Pale Demon

Kim Harrison

To the guy who knows how I take my tea …

Contents

One

“Brown or green for the drapes, Rache?”

Two

Trent rose to his feet, stupidly staring at the tree…

Three

Hollows International wasn’t a huge airport, but it was busy…

Four

If looks could kill, my face would show the imprint…

Five

Anarrow slice of early-afternoon sun made it into the front…

Six

“Rache!” Jenks shrilled, scaring the crap out of me as…

Seven

The faint smell of cinnamon, blood, and wine drifted forward…

Eight

The hum of the engine shifted, becoming deeper. It stirred…

Nine

“Trent!” I shouted, hammering on the bathroom door. It was…

Ten

My grip on the wheel tightened until my knuckles hurt.

Eleven

“Um, Jenks?” I said, taking a stumbling step back into…

Twelve

The warmth of the sun on my face turned into…

Thirteen

If it wasn’t for the lack of an ocean, I…

Fourteen

Heart pounding, I ran back down the corridor. I hit…

Fifteen

It was the changing sound of the engine that woke…

Sixteen

The sun was almost up, and I stretched beside the…

Seventeen

“The intention was for me to say good-bye,” I said,…

Eighteen

I’d already used the glass-and-tile shower in the front bathroom,…

Nineteen

Istared at the closed door, hearing a muttered conversation behind…

Twenty

Ileaned forward over the backseat to look up at the…

Twenty-One

“Isaid pipe down!” Vivian said crossly when the room reacted…

Twenty-Two

Trent bowed his head as the auditorium erupted in noise.

Twenty-Three

Sliding, I hit the red soil face-first, eyes clenched shut…

Twenty-Four

The transition was smoother this time as we crossed merely…

Twenty-Five

Frightened, I stood amid a smattering of exclamations. Some were…

Twenty-Six

The dry hush of sliding coals woke me, and I…

Twenty-Seven

The discordant jangle of San Francisco’s broken ley lines flooded…

Twenty-Eight

The vivid maroons and contrasting golds of the carpet had…

Twenty-Nine

The rasp of the side door opening was loud, and…

Thirty

Iscreamed, raw and pained, and it was real. My agony…

Thirty-One

Ilooked at my hands as they pressed the cookie cutter…

Thirty-Two

Trent’s long black car pulled up to the curb, a…

Acknowledgments

Other Books by Kim Harrison

Copyright

About the Publisher

One

“Brown or green for the drapes, Rache?”

Jenks’s voice slid into my dozing state, and I opened an eyelid a crack to find him hovering inches from my nose. The sun was hot, and I didn’t want to move, even if his wings provided a cold draft. “Too close. I can’t see,” I said as I shifted in the webbed lounge chair, and he drifted back, his dragonflylike wings humming fast enough to spill a red-tinted pixy dust over my bare middle. June, sunbathing, and Cincinnati normally didn’t go together, but today was my last day to get a tan before I headed west for my brother’s wedding.

Two bundles of fabric were draped over Jenks’s arms, spider silk most likely dyed and woven by one of his daughters. His shoulder-length curly blond hair—uncut since his wife’s death—was tied back with a bit of twine to show his angular, pinched features. I thought it odd that a pixy able to fend off an entire team of assassins was worried about the color of his drapes.

“Well,” I hedged, not more confident in this than he was, “the green goes with the floor, but I’d go with the taupe. You need some visual warmth down there.”

“Brown?” he said, looking at it doubtfully. “I thought you liked the green tile.”

“I do,” I explained, thinking that breaking up a pop bottle for floor tile was ingenious. “But if you make everything the same color, you’ll wind up back in the seventies.”

Jenks’s wings dropped in pitch, and his shoulders slumped. “I’m not good at this,” he whispered, becoming melancholy as he remembered Matalina. “Tell me which one.”

I cringed inside. I wanted to give him a hug, but he was only four inches tall. Small, yes, but the pixy had saved my life more times than I had spell pots in my kitchen. Sometimes, though, I felt as if we were worlds apart. “Taupe,” I said.

“Thanks.” Trailing dull gold dust, Jenks flew in a downward arc to the knee-high wall that separated my backyard from the graveyard. The high-walled graveyard was mine, too, or Jenks’s, actually, seeing that he owned the deed, but I was the one who mowed the lawn.

Heartache took me, and the sun seemed a little cooler as I watched Jenks’s dust trail vanish under the sprouting bluebells and moss, and into his new bachelor-size home. The last few months had been hard on him as he learned to live without Matalina. My being able to become small enough to help him through that first difficult day had gone a long way in convincing me that demon magic wasn’t bad unless you used it for a dark purpose.

The breeze cooled the corner of my eye, and I smiled even as I dabbed the almost tear away. I could smell the newly cut grass, and the noise of a nearby mower rose high over the distant hum of Cincinnati, across the river. There was a stack of decorating magazines beside my suntan oil and a glass of melted iced tea—the lull before the storm. Tomorrow would be the beginning of my personal hell, and it was going to last the entire week, through the annual witches’ conference. What happened after that was anyone’s guess.

Nervous, I shifted the straps of my bikini so there wouldn’t be any tan lines showing in my bridesmaid’s dress, already packed and hanging in a garment bag in my closet. The witches’ annual meeting had started yesterday on the other side of the continent. I was the last on the docket—like saving the biggest circus act for the end.

The coven of moral and ethical standards had already shunned me, tried to incarcerate me without a trial in Alcatraz, sent assassins when I’d escaped, and finally accepted a stalemate only when I threatened to go public with the fact that witches had their beginnings in demons and I was the proof. The rescindment would become permanent after they replaced the missing member of the council and pardoned me for using black magic. At least that was the theory.

As much as I needed to do this, I was so-o-o-o not looking forward to it. I mean, I’d been accused of being a black witch—of doing black magic and consorting with demons, both of which I did. Do. Whatever. That wasn’t going to change, but if I couldn’t pull this off, I’d be hiding out in the ever-after for the rest of my life. Not only did I not particularly like demons, but I’d miss my brother’s wedding and he’d never let me live it down.

I looked up, squinting into the oak tree as the familiar, almost ultrasonic whistle of a pixy cut through the drone of a mower. It was no surprise when Jenks darted out from behind the knee-high wall, going to meet Jumoke, one of his kids, coming in from sentry duty at the front of the church.

“What’s up, Jenks?” I called out as I grabbed my sunglasses, and the pixies angled toward me, still talking.

“Black car at the curb,” Jenks said, his hand on the hilt of his garden sword. “It’s Trent.”

My adrenaline pulsed, and I almost jabbed the earpiece of my sunglasses into my eye as I put them on. “He’s early!” I exclaimed, sitting up. Trent and I had an appointment for me to annul his familiar mark, but that wasn’t until five. The curse wasn’t ready yet, and the kitchen was a mess. Maybe he wanted to see the prep, afraid of what might be in it.

Jumoke’s wings hit a higher pitch when the front bell rang, and we all turned to the back of the church as if we could see through it to where Trent was standing on the front porch. The bell was one of those big farm bells with a pull, and the entire sleepy neighborhood could hear it. “Maybe he’ll go away if we don’t answer,” I said, and Jenks rose—sixty feet in a mere second. In another second, he dropped back down.

“He’s coming around back,” he said, his gold dust looking black through my sunglasses.

Damn it back to the Turn. “Pix the sucker,” I said, then waved my hand in negation when Jumoke clearly thought I was serious. The small pixy looked about six, and he took everything literally.

Jenks flew backward as I twisted, yanking on the back of the chair until it slid forward and I could sit more upright. Maybe this was a last-ditch effort to get me to sign that lame-ass paper of his, guaranteeing my safety from the coven but making me Trent’s virtual slave in the process. Tomorrow I’d be on the West Coast, clearing my name and sliding completely out of his clutches. Either that or he was avoiding Ivy—a distinct possibility. He knew she’d be here tonight, and his spies had probably told him she was out now.

Jenks’s wings clattered, and I flicked my gaze to his. “What do you want me to do, Rache?” he asked. “He’s almost at the gate. My kids are mobbing him.”

My jaw clenched, and I forced it to relax. I had a nice silk blouse picked out to wear tonight. Something professional and classy. And here I was in a bikini and with a dirty kitchen. “Let him come back,” I finally said. “If this is about that paper of his, he can suck my toes and die.”

With a nod and a wing chirp for Jumoke to accompany him, Jenks and his son darted to the side of the church and the slate path there. I settled back, tilting my head so I could see the gate without looking obvious about it. Trent’s voice—his beautiful, resonant, soothing, political voice—slipped over me even before he got to the gate, and I touched the braid that Jenks’s kids had put my curly red flyaway hair in this morning. I hated that I liked his voice, but it was a familiar hatred, one that had lost its fire long ago.

The wooden latch to the tall gate lifted, and my heart thumped as I took my sunglasses off. Eyes half closed, I pretended to be sleeping.

Wreathed in pixy kids, Trent came into my garden, his motions both slow and irate; clearly he was not liking the noisy, winged escort. Keeping my expression bland, I took in his slim form. In the months since I’d last seen him, Trent had deepened his tan, and his baby-fine, almost translucent hair caught the dappled sun. Instead of his usual thousand-dollar suit, he had on a lightweight gray short-sleeved shirt, dress slacks, and shiny dress shoes. It made him look harmless, but Trent was anything but. And what was he doing here alone? Quen never let him out by himself.

Trent made his way down the fern-laced slate path with the pixies chatting at him, his innocent businessman facade hiding his true demeanor as the head of an illegal bio-drugs and Brimstone distribution. Why am I helping him again?

I am helping myself, I thought, suddenly feeling almost naked. If I didn’t annul the familiar bond between us before I left for the witches’ meeting, Trent would start trying to kill me again, and as much as I detested the man, I liked him rather more when he wasn’t trying to put me in the ground.

Feeling like a big fat hypocrite, I closed my eyes entirely, listening to Trent murmur something to one of Jenks’s kids as his steps scraped on the broken patio tile. My heart beat faster. If it had been anyone other than Trent, someone might think I liked the man. In reality, I was trying hard not to look like the crazy witch living in a church with a gargoyle in the belfry, pixies in the garden, and a cat on the fence—even if I was. No way was he getting into my kitchen. Not with candles all over the place and half-crushed herbs and magnetic chalk everywhere.

“You’ll never guess who I found digging through our trash, Rache,” Jenks said snidely, and I stretched, shivering as a cold shadow slipped over me.

“I thought we got rid of those raccoons,” I said, opening my eyes to find Trent looming over me, nothing more than a black silhouette with the sun behind him. The scent of cinnamon and wine hit me, and I squinted up. Trent was on edge? Curious … If Trent was uncomfortable, then maybe I could keep the upper hand even if I was only half dressed. That would be a nice switch. He was good at putting me on the defensive.

“Oh! Hi, Trent,” I said when the man said nothing, the half shadows of pixy wings making dappled patterns over both of us, their noise almost as loud as their chiming voices. “What the Turn are you doing here already? Avoiding Ivy, are we?”

He backed up, and the sun blinded me—just as he had planned. “Good afternoon, Rachel,” Trent said dryly. “You’re looking well.”

“Thanks.” I reached for my sunglasses and put them on as he moved to stand next to the chair with my robe draped over it, effectively stalling me from taking it. “It’s amazing what two months of not being on anyone’s hit list will do for a person.” I hesitated, realizing his hair was in a more trendy style than usual. “You’re not looking bad yourself, for a murdering drug lord.”

At that, Trent’s smile became real. I think he enjoyed our verbal banter—everyone else was too awed by his bank account to stand up to him. “I apologize for surprising you like this, but I have something I want to discuss with you.” He glanced up at Jenks. “Alone, if possible?”

He was avoiding Ivy then, I mused, thinking it was funny. Jenks snorted, his hands going to his hips. His fingers just brushed the hilt of his garden sword, giving him a mischievous, dangerous look, like Puck with an attitude and penchant for killing. Amused, I beamed at Trent, pulling up a knee so I didn’t feel so exposed.

“Actually, I am kind of busy right now,” I drawled as I settled back into the chair and closed my eyes. “You have to make melanin while the sun shines.” I opened my eyes, smiling at him with bland insincerity, but a small ache of warning furrowed my brow. He’s here alone.

A soft giggle in the trees drew Trent’s attention up, and he made a quick step to the right, getting out of the way of one of last year’s acorns. It pinged on the broken slate of the patio, bouncing and rolling under my lawn chair as a chorus of disappointment grew.

“Excuse me,” Jenks said sourly, darting up into the tree. There was a noisy complaint, quickly hushed, and the pixies started to drop down one by one to leave an acorn, a stick, and even a marble on the table beside my glass of iced tea before they apologized and flew mournfully into the graveyard, all under Jenks’s watchful eye.

“I have four hours to try to get this pasty skin a shade away from death-pallor white for my brother’s wedding,” I said, uneasy and trying to ignore the little drama, “and I’m not spending it in my kitchen twisting your spell. Come back at five. Or you can sit and wait until the sun goes down. I don’t care. Is Quen in the car? He’s welcome to come back. I’ve got more iced tea in the fridge. Or a beer. You guys drink beer, don’t you?”

“I don’t have a babysitter today,” Trent said as if it was a victory, and I cleared my throat. I knew how he felt. My babysitter was either a four-inch man or an annoying ex-ghost, depending on how much trouble I was currently in and which reality I was occupying.

Jenks’s youngest daughter, Jrixibell, dipped forward and back, twisting the hem of her brown silk dress. Apparently it had been her acorn. Under Jenks’s stern gaze, the sweet-looking little girl mumbled a shamefaced “Sorry” and flew to where three of her sisters waited, and together, they darted into a nearby bush to plot further mischief.

Trent smiled, half-turned, and shocked the peas out of me when he brushed the nearby chair free of imaginary dust and sat down, moving gingerly, as if he’d never had to trust plastic webbing before. Staring at him, I took off my glasses.

He’s staying? Sure, I’d offered, but I hadn’t expected him to take me up on it! Suddenly I felt twice as exposed, and I could do nothing as Trent crossed his legs and leaned forward, taking the top magazine off the stack. “Doing some redecorating?” he asked idly.

“Uh, Jenks is,” I said, heart thumping. Crap on toast, I couldn’t just lie here and pretend he wasn’t there. I’d thought he’d get huffy, spout some nonsense about his time being more important than mine, and leave. “You’re, ah, going to wait? Don’t you have something else more important to do?”

“Yes, I do, actually,” he said as he turned a page, his green eyes darting over the images of tiles and artwork. “But I want to talk to you. Alone.” His eyes lifted from the magazine, fixing on Jenks.

“Now just a fairy-farting minute …” Jenks rose up on a column of indignant silver.

My brow furrowed. Trent had come early, stinking of cinnamon and wine, to talk to me alone. So-o-o-o not good. “It’s okay, Jenks,” I said softly, but he didn’t hear me.

“The day I leave you alone with Rachel is the day I wear a dress and dance the polka!” Jenks was saying, and I sat up, putting my feet to either side of the lounge chair.

“Jenks, I’ve got this.”

“We are a team!” Jenks shouted, his hand on the hilt of his sheathed garden sword. “You talk to all of us or none of us!”

There were about a dozen pairs of eyes watching from the edges of the garden and graveyard, and I heard a rustle of leaves overhead. I glanced at Trent. His lips pressed together for an instant, and then his expression eased, hiding his irritation.

“Jenks,” I said softly, “it’s okay. I’ll tell you what he says.” Trent’s eyes squinted, and I lifted my chin. “Promise.”

Immediately Jenks calmed down, his wings clattering as he landed next to my iced tea in a huff. Trent got that little worry wrinkle, but it was true. I’d tell Jenks just about anything, and Trent needed to know that.

“Why don’t you get your kids and check out the blackberries at the far end of the graveyard,” I said, and there was another rustle in the tree overhead. “All of them.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jenks said sullenly. He rose up, pointing two fingers at himself, then at Trent—the unmistakable gesture of “I’m watching you”—before he flew off, yelling at his kids to clear out and give us some space. Trent watched them leave from their hidden nooks and hidey-holes, his tension becoming more obvious as he laced and unlaced his fingers.

A wind blew across the graveyard, smelling of cut grass and warm stone, and I shivered. “Well, what is it?” I said, leaning back in my chair with my eyes closed, pretending indifference. “You going to tell me what you can’t say in front of my partners and your office help, or are you just going to sit there ogling my bikini.”

That didn’t get the expected chuckle. I heard him take a breath and let it out. The soft, sliding sound of the magazine being replaced made me shiver again. “Your upcoming meeting with the coven?” he said softly. “I don’t think you realize what’s going to happen.”

My eyes opened, and I turned to him. He’d leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees, hands laced between them. Bowed over, a worried slant to his brow, he looked up as he felt my gaze on him.

He was worried about the coven? “The witches’ annual meeting?” I said. “Not a problem. I can handle it.” The webbing was cutting into me, and I shifted uncomfortably.

“You’re begging forgiveness for using black magic,” he said, and my gut tightened at the reminder. “It’s a little more than dodging drunk witches at the beach.”

I shifted the strap of my top to hide my unease. Trent looked scrumptious sitting on that cheap chair, even if he was worried. “Tell me something I don’t know,” I grumbled.

“Rachel …”

Nervousness twisted in me, and I grimaced. “The coven called off their assassins,” I said, but I couldn’t look at him. Sure, they’d quit trying to kill me, but they could start up again in a demon minute. Let me live in my dream world a day longer, okay, Trent?

“You’re leaving tomorrow for the coast?” he asked, and I rubbed a hand under my nose, nodding. He knew that. I’d told him last week.

“What about Jenks and Ivy?”

My gaze slid to Jenks, standing on the knee-high wall between the garden and the graveyard. True to his word, he was keeping his kids corralled. He was pissed, though, his feet spread wide and his hands on his hips. His wings were going full tilt into invisibility, but his feet stayed nailed to the sun-warmed stone. I lifted a shoulder, then let it fall, trying to look nonchalant. “Ivy’s staying to watch the firm. Jenks is coming with me. If he’s human-size, he’ll be able to handle the pressure shifts.” I hope. Suddenly suspicious, I turned to Trent. “Why?”

He sighed. “You’ll never make it. Even with Jenks.”

My heart gave a thump, and I forced myself not to move. The slight breeze became chilly, and goose bumps ran down my arms. “Oh, really?”

“Really,” he said, and I flushed as I saw him notice my gooseflesh. “Which do you think more likely: that the coven is going to let you come before them with that story of how they shunned you as part of an elaborate plan to test my security systems, or that they will simply make everything go away by killing you en route?”

It was hard to keep my head in the sand when he kept yanking my tail feathers like that. “I’m not stupid,” I said as I grabbed the suntan oil. “You don’t think I’ve thought about that? Where’s my choice here? They said they’d pardon me if I kept my mouth shut.”

“They never said whether or not the pardon would come while you were alive.”

True. “That’s so unfair.” Peeved, I flipped the bottle top open and squirted some oil onto my palm.

“You can’t afford to be stupid anymore,” Trent said, and I frowned, smacking the bottle on the table. “The same qualities that make you an attractive employee—loyalty, honesty, passion, diligence … trust—will get you killed until you realize how few people play by your rules.”

That last one, trust, had been hard for him to say, and I frowned, rubbing out the goose bumps under the guise of putting on suntan oil. “I’m not naive,” I grumbled as I found the red marks from the webbing. Yes, I worked with demons, studied with them, and was one of only two witches capable of invoking their magic, but I’d been good. I’d never hurt anyone who hadn’t hurt me first, and I’d always shown more restraint than those who’d tried to kill me. Even the fairies.

“The coven will never let you on a commercial plane, and the only way you’re going to make it to the coast is if we go together,” Trent said quickly. “The coven won’t dare attempt anything if I’m with you.”

Together? I blinked, then stared at him. This was why he’d come in my garden stinking of cinnamon and wine. He wanted to go out to the coast together and was afraid I’d say no. “Are you offering me a ride on your private jet?” I said, incredulous. I was almost free of him and the coven both, almost my own person again. If I got on his plane, it could land anywhere.

“You have to trust me,” he said as if reading my mind, but his body language said I shouldn’t.

I settled back, uncomfortable and feeling cold. “Yeah, like I believe you’d help me out of the goodness of your little elf heart. Don’t think so.”

“Would you believe I’m trying sugar instead of vinegar?”

He sounded amused, and I squinted at him. “Yeah,” I blurted out. “I’d believe that, but I’m not getting on your jet. You are a drug-running, tax-evading, irritating … murdering man, and there hasn’t been a month in the last two years that I’ve not worried about your trying to off me.”

“Irritating?” Trent leaned back against my robe, seeming to like being irritating, his fingers laced and his ankle on one knee. The position would have made me look unsure, but on him it was confident. The scent of coconut oil mixed with cinnamon, and he dropped his eyes. Silent, I waited.

“The truth of the matter is I’d rather have you alive and free of the coven than dead,” Trent said softly, glancing up as a torn leaf drifted down. “If you leave for the coast without me, you won’t make it. I still harbor the hope that you’ll someday work with me, Ms. Morgan.”

We were back on familiar ground. Work with me was better than work for me, but how many times did I have to say no? “No—you’re lying,” I said, waving my glasses at him when he began to protest, green eyes looking innocently at me from under his wispy blond hair. “You walked in here all strung out about asking me to go with you to the coast, not the other way around. You want my trust? Try buying it with the truth. Until then, we’ve got nothing to talk about. Bye-bye, Trent. See you at five. Don’t let the graveyard door hit you on the way out.”

I jammed the glasses back on my face and reclined in a huff, ignoring him as he shuffled his feet. For a moment, I thought he was going to stick to his lame claim of city-power benevolence, but then he whispered, “I need to get to the West Coast. I have to have an escort, and Quen won’t leave Ceri. She’s three weeks from her due date.”

Ceri? My jaw clenched, my eyes opening as I looked into the amber-tinted world. I sat up, eying Trent to see if he was lying. There was a hint of compassion there, but most of his expression was peeved, probably because Ceri liked his security officer instead of him.

“Quen won’t allow me to leave Cincinnati unless you come with me,” Trent said, clearly bothered. “He says you’re raw but enthusiastic.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Okay,” I said, swinging my legs to the broken patio again. “I think I’ve got it now. You say you want to join forces to help me—poor little me—but it’s only because Quen won’t let you go by yourself. How come? You planning on speaking out against me if I don’t sign your lame-ass paper? I knew there was a reason I liked Quen.”

“Will you forget about that contract?” he said, starting to look cross. “It was a mistake to try to bully you, and I’m sorry. My need to get to the coast is a private matter. You’re simply a means to get me there. An escort.”

He was sorry? I thought, shocked by the admission. From the wall, Jenks flew up in a burst of orange. Clearly, he’d heard it, too.

“Please,” Trent said, scooting to the edge of his chair. “Rachel, I need your help.”

From the gate came the faint, familiar sound of a metallic click and a puff of air. Behind Trent, a little blue ball at chest height flew right where he would have been had he not leaned forward. It hit the tree, exploding in a familiar splat of sound as a piercing whistle echoed through the garden.

Trent stared at me, then the wet mark, his eyes wide.

Shit, we are under attack.

Two

Trent rose to his feet, stupidly staring at the tree and the foaming yellow mass of magic.

“Get down!” I shouted as I yanked him off balance. He started to fall, and still sitting, I pulled him toward me, bracing myself and levering his weight over me and to the patio on my far side. He hit the hard pavers with a gasp, eyes wide and hair askew. I was already reaching a quick thought out to the ley line in the backyard. Power flowed in, familiar but painful in my rush, and before Trent had tossed the hair from his eyes, the word rhombus whispered through my mind. In an instant, I relived the five-minute process to make a protection circle.

