Chapter Twenty-five
"Is it supposed to take this long?" came Jenks's voice, buzzing as if from behind my eyes. My shoulder hurt, and I shifted my arm, bringing my hand up to touch it. I was soaking wet, and surprise brought me awake.
Taking a lungful of air, I sat up, my eyes flashing open.
"Ho! There she is," Keasley said, worry in his brown eyes as he backed up and straightened. His leathery face was creased with wrinkles, and he looked cold in his faded cloth coat. The rising sun gave him a hazy glow, and Jenks hovered beside him. Both of them were watching me with concern as I slumped against a tombstone. We were surrounded by pixies, and their giggles sounded like wind chimes.
"You spelled me!" I shouted, and Jenks's kids scattered with squeals. I looked down, realizing it was salt water dripping from my hair, my nose, my fingers, and pooling in my underwear. I'm a freaking mess.
Keasley's age-worn expression eased. "I saved your life." Dropping the plastic five-gallon bucket onto the grass, he extended a hand to help me up.
Avoiding it, I lurched to my feet before the water could seep farther. "Damn it, Keasley," I swore, shaking my dripping hands and disgusted with myself. "Thanks a helluva lot."
He snorted, and Jenks landed atop one of the nearby monuments, the sun glinting prettily through his wings. " 'Thanks a helluva lot,'" he mocked. "What did I tell you? Oblivious, clueless, and bitchy. You should have left her there till noon."
I tried to wring salt water out of my hair, ticked off. It had been almost eight years since anyone had nailed me like this. My fingers froze, and my attention jerked to the rest of the graveyard, misty and golden in the rising sun. "Where's Ceri?"
Keasley bent painfully to tuck a folding chair under his arm. "At home. Crying."
Guilt hit me, and I looked at the graveyard's wall as if I could see his house through it. "I'm sorry," I said, remembering her shocked look when I had shoved her down. Oh, God, Ivy.
I stiffened as if to run, and Jenks got in my face, rocking me back. "No, Rachel!" he yelled. "This isn't some jackass movie. If you go after Piscary, you're going to be dead! You make one move to leave, I'm gonna pix you, then give you a lobotomy. I ought to pix you anyway, you stupid witch! What the hell is wrong with you?"
My urge to run to my car died. He was right. Keasley was watching me with his hand hidden suspiciously in the wide pocket of his jacket. My eyes rose from it to his face, wrinkled with intelligence. Ceri had once called him a retired warrior. I was way past believing her. He had pulled that trigger last night with too much familiarity. If I was going in to get Ivy away from Piscary, I was going to have to plan it.
Depressed, I crossed my arms and leaned against the grave marker. In the distance was a group of about ten people jumping the stone wall to get off the property. I bristled, then relaxed. It was holy ground, and I hadn't been the only one scared.
"Sorry about last night," I said, "I wasn't thinking. It's just..." My mind flashed back to Ivy last year, numb as she lay shaking under her covers, telling me how Piscary had raped her mind and body in an effort to convince her to kill me. My face went cold, and I swallowed my fear. "Is Ceri okay?" I managed. I had to get Ivy away from him.
Dark eyes sharp, Keasley harrumphed as if aware I was still teetering. "Yes," he said, his bent posture shifting to hold his chair more firmly. "She's okay. I've never seen her like this, though. Embarrassed that she tried to stop you using her magic."
"I shouldn't have shoved her." Stiffly I retrieved the radio and my pillow, wet from dew.
"Actually, that was one thing you did right."
The radio thunked into the empty bucket. "Huh?"
Smirking, Jenks took flight, rising forty feet straight up in the time it took my heart to beat. He was doing a surveillance check, bored with the conversation.
Keasley dropped a coffee-stained thermos into the bucket, groaning as he straightened his back. "You knocked her down because she was going to use magic to stop you. If you had reacted with your magic, too? Now, that would have been scary, but you didn't, showing a control she had forgotten to maintain. She's wallowing in shame right now, poor girl."
I stared, not having realized it.
"I'm glad you shoved her," he mused. "She's been getting uppity these last few weeks."
I tucked a strand of dripping hair behind an ear, cold. "It was still wrong," I said, and he patted my shoulder to send the scent of cheap coffee over me. My gaze fell to my new red shirt, the cotton holding the salt water like a sponge. Crap. I'd be lucky if I hadn't ruined it.
