shrilled, darting into the air to leave a puddle of yellow dust that dripped over the edge of the counter and to the floor. “You can’t take this run! I don’t care if you said you would. They’re calling you out. They want your blood! If they get it, they’re going to have what they need and . . . Crap, Rache! What are we going to do?”
    My grip on the counter tightened until my knuckles were white. My head was bowed, and I could see the little spell pot with its uninvoked potion. “You think you could check and see if the victims had a history of Rosewood syndrome in their families, Glenn?” I finally said.
    Ivy stood, and I tried to shove my unease aside so I could get on with what I had to do, but I knew, given her expression of concern, I must look sick.
    Glenn too had stood, and he was taking a slim cell phone from his belt. “I’ll get that started right now,” he said. “Excuse me a moment.” Punching numbers, he stepped across the hall and flicked on the light in the back living room, several pixy kids going with him.
    Jenks landed on my shoulder, the cold draft from his wings making me shiver. “Everyone knows you’re a demon.”
    “True,” I said sourly as I smacked my empty amulets around, arranging them on the counter in a straight row. “But if they wanted me, they would’ve taken me by now. Bodyguard or not,” I added. “Besides, I have a vested interest in seeing that this gets done right,” I said as I carefully mixed the wet ingredients with the dry and poured