The semi-invisible barrier sprang up around us, me at its center as in all undrawn circles. Trent sat up, his head even with my shoulder. “Stay down!” I hissed, and we both jerked as two more splats hit my circle, their magic making little dimples of color on my black-and-gold aura. Beyond it, the pixies were moving in the graveyard, and I cursed my stupidity. I’d told Jenks to keep his kids centralized, effectively shutting down our first line of defense.

“Jenks!” I shouted as I stood, my circle inches from the top of my head, and reached for my robe, jamming my arms into the sleeves.

Jenks was gone, but his gold-dust trail still glittered, showing that he had flown straight up, getting the sitch. A shrill pixy chirp drew my attention to the front gate. My eyes met the would-be assassin’s, and the attacker ducked.

“There!” I shouted, and more pixies arrowed toward the attacker.

Frowning, I fumed as I tied my robe. “Get in the church,” I all but growled at Trent. “Put yourself in a circle.”

“Rachel.”

I turned, angry as I took in his tightly pressed lips and angry green eyes as he managed to be ticked that I’d pulled him to safety even as the attacker fled. “They were aiming at you, not me!” I said. “Get in the church!”

Not waiting to see if he did as I’d told him, I ran for the gate, gasping as I broke my circle and took the energy into myself. My bare feet were almost silent on the slate path, and my jaw clenched. My splat gun would have been handy right about now, but Al had melted it two months ago and no one would sell me a replacement.

Heart pounding, I shoved on the worn, rough wood of the gate, adrenaline sending it crashing into the bushes.

“Ms. Morgan, look out!” shrilled a pixy, and I jerked back at the puff of air.

“Crap!” I exclaimed as I fell against the fence and the gate smacked back into the door frame. Looking the way I’d come, I saw there was a new splat on the ground between me and the empty lounge chair. Miracle of miracles—Trent had actually listened to me and gone inside. The slightly itchy feeling in the back of my mind might have been him setting a circle. Or it might have been the assassin setting up a trap.

A dark-haired pixy landed on the fence, his hands in fists as they rested on his hips. “He’s running now, Ms. Morgan,” Jumoke said, and I gave him a quick, grateful smile.

I smacked the gate open again and ran through it, Jumoke flying just over my head. A passel of pixies trailed behind, shouting encouragement. The man who’d shot at me was indeed running, and a wicked grin spread across my face.

He was fast. I was faster, and I raced after his slim, dark form as he headed for the street. My fingertips grazed the man’s shirt as we reached the sidewalk, and heart pounding, I fell on him. He had time for one yelp of surprise, and I clenched my eyes against the coming cement.

We hit with a jar that knocked my breath away, and I scrambled for a new grip, sunglasses falling off. “You tap a line … and you won’t … wake up … until next week!” I panted when I caught my breath. Oh God. My elbow was vibrating all the way up to my skull, but he’d taken most of the impact. Scrambling, I put my knee in the small of his back and twisted his arm around his own neck, ready to snap his wrist if he moved. The pixies were everywhere, talking so fast I couldn’t understand them, but I caught the words “intruder” and “Papa.” Just where was Jenks, anyway?

The man wasn’t moving, and after some vigorous “encouragement” he let go of his splat gun and the pixies worked as a team to drag it out of his reach. It looked like mine, right down to the cherry red color. And the blue splat balls? They were almost my trademark.

“You trying to frame me for assaulting Trent?” I exclaimed, and he only grunted. “What you got in your splat balls, Jack? Maybe we should find out together? Real personal like?”

Breathing hard, the man tried to look at me, the anger obvious in his green eyes. Green eyes, blond hair, lanky build, tan: Was he an elf? An elven assassin? Not a very good one, though. And where the hell was Jenks?

The sound of running feet pulled my head up. There was a second man, and I could do nothing. Damn it, he was getting away!

“Are you after Trent or me?” I shouted at the guy under me and, furious, I thunked his forehead into the cement.

The man’s eyes showed his pain. “Why do you even care?”

Huh?

There was a squeal of ultrasonic sound, and Jenks’s kids dropped back to make room for their dad. “Two of them!” Jenks exclaimed, dropping silver sparkles and a zip strip from my charm cupboard to hit the man’s back. “Trent’s in the kitchen. You want me to get her?”

Her? I slipped the zip strip around the man’s wrist and ratcheted it tight, immediately feeling better. “Jack” didn’t move as his maybe-contact with a ley line was severed, telling me he hadn’t been prepared to use one to begin with, but better safe than sorry. I was spared the decision of what to do by the sound of Ivy’s cycle at the far end of the street. Jenks darted away with a second zip strip, leaving his kids to sweetly tell me what I ought to do to the man under me. He moved when the subject of wasps entered the conversation, and I yanked on his arm.

Ivy’s bike slowed as Jenks’s dust glittered over her, then she gunned it, roaring past me and aiming for the woman fleeing over the lawns. Ivy was a tad more protective of me than Jenks, and with a silent fury she ran the woman down, using her foot like a jousting pole. Wincing, I watched the woman take a mouthful of grass as she slid to a front-face halt. Jenks’s children left me, and the woman slowly sat up, her hands in fists over her head as they surrounded her, bright sparkling spots of potential death in the sunshine.

“Kids!” Jenks’s voice was shrill. “We’ve talked about this! Lunkers are a no-kill species! How come you never listen to me like you listened to your mom!”

It looked like it might be over. “Get up,” I said, breathing hard as I eased up on my grip.

The man spun under me, foot and fist lashing out. Jerking up and away, I stood, grabbing for his foot. It smacked into me with a bone-jarring thump, but I caught it. Determined green eyes met mine, and when I went to snap his ankle, he sideswiped me with the other foot.

I gasped and went with it, trying to keep my presence of mind as I fell on the concrete walk, trying to turn it into something graceful. There was a sickening crunch under me. My glasses. Damn it! I’d let go, though, and when I again found my feet, he had stood and was coming at me with a knife.

“Rachel, quit playing with him,” Ivy said loudly, her cycle idling back to us, the zip-stripped woman meekly walking before her with an escort of exuberant pixies holding swords.

“He’s got a knife!” I exclaimed, teeth clenched as I did an X block, then dove under his arm to make him twist his own knife into his side. And there I stopped, breathing hard as I pressed the blade, still in his grip, into him, but not yet breaking the skin. He didn’t move, knowing it was right over his kidney. Jeez Louise, the curtains of the house across the street were moving. We had to take this inside before someone called Inderland Security. The last thing I needed was the I.S. out here.

“You’ve lost, Jack!” I shouted as I pinched his wrist until he let go of the knife, then wrenched his arm up and pressed him into the nearby light pole. “We got Jill,” I said as he grunted, “and no way are you getting that bucket of water in my garden. If you don’t relax, I’m going to bust your crown! We clear?”

The guy nodded, but I didn’t ease up. Spitting my hair out of my mouth, I realized that Ivy had parked her cycle and was coming up the walk with the woman. The female assassin’s hands were in fists, high over her head. Jenks’s kids were working together to shift the knife to the sidelines. Slowly I started to smile. We’d gotten them. Hot damn!

“Hi, Ivy,” I said as she scuffed her booted feet to a halt. “Get the errands done?”

The slightly Asian-looking woman quirked her lips at my robe, smiling as she held up her pharmacy bag. The unmistakable shadow of a second splat gun and several knives showed through the thin plastic. Her lips were closed to hide her small, sharp canines, but her mood was good.

“You want to take this inside or bag them up and leave them here for big-trash pickup?” she asked, her black eyes going to the deceptively empty street. Her pupils were fully dilated despite the bright sun, evidence that she was working to maintain control of her instincts. Being in the sun would help; so would the wind now carrying away the scent of sweat and fear.

“Inside,” I panted. I was out of breath, but Ivy wasn’t. She was six feet of lean, athletic living vampire, dressed in blue jeans, boots, and a tight black T-shirt. It would take more than running down a fleeing assassin on her bike to make her break into a sweat.

“You going to be good, Jack?” I asked the man pressed against the light pole, and when he nodded, I let up. He grimaced as Ivy patted him down, adding another knife and more blue splat pellets in a clear, crush-proof plastic vial to her bag. I held my hand out for the splat balls and I refilled his hopper, fast enough to make Jack’s eyes widen in appreciation.

Clicking the magazine away, I hefted the splat gun, thinking it felt good in my hand. “This is my house,” I said as I indicated the church. “If you do something I don’t like, you’re going to get whatever’s in the hopper, and the law will be on my side. Clear?”

They didn’t nod, but they didn’t spout threats, either.

“Move,” I said, and with an obedience that told me the potions were nasty, the two of them started up the cement stairs and toward the double wooden doors. Slowly I began to relax.

Ivy looked at the gun, her brow furrowed. “It looks like yours,” she said.

“You noticed that, too?” Eying the attackers, I pulled one side of the door open. Jenks’s kids entered the church first—three of them carrying my broken sunglasses—then the bad guys, then us. “Are you okay?” I asked Ivy.

She smiled to show her fangs, small until she died and became a true undead, and I stifled a shiver. Ivy was great at maintaining a grip on her instincts, but fight, flight, or food brought out the worst in her, and this was all three. “Not a problem,” she said as the dark foyer took us. One of these days, we were going to invest in a new light fixture, but the sanctuary beyond it was a bright wash of light, the sun coming in the tall stained-glass windows to make colored patterns on the new set of living room furniture, my unused desk, Ivy’s exercise mats, and Kisten’s burned pool table. I still hadn’t had it refelted. My bare feet squeaked over the old oak, and I shoved Jack toward the small hallway at the back of the sanctuary.

“Trent is here already?” Ivy asked, clearly having smelled him. “He’s still alive, right?”

I nodded, wiping the grit from the sidewalk off my feet. Good Lord, I had tagged an assassin in my bare feet and a bikini. If this showed up on the Internet, I was going to be peeved. “Last I knew, he was. I told him to go into the kitchen and wait.” Assassins usually traveled in threes, but these were elven. I didn’t know their traditions.

“He’s in there,” Jenks said derisively as he dropped down to us. “I don’t think they’re real assassins. They didn’t know any ley-line magic.”

“You don’t need magic to be deadly, Jenks. You of all people should know that.”

Jenks snorted. “I don’t think they know any. They stink like elves, but they’ve got so much human in them, they might not have any magic.”

I shrugged, guessing as much by the almost indifference Jenks’s kids had shown the two attackers. The man in front of us glanced back as we entered the dark hallway, and I smiled mockingly. “All the way to the end,” I directed as we passed the his and her bathrooms and twin bedrooms and headed to the huge, industrial-size kitchen. I cleared my throat in warning as Jack and Jill whispered between themselves, and they shut up.

The pixies were singing about blood and daisies as we entered the sunlit kitchen to find Trent safe within a circle of his own making between the cluttered center counter and the sink, full of dirty spell pots. The bright, cheerful gold of his circle was free of any demon smut, making me uncomfortable. He’d just been under my aura and had seen the mess I’d made of it. Demon smut. Ugly. Black. Permanent—mostly.

The kitchen was hands down my favorite room in the entire church, with its expansive stainless-steel countertops, fluorescent lighting, and center island counter with my spelling equipment hanging above it and in the open cabinets below it. There were two stoves, so I didn’t have to stir spells and cook on the same surface. My mom’s new fridge took up a wall. Bis, perched atop it, was asleep next to the skull-shaped cookie jar. The little gargoyle had probably been trying to stay awake after sunup and misjudged. He’d be down until sunset no matter how noisy we were, and it was getting noisy. Pixies were flitting in and out through the one small window over the sink. Ivy’s computer was set up on the big farm-kitchen table against the inside wall, but the space felt like mine. That Trent had been in here alone sort of bothered me.

Jenks’s kids were flitting everywhere, too excited to perch in one place, and they were starting to give me a headache. Trent, too, looked like he was hurting. “Look, Ivy! Elf under glass!” Jenks said, and I sighed, even as a small twinge on my awareness went through me and Trent dropped his circle.

Like one entity, Jenks’s kids swarmed Trent. He stiffened, but did little other than grimace when Jrixibell asked if she could make a dandelion necklace for him. Yeah, Jack and Jill might be elves, but they weren’t full-blooded like Trent. The pixies were almost ignoring them.

“Jenks …,” I prompted, my own head splitting from their noise as I glanced at Bis. How the cat-size, gray-skinned kid could sleep through this was a wonder, but he was, his leathery wings lying close to his back, his black-fringed ears drooping, and his lionlike tail wrapped around his clawed feet in slumber.

Jenks clattered his wings for their attention. “Okay, you lot!” he shouted. “Jumoke, Jack, Jixy, Jhan can stay if you’re quiet! The rest of you, hit the garden. Evens take cleanup. Odds on perimeter. Not a butterfly crosses the lines without someone knowing! And watch the splat-ball marks. Stay back until we have a chance to get out there with salt water. And no dropping moths into the puddles to see what the charms do! Clear?”

In a chorus of affirmation and disappointment, they dispersed, the eldest children Jenks had asked to remain retreating to the overhead rack. I exhaled in relief, and realizing that I was standing like Jenks with my bare feet spaced wide and my hands on my hips, I dropped my arms.

“Sit,” I said to the would-be assassins, pointing at the floor beside the fridge, and they gingerly lowered themselves. With a languorous stretch, Ivy shoved the magazines off her chair with a booted foot. They hit the floor with a thump and slid into a long pile against the wall. Deceptively calm and relaxed, she drifted back to the doorway, standing to look aggressive as she took her hair out of its ponytail and let the strands fall where they might. Unless the assassins went through the window, they were stuck.

A breath of self-preservation made me toss a roll of paper towels to the woman. Not only was her chin bleeding, but the man’s forehead was scraped where I’d thunked him into the sidewalk. Ivy would appreciate it, if nothing else. The harsh ripping of the paper sounded loud, and folding up a sheet, Jill dabbed at her jaw and passed the roll to Jack.

“Move, and I’ll be on you like a demon,” Ivy said. “Do, please.”

Jack and Jill looked at each other. Together they shook their heads. I kept one eye on them as I unloaded Ivy’s bag next to my broken sunglasses, setting the two splat guns and five knives on the counter, looking right at home among my magnetic chalk and scrying mirror. The knives had an elaborate, intricately raised design on the handles to help with the grip. I didn’t like that one of the guns looked like mine. I wondered what was in them. That first shot had been aimed at Trent, making me wonder about his story of Quen not letting him leave Cincinnati without me. He could’ve gotten himself on someone’s hit list, but these guys weren’t good enough to be taken seriously. And why would elves want me dead? No, I was betting they were here for Trent.

“Did they tell you who sent them?” Trent prompted, and I tightened my robe again.

“Not yet.” Turning to them, I smiled. “Who wants to go first?”

No one said anything. Big surprise. I flicked a glance at Trent. It was a no-win situation. If I was tough, he’d think I was a thug. If I was too nice, I’d be a pushover. Why I even cared what he thought was beyond me.

Jenks dropped down to the man. “Who sent you?” he barked, sword angled at the man’s eye.

Jack remained silent, and Jenks’s wings began slipping an eerie black dust. In a whisper of sound, Jenks darted close and then away. The intruding elf yelped, his hand smacking his head where Jenks had been. I frowned when I saw the wad of hair in Jenks’s grip. I didn’t like this. Jenks was usually easygoing, more inclined to plant seeds in the ground than people, but his land had been violated, and that brought out the worst in him.

“Ease up, Jenks,” Ivy said as she came forward to touch Jill’s face. “You need more finesse with the big ones.” She made a little trill of sound as the woman drew back in fear, and I sighed as Ivy started to vamp out.

Think, Rachel, I mused silently. Don’t just react, think. “Guys,” I said, conscious of Trent watching. “We need to find out what’s going on without leaving any traces.”

“I won’t leave a mark,” Ivy whispered, and Jill paled. “Not where you can find one.”

“They might be a test from the coven,” I said, and Ivy’s finger, tracing the woman’s jawline, curled under and she straightened in disappointment.

“We can’t simply let them go,” Ivy said. “Even if it wasn’t much of an attack.”

I winced. “Maybe we should call the I.S.?”

Jenks snorted, and from the overhead rack came a peal of high-pitched laughter. Yeah, bad idea.

“Mind if I hurry this along? I have an idea.”

It had been Trent, and, as one, we all turned to look at him.

“You have an idea?” Jenks said sarcastically, hovering before him in his best Peter Pan pose, his hands on his hips and his red bandanna tucked into his waistband. “The day you have a good idea will be the day I eat fairy toe jam.”

“He said it was an idea. He never said it was a good one,” I scoffed. But my lips parted at the sudden prickling of magic. Like a blanket rubbing the wrong way, wild, elven magic scraped across my aura, both an irritant and an enticement, pulling at my pores as if trying to draw my soul from my body.

“Hey!” I shouted, knowing it was Trent. Elves were the only species that dared to use wild magic. Even demons shunned the art. It had a horrible unpredictability along with the horrible power. It couldn’t be the two elves on the floor. They had zip strips on. “Trent, no!” I did not have a clue as to what he was doing, and with a satisfied glint in his eyes, he clapped his hands.

“Volo te hoc facere!” he exclaimed, the sound pinging through me, making me both cower and jump as the force I felt him drawing from the line abruptly fell to nothing.

I will you to do this? I thought, clutching my robe around me. An enthrallment spell?

But I think it was, and I stood at the table and stared at Trent, aghast. The rims of his ears were red, and his jaw was clenched in determination. “That was a black spell,” I whispered, stepping forward and out of Ivy’s reach. “That was a black spell!” I yelled, and he retreated to the table, his eyes falling from Jack and Jill. They were motionless, almost slack-jawed, eyes unfocused and hands limp, unable to do anything apart from the most basic things to survive unless told. “You enthralled them, didn’t you!” I exclaimed, and he bowed his head. When it came back up, his eyes met mine with a fervent gleam, unrepentant.

“What did he do to them?” Ivy said, sidling up next to me. Jenks wasn’t happy either, buzzing over them as they blinked vacantly.

“He enthralled them,” I said, sure of it when Trent’s lips pursed. “And it’s black.” Damn it, I hadn’t known he could do something that sophisticated. It changed everything.

“Black?” Jenks yelped, darting up in a wash of yellow dust.

“Go ahead, ask them who sent them,” Trent said, standing stiffly as he gestured to them. “I know who did, but you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Not in time, anyway. Go on. It doesn’t last long.”

Well, that was one bit of good news. “And then what?” I said harshly. “Do you know how illegal those are? This is my kitchen, and I’m the one who’s going to be blamed for this. Or is that your idea?” I said with a sneer, and Ivy caught my arm, thinking I was going to cross the room and smack him.

“You need to hurry up,” he said, tossing his hair back in a rare show of nervousness. “I have this under control. I’ll hit them with another charm so they don’t remember.”

I shoved Ivy’s hand from me, shaking as I stood there. “Is that your plan? Make them forget? God, Trent. This is, like, six times illegal!”

Trent tugged his sleeves down as if unbothered, but his eyes were squinting. “True, but no one gets hurt this way. And I’d think you’d be the last person worrying about what’s legal. You’ve got thirty seconds. Tick tock, Rachel.”

As I stood there fuming, Jack started to blink. Ivy took my arm again, this time in encouragement, but I couldn’t do it. It was wrong!

“Oh for Tink’s little red shoes,” Jenks said suddenly, and he darted down to hover before the man. “Who paid you to attack Rachel?” he barked, his hand on his sword hilt.

“No one,” Jack said, and I turned to Trent, my brow furrowed.

Jenks’s dust turned green. “You mean you don’t know, or you weren’t paid for it?”

Trent shifted his weight to his other foot. “They weren’t attacking Rachel, they were attacking me. Try again.”

Giving me an apologetic shrug, Ivy slipped past me and crouched before Jill, lifting her chin to force her to look at her. “Who told you to attack Trent?” she asked calmly, and I crossed my arms over my chest. I wanted to know, but I’d rather scare it out of them than use black magic.

“Walter Withon,” they said together, and a knot tightened in my gut.

“This was a warning,” Trent said with a sigh, his shoulder easing to make him look somewhat embarrassed. No, guarded.

“Ellasbeth’s dad?” I dropped back a step, my anger fizzling. Crap on toast. Ellasbeth was the woman Trent had been going to marry—until I’d arrested Trent at his own wedding. It was something Trent thanked me for later in a weird bit of honesty when we thought we were both going to die. Yeah, the Withons had the means for a hit, and they might be a little mad. But enough to take potshots at him?

“Now will you help me?” Trent said, and I took a breath, snapping myself out of my funk. Seeing my eyes on his, Trent smiled wickedly, hands moving in a ley-line charm.

“Trent, wait …,” I said.

But it was too late, and I could do nothing when I felt the line he was connected to give a lurch and he whispered, “Memoria cadere.”

Again, I jerked back, setting up a protection circle around myself since I didn’t know what the man was capable of anymore. Seeing its creation, Ivy flung herself almost under the table, and Jenks darted to the ceiling. I stood tall, heart pounding as a wash of my gold-tinted aura lapped over the circle with all the subtleties of a shadowy pearl-escence. Bis, on the fridge, stirred, his bright red eye cracking open to find me before it slid shut again with a little sigh.

“Damn it, Trent!” I exclaimed, furious as the assassins sat, wide-eyed, and stared at me, bewildered but clearly no longer enthralled. “What in hell are you doing?”

“You’re kidding,” he said in disbelief. “You weren’t going to ask them anything, worried it might be ille-e-e-e-gal.”

He drawled it, mocking me, and I squinted at him, fear of the Withons mixing with the worry of what the assassins could have told us before but now couldn’t. “You did that on purpose!” I shouted.

His head bowed slightly, and his lips quirked as he eyed me, looking both mischievous and polished. “I told you I was going to.”

Anger grew in me, but I stayed where I was beside the table, sullen. It couldn’t be undone. Not easily, anyway. “Dr. Anders teach you that?” I muttered. Memory charms weren’t black; they were simply illegal as all hell. It didn’t make me feel any better, though.

On the floor, the woman felt her chin, shocked when her fingertips came back wet with blood. “Um. Whoa,” she said, looking tense but harmless. “I guess that explains why I have no idea who you people are or how I got here.”

Her companion nudged her to be quiet, clearly not remembering anything, either, but knowing enough to keep his mouth shut. Bad. This was so bad. Two illegal charms, and if Trent got to the West Coast, he’d probably try to pin them on me if I didn’t become his indentured servant. Damn it back to the Turn! I wasn’t going to play this game!

Jenks dropped from where he’d been checking on his kids. His hand was on the butt of his sword, and he looked ready to give Trent a lobotomy. “I had more to ask them, even if she didn’t.”

“You wanted to know who sent them. Now you do. It was wearing off,” Trent insisted, but I could see a hint of unease in him. “Our only other option was to kill them.”

“Our?” I barked sarcastically. “There is no ‘our.’ This is your doing, not mine.” I spun as Jill started to get up, her alarm obvious. “Park it, Jill!” I said, but it wasn’t until Ivy cleared her throat that both of them checked their upward motion and slid back down.

“My name isn’t Jill …” the woman started.

“It is today. So sit down and shut up until I tell you that you can leave. Got it?”

“Shit,” the man said sourly as he thumped his head back against the fridge and eyed me in mistrust. “I don’t know who was supposed to pay us. Do you?” Jill shook her head. She looked too confused for it to be an act. “Awww, man!” the guy added. “I don’t even know where I left my stuff. This sucks.”

“See?” Trent said confidently, but that worry wrinkle above his eyes was still there. “It worked. Now we can let them go and be on our way with their employers still thinking we are here.” He smiled, and I hated him. “They won’t be expected to check in for twenty-four hours. We could be long gone by sunset.”