Plucking my comforter from where it hung over a tombstone, I gave it a good shake. Dirt and last week's grass clippings flew. It was still warm from having been wrapped about my body, and after draping it over me like a cloak, I squinted in the hazy glare and tried to remember what time the sun rose in July. I was usually asleep at this hour, but I'd been out since midnight. It was going to be a long day.
Yawning, Keasley started to shuffle away with his chair. "I called your mother," he said, reaching into a pocket and handing me my phone. "She's fine. Things should settle down. The radio said Piscary captured Al in a circle and banished him, freeing Mr. Saladan. The damned vampire is a city hero."
He shook his graying head, and I agreed. Freed Lee from Al? Not likely. I tucked my phone into a pocket, awkward because of the damp fabric. "Thanks," I said, then met his dubious expression. "They're working together, aren't they? Piscary and Al, I mean," I said, grabbing everything else and falling into place behind Keasley.
His silvering hair shone in the sun as he nodded. "Seems like a wise assumption."
A heavy sigh sifted through me. The two of them had a long association, both knowing that business was business and not caring that it had been Al's testimony that put Piscary in away. So now Piscary was out of prison. The city was safe, but I was in trouble. Sounded about right.
I had my pillow under my arm, my blanket draped over my shoulder, and the bucket holding the radio and thermos in my hand. Catching my balance, I said softly, "Thank you for slowing me down last night." He said nothing, and I added, "I have to get her out of there."
Keasley set an arthritic hand atop a stone as we passed, halting. "You make one move toward Piscary and I'll plug you with another charm."
I scowled, and with a toothy grin Keasley handed me my splat gun.
"Ivy is a vampire, Rachel," the old man said, his mirth evaporating. "Unless you start taking some responsibility, you should accept that she is where she belongs and walk away."
My posture stiffened, and I tugged my blanket up when it slipped. "Just what in hell does that mean?" I snapped, dropping the gun in with the radio.
Keasley, though, smiled, his narrow chest moving as he caught his breath. "Either make your relationship official or let her go."
Surprised, I stared at him, squinting in the strong morning light. "Excuse me?"
"Vampires have an unbreakable mind-set," he said, putting an arm over my shoulder and starting us to the gate. "Apart from the master vampires, they physically need to look to someone stronger than them. It's hardwired in, like Weres and their alphas. Ivy looks powerful because there are so few people stronger than she. Piscary's one. You're another."
My steps, slow to match his, grew even slower. "I can't best him. Despite what I wanted to do last night." God, it was embarrassing. I deserved to have been downed by my own spell.
"I never said you could beat Piscary," the old witch said as we helped each other over the uncertain footing of the graveyard. "I said you were stronger than him. You can help Ivy be who she wants, but if she can't let go of her fear and make peace with her needs, she's going to fall back to Piscary. I don't think she's decided yet."
I felt odd. "How do you figure that?"
His wrinkles deepened. "Because she didn't try to kill you last night."
My stomach clenched. How come he can see things so clearly and I'm thicker than a cement wall? Must go along with the wise-old-man image. "We tried it once," I said softly, wanting to touch my neck. "She almost killed me. She says the only way she can control her blood lust is if we mixed it with sex. Otherwise she loses control, and I'd have to hurt her to get her to back off. I can't, Keasley. I won't mix the ecstasy of bloodletting with hurting her. It's wrong and sick."
My pulse had quickened from the foul thought that that's what Piscary did... and what he had turned her into. I knew that my face was red, but Keasley didn't seem shocked when brought his attention up. His brow pinched, he gave me a pitying look. "You're in a spot, aren't you?"
We passed the foot-high wall that divided the graveyard from the backyard. Pixies were everywhere, the sunlight flashing on their wings. This was really uncomfortable, but who else could I talk to? My mom? "So," I said softly, angling us to the tall gate that led to the street, "you think it's my fault she went running to Piscary? Because I can't bring myself to hurt her if she loses control and I won't sleep with her?"
Keasley grunted. "Ivy thinks like a vampire. You should start thinking like a witch."
"You mean like a charm?" I offered, recalling Ivy's aversion to them, then flushed at the eagerness in my voice. "Maybe one to mute her hunger or calm her without hurting her? "
His head went up and down, and I slowed our pace, seeing him start to labor. "So what are you going to do?" he asked, his hand landing on my shoulder. "I mean today."
