Every Which Way But Dead by Kim Harrison Read Free Book Online Page B

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?”
    â€œI’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.
    â€œCome 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.
    â€œI 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.”
    Not sitting, Ceri looked at me, then him. “I’m Ceri,” she said, just above a whisper.
    â€œWell, Ceri, it’s nice to meet you.” Setting the cuff on the table, he extended his arthritic-swollen hand. Looking unsure, Ceri awkwardly put her hand in his. Keasley shook it, smiling to show his coffee-stained teeth. The old man gestured to the chair, and Ceri arranged herself in it, reluctantly setting her fries down and warily eyeing the cuff.
    â€œRachel wants me to look you over,” he said while he pulled more doctor stuff out.
    Ceri glanced at me, sighing as she nodded in surrender.
    The coffee had finished, and as Keasley took her temperature, checked her reflexes, her blood pressure, and made her say “Ahhhh,” I took a cup into the living room for Ivy. She was sitting sideways in her cushy chair with her earphones on, head on one arm, feet draped over the other. Her eyes were shut, but she reached out without looking, taking the cup the instant I set it down. “Thank you,” she mouthed, and still not having seen her eyes, I walked out. Sometimes Ivy gave me the creeps.
    â€œCoffee, Keasley?” I asked as I returned.
    The old man peered at the thermometer and turned it off. “Yes, thank you.” He smiled at Ceri. “You’re fine.”
    â€œThank you, sir,” Ceri said. She had been eating her fries while Keasley worked, and she looked glumly at the bottom of the carton.
    Immediately Jenks was with her. “More?” he prompted. “Try some ketchup on them.”
    Suddenly Jenks’s zeal to get her to eat french fries became very clear. It wasn’t the fries he was interested in, it was the ketchup. “Jenks,” I said tiredly as I took Keasley his coffee and leaned against the center island counter. “She’s over a thousand years old. Even humans ate tomatoes then.” I hesitated. “They did have tomatoes back then, right?”
    The hum of