Jenks’s wings hummed, and Ivy’s face lost its expression. “Sunset?” she said, and I grimaced. She wasn’t going to like this, but it didn’t matter. I wasn’t helping Trent. Not after this. He had stood in my kitchen and performed two illegal charms, one of them black. Ceri was rubbing off on him and not in a good way.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, you little shoemaker,” I said, trying to figure out what to do with these two. “Especially after that little stunt. Not in a plane, not in a car, not on a train … you’ve gone too far.” I blinked. What the hell?

“Ah, Rachel?” Ivy touched me, and I jumped. “What’s this about Trent needing your help. Help for what?”

Jenks hummed his wings for her attention, smirking at Trent as he said, “Trent wants Rachel’s help. Quen won’t do it. Trent says it’s because Quen won’t leave Ceri, but I think the little cookie maker plans to speak out against Rachel at the, uh, big meeting to get her under his thumb again, and Quen refuses to be a part of it. Trent won’t have anything on her after she nullifies his familiar mark, so he has to move fast.”

Jenks smiled at Trent, and Trent sighed. “It’s not like that at all,” he said, but his confidence was wearing thin.

Ivy glanced quickly at me before turning back to Jenks. “Not going to happen.”

Shrugging, Jenks landed on the center counter where he could watch everyone. “Or Trent’s telling the truth, and he’s afraid of the weenie assassins here.”

Jack scowled, and Jill made a little huff of sound, but I was glad Jenks hadn’t dropped any names. They’d forgotten who had sent them and didn’t need any reminders.

Trent frowned, one hand behind his back as he turned to me. Shoulders stiff, he asked, “Will you do it?”

I could not believe this, and I pointed at the two assassins sitting in front of my fridge. “No!” I said firmly. “I’m not helping you. Especially now.”

Trent shifted, his confident poise lost when his hand slipped from behind his back. “They tried to kill me,” he said, his brow furrowed as he glared at them. “You saw them!”

“Yeah?” I spouted off. “They weren’t very good at it!”

Jenks was laughing, but I was mad and ready to throw Trent out. Throw them all out. Standing by the table, I dropped my forehead into my hands and rubbed at my temples. From the floor Jack sighed. “My old lady is going to be pissed. Her, I remember.”

I pulled my head up. “Get out,” I said bluntly. “Get up and get out. Both of you.”

For a moment, Jack and Jill stared at me, but when Jenks clattered his wings threateningly, they slowly got to their feet. Okay, I knew who’d sent them, and it only solidified in my mind that I wasn’t leaving Cincinnati on Trent’s private jet. He was still lying to me. Son of a bastard.

“I don’t feel so good,” the woman said as she held her stomach and limped forward.

Jenks laughed bitterly. “That’s because we beat you up. You cried like a baby.”

The two people shuffled toward the door, feeling body parts as they began to complain. Jill looked at the weapons on the counter, but when I shook my head, they filed out under a pixy escort. Ivy seemed surprised that I was simply letting them go, but I had to be on a plane tomorrow at eight. I didn’t have time for an extended smackdown.

“Jenks, you’d better tell your kids to leave them alone unless they come back,” I murmured, and he flew up on a column of silver dust.

“Yeah-h-h-h-h,” he drawled, his focus vacant as he imagined it. “I’ll be right back.”

He was gone in an instant, and from the front of the church, I could hear him shrill something, and then the door opening and closing. I turned to look at my kitchen, defiled by elven black magic. It wouldn’t leave a visible mark, but it left me uneasy just the same. Al might be able to smell it.

“You, too, Trent,” I said, listlessly picking up the roll of paper towels and trying to wipe the pixy footprints off the stainless steel. Trent’s curse lay assembled on the counter, but he could just suck my toes and die for all I cared.

“I’m not leaving until you untwist the curse,” he said stiffly. “It’s all there. Do it now.”

I hesitated in my motions to clean the counter. Ivy cleared her throat, and I felt more than saw her take up a stance. Still not looking up, I continued to clean the counter, picking up the scrying mirror and setting it down. Then the magnetic chalk, the five candles, the stick of redwood. He could go to hell. “Good-bye, Trent,” I muttered, my head starting to hurt.

“Excuse me?”

His voice was harsh, and I balled up the paper towel, standing with my fists on the counter so I wouldn’t jump over it and strangle him. “I don’t trust you,” I said softly, my knuckles going white from the pressure. “If I take that curse off now, you won’t want me for anything and will speak out against me at the coven’s meeting. You’re going to have to wait. I’ll do it after, not a moment sooner.”

From the street came a faint “Is that our car?”

Trent grimaced when his car alarm began beeping, and he looked ready to murder someone as he fished a key fob out of his pocket and pointed it at the street. The alarm cut off, and he turned back to me. “That wasn’t the deal,” he said. “Take the mark off. Now.”

“Neither was your coming over here trailing assassins,” I said, letting go of the balled-up paper towel. Behind him, Ivy went to her stash of chocolate on the counter, opening a box and leaning against the counter. She was behind Trent, between him and the door, and he shifted to keep us both in his sight.

“Rachel,” he warned, looking pissed.

“I’ll do it,” I said flippantly. “But you’re going to wait until I’m safe. You don’t like it?” I said, voice rising. “Then kill me. Right now. Go on!” I shouted. “Do it! Here I am!” I flung my arms wide to make a bigger target. “But if you do, you’ll never get the mark off you! You slimy little thug!”

Jenks buzzed in with worried wing chatter, seeing me screaming at Trent and Trent looking like he’d swallowed a bug. The pixy exchanged a look with Ivy, who was now leaning idly against the counter, completely unworried as she ate a chocolate-covered orange slice. Her apparent indifference seemed to make Trent only more pissed.

Trent took a breath and held it. Saying nothing, he turned to the door, his stance stiff. Jenks snickered, and the man spun back around, even with Ivy there. His face was white with anger, and his eyes almost seemed to glow. “You are the most … unprofessional, irritating, frustrating person I have ever had to deal with,” he said, and I shrugged. “I don’t need your help. I’ll get to California without you.”

“Like I care,” I said, and he turned on his heel and strode from the kitchen.

“Good riddance,” I said, then, in a wash of self-preservation, I followed him to the hallway, leaning out into it as I shouted after him, “Go on! Leave! I’ll get that mark of yours taken care of, but not until I get my freedom! You son-of-a-bitch elf!”

He never slowed, his dark silhouette flashing into a blinding whiteness when he found the sanctuary. More light poured in when he opened the church’s door. It boomed shut behind him, and I pulled myself back into the kitchen.

Ivy was still slumped at the counter. Her eyes were hooded, and she looked … rather sexy from the anger Trent and I had been giving off. Grimacing, I stalked across the kitchen to the window, shoving it high to let in the breeze. Birdsong drifted in, and my hair tickled my neck. From the fridge, Bis sighed, his wings shifting as he settled back to sleep. I hadn’t realized I’d woken him up. Peeved, I stared out at the bright afternoon, seeing the dark spot of the spell on a tree. I’d have to take care of that before the pixies got into it, even with Jenks’s admonishment.

Beside me, Ivy casually took another piece of chocolate, succinctly biting through it with a snap of chocolate and sugar crystals. Jenks hummed closer, landing next to the brandy snifter on the windowsill. It was turned upside down to keep his cat, Rex, from eating the chrysalis Al had given me last New Year’s Eve. Jenks’s wings were unmoving and his expression worried as he looked at me, not the garden.

“What?” I said as I edged toward Ivy, leaning close to take a chocolate and then retreating. I looked down, seeing the dirt and grass clippings on my feet. My robe had come undone, and I tightened it back up. So much for getting a tan.

Ivy licked her lips and stood upright. “Do you think calling his bluff was the smartest thing to do?”

I exhaled, shaking as I leaned against the center counter. “No,” I admitted sourly. “No, it wasn’t, but I’m not going to give him what he wants until I know he’s not going to give me to the coven.” I bit into the chocolate, feeling the sudden give and the crunch of crystallized orange on my tongue. From the front of the church, Trent’s car engine was racing harshly.

“It’s the first smart thing she’s done,” Jenks said, making the short flight to the chocolate and using his sword to cut off a slice the size of his hand.

“Maybe, but something isn’t right,” Ivy said, clearly not convinced, and I followed her gaze as she took in the assembled ingredients for Trent’s curse, next to the assassins’ splat guns and knives and my broken sunglasses. An unsettled feeling tightened around my chest, and I fidgeted. I was glad I’d said what I had, and I wasn’t going to “escort” Trent to the West Coast, but if truth be told, I agreed with Ivy. Something wasn’t right, and I didn’t think it was over yet.

Three

Hollows International wasn’t a huge airport, but it was busy with early-morning flights, even at the ungodly hour of seven in the morning. It was way too early for me to be up, and I felt numb, the lukewarm cup of blah coffee almost slipping from my grip. Our flight was boarding in half an hour; we had lots of time. The air smelled like floor polish and plastic, and I sat in the fake leather chairs across from the check-in counter and people-watched as Ivy bought a ticket and checked our luggage. After the incident with Trent, she had gotten leave from her master vampire to come with Jenks and me.

Trent’s prediction that I wouldn’t be allowed on the plane had convinced me that the less I interacted with the gods and goddesses of air travel in their polyester blazers and winged lapel pins the better. So I sat waiting, our carry-ons strewn around me. Nervous, I pushed myself to the back of the chair and slouched. Jenks, though, wasn’t fooled by my show of nonchalance.

“Trent’s an ass, but he’s right. We’re not getting through security,” he predicted, making his wings hum for some extra heat. It was chilly this morning, and all the warmth was escaping through the big plate-glass windows and the endless opening of the doors.

I didn’t look at him, watching Ivy’s slowly moving line. “Trent’s just trying to scare me,” I said, but when I realized I was spinning my wooden pinkie ring around and around on my finger, I stopped. I didn’t need it to hide my freckles anymore, but if I didn’t wear it, my brother, Robbie, would ask where my freckles had gone. What if we couldn’t get on the plane? I had to be there in three days or my shunning would become permanent.

“Is it working?” Jenks landed on my knee where he could lecture me better. He was wearing his garden best, convinced that he wasn’t even going to have to use the potion in my bag to go big to handle the air-pressure shifts. He hadn’t even arranged for anyone to watch his kids, thinking we’d be back in an hour. His confidence in me was breathtaking.

I cocked my eyebrows, and he put his hands on his hips, finally starting to dust a little as he warmed up. “Rache, even if Trent is telling the truth and the Withons are gunning for him, that doesn’t change that you being dead would make the coven’s life a lot easier. You are not getting through security,” he said, glancing nervously at a little girl in pink who had noticed him. “We should be thinking about how we’re going to get you two thousand miles in three days, not chilling at the airport.”

“I already have my ticket,” I said sourly, noticing that Ivy had reached the front of the line. “How are they going to stop me?”

“Rache …,” he coaxed, and I shifted my shoulders, acknowledging that he had a point.

“Look,” I said, slouching even lower. “If they don’t let me on the plane, we’ll take the train. Be there in no time.”

His sigh was tiny, but I heard it despite the loudspeaker paging someone.

Silence grew between us, and I took in his pulled-back hair and his sharp black-and-green outfit with bluebells on the hem. It was the last outfit that Matalina had made for him, and I knew he wore it to feel close to her. It had been a very hard two months, even if he now knew for sure that his biological clock had been reset and he had another twenty years ahead of him. I, too, had my first twenty-six years back, and I figured this was why demons lived so long. By next spring, Jenks would be the world’s oldest pixy. I didn’t care that it had taken a curse to do it—as long as he was happy. He was happy, wasn’t he?

Worry filled me as I watched him watch everyone else, his attention mainly on the cameras in the corners. “How you doing, Jenks?” I asked, the tone of my voice telling him I wasn’t asking about the temperature. He turned, his sharply angular face showing a neutral nothing until I added, “Don’t lie to me.”

Jenks looked away as the sun started to stain the sky. “Fine,” he said flatly.

Fine. I knew what fine was. I had been “fine” for the better part of a year after Kisten died. Since then I’d dated Marshal, had gotten shunned, and had sex with a nineteenth-century ghost named Gordian Pierce who’d been bricked into the ground alive in 1852 by the same group currently trying to give me a lobotomy and steal my ovaries.

Much as I hated to admit it, Pierce was everything I liked wrapped up in a package that might be able to stay alive through the crap my life dished out. He was Al’s familiar, and I saw him every week when doing my stint as a demon student in the ever-after. We’d not had a moment alone together since he’d helped me get a temporary reprieve on my shunning, and it was aggravating, even if I didn’t quite know what to think of Pierce anymore. He’d seen me through one of the most terrifying moments of my life, and we had opened up to each other in ways that left me wondering why I was still hesitant. He was a good man. But the same things that had once attracted me—power, tragic history, and a sexy body—now left me with a mild sense of unease. Ivy would say I was getting smarter, but I just felt … empty.

Twisting, I felt my back pocket for my phone, wondering what time it was.

“Seven thirty-two,” Jenks said, knowing me better than I did myself.

“Thanks.” Sighing, I tucked the phone away. Jenks didn’t like Pierce, agreeing with Al that the charismatic witch would be the death of me, but Pierce wouldn’t hurt me. He loved me. The hard part was I thought I might love him, too, someday. I just didn’t know, and Al wasn’t letting me figure it out. It worried me that Pierce was a little too free with the black magic, even if it had been to help me. I was trying to prove that black magic didn’t make you bad—but still I hesitated, whereas a year ago I’d have been head over heels and damn Al back to the Turn for getting in the way.

“Here she comes,” Jenks said in warning, and I looked up. Sure enough, Ivy was making her way toward us, our two bags left behind on the conveyor belt and a blue-and-gold envelope in her hand. She was wearing an unfamiliar black business suit to make her look both sexy and capable, a mix of brains and body able to get anything done in the boardroom. I’d never be able to carry off that look, but for Ivy, it was easy.

“See?” I said as I sat up. “She got her ticket okay.”

Jenks whistled softly as she maneuvered gracefully through the throng, ignoring the stares behind her. “The woman needs her own theme music,” he said dryly.

I stood and he took to the air. “Cake. ‘Short Skirt, Long Jacket.’”

“That’d do it,” he said as Ivy picked up her briefcase with her laptop in it.

“So far, so good,” she said, glancing at the nearby security line.

Jenks wasn’t impressed. “Yeah, they just confiscated your luggage, Rache. Good job.”

“Jenks …,” I complained, then turned to Ivy. “What gate? All my ticket has is the flight number.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jenks said bluntly. “We’re not getting through security.”

“A5,” Ivy said, not looking at her ticket.

Ignoring Jenks humming a dirge, I grabbed my garment bag with my bridesmaid’s dress in it. It had been easier than I had thought possible to coordinate Cindy’s bridal shop with the one I’d worked with in downtown Cincinnati, making sure my hem length would match everyone else’s. And for once, I liked this dress, steel blue-gray with no lace. I’d give Robbie’s fiancée one thing—she had great taste.

“Next stop, Portland,” I said as I threw away my coffee and fell into step beside Ivy. Boots clunking, we crossed the white tile.

Jenks was an irritating hum at my ear. “Woo-hoo! I haven’t seen anyone strip searched all week!”

We got closer to the short line where the spell and metal detectors were, and Ivy began dropping back. “What?” I said, irate, and she shrugged.

“You first.”

Exasperated, I got in line behind an old couple crabbing about the wait. “Why are you making so much out of this?” I asked. “If they were going to do something, they would have done it by now. They probably don’t even know I’m here. Robbie bought the tickets, not me.” But a sick feeling was slipping between my thought and reason as I noticed the two security cops eying me from the other side of the gate. Ahead of me, the old couple tottered through both the metal and the charm detection. The charm detection glowed a bright red, but the security people waved them on. In the distance, a plane roared into the air. I started to sweat.

Jenks’s wings hummed, and I muttered, “This won’t be a big deal. Let’s just get through this as fast as possible, okay?”

His doubtful expression saying it all, Jenks darted through the detector and swung back around to land on it, waiting. With a feeling of foreboding, I dropped the garment bag on the belt and smiled at the severely emotionally deficient woman across from me. She was about twenty pounds too heavy for her uniform and didn’t look happy.

“Any produce or high magic to proclaim?” she asked dully.

My heart started to pound. Cool it, Rachel, I thought, knowing they had charms to detect stress. “No fruit but for the pixy there,” I quipped, pointing at Jenks only to have him flip me off, “but I do have a lethal-magic detection earth-magic amulet and a high-magic detection ley-line charm on my bag here.” If I didn’t claim it, I’d get nailed for sure. They weren’t illegal, just unusual. The curse in my bag to make Jenks big wouldn’t even register, it being demon magic and all.

The woman looked up. “Pixy?”

Jenks clattered his wings for her attention. “Hey, hi,” he said, trying to look innocent. “I’m not flying like this. I mean, I’m going on the plane. I’ve got a ticket.”

The woman looked away. “We’ll have to check your bag by hand” was all she said, and I gave Ivy a sarcastic smile. See? No problem.

“I guessed as much,” I said cheerfully, handing it over. I couldn’t move through the detector until she gave me the okay, but Ivy’s briefcase slid past me, and the guard asked her to step through. Behind her, a young couple with a kid in a stroller were grumbling about the holdup. I was busy making bunny-eared kiss-kisses at the baby when the attendant cleared her throat, not sounding nice at all.

“Can I see your ticket, ma’am?”

I looked up, my expression going blank. Crap, she called me ma’am. “Um, it’s in my handbag,” I said, seeing it in front of her. “I’m going out for my brother’s wedding.”

She reached for my bag as she leaned to look at the screen. “Nice dress. Bridesmaid?”

I nodded, trying to stay calm. Her attitude had shifted from boredom to a sharp interest. On the other side of security, Ivy waited with her hip cocked.

“Can I reach into your bag for your ticket?” the woman asked, and I nodded again, hope sinking. “There’s a problem here,” she said, not even looking at the paper.

From behind me, the couple with the kid began complaining more loudly, a businessman and what looked like an entire high school cheerleading team behind them joining in.

“My brother gave it to me,” I said, leaning closer, only to have her point at the floor and a yellow line I’d never even noticed before. “I checked it online,” I babbled as I backed up. “It’s still good. Look, my seat is verified and everything.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said, my bag with all my identification in it in her grip. Oh God, what if they slipped Brimstone in there or something? “Could you step over there, please?” she asked tightly. “Just through here.” She flipped the conveyor belt up and pointed to a laminated table and three chairs set to the side. Two guys and a woman in blue were waiting for me, hands placed behind their backs so their guns and wands showed. It was the wands I was worried about.

“Sure,” I said, slumping, and Jenks darted to join Ivy. Taking a deep breath, I crossed the yellow line into enemy territory, the carpet changing from dirty and threadbare to only dirty.

“Rachel?” Ivy called out with Jenks on her shoulder. “What do you want me to do?”

I hesitated. “Wait for me on the other side?”

She smiled without mirth. “I was planning on doing that anyway.”

I knew she was saying more than her words were, and I dropped my eyes. Twenty minutes. I had only twenty minutes to get to my gate. Damn it! I should have known better. I wasn’t going to make it. I could either spend my time arguing with these guys or grab a shuttle back to the car. Screwing up my resolve, I eyed my shoulder bag on the table and my garment bag on the counter behind them.

“Look,” I said as I stopped before the table, “I don’t want to waste your time. If there’s not a fairy’s fart in a windstorm of a chance I’m going to make my flight, or any flight for that matter, will you just let me know now so we can all get on with our lives?”

One of the men inclined his head and gave me a cigarette-stained smile. “Not a chance.”

“Okay.” I nodded, trying to stay calm. Looking across the conveyors and archways, I found Ivy and Jenks and made a “kill” gesture.

“Well, duh,” I heard Ivy say faintly, and I turned back to the security people.

“Can I have my bags back?” I asked. Apart from my car keys, the curse to make Jenks big, and my scrying mirror, I had all the materials to make Trent’s curse in my shoulder bag.

The head security guy hesitated, and I stifled a surge of anger. What did Al do to scare the crap out of me? Oh yes. Get cold and pleasant.

“Don’t mess with me, Johnny Boy Scout.” Pleasant was too much to ask for, but I could manage cold. “I’m being really nice right now. Just give me my purse and my dress, and I’ll be on my way and out of your hair. That is the first bridesmaid’s dress I’ve ever liked, and I’m not leaving it here.” I put my hands on the table, aware of but ignoring the fact that the two subordinates had dropped back and were touching their wands. “Do we understand each other?” I said softly. “Or do I need to stamp it on your foreheads with my foot?” I smiled. That would be the pleasant part.

I felt more than saw Ivy’s sleek form slip back through the security exit. Jenks was a sparkle of dust on her shoulder. “Told you so!” she shouted, not slowing as she headed for the doors.

“Yeah, you did!” I exclaimed, not taking my eyes off the head guy.

As expected, my being left to my own devices made the security people more nervous, not less. I wasn’t being abandoned; I was capable of handling this on my own.

“Well?” I said, again finding my pleasant inner demon. “You going to give me my dress and my car keys, or am I going to show you why I was shunned?” My smile grew even brighter, even as my mood became more pissed.

“Give it to her,” the man said, his words clipped and precise.

“But they said to detain her!” the woman said, sounding disappointed.

Taking his eyes from mine, the head security man met his subordinate’s eyes. “Give the woman her dress,” he said, pushing my bag back to me across the table. “She’s not the one they want.”

“But …”

“Give the woman her God-blessed dress!” he shouted, and everyone looked at us, the noise of a plane taking off sounding all the louder in the sudden silence. His ears reddening, he hunched like a bear. “I have had an incident-free workplace for three years, and I’m not going to let you ruin that because you want a little gold star, Annie.”

The woman huffed, but the man beside her had handed me my things.

Sliding the straps of my bag over my shoulder, I accepted the unwieldy garment bag. “Thanks,” I said, surprised that calm and pleasant had gotten me further than hotheaded threats. Maybe there was something to a demon’s methods. My bags had never been out of my sight, but I hesitated, finding and holding the man’s attention. “Are they bugged?”

“No,” he said, his eyes flicking from me to the distant doors behind me and back again. “But your checked luggage probably is. Good luck, Ms. Morgan. You helped my grandfather once. About three years ago, on a bus. I think you’re getting a bum rap.”

I hesitated, then smiled as I searched my memory for a familiar face and found a close match. “He was being harassed by Were pups? Winter, wasn’t it?” I asked, getting a flustered nod in return. “It was my pleasure. You take care of yourself, okay? And thanks.”

He smiled, totally ignoring the woman behind him having a hissy, and with my pride intact, I spun on a heel and strode for the big plate-glass doors.

The second I emerged from the low-ceilinged hallway, Jenks dropped down to me. “I told you so,” he sang out, wings spilling a yellow dust over me like a sunbeam. Somehow, though, I didn’t have it in me to be mad. It wasn’t often that I ran into anyone who knew me, and even less frequent that they thanked me.

“Yes, you did,” I said, disappointed. Six hours on a plane, and I’d have been there. Now I had three days to get to the West Coast. Stiff, I pushed the automatic door aside when it didn’t slide quickly enough. The fresh air hit me, and I hesitated, fumbling in my bag for a moment until I remembered that I’d sat on my sunglasses yesterday.

“What about your luggage?” Jenks asked, and I shook my head, squinting in the bright morning light and brisk wind, looking for Ivy.

“Forget it. It’s bugged,” I said. “I’d have to dip everything in salt water.”

My new jeans, the silk sweater I was going to impress Robbie with, the swimsuit that took me three weekends to find … gone. At least I still have my dress, I thought, hiking it farther up on my shoulder. “Where’s Ivy?”

