Every Which Way But Dead by Kim Harrison Page B

green flowed into the kitchen. Appalled, I wondered if there was a pixy in the church that wasn’t in that four-foot circle surrounding Ceri.
    Keasley’s wrinkled face was filled with a stoic acceptance as he unrolled the bag of supplies and Jih dropped inside to make the trip safe from the cold. Above the crinkled top of the bag, the pixies all cried good-bye and waved.
    Eyes rolling, Keasley handed the bag to Ceri. “Pixies,” I heard him mutter. Taking Ceri’s elbow, he nodded to me and headed into the hall, his pace faster and more upright than I’d ever seen it. “I have a second bedroom,” he said. “Do you sleep at night or during the day?”
    â€œBoth,” she said softly. “Is that all right?”
    He grinned to show his coffee-stained teeth. “A napper, eh? Good. I won’t feel so old when I drop off.”
    I felt happy as I watched them head to the sanctuary. This was going to be good in so many ways. “What’s the matter, Jenks?” I said as he remained on my shoulder while the rest of his family accompanied Ceri and Keasley to the front of the church.
    He sniffed. “I thought Jax would be the first one to leave to start his own garden.”
    My breath slipped from me in understanding. “I’m sorry, Jenks. She’ll be fine.”
    â€œI know, I know.” His wings shifted into motion, sending the scent of fallen leaves over me. “One less pixy in the church,” he said softly. “It’s a good thing. But no one told me it was going to hurt.”

Four
    S quinting over my sunglasses, I leaned against my car and scanned the parking lot. My cherry red convertible looked out of place among the scattering of minivans and salt-rusted, late model cars. At the back, away from potential scratches and dings, was a low-to-the-ground, gray sports car. Probably the zoo’s p.r. person, as everyone else was either a part-time worker or a dedicated biologist who didn’t care what they drove.
    The early hour made it cold despite the sun, and my breath steamed. I tried to relax, but I could feel my gut tightening as my annoyance grew. Nick was supposed to meet me here this morning for a quick run in the zoo. It looked like he was going to be a no-show. Again.
    I uncrossed my arms from in front of me and shook my hands to loosen them before I bent at the waist and put my palms against the ice-cold, snow-dusted parking lot. Exhaling into the stretch, I felt my muscles pull. Around me were the soft, familiar sounds of the zoo preparing to open, mixing with the scent of exotic manure. If Nick didn’t show in the next five minutes, there wouldn’t be enough time for a decent run.
    I had bought us both runner passes months ago so we could run anytime from midnight to noon when the park was closed. I had woken up two hours earlier than usual for this. I was trying to make this work; I was trying to find a way to mesh my witch’s noon-to-sunup schedule with Nick’s human sunrise-to-midnight clock. It had never seemed to be a problem before. Nick used to try. Lately, it had been all up to me.
    A harsh scraping pulled me upright. The trash cans were being rolled out, and my pique grew. Where was he? He couldn’t have forgotten. Nick never forgot anything.
    â€œUnless he wants to forget,” I whispered. Giving myself a mental shake, I swung my right leg up to put my lightweight running shoe atop the hood. “Ow,” I breathed as my muscles protested, but I leaned into it. I’d been slacking off on my workouts lately, as Ivy and I didn’t spar anymore since she had resumed succumbing to her blood lust. My eye started to twitch, and I closed both of them as I deepened the stretch, grabbing my ankle and pulling.
    Nick hadn’t forgotten—he was too smart for that—he was avoiding me. I knew why, but it was still depressing. It had been three months, and he was still distant and hesitant.