"Plan something out and go get her," I admitted. I didn't know what to think anymore.
He was silent. Then, "If you try, he'll tighten his grip on her."
I went to protest, and he pulled me to a stop, facing me. His dark eyes were thick with warning. "You walk in there, and Piscary will make her kill you. Trust her to get herself out. Piscary is her master, but you are her friend, and she still has her soul."
"Trust her?" I said, shocked he thought I should do nothing. "I can't leave her there. He blood-raped her the last time she said no when he told her to kill me."
A soft hand on my shoulder pushed us into motion. "Trust her," he said simply. "She trusts you." His chest rose and fell in a sigh. "Rachel, if she walks away from Piscary without someone to assume his protection, the first undead vampire she runs into will use and abuse her."
"Like Piscary isn't abusing her?" I scoffed.
"She needs protection as much as you do," he chided. "And if you can't give her that, you shouldn't condemn her for sticking with the only person who can."
Put that way, it made sense. But I didn't like it. Especially when, if you thought about it, Piscary was protecting me through her. Oh, swell...
"Give her a reason for her to get herself out and she'll stand with you," Keasley said as we reached the wooden gate. "You know what that will make her?"
"No," I said, thinking it made me a coward.
He smiled at my sour expression, then took his thermos out of the bucket. "It will make her into someone no one can manipulate. It's who she wants to be."
"This is crap," I said as he lifted the latch and the gate opened. "She needs my help!"
Snorting, Keasley propped the folding chair against the wall and shuffled over the threshold. Past him, the street was quiet and damp with dew. "You've already helped her. You gave her a choice besides Piscary."
I dropped my eyes. It wasn't enough. I wasn't enough. I couldn't protect her against the undead. I couldn't protect myself - thinking I could protect her was ludicrous.
Keasley paused in the threshold. "I'll be honest with you," he said. "I don't like the idea of same-sex relationships. It doesn't seem right to me, and I'm too old to start thinking different. But I do know you're happy here. From what Jenks tells me, Ivy is, too. Which makes it hard for me to think you're making a mistake or that it's wrong. Whatever you do."
If I knew the charm to curl up and die, I would have used it. As it was, I watched my feet and moved forward to stand in the gate. Sort of like what I was doing in my life.
"Are you going after Piscary?" he asked suddenly.
Warm under my blanket, I jiggled on my feet. "I want to."
"Smart decisions, Rachel," he said with a sigh. "Make smart decisions."
Restlessness filled me as he headed to his tired-looking house a few homes up the street. "Keasley, tell Ceri I'm sorry for pushing her down," I called after him.
He raised a hand to acknowledge me. "I will."
Jenks dropped from the tree overhead to land atop the gate, making me think he'd been eavesdropping again. I glanced at him, then yelled to Keasley, "Can I come over later?"
Pausing at the curb to let the minivan belonging to the only human family on the street pass, Keasley smiled to show coffee-stained teeth. "I'll make lunch. Tuna sandwiches okay?"
The minivan beeped, and Keasley returned the driver's wave. I couldn't help my smile. The elderly witch carefully stepped off the curb and started home, head up and eyes scanning.
Jenks rose when the gate thumped shut, and with the splat gun rattling against the radio, I made for the back door. "And where were you when Keasley downed me?" I asked Jenks tartly.
"Right behind him, stupid. Who do you think told him what you stocked your splat gun with?"
There wasn't much I could say to that. "Sorry." I took the porch steps, juggling everything in my arms to manage the door. Jenks darted in to do a quick run-through of the premises, and, remembering him in his robe last night, I hollered, "Is Matalina okay?"
"She's fine," he said, swooping back in.
I wedged my soaked shoes off, padding into the kitchen to leave wet prints as I dropped the bucket just inside it. Continuing on, I headed to my bathroom to wash my comforter. "Ceri's upset, huh?" I asked, fishing to find out what had happened while I was out.
"She's crushed," he said, landing on the raised lid as I punched buttons to get it going. "And you're going to have to wait. The power is out. Can't you tell?"
I hesitated, only now realizing it was eerily quiet in here, lacking the usual hum of computers, fridge fans, and everything else. "Not doing too well, am I?" I said, remembering Ceri gaping up at me, her hair in disarray and her eyes wide in shock at my having shoved her.