Jenks’s wings hit a higher pitch, and when he started swearing in one-syllable words, I followed his line of sight down to the end of the curb. Sighing, I pushed myself into motion and made my way past the chatting skycaps to the low black car. Ivy was there with her briefcase at her feet, the flat of her arms on the open front window as she talked to the driver. Her butt was giving the porters something to stare at, and not all the oglers were men. It had to be Trent. Whoopie friggin’ surprise.

From somewhere above me, Jenks shrilled, “Listen to me! Listen this time, witch! This is Trent’s doing! He wants to get you alone and brainwash you with a charm! Hit you with an enthrallment spell. What about yesterday, huh? You saw what he did! How stupid can you get?”

“Pretty stupid,” I said, feeling my heels clunking all the way up my spine as I dodged oversize luggage and yet another cheerleading team. “Trent isn’t going to charm me,” I said, not so sure anymore. He had tried once before, the spell fizzling only because I’d been drenched in salt water at the time. I wanted to trust him but couldn’t bring myself to do it, even if he’d shown me a part of himself that would be dangerous in the right hands. And what was with the elven magic? That stuff could kill you if you didn’t do it right.

Jenks dropped down to my shoulder, reminding me of a shoulder angel. “He’s going to convince you to get in that car,” he said. “And then you’re going to believe everything he says.”

I tried look at Jenks but failed. He was too close. “Probably. I want to talk to Quen.”

Wings going full tilt, Jenks drifted backward off my shoulder, sputtering.

Ivy noticed my approach and pulled herself out of the window, a hint of relief in her dark eyes. They were dilated despite the early sun but not bad. Worry, not fear. Squinting from the morning light, I looked inside to find Quen behind the wheel. A real smile came over me, and I crouched to avoid looking bad next to Ivy’s perfection. Despite, or maybe because of, having fought Trent’s security officer in the past, I liked Quen, and by the honest smile on the older man’s pebbly textured face, I knew he liked me, too.

“Hi, Quen,” I said cheerfully. “How’s Ceri?”

From the backseat, Trent cleared his throat, but I was mad at him and ignored him.

“Round, irritable, and as happy as if the world were hers,” Quen said, the dark-complexioned man reaching across the seat to shake my hand. It felt small in mine but powerful, and it reminded me of Pierce’s. His voice was as gravelly as his skin, both remnants of the Turn. It hit some species harder than most, but witches, vampires, pure elves, and Weres not at all. Quen had some human in him. Not that I thought any the less of him for it.

“It is,” I said as I took my hand back. There was something wrong with me. I could free thousand-year-old slaves, outwit militant Weres, survive exploding boats and a vampire roommate once fixated on my blood and body both, but I couldn’t find my own happiness. Yet seeing Ceri smile as she held her baby? That would be a good second place.

Quen was an honorable man. If Trent was up to something he didn’t approve of, he’d tell me. Wouldn’t he? Unsure, I angled my head to Quen. “If you were me, what would you do?”

“I’d get in the car.” His eyes were focused out the front window, his jaw tight. He was Trent’s security officer and abided by his wishes, but he’d also helped raise Trent and was probably the only one besides Ceri who could say no to him with impunity. And he wanted me to get in the car. A shiver ran through me. Something bad was coming. I could feel it.

“Good enough,” I said, hearing Trent’s exasperated sigh from the back.

My hand went to the handle, but Ivy’s was already there.

“I am not sitting in the back with Trent,” she said, eyes narrowing in warning. Behind her, Jenks pantomimed being hanged.

“Oh, for Tink’s diaphragm!” the pixy said. “What is wrong with you women?”

The trunk popped open with a slow whine, and I went around back to stow the garment bag nice and flat. Quen met me back there, and I handed it to him. “Thanks,” I said softly as Ivy and Jenks got in the front seat, arguing. The door slammed, and Quen gently put my dress into the trunk, already holding a bland but expensive-looking piece of luggage. We had only a moment. Time for only one question. Licking my lips, I blurted out, “Did Trent send those elves yesterday to persuade me to help him?”

Quen met my eyes, a lifetime of nobility in them. “No,” he said simply. “I’d feel better if he had, though.”

My shoulders slumped, and I didn’t move as he eased the trunk closed and the power lock whined as it shut. Squinting, I looked up at a plane taking off, roaring overhead to who knew where. Portland, maybe. My gaze dropped to the bustle of people. Life was going on, and no one but a handful of people cared if I lived or died.

“Yeah. Me, too,” I said with a sigh. Feeling trapped, I went to the door that Quen opened for me and slid into the leather-scented darkness.

Four

If looks could kill, my face would show the imprint of Jenks’s thoughts. The irate pixy was sitting on the rearview mirror of Trent’s big black car, heels thumping the glass and scowling at me as a green dust sifted from him, sparkling in the sun before it hit the dash to make an evil puddle, then spilling to the floor. Ivy was in the front passenger seat, talking softly to Quen about the success he’d had with Trent’s highly experimental treatment to make vampire neurotoxins dormant. I could tell it bothered Trent that they were discussing the illegal, high-risk procedure, and the only reason it didn’t bother me was because it wouldn’t help Ivy in her quest to be free of her vampirism. She was a vampire, and making the neurotoxins dormant in her wouldn’t save her soul when she died.

No, she expected me to do that.

Crossing my knees, I looked out the tinted window. We were passing through a weird mix of airport and industry on our way to long-term parking, and I felt cut off. The light making it through the tint was ugly, and it made me uneasy. No one was looking at us. We were just another black car. That made me uncomfortable, too.

From the far side of the backseat, Trent said, “Quen, could we have the roof open?”

Their conversation never hesitated as Quen touched a button and the small square of roof slid back to let the wind and sun roll in. I couldn’t stop my sigh of relief, and I settled back into the comfortable leather. I hadn’t meant to telegraph my unease, but I thought it telling that Trent was trying to make me more comfortable. Taking a deep breath, I tucked a stray curl behind my ear and looked at him. I’d called his bluff and was still alive. It must irritate him to no end.

He met my eyes and simpered, destroying any illusion I might have had about him being miffed with me. Damn it, he had warned me that I wouldn’t be able to fly, and it rankled that I’d have to admit he was right. That jet of his was looking easy. Easy like a demon curse, and those always came back to smack you.

I smiled back, thinking of that curse I owed him. He wouldn’t kill me for delaying it, but I was pushing him, and he would push back eventually. That he wasn’t dressed for revenge, having gone extremely casual today, made me feel better, and whereas Quen was in his usual black outfit that looked somewhat like a uniform crossed with a martial artist’s robe, Trent was wearing jeans and a lightweight short-sleeved shirt. Instead of his thousand-dollar boardroom shoes, he had on brown boots, scuffed from the stables and comfortable.

I was sure his appearance had been painstakingly contrived to remind me of the evening we had ridden over his fields. His number one man, Jonathan, had died under a pack of dogs that night for having attempted to kill me without Trent’s permission. Killing an enemy’s enemy was probably elven tradition for cementing a new relationship, but that Trent had run his own man down like some perverted version of the Hunt left me cold. Trent had insisted that it hadn’t been Jonathan out there and stayed with me while the horns blew and the dogs bayed, but I hadn’t seen Jonathan since.

Green was truly Trent’s color, and I wondered if the buttons of his shirt were real silver. The wind shifted the collar to show a wisp of hair, and I looked away, my pulse quickening. The moon had been new that night, and it had been wonderful riding as Trent tried to show me what it was like to rule creation with dogs singing for the blood of the one who had hurt me. It had left me feeling curiously … lofty.

And then he goes and does black magic in my kitchen? My attention flicked back to Trent, his expression open and wondering, clearly curious as to where my thoughts had gone. Looking toward the front through the quietly moving car, I sighed and said loudly, “Okay. I can’t fly. You told me so. I’m still not getting on your jet. And I’m still not going to remove your familiar mark until I’m free of the coven.”

Jenks made a rude sound and a burst of dust came from his wings.

Trent shifted in his seat, inadvertently giving away his mood. “I never offered the use of my jet. There you are, jumping to conclusions again, Ms. Morgan.”

My runner instincts kicked in, a soothing adrenaline starting to flow. Trent was trying to look relaxed when he was almost sweating. “Jumping to conclusions is my only option when every third word out of your mouth is a half-truth,” I shot back. “The Withons trying to kill you for standing up their daughter is a good story, except I know she walked out on you, not the other way around. You’re still lying to me. No.”

Quen’s eyes flicked to mine by way of the rearview mirror. His conversation with Ivy had cut off, and the tension in the car spiked. “You don’t need to know why I need to get to the coast,” Trent said softly, and Quen’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. Crap on toast, whatever it was, it was bad. “All you need to do is get me there,” Trent finished.

Jenks’s wings were humming a warning, and even Ivy looked worried as she turned in the front seat so she could see me. Her window made a soft sound as she cracked it.

“You’re the only one Quen … trusts,” Trent added, his gaze on his fingers in the shaft of early sun, gray through the tinted windows.

There was that word again, and I grimaced as I looked to Quen and he inclined his head at me in unspoken encouragement. Damn it, I didn’t want to be responsible for Trent. I didn’t even like Trent. “Just get your little elf butt on your private jet and go,” I muttered, jealous that his money made everything easy for him.

“I can’t,” Trent explained patiently. “I can’t take the train, either. Tradition says I have to go by land, and I need to be there by Sunday night.”

“Two days!” I yelped. “By car? Are you nuts? What do you need to do on the West Coast in two days that you can’t do by phone?”

Jenks’s wings hummed as if he was going to join us in the back, but a look from Ivy stopped him. The car turned a corner and the sun shifted, coming in to touch my knee without warmth. Trent leaned back into the shadows, reluctant to answer. “What’s on the West Coast?” I asked again. “Trent, if you want my help, treat me like a professional. I need to know. Especially if lame-ass assassins are going to be dogging us.”

Quen sighed heavily, and at the sound Trent seemed to get mad. “It’s my personal business,” Trent said, glancing at the back of Quen’s head. “No one will be hurt by it, and it doesn’t touch on your upcoming trial.”

“It’s not a trial, it’s a pardon,” I said quickly, but we all knew he was right.

Trent looked at me across the seat, his green eyes almost black in the shadows. “If you can get me there by Sunday, I should have time to speak for you at the meeting as well,” he said, earning a bark of laughter from Jenks. “That is, if my familiar curse is gone by then.”

Carrots. Sweeter than vinegar but still unpalatable, I thought, remembering the drug-laced carrots I’d eaten once while a mink trapped in his office. Son of a bitch, what was I doing?

“Get me there after Sunday, and I’ll miss my window of opportunity,” Trent added. “Three days, and there is no reason for me to go at all. If we leave immediately, we can make both of our deadlines.”

My trial was Sunday night, and I met Jenks’s and Ivy’s eyes. This had all the earmarks of the tip of an iceberg. Trent was in trouble with the biggest elf family on the West Coast. And though he hadn’t blamed me, I might have had some part in it. Guilt licked at my soul. I had a really bad feeling about this.

“Will you do it?” Trent asked. He sounded angry but not at me, and I could hear a whisper of past arguments with Quen in his tone. Though Trent was the boss, Quen ran Trent’s life, had since Trent’s father died. It had to rankle when the only way Quen would let him go would be with me.

“No,” I said, sitting up straighter. “The last time I worked for you willingly, the boat blew up. That water was cold.”

“Atta girl, Rache!” Jenks exclaimed, and Ivy leaned over to whisper a question to Quen.

Trent’s expression was empty. “I kept you alive, didn’t I?”

“Only so you could pound my head into a tombstone!”

“I was upset,” he said, avoiding my glare as he gazed at the parking lot we’d turned into. The sun shifted to him, making his embarrassment easy to read.

“I had just saved your life!” I said. “And you try to kill me for something I hadn’t done and wouldn’t do. No, I don’t think so. You’re spouting pretty words like ‘trust,’ but you don’t give it. I’m not going to help you get to the West Coast so you can run your personal errand. Especially if you are playing around with black magic.”

Trent’s eyes fixed on mine, his anger easy to read as he put one ankle on his knee, looking both cold and professional. “Ceri does black magic. You like her.”

I squinted at him. “Ceri has morals,” I said, and Quen winced. “I might not understand them half the time, but she’s got them. You …” I almost poked Trent in the chest, turning the motion into a quick point. “I don’t trust you.”

“You need me,” Trent said, playing it like it was his last card, desperate despite his attempts to hide his stress. “If I’m with you, the coven will be less inclined to take potshots at you. I’ll admit that my dealings with you to date have been less than above board.” His jaw clenched. “I’m trying to change that. If not for me, you wouldn’t even have this chance to clear your name. I swear, Rachel, that my business on the West Coast has nothing to do with you.”

My foot braced against the carpet as the car gently halted. I looked up, seeing the back of my mom’s car. Finally.

“Thanks. I have it from here,” Ivy said with her usual calm control. Opening her door, she slipped out. Jenks followed her, shrilling something about his kids. Quen, too, got out, and the trunk whined as it opened. Ivy had a set of keys to my mom’s Buick, and she opened the trunk, taking my garment bag as Quen handed it to her. Reaching for the door, I picked up my shoulder bag.

“You,” I said to Trent, gripping my bag tightly, “are anything but aboveboard with me. You ask me to trust you, but even now you’re not telling me everything. You must think I filled a prescription for stupid pills if you think I’m going to get you out to the West Coast in two days for ‘personal business.’ God, Trent, you told the coven I was a demon!” I could bear to say it now that Ivy, Jenks, and Quen weren’t in the car, but my face still burned.

I pulled on the handle, but nothing happened. Damn it, the thing had child locks.

“I need your help,” Trent said as I leaned over the front seat and unlocked the doors from the passenger panel. I flopped back in the seat and reached for my handle, shocked when Trent touched my arm. “I need your help,” he said again, letting go. “Please.”

Oh crap. He’d said please. Gut clenching, I covered my arm where he’d touched me. His eyes were pinched, and I wondered if I was really seeing that whisper of desperate need in the back of his eyes, or if this was all a trick to get me to do what he wanted. “Why?” I asked, letting go of my arm. It felt like he was touching me still.

At the question, the tight press of his lips eased. Outside the car, Quen, Jenks, and Ivy were talking in a small huddle, but the drama was inside the car. Trent wasn’t faking. He needed me—and he wouldn’t tell me why.

Exhaling, I closed my eyes in a long blink. Crap, I was a sucker for helpless males, especially when they looked as good as Trent. A quiver rose through me, and I felt my resolve start to fall apart. He was powerful, he was suave, and he needed my help. He’d asked for it.

Damn it, damn it, damn it! I suddenly realized that no matter how much I complained and argued, I was going to do exactly what Trent wanted. Again. And it irritated me that he was right. If the coven was going to take a shot at me en route, they would think twice if Trent was with me. I didn’t trust Trent, but I trusted the coven even less.

“I desperately need to get to the West Coast before Sunday night,” he said, and my eyes opened. “It’s a private matter. This is the most important thing in my life. Please help me.”

The faint scent from his boots of stables was winding its way into me now that the car wasn’t moving and the air was still. His clothes, the sun in his hair, everything combined to remind me of a summer afternoon when I was twelve and he had found me crying in the stables at summer camp, thinking I’d alienated my best friend. The thrill I’d felt, the power he’d given me when we took a fence together on his horse twined through me. Then a mere two months ago when we had pounded over his fields under the moonlight, believing the lie that the scream we had heard was a fox and not the man who had tried to kill me. Remembering it all, I quivered, feeling myself pulled to him. Shit. Maybe I was a demon.

I spoke to my knees. “If I get you to the West Coast by Sunday, you have to promise to help me at the coven meeting. I need them to reinstate my citizenship that you pushed them into revoking and guarantee that everyone stops gunning for me.” Heart pounding, I looked up. “If I can’t beat this, I’m permanently in the ever-after.” I was going to regret this. I knew it.

“I didn’t know that,” he said, looking like he was realigning his thinking.

He went to say something more, but Jenks had dropped down through the open roof to hover between us. “You ready to go, Rache?” he asked, looking far too bright and eager.

“Yes,” I said, tired as I gathered my bag to myself again. “We need to talk. I’m going to get Trent to the coast. I’m going to need your help, and don’t try to stop me.”

The pixy put his hands on his hips and grinned at me. “I know.”

My lips parted, and I stared at him. I know? He’d said, I know? “Who are you, and how did you kill my partner?” I said, and Jenks spilled a silver dust.

“Cookie farts is right,” he said. “Neither of you will make it out there without the other. And me, to help.”

A huge sigh came from Trent instead of the expected bad temper at the slur. His eyes were closed, and when they opened, there was hope—it made him look more powerful yet. “We can leave within the hour,” he said, opening the door. “They won’t be expecting that.”

I wondered if he meant they as in the Withons or they as in the coven.

Trent was gone, his door thumping shut. Jenks shot out of the roof. Scrambling, I worked the door and got out, blinking as I emerged in the sun. “They won’t be expecting it because it’s a stupid idea,” I said, seeing Trent beside Ivy and Quen. “I need to go home and pack again,” I said, striding to the trunk of my mom’s car. “Jenks needs to find a babysitter.”

Ivy shifted my garment bag to show two suitcases, my old blue one and the other I’d seen in the trunk of Trent’s car. It had to be Trent’s. What was my old suitcase doing here? And Trent’s? That was Trent’s, wasn’t it?

“You’ve got your dress,” Ivy said as I stared. “And everything you packed for the airplane is in your blue bag.”

“Wha-what was in my checked luggage?” I stammered.

Ivy gave me one of her few full smiles. “Magazines,” she said matter-of-factly. “They weren’t going to let you get on that plane,” she said coaxingly when my brow furrowed, “so sue me for thinking ahead. I just moved everything you packed to a different bag. I thought we’d hit the train station next, but this is better.”

Not believing this was happening, I looked at everyone in turn, feeling like I’d been manipulated. “What about Jenks and his kids?” I asked.

“I called Jih,” Jenks said as he landed on the raised trunk, his wings going red in the reflected heat. “Bis is going to watch them at night, and Jih is going to watch them during the day. Her husband wasn’t going for it until I agreed that Jih could bring home whatever she wanted from the graveyard.” His wings hummed and he took flight, warm again. “Ivy’s going to bring me my good sword and some toothbrushes.”

“You’re coming?” I asked Ivy, not seeing her suitcase in the trunk.

She shrugged. “I’m going to close up the church and fly out to join you. You can get to St. Louis by nightfall. I already have my ticket.”

Oh God. The one she’d bought today? Feeling used, I dropped back, eying them in disbelief. “This morning was all for show?” I said bitterly.

From beside me, Trent shifted his feet. “Is this why you suggested I dress casually?” he asked Quen. “You knew I wasn’t coming back?”

Jenks hummed, close, darting off when I waved him away before he could land on my shoulder. “We had to be sure Ivy could fly,” the pixy said. “Now we know she can. We’re taking your mom’s car.”

The pixy looked too satisfied to live, but I wasn’t happy.

“No, we’re taking mine,” Trent said suddenly, and I realized he hadn’t known about this, either. It made me feel a little better. Especially when Quen cleared his throat and fell into a modified parade rest.

“No, Sa’han, you’re taking Ms. Morgan’s car.”

I turned to Ivy and Jenks, both of them smiling in the sun as if it was all just a joke. Me and Trent in a car to St. Louis? The tabloids would love it. “You had this all worked out, huh?”

“Not all of it until just now,” Ivy said. “But both Quen and I like to be prepared.”

From my other side, Trent muttered, “Can I talk to you, Quen? Privately?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jenks said brightly when Quen inclined his head to excuse himself. “Go complain. It isn’t going to change anything.”

Gravel crunched under Trent’s boots as the two elves went to have an argument that I was sure Trent was going to lose. Uneasy, I squinted in the sun as I faced Ivy. “You agree with this?”

Ivy nodded, and Jenks darted away to eavesdrop on Trent and Quen. “I think this is the safest way to get you there,” Ivy said, and my focus sharpened on her. “The coven won’t take a shot at you with Trent in the car, and the Withons’ assassins aren’t that much of a threat. It’s the best of a bad situation. And if he is lying and he double-crosses you, I’ll kill him for you.”

From anyone else, it would have been an idle threat, and I smiled, feeling loved.

“Take this for me,” Ivy said, handing me her laptop in the briefcase. “If for some reason I can’t get on the plane, I’ll bike out and join you. With luck, I’ll see you in a few hours.”

I took the briefcase as the heavy door of my mom’s car slammed. Nervous, I gave her a hug. Jenks flew up, dusting us as he got included in there somewhere. “Be nice,” Ivy whispered as she let go, and I shivered at the feeling of her words on my neck.

Flustered, I backed up, holding the briefcase before me like a fig leaf. Quen was coming toward us, and I shifted to make room for him. Trent was in the front seat, passenger side. Huh. He was in for a surprise if he thought he was going to ride the entire way.

Worry made the creases in the older man’s face deeper. Gripping my hand, Quen’s expression smoothed out somewhat. “Thank you, Rachel,” he said as he let go. “Don’t let him do anything too stupid.”

“If he does,” Jenks said loudly, “we’ll just leave him at a restaurant or something.”

I didn’t bother to hide my smile, but I shook my head to reassure Trent’s security officer. I had more class than that. I think.

Quen hesitated as Ivy made motions to get back into Trent’s car, then he said quickly, “Thank you from me. Ceri and me both …”

My smile grew wider, and for the first time, I started to feel good about this. “You’re welcome,” I said, knowing Quen couldn’t leave Ceri. It was his child she was having, not Trent’s. The woman could take on demons and win, but to have Quen beside her as she brought their child into the world would mean more to her than anything else.

“Bring him home safely so I don’t have to mess you up,” Quen added as he turned away, and my worry flowed back. I was responsible for Trent. I was responsible for keeping him alive on this magic carpet ride. Remind me again of why I said yes?

But Quen had gotten into the sleek black car with Ivy, and I did nothing as it looped forward and around, and left. The sound of the popping of gravel under tires gave way to crickets. A hot summer breeze rose, making my hair tickle my neck. My gaze went to the pale blue sky, then shifted to the cameras on the light poles.

I took a slow breath, and it was as if I could see the entire world spreading out unseen before me, making me small as I realized how far we had to go.

“How many miles is it?” I whispered to Jenks, and the sound of his wings melted into the morning, sounding right.

“One at a time, Rache.”

Nodding, I dropped my eyes and scuffed my boots to the passenger side of the car. Yanking the door open, I met Trent’s startled gaze. He was wearing a pair of classy, green-tinted sunglasses, and it made him look all the better. “You’re driving,” I said flatly.

Trent stared. “I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t have a license,” I said, waiting for him to get out. “The I.S. took it when I got summoned out on I-77 and plowed my car into a bridge railing. You’re driving, bucko. At least until we get out of the city and no one will recognize me.”

He blinked, then muttered, “For God’s sake,” as he undid his seat belt and slid over.

Jenks darted into the car as I got in, taking his usual seat on the rearview mirror. “You’re not going to swear all the bloody Tink-blasted way there, are you?” he asked.

Feeling weird, I settled myself, my bag going on the backseat. “I’ve got one more condition, or this stops right here,” I said, and Trent sighed, his hands on the wheel, staring at the dusty trunk of the car in front of us. Overhead, a plane roared.

“What,” he said flatly, more of a demand than a question.

My thoughts went back to the enthrallment curse and him wiping the memories of Jack and Jill, and I laboriously rolled my window down. My mom didn’t trust electronics, and they were the old crank style. “You do nothing but drive,” I said. “Got it? No wiping memories, no enthrallment, and no fighting if there’s trouble. Nothing. You sit in a bubble and play tiddledywinks.”

Jenks made a scoffing sound. “You’re not good at this, greenie weenie, and you’re going to slow us down if you try.”

“You don’t like my magic?” he said, a thread of pride in him.

“No,” I shot back, stifling a shiver at the memory of his wild, elven magic. “I don’t. Calling on the divine for strength is risky, and you never know what you’re going to get. Keep it to yourself, or I’m going to zip-strip you.”

His eyebrows rose mockingly. “Not a good feeling, is it? Knowing someone has the ability to do bad things and you just have to trust they won’t.”

“I only do black magic as a last resort,” I said through clenched teeth. It was all I could do not to smack the smug, satisfied look off his face.

“Keys?” Trent said mockingly, and Jenks hummed his wings in anticipation.

Twisting, I reached over the seat for my bag, flushing when I got myself back where I belonged. Sheesh, my butt had been inches from Trent, and Jenks was laughing as I refastened my seat belt. Trent was still utterly emotionless, and I smacked the keys into his hand with enough force to bring his eyes to mine.

“She’s all yours, Jeeves,” I said, closing my eyes as I tried to gather my strength. This was going to be a long ride. They stayed shut for all of three seconds, flashing open when Trent revved the engine hard, jamming it into reverse and making me reach for the dash. “Take it easy!” I shouted, staring at Trent, his eyes on the rearview mirror.

“Watch where you’re driving that piece of blue-haired crap!” someone yelled, and I turned to the businessman behind us, clearly hot and bad tempered as he looked for his car.

I went to shout something appropriately rude, but Trent had already yanked the wheel around and was accelerating, leaving him in a cloud of gravel dust. “When we get to St. Louis, we’re renting a real car,” Trent muttered.

“There is nothing wrong with my mom’s car,” I snapped.

Trent was silent, staring straight ahead, but I was fuming. There was nothing wrong with my mom’s car. Nothing at all.

Five

Anarrow slice of early-afternoon sun made it into the front seat to warm my arm, resting on the open window. I was driving—big surprise—and the wind had my hair in a tangle that would take half a bottle of cream rinse to fix. We’d stopped three hours out in the bottom part of Indiana for Jenks to find something to eat and somewhere to pee, and after that he told me he was going to nap. Elves had a similar sleep schedule, and though he hadn’t said anything, it was obvious that Trent was getting sleepy, too, so I’d offered to drive.

Actually, I mused as I glanced at a somnolent Trent, the last four hours had been nice. Trent’s face was pleasant when he wasn’t scowling. His jeans and shirt made him look dramatically different—more attractive than his usual suit somehow. Accessible maybe. The wind shifted his baby-fine hair as he slumped against the door, as far from me as he could get.

I could reach right out and smack him if I wanted. I hadn’t liked his quiet disdain of my mom’s car. So it didn’t have a six-speaker system or power doors or windows. It wasn’t shiny, and the blue color didn’t do anything for me, either. But I could do ten miles an hour more in my old-lady car than in my shiny red car and never get noticed. It had lots of cup holders, too.

Tucking a wayward curl behind an ear, I eyed his sunglasses in envy, just sitting on the dash while he slept. I bet they’d look better on me than on him. The sun was giving me a headache, and I almost reached for them—until I noticed that Trent’s hands were clenched, even in sleep. Okay, maybe he wasn’t as comfortable with this as he wanted me to believe. Still, it said something that he’d even fallen asleep.

Looking back to the flat landscape we’d been in for the last hour or so, I wondered if I’d be able to fall asleep with Trent driving. This was weird, and not just because a witch, an elf, and a pixy were on the Great American Road Trip. I still owed Trent that “freed familiar” curse, and guilt was tugging at me.

Bothered, I glanced at my shoulder bag where his curse was, then back to the road. A quick look at the rearview mirror assured me that Jenks was still sleeping, soaking in the sun like a tiny winged cat in the back window. Sighing, I returned my attention to the landscape. I’d never driven like this, and the open spaces were getting to me. The road had been built pre-Turn, and it was creepy driving past town after town that had been abandoned during the plague the Turn had been born of. The trees growing through the roofs of abandoned buildings and the tall yellow M’s and old gas station signs high above new forests made me positively uncomfortable.

The mix of vegetation covering the old destruction was reminiscent of the ever-after, and curious, I brought up my second sight. My scalp tingled, the sensation shifting over my skull to make me shiver as the red-tinted ever-after swam up, coating everything in a sheen of red. The sun seemed to cast two shadows, but apart from the road, which now looked broken and covered with weeds, everything looked pretty much the same. A sun-baked field of nothing but grass stretched from horizon to horizon. Demons congregated where the ley lines were, living under them in the ground where nothing changed much.

According to Al, the ever-after was a broken reality, unable to stand on its own, and was being dragged along behind ours, connected to and kept alive by the ley lines. Energy flowed like tides between them, preventing the ever-after from vanishing and giving the alternate reality a broken visage. It was a reflection of reality but shattered. So if Cincinnati put up a new building, a new one would show up in the ever-after, but would begin to fall apart even before it was completed. That’s why demons lived underground. We didn’t construct much below a certain level, so nothing changed there but what the demons fashioned for themselves. They used gargoyles like familiars, pulling ley-line energy deep into the earth to where they could use it.

But here, out in the spaces between big conglomerations of ley lines where the cities were, there was a whole lot of red-sheened nothing: trees, grass, bushes. You’d think that being an earth witch I’d like nature, but I didn’t. Not like this anyway. It felt broken. It didn’t help that the ever-after looked almost normal out here. Except for the black parts …

Squinting, I tried to figure out what they were. I’d never seen them in Cincinnati’s version of the ever-after, and they glinted silver under the red-tinted sun, like a heat mirage or something, reflecting … nothing.

Still using my second sight, I looked over the trees to St. Louis, feeling better with the tall buildings, even if they looked broken with the overlay of my second sight. We were close, and I dropped my second sight and twisted in my seat to pull my phone out of my back pocket. I’d gotten a text from Ivy earlier when she’d boarded her plane, then again when she’d landed. We were going to meet at the arch. I should give her a call.

“What were you just doing?” Trent said suddenly, and I jerked, dropping my phone.

“Jeez, Trent!” I yelped. “How long have you been watching me?” I flushed, glancing in the back to see Jenks’s wings shift and spill a silver dust as he slept on. “I’m calling Ivy.”

Trent sat up, rubbing his right bicep where his familiar mark was, before he bent almost double to get my phone from under my feet. “You forgot I was here,” he said as he handed it to me, smiling as if it pleased him. “What were you doing? Before, I mean. You were looking at something, and it wasn’t the view. Your aura had a shadow on it. I’ve never seen that.”

Great. He’d been watching me. Grimacing, I focused on the road. The traffic was starting to thicken as we approached the city. “Really?” I said shortly. Jenks had said the same thing to me once when I was doing some high magic. I didn’t like that my “aura shadow” showed up when I was using my second sight. Smiling as if nothing was wrong, I tossed my phone to him, and he deftly caught it. “Will you call Ivy for me? Tell her where we are?”

He tossed it back, and it thumped onto my lap. “I’m not your secretary.”

Dude, that was just rude, I thought, intentionally swerving from the right lane to the left as I flipped the phone open.

Trent clutched the door and the dash, and from the backseat Jenks shrilled, “Hey! Rache! What the Disney blasted hell are you doing?”

I was smiling my prettiest as Trent growled, “Give me the phone.”

“Thank you,” I all but sang, dropping it into his hand and rolling up the window so he could hear better. He seemed harmless in his jeans and shirt, and I wondered how much of his charisma came from his wardrobe. Jenks apparently appreciated the drop in wind, and he flew back to the front, looking rumpled and sleepy as he yawned and sat on the rearview mirror.

“Where are we?” he asked, rubbing a hand over his wings to check for tears.

“Still on I-70,” I said as Trent scrolled through my call list, eyebrows going high when he found the mayor’s number. Yeah, we had talked. Got that little misunderstanding about her son a few years ago taken care of. “We’ll be crossing the Mississippi in a minute,” I added.

Rubbing his arm again, Trent hit a button and put the phone to his ear. I wondered if he knew he was doing it, rubbing his familiar mark. “One of these days your smart-ass attitude is going to get you killed,” he said softly.

“Not today,” I said, then watched Jenks peer behind us.

“Huh,” the pixy said, not sounding at all worried. “They’re still there.”

Nodding, I flicked my gaze to the mirror, seeing a gold Cadillac a way back. “Yup.”

Phone to his ear, Trent turned to look. “We’re being followed?”

“Relax, cookie maker,” Jenks said as he continued to work over his wings. “They’ve been there since Terre Haute.”

A knot of worry started to tighten. Was it me they were following or Trent?

There was a faint hail on the tiny speaker, and Trent continued to watch the car behind us through the side mirror. “Ms. Tamwood,” he said, and I marveled at his voice. “Rachel would like to talk to you,” he added as I held out my hand.

“Hey, hi,” I said as I wrangled the phone to my ear. “We’re almost across the Mississippi. How was your flight?”

“Lousy.” Ivy sounded tired, but she’d been up longer than I had. “I’m at the arch,” she continued. “Stay on I-70, then take the South Memorial Drive exit just after the bridge.”

“Thanks, I already looked at the map,” I said, mildly peeved. The woman had not only laminated the map, but she’d used a marker to star where we could stop for Jenks.

“Follow Memorial Drive all the way down to Washington,” she continued, as if I’d said nothing. “There’re signs everywhere to the parking structure.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said, exasperated, but Jenks was laughing as he landed on my shoulder.

“Rache, those guys are getting closer,” he said, pitching his voice so Ivy could hear him.

“What guys?” Ivy asked, her concern clear through the tiny speaker.

I fluffed my hair to make Jenks take off. Thanks a hell of a lot, Jenks.

“Someone’s tailing us,” I said casually.

“For how long?” she said, loud enough for Trent to hear.

“Long enough,” I said. “They aren’t that close. Quarter mile.”

“Two hundred feet, Ivy,” Jenks said loudly, back on the rearview mirror and knowing her superior vamp hearing would pick it up. “Three guys unless someone’s taking a nap.”

The good news being that if they were that close, the car probably wasn’t bugged.

“Maybe we should drive straight through. Where’s the map?” Jenks said, taking off in a burst of sparkles and vanishing in the backseat.

Trent stiffened, his gaze sharp on mine. “We need to stop.”

“I don’t need a map, Jenks,” I said, paying more attention to the road. We’d picked up a dump truck somewhere, and the road was getting crowded with semis and SUVs.

“If you’re being followed, just keep going,” Ivy said. “I’ve got a rental car, and I’ll catch up, okay? Ram them or something.”

“We are going to stop,” Trent said again, looking militantly adamant. Maybe he needed to use the little boy’s room after his nappies.

From the backseat, Jenks chimed, “I found it! Trent, be a pal and open it for me, huh?”

I jiggled the phone to my other ear, and the car swerved. Ram them? Was she serious?

“Rachel?” came Ivy’s voice, and I put my attention back on the road.

“You’re not going to ram them,” I said, and Trent rubbed his forehead as if in pain. “And we aren’t going to drive through. We are coming in. I’d rather meet up now than later, even if they are watching. They probably already know you’re waiting for us.”

Jenks darted up from the backseat, his hands on his hips. “Trent, I could use some help here. You just going to sit there like a pile of fairy crap the entire way?”

“We don’t need the map,” I said, starting to get mad. “And we are not driving through. We are stopping for Ivy!”

From my phone, Ivy was protesting, “There’s a bunch of kids here. You really want to risk a fight with the coven?”

“The coven wouldn’t dare,” I said as I started to wonder. “Not with innocents around. We can have an ice cream or something. Make bunny-eared kisses at them from across the park.”

“I suppose,” she agreed, sounding doubtful. “Call me when you park, okay?”

Making a murmur of agreement, I closed the phone and dropped it onto my lap.

“Good plan,” Trent said breathily, and a single warning flag went up, as smooth and sure as ice is cold. I don’t know why, because he was agreeing with me, but his attitude—the overwhelming relief he was trying to hide—was at complete odds with what he should be feeling with someone tailing us. Frowning, I thought back to whose idea it was to stop in St. Louis in the first place. Ivy’s, I think. She’d bought a flight going there.

The tires hummed as we found the bridge, and the world seemed to shift as we headed right for the city. The arch was huge. Word was that it pinned down one of the city’s ley lines, which I thought suspect. Why would anyone do anything so stupid?

“You need the Memorial Drive exit,” Trent said intently. “It goes right past the park.”

“Thanks, Trent,” I said, my eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“You’re in the wrong lane,” he added, and clenching my teeth, I wondered what he’d do if I just drove past the exit. Watching his body language, I shifted even farther to the left to get around a black car. Sure enough, he tensed.

Interesting, I mused, and then, checking the rearview to see that the gold car had done the same, I slid back to the right-hand lane, making the motion far too fast. Jenks yelped, taking to the air as the steering wheel spun. Trent clutched the dash, glaring at me as we rocked to a halt, but saying little else as his sunglasses slid off the dash and to my feet. Another warning flag went up. That should have gotten me more than a dirty look.

“You’re going to have to do a lot more than that to lose them,” Jenks said, misreading my motion, and I eyed the semi that roared up behind me, aggressively making his brakes flatulate in an effort to get me to move faster. Faster. That might be a good idea, seeing as that gold Cadillac was a car length away. Three guys. All blonds. Elves? Not the coven, then.

My phone hummed, and I ignored it. Trent jerked, his eyes showing a new alarm as he turned to me. “We need to get off this road. Now.”

“Like how?” I snarled. “Our exit isn’t for another two miles.”

“Well, do something!” Trent exclaimed. “Someone is prepping a spell.”

My eyes flicked behind us, seeing the three heads clustered together. The shoulder was on one side and that truck on the other as he tried to pass me. A little VW bug was ahead of me, full of people. “Are you nuts? No one would make a hit on the expressway. Too many people could get hurt. And besides, I don’t feel—”

“Look out!” Jenks shrilled, and I gasped, jerking the wheel as a reddish-gold ball of something blossomed from the car behind us. Our tires hit the shoulder, gravel kicking up underneath as I struggled to maintain control at a suddenly too-fast sixty-five miles per hour.

The spell hit the VW bug ahead of us, and I watched in horror as it turned sideways and spun, right into the path of the truck barreling down on it. Sparks flew inside the small car, and the truck hit its brakes, the tires hopping on the pavement as three lanes of traffic became five, everyone trying to get out of the way. The little car spun into a roll, a protection bubble snapping into place, and I stiffened my arms, looking for an out. The truck was going to jackknife, and the rear of it was two feet away, coming closer, almost shoving us.

Behind us were the ugly sounds of screeching tires and plastic crunching. I didn’t dare look as we sped ahead, the truck now taking up three lanes as it slowly began to topple over. The little VW had hit the wall, and I swerved into the path of the truck to avoid it. There was a huge crash, and the sound of scraping metal. I looked back to see the truck on its side, cars piling up behind it. Three cars had made it through: us, a station wagon with a white-faced woman driving it, and that gold Cadillac. My God. What had they done?

“Go, go, go!” Jenks shrilled, plastered to the back window. “They got through! Go!”

I floored it, weaving through the cars ahead of us, most of them just now noticing the truck sliding to a stop and taking up the entire road. Brake lights were going on, and my grip on the wheel became sweaty. How had they gotten through? I wondered, seeing that they had lost a fender but were still moving. The VW had become small in the rearview mirror, and feeling sick, I pulled my attention back to the road ahead of us. No one does a hit on a busy road. No one. Who the hell did these people think they were? Or perhaps my question should be, who the hell did these people think we were that they would do such a thing?

“We need to get off this road!” Trent exclaimed as I sped past a slow-moving Jag.

“Gee, you think?” I said, seeing the Cadillac clip another car as it tried to catch up.

“Where’s the map,” Trent muttered, leaning over the backseat to find it.

Jenks looked scared, having moved to the front where he could stand on the rearview mirror and hold on to the stem for dear life. “Go right!” he shouted, and I jerked the wheel, looking back to see yet another ball of who-knew-what headed for us.

Trent yelped as the car swerved, his butt smacking into me and a raised foot hitting the wheel. “Trent!” I shouted, shoving him off. “Sit down, will you? I’m trying not to get pasted here, and your ass in my face isn’t helping!”

The orange blob hit the pavement behind us, the Jag I’d just gone around running right into it. The car flipped, and I started to get really scared. What the hell were they using to throw their magic? A grenade launcher? We were going over ninety!

Oblivious to it, Trent slid back into his seat with a huff, the map in his hand.

“Jenks, you got any ideas?” I asked as Trent buckled himself back in, and Jenks’s wings stilled even as a green dust began spilling from him.

“Maybe Trent should have married the bitch,” he warbled, and I shifted into the far-left lane to get around a bus. Sure enough, they stuck with me, and my heart pounded. I couldn’t do magic and drive at the same time! Where the hell was Pierce when I needed him? No-o-o-o, the one time I have nonunion assassins behind us, I have a businessman riding shotgun trying to find answers in a friggin’ map!

“That’s our exit,” Trent said, trying to look cool, but his grip on the map was too tight. “We’re sitting ducks on the expressway.”

“Oh, thank you very much for that observation, Kalamack,” I said sarcastically. “You think we should get off the road. And then what?”

“Just take South Memorial,” he said, his eyes on the map as he swayed to my swerving through traffic, earning beeps and flashing lights. “We can lose them on the surface roads more easily than on the expressway. Do what I say, and we’ll be fine.” But he was sweating. I couldn’t make a bubble—we’d drive right through it.

Jenks darted down to land on the map in Trent’s hand as we flashed past the sign. “That’s the one you want, Rachel. Right lane. Right lane!”

There was a big truck ahead of me in the far-right lane. If I slowed down to take the exit, the Cadillac would hit us. My fingers clenched and relaxed. Behind us, a new glow was starting in the car. I had to time this perfectly. “‘Do what I say, and we’ll be fine,’” I muttered through clenched teeth. “Surface streets mean we put the entire city in danger. We’re going to lose them right now.”

“Rachel …,” Trent said, his voice tinged with anger and fear. “What are you doing?”

“Getting onto Memorial,” I said, licking my lips. The engine roared as I pressed the accelerator, and my mom’s car leapt ahead. My heart pounded, and I darted around a white car on the right, then a blue on the right. Crap, this was going to be close. There was a weird prickling through me, but I daren’t look at Trent. It was wild magic, but I didn’t think it was from him. It was like the tracers that the earth sends up to the cloud before the lightning follows it down. The next hit wouldn’t miss. “Hold on!” I shouted, eyes wide.

“Rachel!” Trent shouted, the chicken strap in his hand.

“This is going to be close!” I yelled, and I jammed on the accelerator. The car bounced as we raced forward, and I yanked the wheel to the right at the last moment, skidding across all three lanes and onto the exit ramp. The semi blew its horn, but we were through and bouncing over the rough pavement, narrowly missing the cement wall.

“Ye-e-e-e-e-ha-a-a-a-a!” Jenks shrilled, and I hit the brakes hard so I wouldn’t ram the car ahead of me. My heart was thudding, and we fishtailed. Scared, I looked to find Jenks in the back, face plastered to the window as he watched the traffic behind us. The awful prickling had stopped. Thank you, God. “They missed the exit!” he yelled. “They missed it! You lost them, Rache!”

I looked across the seat to Trent, white faced. From behind us came a crunch of metal, and someone’s horn got stuck. My phone started to hum. Ivy. Where was my phone?

“We lost them.” I breathed, then became worried. We had lost them, but what about everyone else? God, I hoped those people were okay. I was sure I’d seen a protection bubble on the bug, but at those speeds, it might not make a difference.

Ahead of us, cars were slowing for the traffic light. “It’s red, Rachel,” Jenks said, and I slammed on the brakes, adrenaline making the motion too fast. Jenks yelped, and Trent reached for the dash, glaring at me. I couldn’t believe they’d tried to take us out on the interstate! I’d been under death threats before, but there were niceties to be observed, union rules. This wasn’t them!

Silent, Trent folded up the map, tucking it away with precise motions. He looked calm, but I was starting to shake. “Nicely done,” he said and I almost lost it, my hands clenching the wheel until my knuckles were white. Nicely done? There were people hurt back there, and I felt a sudden surge of panic as three ambulances went by, headed for the interstate. Everyone in that VW bug was probably dead. And the truck driver. And the four cars behind him. The guy in the Jag was probably okay. Probably.

My foot started to jiggle, and when the light turned green, I crept up on the car ahead of us, pushing it into moving. I wanted out of the car, like now.

Jenks flew to the rearview mirror when Trent rolled his window all the way down to get rid of the scent of cinnamon and wine, and something in me eased as I turned right onto Memorial. He was shaken and trying not to show it. More sirens wailed, and Jenks landed on the steering wheel, giving me a worried look as a fire truck went by, headed for the on-ramp. People were hurt. Because of me? Trent? Did it matter?

“We’re going to stop, right?” Trent asked, his eyes on Riverside Park as we passed it.

“Why? Think you’ll get a better view of the accidents from up on top of the arch?” I asked sarcastically. This was way more than I’d expected when I agreed to escort him to the coast, and I was long past wishing I’d told him to shove his little problem and taken my chances by myself. My foot was shaking as I stopped at another light. The church was right next to us, and in a split-second decision, I turned the blinker on.

“Okay,” I said as I glanced behind us at the flashing lights on the interstate. “We’re ditching the car. Get your stuff together.”

“Ditching the car?” Trent stared at me like I’d said we were going to walk to the moon.

“Right now,” I said as the light changed and I turned into the quiet parking lot, ignoring the DO NOT PARK sign. “You hear those sirens? We left the scene of an accident, one we helped make. There’s no way we can go back there, which makes this a marked car, and not just by your friends from Seattle. Soon as we find Ivy, she’ll carry your bag, Mr. Kalamack. Think you can handle it that long?”

“First smart thing you’ve done all day,” Trent muttered, his fingers tapping.

Jenks exhaled loudly, his wings an excited red as I put the car in park and turned the engine off. I was moving almost before the car stopped, gathering my stuff and jamming everything but the bag of trash into my bag, Trent’s sunglasses included.

Trent was already out of the car, and I popped the trunk. My fingers trembled as I worked the door handle, finally getting the stupid thing open. Cool air slipped in, and the sound of kids. Damn, that had been close. What the devil were they putting in their coffee in Seattle?

“Where’s my phone?” I said, hearing it start to hum. “Jenks, have you seen my phone?”

Jenks darted to the floorboards. “It’s under the seat!” he said, then added, “It’s Ivy.”

I stretched, reaching for it, exhaling loudly as my fingers found the smooth plastic. I wished my fingers would stop shaking. Jenks zipped out from under the seat, and flipping my phone open, I muttered, “I think we lost them. We’re abandoning the car. Where are you?”

“From the sounds of the sirens, I’d say a couple of blocks away,” she said. “What’s going on?”

“I wish I knew.” Getting out, I looped my bag over my shoulder and grabbed my coat and Ivy’s laptop. Jenks was a sparkle of dust as he searched the car, giving me a thumbs-up before he joined Trent. Trent already had our luggage out from the back, and he slammed the trunk shut hard, his hands going to his hips as he squinted at the busy road, the wind from the nearby Mississippi River shifting his shirt to show the familiar mark on his shoulder.

“We’re at the church,” I told Ivy. “I got your laptop, and we’re going to walk in. Soon as we find you, we’ll head to your car.” Worry pinched my brow. “Ivy, they tried to kill us on the interstate. A semi tipped over, and I think they killed a carload of people. Someone will remember my mom’s car.”

“You’re at the church?” she asked, not caring. “You can’t park there.”

“I’m not parking, I’m abandoning,” I said, frustrated as I looked at the big, hand-painted sign. My mom would not be happy. She’d been royally pissed off when I’d left her car at a pull-off by the Ohio River last year. At least this time the car was in my name and she wouldn’t be getting the impound notice.

“Ivy, I gotta go,” I said, not able to handle everything I had and my suitcase, too.

“I’m on my way,” she said, and I could hear the hoot of a steamship through the connection before it cut off.

I closed my phone and tucked it away, worry settling in deep as I looked from Trent, standing behind the car with our stuff, to the road. We’d find Ivy, and then we’d be out of here. “Can anything else go wrong today?” I whispered, thinking I could have been sitting on a dock somewhere drinking coffee by now if the coven had let me fly.

“Uh, you gotta stop saying stuff like that,” Jenks said, darting up in a wash of dust. Alarmed, I followed his gaze across the busy street.

“Crap on toast,” I said, the dappled sun going cold on me as I saw three blond men in slacks and polo shirts. They must have left their car on the interstate and walked. It wasn’t that far, and a feeling of ice seemed to slip through me as I took them in.

One had really long hair; the other was short but perfectly proportioned; and the third, in the middle, reminded me of Quen, even though he looked nothing like him. It was his pace, both predatory and graceful. The other two carried themselves with a belligerent swagger, shoulders back, arms swinging, and hands well away from their sides. The Withons had gotten serious.

All three were watching us as they waited for four lanes of traffic to clear, but upon seeing me notice them, the one with the long hair simply stepped out into the street, his hand raised. Horns blew and cars screeched to a halt, the drivers yelling out their windows, ignored.

Trent turned to the noise, his lips parting as he took a deep, resolute breath. Funny, I’d have thought he’d look scared, not determined, and I stifled a surge of what might be a feeling of kinship.

“Well?” he asked me, looking surprisingly calm.

“Find Ivy,” I said, digging through my shoulder bag for a stick of magnetic chalk and reaching out for the city’s ley lines. I sucked my breath in as I found the one the arch was pinning down. Holy cow, it was big and way stronger than the one under Cincy’s university. It felt slippery, being next to so much water, and had a metallic flavor, like fish.

I looked up with the chalk in my hands, surprised to find Trent still standing there with his suitcase, Jenks hovering between us. “Go!” I shouted, pushing the chalk into Trent’s hand and giving him a shove. “Find Ivy. I’ll take care of this and catch you up.” Oh God. I could do this, right? Where was my black-arts bodyguard when I needed him?

“Rache …,” Jenks whined, but Trent looked at the chalk in his hand and nodded. Saying nothing more, he turned and walked quickly away, with his suitcase, headed for the arch.

“Stay with him, will you?” I asked Jenks, my attention on the three guys. They had gotten to the median and hadn’t slowed down. “Maybe get him to run a little?” I added, trying to be funny as I glanced at the worried pixy. “I’ll be right behind you. Piece of cake.”

“I don’t like this.”

My eyes flicked back to him, seeing his worry in the slant of his brow. “Me neither, but who do you think needs you more right now? I’ll catch you up. Go! It’s just three guys. Once you get Trent to Ivy, you can come back and play.”

He made a face, and with a harsh clatter, he bobbed up and down in agreement, then zipped after Trent, telling him to hurry up, that they had things to do today other than play tourist.

I felt better with Jenks watching Trent, but nervousness prickled through me as I turned back to the three blonds, now at the curb. The one with the long hair peeled off and started for Trent.

“Hey, Legolas!” I shouted, my boots grinding the gravel as I shifted. “You want him, you go through me.”

Ignoring me, he continued on. That was just insulting, and gathering up a wad of fish-tasting ever-after, I threw it at him.

The guy with the long hair raised his hand, a protection bubble flashing into existence to deflect the ever-after. Standard move. I hadn’t really expected my first shot to land, and I started backing up more, my feet finding grass as I moved under the huge trees. But the men stopped, and that was all I wanted for the moment.

Side by side, the three men looked at me, traffic passing behind them in an uncaring blur. The guy with the long hair seemed to be the leader, and he frowned at Trent, disappearing through the bushes, before turning back to me. “Whatever he’s paying you, the Withons will double it if you turn your back for ten minutes,” he said loudly, and my face burned.

Why was I not surprised? Elves were elves. “He’s not paying me anything,” I said, just now realizing it. I was either really smart or really stupid.

The short guy on the end snorted his disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

Embarrassed, I backed up until the roots of a thick tree stopped me. “And even if he was, I don’t work like that,” I said. “Obviously you do. Pathetic. I should have known you were amateurs when you tried to take us out on the expressway. You keep that up, and the union is going to come down hard on you. There are traditions for this kind of thing, procedures. Or haven’t you been playing the game long enough to know?”

I was stalling, and the guy with the long hair knew it, taking a moment to tie his hair back and frown at the arch behind me. I glanced back, a knot of worry easing when I realized Trent was gone.

“Who wants the pleasure?” he asked, and the one in the middle, the one who reminded me of Quen, smiled.

“I’ll do it,” he said, and I tensed, shocked when a heavy lassitude filled me. My legs buckled, and that fast, I was on my knees, the tingle of wild magic coursing through me, robbing me of strength. There was music in my head, like green, growing things, and my hands hit the ground, bits of twigs biting into my palms, making them tingle. I gasped, my lungs reluctant to expand.

I fought it, finding strength from the ley line. I pulled it into me, feeling it burn. Teeth clenched, I looked up through the strands of my hair. The man in the middle widened his eyes as if in surprise. And then he started to sing.

My breath escaped me in a rush as his words washed over me, and my head bowed. My elbows trembled, and everything I had won back left me. “Stop …,” I whispered. I couldn’t think, the thick, muzzy blanket swallowing me up as he sang, the lazy words unclear as they became my entire world. My pulse shifted, becoming slower, meeting his song beat for beat. It was too slow, and I fought for control, failing.

I felt myself start to fall, and a warm arm caught me, gently cradling me. I could smell cinnamon and wine, bitter and spoiled. I couldn’t fight the music beating its way into my existence, making me live to a rhythm too slow, and my eyes shut as someone propped me up against the tree. I was losing my hold on the ley line, and in terror, I reached for it, trying to make a protection bubble in my mind to wall the music off. But it was already in my head, and I couldn’t separate it from me. It was too beautiful. I couldn’t help but listen.

“That was easy,” I heard the long-haired elf say derisively, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t fight the lassitude that had become my world, hated and familiar from my childhood.

“You have her then?” the voice asked, and finally the singing stopped. The fatigue lingered as the song echoed in my brain, circling over and over, going more slowly each time. It was killing me.

“Go,” a breathy voice said, and my head landed on a shoulder. “I’ll be done by the time you finish Kalamack.”

Oh God. Trent. But the spark quickly died. My breathing had slowed to a shallow hint. I was faltering. I recognized it. I’d lived this before when I was younger. The grass sighed as two of them left, and it was only me and the elf singing me to death. So beautiful I couldn’t let it go, couldn’t forget it, mesmerized.

The air grew cold on my face, and I realized I was crying. I didn’t want to die like this. Damn elf magic. Wild magic. Divine, slippery … alive, uncontrollable.

Uncontrollable, I thought, fastening on that idea. Malleable. I couldn’t control wild magic, couldn’t fight it. But maybe I could … change it.

My heart gave a thump, and refused to beat again as the man’s voice faltered, leaving a single note in my mind to spiral down to a long, soft hum. Om, perhaps. The sound of peace, the sound of death.

Not yet, I thought, and then I added to it, giving my mind an ugly note to follow the one of pure beauty, and my heart gave a beat at the harshness of it, discordant and wrong. The arms holding me jumped in surprise, jarring me, and I added a new note to follow my first.

I could hear him singing again, the words unclear and so exquisite it broke my heart. My jaw clenched, and I drowned the purity of his song with my own ugly music, harsh and savage—survival. It was never beautiful except for its pure honesty.

Again my heart beat, and I took a sip of air, breaking away from the elven spell, tingling with wild magic as control came flooding back, his hold on me broken. My eyes flashed open. I was sitting on the ground, my back to a tree, his arm around me like a lover, sleeping in the sun as he sang to me.

Son of a bitch.

I sat up out of his reach, turning to see the shock in his green eyes as his voice faltered. There was a hint of resemblance to Trent in them, and I felt a moment of doubt. Could he do this, too? “That was a mistake,” I rasped, and then I plowed my fist right into his gut.

The man grunted, bending over and bringing his knees to his chest. I swung my legs around to kneel, reaching for his hair. It was soft, like silk, and I clenched my fingers in it, anger giving me strength. I slammed the back of his head against the tree, and as he groaned, I staggered to my feet, giving him a mean kick in the ribs, hard enough to at least crack one or two, if not break them. I was pissed.

“You son of a bitch!” I yelled, seeing the mothers nearby gathering their kids and moving them away. “Try to kill me with your magic? Have a taste of mine!” I shouted, shredding the last of the music in my mind, trying to get rid of it completely.

He looked up at me, the pain from his ribs making him squint. I put my hand on his face, and flooded him with ever-after, burning the last of the wild magic from me with my own. He screamed and tried to pull away, but I followed him down, having to kneel when he fell over.

“You are slime, you hear me?” I shouted, wiping my eyes as I pulled away, my hand throbbing and me not caring. “Slime! And you know what? The Withons are slime, too, and Trent’s going to make it to the West Coast if it kills me. And it won’t!” Heart pounding, I gave him another kick, thinking I should do a lot more. All those people dead on the expressway. Glancing at the empty park, I went and picked up my bag, searching until I found my lipstick. Throwing the cap away, I scrawled “I killed them” on his forehead.

Panting, I lurched to my feet and dropped the ruined lipstick on his chest. He whimpered, his synapses singed. He wouldn’t be doing magic any time soon. Turning to the park, I pushed myself into a staggering, ugly run.

I did not like St. Louis.

Six

“Rache!” Jenks shrilled, scaring the crap out of me as he darted down from the tall trees.

“God, Jenks!” I yelped, heart racing as I paused, a hand on the tree beside me. “You scared me. Where’s Trent?”

Dripping red dust, he hovered before me, taking in my haggard appearance and accepting it, knowing better than to ask what had happened. I was here, the assassin wasn’t. It was enough for Jenks, and right now, it was enough for me. “In a hole in the ground,” he said, and tension hit me. “Some kind of gardener’s bunker. It was his idea. I told him to find Ivy, but he wouldn’t listen. They’re going to find him, Rache! It’s not my fault! He wouldn’t listen!”

I panted, turning to look back the way I’d come. “Show me,” I said, and he darted away, dusting heavily so I could follow at my own limping pace. “If that man gets himself killed, I’m going to pound him!” I muttered, starting up the gentle incline.

The back of my mind registered how cool and restful it was here, the grass thick and well maintained. The trees were huge, rising high overhead like a distant ceiling. Seagulls called, swarming a crying kid with a box of animal crackers. Breathless, I caught sight of two men vanishing behind a row of tall shrubs.

Damn it, I don’t want to do this again.

My shoulder bag held tight to me, I ran after them, seeing Jenks’s faint trail leading down a damp sidewalk. Ahead of me, the two men stood at a bunkerlike door built right into a wall of earth. In the distance, one of the arch’s huge legs rose up. Oblivious to me, the men slipped inside—and the door swung shut.

I slid to a panting halt before the brown-painted steel door, listening as I struggled to catch my breath and tried the handle. Locked—and not with a spell, which I could break, but probably with a mundane dead bolt from the inside. At least Jenks was in there.

“Damn it!” I hissed, dropping back and digging my phone out of my pocket. “Answer me, Ivy,” I said as I hit the button and wrenched on the door at the same time.

“Right behind you,” came her voice, and I spun.

“Where …,” I started, then shoved the thought out of my head. “The door,” I babbled, dropping the phone into my bag. “Two of them. In there with Trent.”

Ivy motioned for me to back up, and she gave the knob a side kick, yelling for strength. I heard metal snap, and I wasn’t surprised when the knob came away in her grip as she gave it a tug and the door opened. God, I had good friends.

Shoulder to shoulder, we looked down a long, dimly lit room that narrowed into a black hallway. The electric lights were pale, and the sun streamed in for only a few feet. It was silent, and a cool breath of underground air, blowing out from the depths, moved my hair.

“Which way?” Ivy said, and I crept inside, feeling the chill take me. The faint glow of pixy dust showed when she pulled the door shut, and I pointed.

“There.”

It smelled like oil and damp—of sweaty men, old machinery, and dusty paperwork that hadn’t seen the light of the sun for twenty years. This was not on the regular tour, and I wondered where we were as we followed the corridor down and around, shunning doors and open archways when Jenks’s dust pointed elsewhere.

“Where’s the third one?” she whispered.

“Back at the car, out cold. Don’t let them start to sing, okay?” I said breathlessly, and she nodded, taking that at face value.

We have to be almost under one of the feet, I thought, wondering how Quen kept Trent safe every day. I suppose watching Trent in an office was easier than trying to shake three guys in a Cadillac, but I was going to get the man a leash if we found him alive.

A soft crack of metal shocked through me, and then Jenks’s yelp.

“Shit,” Ivy swore, darting past me and running down a corridor.

Gasping, I bolted after her. Trent was shouting—it sounded like Latin—and, my boots skidding on the oil-slicked cement, I grabbed a rusty ceiling support and swung myself around a dusty machine and into a puddle of dirty light.

Squinting, I watched Jenks bust another bulb to make it darker yet. Two shadows were scurrying into the dark, Ivy’s sleek form chasing them. The ceiling was low, and the space was crowded with abandoned machines. Trent had his back to me as he knelt next to his suitcase under a light, a protection bubble around him. Relief hit me, and I paused, torn between seeing if he was okay and following Ivy, busy thunking people into walls by the sound of it.

The circle was larger than I thought Trent could make, almost one of my size, and I was glad I’d given him the magnetic chalk. He had a ribbon draped over his shoulder, and a cloth hat on his head that I didn’t recognize. I sniffed, wondering if that was an extinguished candle I smelled or just sulfur. He was kneeling and looked haggard as our eyes met, seeming almost scholarly with that hat and ribbon, but he seemed okay.

“Rachel! Some help here!” Ivy yelled, and I gave him a look telling him to stay put and ran. The glow of Jenks’s dust lit a dark corner, and I winced at a loud clang. Crap, if that had been Ivy’s head …

I barreled into another puddle of light, scrambling to catch the arm of the man she had flung. It was the short guy, and using his own momentum, I threw him into a rusty ceiling support. He hit with a thud, grasping weakly at it as he slid to the dirt-caked floor. With a dull crack, the beam he’d hit broke from the ceiling, falling right on him. A splattering of ceiling dust slipped over him, patterning him with rust. I wedged a toe under him and flipped him over to see his pained expression. “Surprise,” I said, and his eyes widened.

“Duck!” Jenks yelled, and I dropped, feeling the rush of metal over my head.

“Son of a bastard!” I whispered as I rolled away, finding my feet when I hit a piece of machinery the size of my car. I scrambled up, the lethal-magic detection charm on the strap of my bag clinking. The guy with the long hair was in front of me with a metal rod the size of a baseball bat. Damn it, is Ivy down?

I couldn’t see her, and I backed up as he came forward, swinging his pole in some lame-ass elf move as if it were a sword. My hands were empty. I had Jack’s splat gun in my shoulder bag, but there were no charms in the hopper. Licking my lips, I tapped the ley line that St. Louis was built on. If he started singing, I was going to fry him, black charm or not.

Energy tasting of dead fish and electric lights slammed into me, and my eyes widened. It was as if it hit every square inch of my skin all at once, and I sucked in my breath, exhilarated. Crap, I think we’re right under the ley line!

The guy I’d slammed into the pole was moving, and his buddy took a moment to help him up. “Ivy!” I called out, worried, and she coughed from the darkness.

“She’s okay,” Jenks said, darting in circles around my head.

The two men stood, a ribbon of blood seeping from a scalp wound the short one had. Grinning, ponytail guy pointed at me, then Ivy, and I cringed when someone pulled hard on the ley line humming somewhere above us. Their heads shot up as if surprised, and I dove for the shadows.

“Grab some air, Jenks!” I shouted, my heavy-magic detection amulet flashing red as I found Ivy, upright but holding her head. I never got a circle up as the tingle of wild magic hit me. Too late, I thought, doubled over in pain as a surge of energy swamped me. It was as if they had found a way to dump the entire line through me, forcing me to hold it. I screamed, trying to channel the entire ley line or spindle it—anything to get atop the massive force burning me.

Gasping, I managed to ride the wave of cresting energy, and with a triumphant cry, I shoved the spindled energy back out of me and into them, breaking my connection with the ley line entirely before they fried my synapses. It wasn’t wild magic, and this I could handle. Son of a bitch … what demon had taught them that? And how much had it cost?

I looked up from my half kneel, not remembering having fallen. Ivy was standing beside me, and I peered through my watering eyes to see the two elves picking themselves up off the floor. I would have felt pretty good if my mind wasn’t aching from the pain.

“You okay?” Ivy said, her grip on my arm hurting as she pulled me up. My skin felt as if someone had forced sand through my pores. She let go when I winced, but she didn’t look much better than I felt, her cheek swelling and dirt caked on her entire right side.

“Great. How about you?” I snatched my bag up from the grimy floor and faced the two assassins.

“I’ll live,” she said darkly. “Which is more than I can say for them.”

Yeah. I felt the same way, and I stifled a groan as I stepped forward with Ivy, ready to take them on if they wouldn’t just go away. Somehow, looking at them, I didn’t think they would. I took a breath to let them have it, hesitating when the faint sound of rumbling echoed up through our feet. A soft pattering of dust sifted down, and the two elves looked up. The one who’d hit the support looked terrified. Pointing up, he turned and ran the way we’d come in.

“Hey! Come back here!” I shouted as the other one bolted after him.

Jenks darted up, his face scared. “Out!” he shrilled, the sound of rumbling growing louder. “Run!”

“What?” was all I had time for, and then the earth moved. My balance left me, and I reached out for something, anything, to keep from falling. Chunks of concrete dropped where the elves had been. Ivy danced, somehow staying on her feet as I clung to another rusty ceiling pole.

“It’s falling!” Jenks screamed, the only thing not moving in the suddenly choking air.

Wobbling, Ivy grabbed my arm, and we staggered to the door. The ground quit moving, and we broke into a run.

“Earthquake?” I guessed as we found Trent, dazed and numb in the middle of his fallen circle, that hat of his slipping off and my chalk loose in his grip.

“We’re on a thousand-year-old swamp,” Ivy said. “No fault lines here.”

“Run!” Jenks shouted. “It’s not over yet!”

I grabbed Trent’s suitcase, and we all ran for the brown-painted door, getting three steps before a wave of dusty dirt rolled over us, clogging our lungs and making our eyes tear. The lights went out, and the earth shook again. Choking, I felt my way forward, squinting past Trent and following Ivy as she threw stuff out of our way.

“There!” she shouted, and the dim light of the sun spilled in.

The ground gave a hiccup, and noise crashed down, making me cower. Hand on Trent’s arm, I yanked him forward as he hunched over and coughed. We spilled out of the earth in a cloud of dust, running several feet before stopping to turn and stare at the opening. Damn, maybe I shouldn’t have swung that guy into the support pole.

“They’re getting away,” I said, hands on my knees as I pointed to the dusty elves, a short distance up the walk. Seeing us, they turned and ran. Chicken.

“Let them go,” Ivy said, and I turned to her, trying to ignore Trent throwing up in the nearby bushes.

“I owe them some hurt!” I said, tugging my shoulder bag back up where it belonged. “Damn it, Trent!” I shouted, pulling him up from where he was wiping his mouth with the red ribbon he’d pulled from his shoulders. “I told you to find Ivy, not go hide in a hole in the ground! I can’t keep you alive if you don’t listen to me!”

“Leave him alone,” Ivy said, tugging my arm off Trent, her eyes on the sky and her lips parted.

I was bleeding, and I looked at my hand in horror, flexing my fingers until I realized that it wasn’t my blood staining my fingers but Trent’s. His right bicep was soaked where I had been yanking him forward. His ears, too, had blood leaking from them, and his hand was red when he wiped his mouth. It only made me angrier. Damn it, he was hurt.

“You are my responsibility!” I shouted, ticked. “If you ever do something like that again, I’ll kill you myself. Do you hear me!”

Trent glared at me as he wiped his mouth with that ribbon, then let it fall. “You’re not my keeper,” he said, his green eyes vivid, reminding me of the elf who had almost killed me, lulled me to my death.

“Right now I am!” I shouted, getting in his face. “Deal with it!”

“Rachel, will you shut up!” Jenks exclaimed. “We have a bigger problem.”

I suddenly realized Trent had gone white faced, and like both Jenks and Ivy, was now staring at the river. Turning, I felt my mouth drop open.

“Oh,” I said, the sound of the approaching sirens taking on new meaning. I didn’t think I needed to worry about having left the scene of an accident. The cops, both the I.S. and the FIB, had something bigger to worry about.

The arch was not there anymore. Sort of. The legs were mostly there, but the rest of it was in house-size chunks between the shattered posts.

My stomach clenched, and I looked at the bunker, realizing what had happened. “This wasn’t my fault,” I said softly, but my voice was quavering as if I didn’t believe it.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” Jenks suggested.

“Good idea,” Ivy said. “Forget the rental. They have tracking charms built into the framework, and no one is going to be looking for you now.”

Nodding, I grabbed Trent’s sleeve and tugged him into motion. “They’ve probably got a tracking charm on my mom’s by now, too.”

“I can find any bug,” Jenks said, then flew up when Trent shuffled to his wheeled suitcase and limped silently beside me. We came out from the sunken sidewalk together and joined the walking wounded, heading against the wash of help flowing into the park from the surrounding city. For once, our dusty and bloody appearance was unremarked upon. We were walking, and there were lots of people who weren’t.

No way did a single support beam falling cause this. It had been the two elves and that magic that I’d pushed back into them. This was not my fault, and as I remembered the children playing on the grass, I vowed that the Withons were going to pay. With interest.

Seven

The faint smell of cinnamon, blood, and wine drifted forward from the backseat despite the fact that all the windows were down. My elbow was propped up on the sill, and my hair was a tangled mess. Jenks was on the rearview mirror, his wings flat against his back to keep them from being torn to tatters. Ivy was driving. We were an hour out of St. Louis, and no one was happy. I would have asked Ivy if she’d mind if I rolled mine up, but her grip on the wheel was tight and her eyes were halfway to black, slowly edging into hunger.

My chest hurt, and I wrapped my arm around my middle, staring out at the whole-lot-of-nothing we were passing through. The sun shifted as we took a slow turn. From the back where Trent sulked, a new burst of blood and cinnamon grew as the warmth found him. Ivy swallowed hard. That we hadn’t stopped to give him a chance to change his clothes told me she was scared.

I exchanged a worried look with Jenks. Trent had tried to clean up, but there was only so much that bottled water and fast-food napkins could do. Dried blood cracked and flaked from the absorbent black cloth he’d tied around his bicep. It looked like a shoe-polishing rag, and I was sure he’d gotten it from his suitcase, thrown into the backseat before we tore out of St. Louis. At least his face was clean. Even his ears where the blood had dripped down. He had been bleeding from his ears! What had they tried to do to him?

I shifted, my foot scraping against the fast-food bag half full of candy wrappers, coffee cups, and water bottles. The scent of fries mixed with that of dried blood somehow reminding me of my prom. I’d be hungry, except my stomach was knotting over the news coming out of St. Louis.

“Experts claim that an adhesive that dissolves in salt water is to blame,” the woman on the radio said, her voice a mix of urgent drama and calm journalism. “This salt-water-dissolving adhesive is routinely used in major road construction in no-frost zones outside the coastlines, and it’s thought that the salt used to de-ice the nearby sidewalks soaked into the soil, eating away at the foundation over the years until today’s disastrous toll.”

Salt-dissolving adhesive, I thought darkly. That was Inderland speak for a magic misfire. No need to scare the humans. Despite all the integration we’d achieved, the equality that we managed, there were still secrets, still hidden ugliness.

Jenks’s wings hummed from the rearview mirror. “Anyone mind if I change the station?” he asked. “They’re just repeating themselves now.”

His tone was heavy, and I looked at Ivy. She was the one who’d turned it on. From the back, Trent sighed, finishing off a bottle of flavored water enhanced with B vitamins and complex amino acids or something, capping it and tossing it to the front for me to jam in with the rest of the trash. Ivy clicked off the radio, her motions just shy of vampiric speed.

I squinted out the window in the new silence as I shoved the bottle in the trash, not really seeing the gently rolling grasslands. They looked hot under the lengthening afternoon sun, and I wished I had my sunglasses to cut the glare. I’d put on Trent’s, but he’d probably want them back, and I didn’t know what to think of him anymore. The third assassin hadn’t been at the car when we’d stumbled back to it. Neither Trent, Ivy, or Jenks had asked what happened, and I wasn’t about to admit, especially to Trent, that I’d almost died. I hadn’t known elven magic could be so insidiously deadly, and a new wariness, or respect maybe, had me quietly thinking.

Depressed, I hoisted my shoulder bag with its early-warning amulet higher onto my lap, the ley-line amulet glowing briefly when it fell into my aura’s influence. Thanks to them, Jenks had looked for and found the explosive charm stuck to the car before it blew, and then the bug they’d put on it in case we found the bomb. Ivy had been ticked. Trent, impressed. It was the bug that had prompted Ivy to take 44 southwest instead of jumping on 70, ticking off Trent, whose ultimate destination was Seattle. I wasn’t going to Seattle. I was going to San Francisco. The deal was the West Coast in two days, not Seattle.

I turned to look at the man, wondering if he could sing. “How’s your shoulder?” I asked. He’d missed a smear of blood just under his hairline, and I forced my attention from it. I could see it in peekaboo snatches when the wind hit him just right.

Trent’s sour expression shifted to one of irritation. “Better,” he said, the word clipped. “I don’t think I’m bleeding through my pores anymore.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Ivy tighten her grip on the wheel, her French-manicured nails catching the light. Jenks hummed his wings in worry, and I took an uneasy breath. “Sorry,” I said shortly, wondering if I should ask Ivy to stop.

“You care?” Trent muttered.

“No,” I said, resettling myself to look out the front. “But I told Quen I’d keep you alive. Even when you do stupid stuff like hide in a hole instead of finding Ivy like I told you to.”

“I wasn’t aware that keeping your word was important to you,” he mocked.

My eyes narrowed. Jenks shook his head, warning me not to rise to the bait, but I couldn’t help it. “It is,” I said, eying my nails. There was blood under my cuticles. Trent’s?

“And that’s why you refuse to take my familiar mark off?” Trent asked.

Ivy exhaled loudly, and I looked sideways at him. “I don’t trust you,” I said. “Duh.”

Seeing my irritation, Trent put his leg across his knee and lounged in the backseat like it was a limo, the sun in his hair and eyes as he looked out at the hot, flat view. How could someone with a bloody rag around their arm look that confident? Because he could sing someone to death? “That’s patently obvious,” he said softly, almost like a rebuke. “But you did agree.”

I huffed and turned back around. “Like you hold to all your agreements.”

“I do,” he said quickly. “Agreements … and threats.”

Jenks’s expression had gone dark. Ivy, too, was clenching her jaw. The scent of cinnamon and wine grew stronger. Trent might look calm, but he was losing it on the inside. I might not have noticed it last year, but after spending almost a day with him, I could now.

“Then why haven’t you killed me? Huh?” I said, turning and holding myself back from the seat so I could look at him square on. “Go for it, you little spot of sunshine! I just beat off three assassins, one by myself. I’m stronger than you, and you know it.” I smiled insincerely. “It bothers you, doesn’t it? You rely on Quen far too much.”

His eyes flicked to mine, then away. “That’s not it at all,” he said mildly, the wind playing in his hair, showing that smear of blood again.

“Is so,” I said, and Jenks cleared his throat. “You’re lucky I pushed that magic back into those idiots and got them to back off. There was enough there to kill both of us.”

Irritation crossed his face, so quick I wasn’t sure it even existed. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, dabbing a bloody cloth against an ear. “Obviously you’re more capable than I in magic. It’s why I wanted to hire you in the first place,” he said, making it sound like an insult. “The deal was that I give you until the witches’ conference to resolve this issue.” I made a “well?” face at him, and he snarkily added, “We aren’t there yet. You’ve got a day or two before I start trying to kill you again.”

My mouth dropped open. From behind me, Jenks coughed, covering up a laugh. “I just saved your life!” I said loudly, anger spilling into my voice. “Again!”

“Will you two stop bickering?” Ivy suddenly said, and I flicked a look at her, seeing her about ready to lose it. The blood, the anger, it was adding up. Trent had pissed me off, and I was filling the car with it. I wasn’t done, but for Ivy, I’d shut my mouth.

“Screw you, Trent,” I said as I flopped back into my seat. In hindsight, it might not have been the best thing to do since Ivy took a deep breath and shuddered.

“I’m just saying—” Trent started, his voice cutting off as Ivy put on the blinker. We hadn’t seen a car in miles, but she flicked it on and took the exit ramp, right before the interstate rose to go over a grass-covered road running north and south.

“Uh, Ivy?” I asked. Trent, too, had put both feet on the floor and sat up straight. I’d almost say he was worried.

“I’m good, Ivy,” Jenks chimed in. The guy had a bladder the size of a pinhead.

“I’m not.” Ivy looked at Trent through the rearview mirror. “You stink.”

I looked over the seat, wincing at the sight of his blood-soaked shirtsleeve and the wad of red tissue he had pressed against his ear again. “Sorry,” he said sourly. “Didn’t mean to offend.”

“You’re not offensive,” she said shortly. “You’re turning me on. Get out. Clean up.”

I turned back around, mouth shut. Tires popping on pebbles, Ivy pulled onto a seldom-used road bracketed by two deserted gas stations and a derelict fast-food joint. Slowing, she made a beeline across the grassy pavement to the station with the least weeds. She brought the car to a halt, sideways to the faded parking lines, and put it in park. Sighing, she turned the engine off.

Silence and crickets took over. It was four according to my cell phone, but it felt like five. Somewhere we’d crossed a time line. “Where are we?”

Jenks looked up through the strip of blue-tinted glass at a faded sign. “Saint Clair?”

The sound of Trent’s door opening was loud, and above us, a car drove by on the interstate. “Good,” he said as he got out, with a wince, to peer at it. “That’s 47 going under the expressway. If we take that, we can hit I-70 in an hour and cut twenty hours out of the drive.”

Ivy leaned back and closed her eyes. “I’m not driving on a two-lane road. Not out here in the abandoned stretches. And not after dark.”

“You’re afraid?” Trent mocked.

Jenks rose up and down in nervousness, but Ivy just settled deeper into the sun. “Absolutely,” she said softly, and I bobbed my head, totally agreeing with her. I didn’t want to get off the interstate, either. There were bad things in the empty stretches, especially out west, where there’d been less of a population to begin with.

“Release the trunk, will you?” Trent said, clearly not going to push the issue.

While Trent shuffled to the back of the car, I began gathering the trash. I don’t remember anyone buying Milk Duds …

“Be quick about it!” Ivy said loudly as she reached for a lever and popped the trunk. “And don’t go in the building for water. I’ve got wet wipes in the outside pocket of my bag.”

“I know better than to knock on doors,” Trent said, feeling his jaw as he pulled his suitcase out and moved to the back of the car.

I watched him in the side-view mirror until the lid of the trunk lifted, blocking my view. Fidgeting, I finished shoving trash into one bag. I didn’t believe his crack about trying to kill me, but I was going to have to make good on our deal at some point. Here in the middle of nowhere might be better than in the middle of San Francisco with witches breathing down my neck. I didn’t trust him, but now was better than later. It might get him to shut up, too.

“Ivy,” I said as I grabbed my shoulder bag. “Do we have twenty minutes?”

“You gotta pee, too?” Jenks guessed, darting outside the window to warm himself in the sun. “Tink’s panties, I don’t know why it takes you women so long,” he said from outside.

“Maybe because we don’t have to do it every twenty minutes,” I suggested.

“Hey!” he said indignantly, but Ivy had opened her eyes, waiting for an explanation.

“I want to take care of his familiar mark,” I said, almost angry.

“Feeling guilty?” she said, eyes closing.

“No,” I said quickly. “And I’m not afraid of him killing me, but it will give him one less thing to bitch about.”

Ivy’s lips quirked, and the sun hit her fully. “If it will shut him up, take an hour.”

“All I need is twenty minutes.” Sublimely aware of Trent rustling in the back, I got out with my bag in one hand, the trash in the other, using my foot to shut the door. Jenks lifted high to do a perimeter, and looking at the abandoned gas station, I sighed. Yellowed weeds grew in the cracks, but there was a nice bit of concrete under the gas station overhang. That was likely the best spot to make a circle, and I did want this done in a circle.

“Rachel?” Ivy called, and I turned to see her leaning across the front seat, to my window. “Find out why the Withons are trying to kill him, will you?” she whispered, her brown eyes going darker. “We’re going to hit desert soon. That’s a lot of space for bad things to happen in.”

Squinting from the sun, I followed her gaze to the lifted trunk lid and settled my bag on my shoulder. The memory of the attack outside St. Louis sifted through me, and then my nearly succumbing to wild magic. And then the arch falling on us? It was a far cry from the “assassins” in my kitchen, and I wanted to know myself. It was times like this when I missed Pierce. He’d probably threaten Trent with a curse and be done with it, which wasn’t much better than Trent, but I did appreciate his results. I had to be more circumspect for my answers.

Nodding, I started for the back of the car. Jenks was sitting on the rim of the upraised trunk talking to Trent, and upon seeing the man, I stopped, blinking in appreciation.

Trent had his shirt off, wadded up and in a pile at his feet. His suitcase was open, but he quickly shut it when my shadow touched him. A wad of wet towelettes was in his hand, and his skin was glistening in the sun where he’d wiped himself down. Damn, he looked good. Lots of definition and not a single tan line. Not to mention the six-pack abs disappearing into a pair of faded jeans. Murdering drug lord. Bio-drug dealer. Pretty like a toxin.

His expression cross, Trent dropped the used wipes on his bloodstained shirt and snatched up the one draped over my garment bag. “What?” he said shortly, and I flushed.

Sitting on the highest part of the hood, his feet dangling down, Jenks sighed.

“I need something from my bag,” I said as I dropped the trash into the nearby fifty-five-gallon drum and edged closer. Shoving Trent down with my mere presence, I pulled my scrying mirror from the side pocket of my carry-on. The rest of the curse—five candles, magnetic chalk, finger stick, transfer media, and stick of redwood—was in my bag. It was a simple curse, really.

“I’m tired of you bitching at me,” I said, jamming my carry-on bag back where it had been. “I’m going to take care of your familiar mark. Right now.”

“Here?” Trent said, the sun making his surprise easy to see.

“That’s generally what ‘right now’ means, yes, unless you want to do it in a car going ninety miles an hour down the interstate.”

His motion to wrangle a black T-shirt on across his shoulders was fast. “Now is fine,” he said as it settled over him, not too tight, not too loose. Oh. My. God. He looked good, unaware that I was watching. His hair was mussed where he’d tried to slick it back after wiping off the blood, and it was all I could do not to reach out and smooth it. My hand gripped the scrying mirror tighter as he tucked the black cotton shirt behind his waistband in a move that was both casual and intimate.

Upon noticing my eyes on him, he stopped, a mistrustful wariness coming over him. Motions sharp, he zipped his suitcase closed and slammed the trunk shut. “What can I do to help?” he asked.

“You help?” Jenks said, flying since Trent had shut the trunk out from under him. “You’re the reason we’re in this trouble. The day we need your help—”

“Relax, Jenks,” I interrupted. Sure, Trent had sicced the coven on me, but he wasn’t the one getting filmed being dragged down the street by a demon. Jenks made a hum of discontent, and I gripped my scrying mirror tighter, it feeling slippery in the sun. “There’ve got to be pixies here,” I said, leaning to look at the gas station overhang. “Can you talk to them? Find out where the local big bad uglies are so I don’t do my magic on their doorstep?”

Face screwing up, Jenks shifted his wings in sullen affirmation. His hand rose to slap his bicep to make sure he had on his red bandanna, then dropped to rest on the butt of his sword, again on his hip thanks to Ivy. “Sure,” he said, buzzing off with a noisy wing clatter. “Tink’s a Disney whore, Rache. Why don’t you start thinking with something other than your hormones?”

“Hey!” I shouted after him, stiffening when he was suddenly surrounded by pixies in brown shirts and pants. They had spears pointed at him, but they soon dropped them and he went with them willingly. Slowly I exhaled. Trent scuffed his boots, and I looked over the abandoned gas station. A car went by, looking a thousand miles away on the overpass.

Hiking my shoulder bag up, I headed for the man-made shade of the overhang. Trent moved to stay with me, dropping his bloody shirt and wet wipes into the trash can along the way. “Ah, I should apologize for not doing this sooner,” I said, feeling a pang of guilt.

“You were scared,” Trent said, his lofty attitude making my eyes narrow.

“I’m not talking about yesterday,” I said tartly, guilt vanishing. “I mean the last two months. Al wouldn’t tell me the curse, and it took me a while to find it.”

Trent glanced at me, his pace going stiff. “It’s a new curse,” he stated flatly. “I thought you would simply untwist the one you put on me.”

“I didn’t curse you,” I said sharply. “I took ownership of the one Minias claimed you with. But don’t worry. This one won’t hurt. I’ll take the smut.” Crap, I’m taking his smut.

“Ah …,” he started, and I scuffed to a halt, my toes edging shadow as I squinted at him in the sun. Damn, he looked good in that T-shirt, and looked even better out of it. Stop it, Rachel.

“I’m not going to ask you to pay for it,” I said, tired. “I’m so covered with smut that this little bit won’t show. On you, though …” I slipped under the gas station’s overhang, appreciating the cooler temp. “We don’t want to jeopardize your bid for mayor, do we?” Okay, that might have been catty, but everything about this bothered me. Pulling my magnetic chalk out, I dropped my shoulder bag. “How’s that going anyway?” I asked as I set my scrying mirror beside it. “The Weres have had the mayoral seat for over fifteen years.”

Trent edged under the overhang, his eyes on the holes in the roof. “Not as well as I’d like,” he said, a practiced polish coming across with his words, as if he had been saying it a lot lately. “I’m writing off the Were demographic. There’s been a marked increase in registered Were voters in the last two months, which will make things difficult. If I knew it was an intentional block by you, I’d be irritated.”

He went silent, spinning to keep me in his sight as I walked around him, bent almost double to trace a circle on the dirty concrete. Straightening, I kicked out an old pop can, and sank to the ground. His eyebrows rose, and I shrugged. “Have a seat,” I said, indicating a spot about four feet in front of me.

Still silent, he bent his knees and found his way to the ground in a graceful move that was as far away from the boardroom as his present clothes were. He had an almost animal-like grace now that he wasn’t in a suit, and something twisted in me. Stop it, Rachel. Jenks was right. I thought way too much with my hormones. But seeing Trent sitting cross-legged in jeans, that thin black T-shirt, and blood-splattered boots, I was struck by how quickly the businessman was slipping away. It kind of worried me—even as I liked it.

Trent’s gaze dropped from the broken roof to me, and I warily shuffled my things around, trying to figure out what was going through his mind. He’d known Ceri for almost a year now, and her old-school, black-magic-using elf mentality had been rubbing off on him. She’d believed demon magic was a tool. A dangerous tool, but a tool. Trent had been taught to fear it, much like the coven had. But clearly that was changing. I didn’t know what he could do anymore, and it moved him from a familiar threat to something I had to be wary of.

Looking across the two-lane road, I whistled for Jenks, getting a burst of green dust signifying that we were good. On the horizon, the waxing moon rose in the bright light of afternoon. At the car, Ivy was busy cleaning the backseat with her special orange wipes. Nervous, I wiped my palms on my thighs. The wind moved my hair, and I tucked the strands, still caked with the dust of the arch, behind an ear. Ivy wanted to drive all night, but I wanted to rent a room to shower, if nothing else. I felt icky.

“I meant it when I said I didn’t mean to drag this out to the last few days,” I said as I pawed through my bag. “Al wouldn’t tell me how to do the curse, just gave me a book. Demon texts don’t have indexes, so I had to look page by page. It wasn’t in there. But it does have a page or two with info like substitutions, sun and moon tables, conversions …”

I found the index card with the Latin Trent was going to have to say, and I handed it to him. He automatically took it, his expression one of surprise. “The curse to free a familiar was—”

“At the back with the metric to English conversions, yes,” I said sourly. “I guess they don’t do this often.” I set five candles on the cement. They were from my last birthday cake. How sad was that? The finger stick and shaft of redwood were next. I had a moment of panic until I found the vial of transfer media. I could buy it, sure, but not anywhere near here.

I twisted where I sat to reach my scrying mirror, setting it between us as the platform on which to do the curse. Trent looked at the dark wine-colored hues that it reflected the world in. His boots shifted. He was nervous. He should be.

“You need the mirror for this?” he asked, though it was obvious.

“Yes,” I said, thinking the plate-size piece of etched glass was beautiful for all its dark purpose. Etched with a stick of yew, the pentagram and associated glyphs were how I accessed the demon database in the ever-after. It also let me chat with my demon teacher, Algaliarept. I guess you could say it was an interdimensional cell phone that ran on black magic, and since this curse needed to be registered, I’d have to use it. Suddenly suspicious, I asked, “Why?”

Trent’s eyes fixed on mine, too innocent. “I was remembering having used it to talk to Minias. It wasn’t hard.”

I flicked the top off the finger stick with my thumb and jabbed myself. The brief pain was familiar, and I massaged three drops of blood into the transfer media. “Demon magic never is,” I said softly as they went plinking in and the expected redwood scent was quickly overshadowed by a whiff of burnt amber. I glanced at Trent, hoping he hadn’t noticed. “That’s why you pay for it the hard way. He’s dead, by the way. Minias. Newt killed him.”

Suddenly tired, I slumped. “I can’t get the familiar bond annulled,” I admitted, knowing he wasn’t going to be happy. “The best I can do is file an emancipation curse. That’s why I need the mirror.”

Sure enough, Trent clenched his jaw. “I’d still be counted a slave?”

“Deal with it!” I exclaimed angrily, eyes flicking up when I heard a pixy whisper from the roof and realized we were being watched. “You were caught, Trent. You were on a demon’s auction block. You had a little red bow around your neck, and you were a commodity. I’m sorry, but you were!”

Scowling, Trent looked past me to the yellow grass.

“If it helps,” I said softly, “the only reason I was able to get the familiar bond between Al and me annulled was because it couldn’t be enforced. And before you ask, if you want to go that route, I’d have to complete the familiar bond, use it, and you’d have to successfully beat me down. After that little stunt at the arch, I think we can agree that that is not going to happen,” I added, not sure if I had the right to be so confident anymore.

Looking as if he were swallowing slugs, Trent gazed past me. “I will be a freed slave.”

I winced in sympathy as I rubbed at one of the candles to get the dried frosting off. “The upside is that no demon can ever claim you. Even Al. At least as long as I’m alive,” I added, watching him as he took it in and his frown eased into a thoughtful expression. It was a serendipitous bit of CYA, but it was true, and it felt good knowing that he wouldn’t be trying to kill me again. Ever. Na-na. Na-na. Na-a-a-a. Na.

His response was a quiet “mmmm,” and I wondered if he thought I was making it up.

Leaning forward, I wiped the glass clean and pressed the candle at the tip of the pentagram to Trent’s right, wiggling it a bit to get the wax to melt a little and stick. “So-o-o-o,” I drawled, not looking up. “You want to tell me why the Withons want you dead so badly that they’d drop the St. Louis arch on us?” I said, and his knees shifted.

“I’d sooner tell you what I wanted to be when I grew up,” Trent said sarcastically, then frowned when our eyes met. “It could have been the coven.”

My hair was getting in my way, and I pushed the nasty curls behind my ear to make them less obvious. “Come on, Trent,” I said. “We all know the Withons were after you. They said as much after you left.”

Trent looked at the holes in the ceiling, silent. I pressed the second candle into the mirror on the point counterclockwise from the first, surreptitiously eying him from under my tangled hair as I took in his tells. He was nervous. That’s all I could determine. I’m doing demon magic at an abandoned gas station within sight of I-44. God! No wonder they shunned me.

I moved to the third candle, rolling it between my fingers before I wiggled it into place. “Quen was so scared that he picked me up from the airport, ready to send us out right from there in the hope of shaking the Withons’ assassins,” I said, and Trent cleared his throat. “They attacked us on the interstate, risking dozens of lives, and then again under the arch. And you knew they would,” I said, suddenly realizing it, “or you wouldn’t have gone to that bunker, looking for that ley line when I told you to find Ivy.”

His head came up, and he glared at me, still refusing to say anything.

“That’s why you were so adamant that we stop there, wasn’t it,” I said, leaning forward. “And why you went to ground. You knew they were after you and you didn’t trust Ivy and me to hold them off. You had your magic all prepped, with your little hat and ribbon,” I accused, and he held his gaze, angry. “And after you did your magic, the arch fell down.” It fell on us, and children, and dogs playing in the park.

Trent’s eye twitched. “I didn’t make it collapse,” he said, his beautiful voice strained.

Feeling used, I set the fourth candle, my hair falling onto the mirror to meet its reflection. “I never said you did,” I said. “But they want you dead, and they want you dead now. What are you trying to do that the Withons will sacrifice a park full of people to prevent?” I looked at him, thinking he appeared sharp and cold in the shadow with me. “People got hurt because of us. Killed. Kids, Trent. If I hadn’t gone to St. Louis, the arch would still be standing and those kids … those kids would still be okay. I deserve to know why!” I said, not wanting to get back in the car without an answer.

Trent, his expression a blank nothing, looked into the field where the pixies were showing off for Jenks. “It’s something between Ellasbeth and myself,” he finally said reluctantly.

The fourth candle fell over when I let go of it, and it rolled almost off the mirror before I caught it. “You going to kill her?” I asked outright, my heart pounding.

“No!” I felt better at the horror in his voice, and he said it again, as if I might not believe him. “No. Never.”

The wind shifted his hair, and I couldn’t help but think he looked better now than in a thousand-dollar suit. Silent, I waited. Finally he grimaced and looked at his feet. “Ellasbeth has something that belongs to me,” he said. “I’m going to get it. She wants to keep it, is all.”

“We caused a pileup on the interstate and hurt a bunch of kids over a family heirloom ring?” I guessed, disgusted. “A stupid hunk of rock?”

“It’s not a hunk of rock.” Trent’s green eyes lowered as he looked at his hands in his lap, fixing on me fervently when he looked up. “It’s the direction the next generation of elves is going to take. What happens in the following days will shape the next two hundred years.”

Oh, really? Thinking that over, I tried to get the candle to stick, holding my breath as I let it go, watching it carefully. I didn’t know why I was helping him. I really didn’t.

“You don’t believe me,” Trent said, his anger showing at last. “You asked why they want me dead. I told you the truth, and you haven’t said anything.”

My gaze coming up from the mirror, I looked at him from under my straggly hair. I was so friggin’ tired it hurt. “The Withons are trying to stop you from getting this thing so they can shape the next two hundred years of elfdom, not you, eh?”

“That’s it.” Trent’s shoulders eased at my sarcasm. “Our marriage was supposed to be a way to avoid this. If I can claim it by sunrise Monday, then it’s mine forever. If not, then I lose everything.” His expression was empty of emotion. “Everything, Rachel.”

I stifled a shiver, trying to disguise it by wiggling the last candle into place. “So this is kind of like an ancient elven spirit quest, rite of passage, and closed election all in one?”

Trent’s lips parted. “Uh, ye-yes,” he stammered, looking embarrassed. “Actually, that’s not a bad comparison. It’s also why Quen couldn’t help and why air travel was out. I’m allowed a horse, and the car is the modern equivalent.”

I nodded, jumping when the fifth candle fell over. “And me? What am I?”

“You’re my mirror, my sword, and my shield,” Trent said dryly.

I looked askance at him to see if he was serious. Mirror? “Times change, eh?” I said, not sure what to think. The candle wasn’t sticking, and I was getting frustrated.

“I have to be in Seattle by Sunday or it means nothing. Rachel, this is the most important thing in my life.”

The candle went rolling, and Trent jerked his hand out, catching it. I froze in my reach, eyes narrowing as Trent breathed on the end and quickly stuck it to the mirror. My gaze went to the moon, pale in the sunlight. Maybe that was his deadline. Elves loved marking things by the moon. “I don’t have to help you steal it, do I?” I asked, and he shook his head, unable to hide his relief that I believed him. And I did believe him.

“If I can’t claim it on my own, then I don’t deserve it.”

Back to the coming-of-age elf-quest thing. “I want a say,” I said, and Trent blinked.

“Excuse me?”

I lifted a shoulder and let it fall, carefully spilling a bit of primed transfer media onto the mirror. “If I’m your mirror, sword, and shield, then I want a say as to how it’s used. I’ve seen you work, and I don’t like your way of getting things done. Maybe Ellasbeth’s family would be better at directing the elven race than you.”

Trent’s eyes were wide. “You don’t believe that.”

“I don’t know what I believe, but I want a say.” Especially if it bothers you so much.

Mouth moving, Trent finally managed, “You have no idea what you’re asking.”

“I know,” I said flippantly. “But here we are. Yes or no?”

Trent looked like he was going to say no, but then his posture slipped and he smiled. “I agree,” he said lightly, extending his hand over the scrying mirror. “You have a say.”

His eyes were glinting like Al’s, but my hand went out, and we shook over the prepared curse. His fingers were warm in mine, pleasant, and I pulled away fast. “Why do I feel like I’ve made a mistake,” I muttered, and Trent’s smile widened, worrying me more.

“Rachel, I’ve been trying to get you involved for two years. If this is how I’m going to get my foot in the door, then so be it.” His eyes went down to the curse. “Is it ready?”

Crap, had I just gone into a partnership with him?

Feeling ill, I nodded, taking up the stick of redwood and dipping it in the primed transfer media. I made a quick counterclockwise movement before touching the tip of it to the back of Trent’s hand, then mine, making a symbolic connection between us.

Trent frowned at the damp spot on his hand as if wanting to wipe it off, and I set the stick down beside my bag with a snap. “Don’t wipe that off,” I said sharply, still uneasy because of his last comment. “And put your hand on the mirror, please—without touching any of the glyphs or knocking over the candles.”

He hesitated, and I set my hand down first, making sure my thumb and pinky were on the center glyphs for connection. The cool stillness of the glass seemed to seep up into me—until Trent’s fingers touched the etched mirror. Jerking, I met his startled gaze, sure he’d felt the zing of energy leaving him. “You’re connected to a ley line?” I asked, not needing to see his nod. “Um, let go of it,” I said, and the faint seepage of power ceased. “Thank you.”

Satisfied everything was set, I reached behind me with my free hand to touch the ring of chalk. “Rhombus,” I said, wincing as my awareness found the nearest ley line. It was all the way back in St. Louis, thin and weak from the distance, but it would be enough.

Warmth textured with silver poured into me, and Trent sucked in his breath in surprise, connected to the line by way of the mirror. A molecule-thin sheet of ever-after rose up, arching both overhead and underneath, within the earth, forming a sphere of protection. Nothing stronger than air could pass through except energy itself. The sheet was colored with the gold of my original aura, but the demon smut I’d accumulated over the last couple of years crawled over it like arcs of unbalanced power, looking for a way in. At night, it wasn’t so noticeable, but out here in the sun, it was ugly. Looking up, Trent grimaced.

Nothing you’ve not seen before, Mr. Clean. Looking up at a car on the interstate, I took a deep breath. There was no better time to do this, but I wasn’t comfortable. Trent, too, looked uneasily at the forces balancing between us, and I dampened the flow until his shoulders relaxed. My thoughts went to the energy I’d shoved into the assassins under the arch. There was no way all of that had come from Trent, but I didn’t think it had come from the assassins, either. What had he been doing with that little cap and ribbon?

“Okay,” I said, starting to fidget. “What’s going to happen is that I’m going to light four of the candles. Then you say your words. I’ll register the curse, and we’re done.”

Trent’s gaze flicked from the index card to me. “That’s it?” I nodded, and his attention went to the candles. “There are five candles. Do I light that one?”

“No, it will light on its own if we do it right.” The wind brought the sound of pixy laughter to me, recognizable but faster and higher than Jenks’s kids, and I inhaled slowly. A quiver went through me. I’d never shown anyone outside my friends that I could do demon magic. But Trent was looking at his card, squinting as if he didn’t care.

“What does it say?” he finally asked.

A flush warmed me. “Um, bella usually means beautiful, doesn’t it?”

Trent scrunched his face up, clearly not knowing, either, but I bet he’d find out thirty seconds after he got to his phone. “You want to wait until I find out?” I asked, already knowing the answer, and sure enough, he shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter. I want the mark off. Now.”

Yeah, me, too. Jittery, I looked at the candles, hoping they’d stayed put. The curse didn’t physically change anything or break the laws of physics, so the smut would be minimal; Nature didn’t care about the laws of demons or men, only her own. Break them, and you pay.

“Ex cathedra,” I said, carefully scraping a bit of wax off the first candle at Trent’s right and holding it under my nail. I didn’t need a focusing object most days, but I wanted no mistakes in front of Trent. Thinking consimilis calefacio to light the candle, I pinched the wick and slowly opened my fingers to leave a new flame. Ex cathedra, “from the office of authority”; I hoped my pronunciation was right. It wouldn’t mess up the curse if I was off, but this curse would be registered in the demon database, and word would get around.

Lighting the candle had taken an almost minuscule drop of ley-line force, and I met Trent’s startled gaze. “Ceri knows how to light candles like that, too,” he said.

“She’s the one who taught me,” I admitted, and Trent’s frown deepened. Guess she hadn’t taught him. “Rogo,” I said, lighting the second candle on my left. I am asking, I thought, watching until I was sure the flame wasn’t going to go out.

Trent cleared his throat at the rising power, and the hair on my arms pricked. “Mutatis mutandis,” I said, lighting the candle to my right, continuing my counterclockwise motion. Counterclockwise. This was really wrong, but it was for a good reason. Things to be changed.

“Libertus,” I said as I lit the candle to Trent’s left, almost completing the circle. Just one right in front of him to go, and if it didn’t light on its own, then I was in trouble.

“Read your card,” I said as I stared at the unlit candle. “And for God’s little green apples, don’t blow anything out in the process.”

Much to his credit, Trent didn’t lick his lips or give any indication that he was nervous, and with a smooth, enviable accent, said, “Si qua bella inciderint, vobis ausilum feram.”

I felt a sinking of self, and my hand pressed firmly into the glass. It was as if the world had dropped out from under me and I was suddenly not just under an abandoned building’s overhang in the middle of nowhere, but also in the theoretical black database in the ever-after. I could hear whispers of demons talking through their own scrying mirrors, sense the bright flash of a curse being registered. The double sensations were confusing, and my eyes had closed, but they opened when Trent roughly said, “Nothing happened.”

Dizzy, I tried to focus on him and the fear behind his anger. Clearly he wasn’t feeling the same thing I was. “It’s not done yet. I have to register it.” Heart pounding, I closed my eyes, praying this wasn’t going to swing around to bite me on the ass. “Evulgo.”

I stiffened as a flare of ever-after shot through me, and my eyes opened at Trent’s hiss. “Keep your hand on the glass!” I warned him.

The four candles went out, the thin trails of smoke and the scent of sulfur rising like curls of thought to heaven. My gaze went to the as-yet-unlit candle. Please, please, please …

Relief pulled the corners of my mouth up as the last candle burst into flame, covering the scent of honest sulfur with the acidic, biting scent of burnt amber. “I pay the cost,” I whispered as I glanced at Trent, even before the smut could rise.

Trent grunted, his free hand clutching his shoulder where the familiar mark was. A wave of unseen force pulsed out from me, breaking my circle as it passed through, pressing the pixies into the air, and heading out in an ever-widening circle. From inside the abandoned building, something crashed to the floor. Still holding his arm, Trent looked to the gaping windows.

I let go of the ley line and took my hand from the scrying mirror. It was done, for better or worse, and I lifted my head and took a deep breath. I didn’t know what Trent would do, and it was scary. From the car, Ivy called out, “You good?”

Trent’s face was empty of emotion as he turned where he sat and pulled his sleeve up, twisting to see on his arm where the mark was—had been—I hoped.

“Good,” I called out to Ivy, my voice cracking. “I’m good!” I said louder, and she slumped back into the seat. She’d felt it. That was curious.

Trent made a small noise, his expression ugly. “What is that!” he exclaimed, his face becoming red as he twisted to show me his arm, and my lips parted. The demon mark was gone, but in its place was a dark discoloration of skin that looked like a birthmark. A birthmark in the shape of a smiley face. All it needed was the phrase “Have a nice day!” tattooed under it.

A mild panic hit me. This was so not fair. I had done the charm—curse—whatever—right, and I still ended up looking like a fool.

“What is that!” he demanded, the flush rising to his ears. From the open field, the pixies rose high then back down.

“Uh, it looks like a birthmark,” I said. “Really, it’s not that bad.”

“Is this your idea of a joke?” he exclaimed.

“I didn’t know it was going to do that!” I admitted, voice rising as I shifted to a kneel. My foot hit the mirror, and the candles all fell over, the one going out in a puff of smoke. “Maybe it’s so the demons know to keep their mitts off you!” Oh my God, it looked like a smiley face.

He sniffed at it. “It stinks!” he said. “It smells like a dandelion!”

I closed my eyes in a long blink, but he was still there when I opened them. “Trent, I’m sorry,” I apologized, hoping he believed me. “I didn’t know. Maybe you can add a tattoo to it. Make it something more butch.”

Trent wouldn’t look at me as he got to his feet, his boots scraping on the cement. “This is clearly the best you can do,” he said shortly. “We have to get going.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, peeved that that was all I was going to get out of him. His becoming my familiar had only been to save his little elf ass. For my trouble I’d gotten my head bashed into a tombstone. And now that I’d gone and added more smut to my soul to break said familiar bond, incidentally giving more ammunition to the coven of moral and ethical standards to use to prove that I was a black witch, all I got was “We have to get going”?

“Have a nice day,” I called snidely after him as I shoved everything into my shoulder bag. Standing, I started to follow. The sun hit me like a heavy wind, and I bowed my head, wishing I had another pair of sunglasses. They might have a pair in the gas station, but I wasn’t going in to look. And I wasn’t going to give Trent his back, either.

Trent’s pace was stiff as he walked to the car. I turned to the nearby field, squinting for Jenks. Not a wing caught the light or broke the stillness, and a sliver of worry colored my anger. “Do I smell better?” I heard Trent ask Ivy sarcastically as he got in the back of the car.

“I liked the way you smelled before, Trent. That was the problem.”

I dumped the candles, transfer media, and finger stick into the barrel with Trent’s bloody shirt and our trash. Tapping a line, I made the appropriate ley-line gesture, and with the final words, leno cinis, I threw a ball of unfocused energy in on top to get the entire thing burning. Flame whooshed up, fueled by my anger as well as the demon curse. Ivy looked at me through the open window, her eyebrows high as I destroyed any evidence of us and the curse.

Without a word, she started the car. Hands on my hips, I looked to the field for Jenks. A sneeze tickled my nose, and I let it come, hearing it echo against the broken buildings. My eyes narrowed, and sure enough, I sneezed again. There was only one reason I sneezed more than twice in a row, and I held my breath until the third one ripped through me.

Damn. It was Al. Maybe he’d felt the familiar emancipation curse being registered.

“Ivy, we got a minute?” I asked as I tossed my bag in through the open door, then sat down sideways with my feet still on the cracked cement.

She knew what my sneezing meant, too. “A minute.” Still reclining, she honked the horn. “Jenks! Let’s go!”

The tightening in my gut eased as Jenks flew up, a veritable cloud of pretty dresses and flashing wings left hovering forlornly over the meadow. “Crap on toast!” the pixy said, his long hair loose and looking disheveled as he straightened his clothes. “I think I almost got married.”

There was a flash of red on his feet, and as I placed the scrying mirror on my knees, I blinked in surprise. “Where did you get the boots, Jenks?”

“You like them?” he said as he landed on the glass to show them off. “Me, too. I told them about you, and they gave them to me. They think I’m some kind of wandering storyteller, and it was either take these or the nasty honey made from sedge flowers.” He made a face, his angular features twisting up dramatically. “What does Al want?”

I sneezed in the middle of saying, “Three guesses,” and he took off, flying to the back to show his boots to Trent. “I’m coming!” I shouted at Al as I placed my hand on the center glyph and tapped into the ley line. Feet in the sun, I set my thoughts on Algaliarept, his ruddy complexion, his overdone British accent, his cruelty, his crushed green velvet coat, his cruelty, his voice, and his cruelty. He was nice to me, but he really was a depraved, sadistic … demon.

“Can’t you do this while we’re on the road?” Trent asked from the backseat.

“Al!” I said aloud when I felt the connection form to the demon collective, and my thought winged away to be immediately answered. A second consciousness expanded mine, and I heard Jenks clatter his wings.

“You ever see anything freakier than that?” he said to Trent.

“Yes, about three minutes ago,” Trent answered back.

What in the arcane are you doing? came Al’s unusually angry thought within mine, and shoved away the whisper imagery of him either cleaning his spelling kitchen or tearing it apart.

“Filing an emancipation curse,” I said aloud so Ivy and Jenks could hear half the conversation. “And before you start, what I do with my familiars is my business.”

Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Al shouted, and I winced. Please tell me you didn’t teach him anything. Al hesitated. Did you?

I shook my head even though Al couldn’t see it. “I didn’t teach Trent anything. Not even respect,” I said, and I felt Al sigh in relief.

Itchy witch, Al thought, his dark musings seeming to insert themselves into my head. There’s a reason we kill familiars when we’re done with them. He’s got a new mark, doesn’t he?

“His familiar mark turned into a smiley face,” I said, feeling myself warm.

From the backseat, Jenks exclaimed, “No way! Let me see!” and Trent’s negative growl.

Damn my dame, Al thought, seeming to fall back into Ceri’s comfortable chair by the small hearth in his kitchen if I was interpreting his emotions right. You did it correctly. Nice going, Rachel.

“Hey, you’re the one who gave me the recipe,” I shot back, thinking the modern phrase sounded funny coming from the old-world-charm demon.

I gave that one to you because it’s bloody impossible and I thought you wouldn’t be able to do it! he exclaimed, loud enough to give me a headache. You just made Trent able to call any demon without fear of being snatched. Nice going.

Fingers pressed to the glass to maintain our link, I looked back at Trent. So? You can still smack him around, can’t you? I said, and the demon chuckled, making me shiver.

Technically, no, but that’s a matter of interpretation.

I pushed my fingers into my forehead, tired of it all. Demons. Their society’s rules were not worth the blood they were written with unless you had the personal power to force everyone to abide by them. But the snatching thing? That was probably ironclad.

“What did you say?” Jenks asked belligerently. “Hey! You’re talking and not telling us. That’s rude, Rache.”

“Tell you later,” I said, turning to look at Ivy, her hands on the wheel as she waited. She looked worried. Hell, I knew I was.

“Look, I wasn’t going to use him as a familiar,” I said to Al. “And now he’s going to help get my shunning removed.” The part about the West Coast elves trying to cack him, I’d keep to myself, not because it made this look more dangerous, but because Al wouldn’t care. He’d just as soon see me fail. If I lost our bet, I’d be living with him in the ever-after—hence the reason he wouldn’t just pop me over there.

Trenton Aloysius Kalamack? Al thought, a tweak of magic running through me when he lit a candle. Why? You going to be his little demon in return for his vouching for your sterling character, dove?

“Absolutely not,” I said with a huff. “Trent’s on some elf quest. I promised I’d see him to the West Coast is all. I’m his mirror, sword, and shield all in one. It was a deal, Al. Just because I can break them with impunity doesn’t mean I will.”

“You’re on an elf quest?” Jenks said loudly, and Trent sighed. “You shitting me?”

You make the most interesting mistakes, my itchy witch, Al thought, and I didn’t care if he could sense me slump in relief. If he was back to calling me itchy witch, we were okay. Don’t teach him anything, he finished. Nothing.

“Not a problem,” I said and lifted my hand, breaking the connection before Algaliarept caught my first whisper of unease.

Don’t teach him anything, Al had said. Like how to free a familiar, maybe? Too late.

Eight

The hum of the engine shifted, becoming deeper. It stirred my unconsciousness, waking me more than the bright sun determined to wedge itself under my eyelids. Beyond the cover of my coat draped over me, it was cold, so I didn’t move. Somewhere between Ohio and Texas, the cinnamon and wine smell of elf had joined the familiar scent of vampire and witch, mixing with the leather of my coat. Under that was the faint hint of lilac perfume, evidence of my mom lingering yet in the cushions of the backseat of her car. It was relaxing, and I lingered, dozing and slumped against the door. If I woke up, I’d have to move, and I was stiff from riding in the car for the last twenty-four hours.

A sigh that wasn’t mine moved me, and I jerked awake. Crap, I wasn’t slumped against the door. I was leaning against Ivy!

Great, I thought, carefully sitting up and trying not to wake her. I wasn’t being phobic, but I didn’t want a misunderstanding.

Her eyes opened as I pulled away, and I met her sleepy expression with my own, taking my coat and covering her up where my warmth had been against her. Ivy’s smile turned sly even as her eyes closed again, and I shivered at the slip of teeth. The clock on the dash said it was about nine. Way too early for me to be up. Jenks must have changed it to Central time.

Scooting to my side of the backseat, I flicked my attention to Jenks sitting on the rearview mirror. He had on a new red coat I didn’t recognize, matching his boots. Seeing me look at them, Jenks shrugged and continued his conversation with Trent about financial trends and how they parallel the size of successful pixy broods. I vaguely remembered hearing them talking in my dreams, and I sat there, ignored, as I tried to figure out what was going on.

The last thing I remembered was Ivy stopping for gas and Trent waking up from his midnight nap to take over the driving. We’d been in Oklahoma, and it had been dark, flat, and starless. Now, as I sat slumped in the back and blinked at the bright sun, I wondered where we were. The terrain had changed again. Gone was the sedge that had dotted the dry, rolling plains and turned everything in the distance into a pale green carpet. It was true desert now, the vegetation dry and sparse. Under the glaring sun and cloudless sky, the colors were thin and washed out: tans, whites, with a hint of mauve and silver. I’d never seen such a lack of anything before, but instead of making me uneasy, it was restful.

My mouth tasted ugly, and I checked my phone, my brain still fuzzy as it tried to work without caffeine. I’d missed another call from Bis, and I frowned, concerned. He’d be asleep now, but if it was anything important, the pixies would call Jenks. Bis was probably just checking on me again, still worried about me having pulled on St. Louis’s line so heavily. He’d called yesterday shortly before sundown, throwing me until I realized it was dark where he was. But what bothered me now was that he’d felt me pull on a line when he’d been asleep.

Trent’s voice was pleasant as he talked to Jenks, and I tucked my phone away, wondering what it might feel like to have that voice directed at me. I was not crushing on him, but it was hard not to appreciate a man who was rich, sexy, and powerful. Trent was all of that and scum, too, but the respect in his tone as he talked to Jenks was surprising. Respect, or perhaps camaraderie.

But Trent and Jenks were a lot alike in many ways, stuff that went beyond their similar sleep schedules. Jenks had the same frontier-justice mentality that irritated me when I saw it in Trent. I knew Jenks killed fairies to protect his family, and I didn’t think any the less of him. Ivy, too, had killed people to survive until she had managed to escape Piscary. I was sure Pierce had, though he hadn’t told me of any except the four hundred innocents in Eleison, dead because of his previous lack of skill. Everyone made sacrifices of some kind to save what was important to them. Maybe Trent had a lot more things that were important to him than most people.

“Where are we?” I said softly as I pulled on my boots, not liking where my thoughts had taken me. I felt fuzzy, like I’d been asleep a long time.

Jenks shifted to face me, his wings catching the light and sending snatches of it about the car. “About an hour outside Albuquerque.”

Albuquerque? As in New Mexico? “You’re kidding,” I said, scooting forward to drape my arms over the passenger seat into the front. There was a fast-food bag on the floor. No, it was a take-out bag from a chain of high-priced gourmet eateries. “What time is it?” I asked, looking at the clock on the dash. “And where did you get the red coat, Jenks?”

“Nice, isn’t it?” he said, rising up to show it off. “I got it when Trent picked up some breakfast around sunup. All I had to do was tell a story, and the pixy girls gave it to me. I don’t know what time it is anymore. My internal clock is all screwed up.”

Trent glanced at me, his eyes showing the strain of too much driving. “We crossed into another time zone. The clock is right, but I feel like it’s eleven. I’m tired.”

I did the math, and I looked at the speedometer, seeing it was a mere sixty-eight miles per hour. “Holy crap!” I exclaimed, then lowered my voice when Ivy moved. “How fast have you been driving?”

Jenks’s wings hummed as he returned to the rearview mirror. “Ninety mostly.”

Silent, I turned to Trent, seeing a smile lifting his lips. “I have to make up the time somewhere,” he said. “You sleep a lot, and the roads were empty.”

I tried to stretch by pressing my palms into the roof of the car, but that wasn’t doing it. “I don’t sleep any more than you do,” I said as I collapsed back over the seat. “I just don’t have to do it every twelve hours.” Trent raised an eyebrow, and I added, “You want to stop for some breakfast? Maybe rent a room for a shower or something?”

“Lunch,” Jenks said brightly. “We ate at sunup.”

I stifled a smile at Jenks’s satisfaction.

From the backseat came Ivy’s low, gravelly “I’m hungry,” and Trent smoothly took the next exit, the off-ramp clean of debris, indicating that it was well used and likely had civilization at the end of it. Though the space between the cities was mostly abandoned, there were clusters of oddballs for gas and food holding back the emptiness.

“Breakfast for the witch and the vamp it is,” Trent said, sounding like he was in a good mood. Relaxed almost. I ran my eyes over his clothes, seeing that he’d changed into a pair of dark slacks at some point. Not jeans but still casual. His boots were gone, and soft-soled shoes had taken their place. I’d be willing to bet they were still pricey, but the shine was gone. The businessman was vanishing, being replaced by … something else. Quen, I thought as I slumped back into my seat, might not be pleased.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.