"Ah, we love you anyway," Jenks said, taking flight. "The church is clear. The front door is still bolted. I've got some things to do in the garden, just yell if you need me."
He lifted up, and I smiled at him. "Thanks, Jenks," I said, and he darted out, the buzz of his wings obvious in the power-outage-silenced air.
Shoving my comforter into the washer, I started to plan out my day: shower, eat, debase myself to Ceri, call the holy guy and offer to have his baby if he would find a way to remove the blasphemy and resanctify the church, prep some spells to storm the evil-vampire fortress. Typical Saturday stuff.
Barefoot, I wandered into the kitchen. I couldn't make coffee with the power out, but I could make tea. And by the time I changed into something dry, the water would be hot.
As I rattled around to get the kettle going, my thoughts kept returning to Piscary. I was in big trouble. I didn't think he had forgiven me for walloping him into unconsciousness with a chair leg, and I had an ugly feeling I was still alive so he could use me to bring Ivy in line when the timing was right. Even worse was my growing belief that he and Al were working together. This all was simply too convenient.
From what Al had said, I didn't think it was possible to summon and hold a demon in a circle if he was possessing someone. So Piscary had taken the credit for ridding Cincy of its newest Inderlander in what was probably a prearranged agreement. For services rendered, the master vampire had been pardoned for murdering those ley line witches last year. It was aeon. The entire thing was aeon. My only question now was who had helped arranged it, 'cause Piscary couldn't safely summon a demon in prison. Someone had helped him set it up.
It just wasn't fair.
The biting scent of sulfur rose as I lit a match and got the burner going. I held my breath as the smoke dissipated, thinking. If I didn't do something soon, I was going to be dead. Either Cincy would run me out on a rail for having dinner with Al and then letting him incinerate bouncers and toss six witches into the ever-after, or Mr. Ray and Mrs. Sarong would band together and kill me for the focus, or there was the yet-undiscovered faction still trying to find out who had the thing, according to Al. I had to get rid of it. I didn't know how vampires had kept it quiet for so long. Hell, they'd hidden it for half of forever before Nick found it.
My face blanked, and my motions slowed as I set the kettle on the flame. Vampires. Piscary. I needed protection from everyone and his brother, protection Piscary specialized in. What if I gave the focus to Piscary in return for his freaking protection? Sure, Al and Piscary worked together, but vampire politics came before personal power plays. And even if Al did find out, so what? Al was hiding over here. Once the focus was safe, I could call Minias and rat out Al to get rid of him. I could turn in my favor for that, right? Then I'd be free of Al and Piscary both, and the damned focus would again be safely hidden.
I stood in my kitchen staring at nothing, elation and angst trickling through me. I'd have to trust Piscary to keep it in hiding. Not to mention giving up his desire to kill me. But he thought in terms of centuries, and I wasn't going to last that long. Vampires didn't want the status quo to change. Piscary had everything to gain if I gave it to him, and the only thing he had to lose was revenge.
Hell, if I did this right, I could get Lee free and Trent would owe me big time.
"Oh," I whispered, my knees feeling funny, "I like this..."
The front doorbell bonged, and I jerked. Rex was sitting in the kitchen's threshold - staring at me - and I brushed past her. If I was lucky, it was Ceri. I had tea already going.
"Rache!" Jenks said, zipping in from who knew where, his voice excited as I paced barefoot through the sanctuary. "You'll never guess who's on the front steps."
Ivy? I thought, my heart leaping, but she would have just walked in. I hesitated, drawing my hand back from the door, but Jenks looked wound up, glowing in the smothering darkness of the foyer with excitement, not fear. "Jenks," I said in exasperation, "cut the twenty questions and tell me who's out there."
"Open it!" he said, eyes bright and dust spilling from him. "You're clear. Tink's a Disney whore, this is great! I'm going to get Matalina. Hell, I'm getting my kids."
Rex had followed us - pulled by Jenks, not me - and with images of news cameras and vans, I reached for the locking bar, sliding it up and away. Nervous, I looked down at myself, fully aware of the disastrous image I made, with my salt-stained dripping hair, a pixy by my side, and a cat at my bare feet. God, I lived in a church!
But it wasn't a news crew on my front steps blinking at me in the sun; it was Trent.
Chapter Twenty-six
Surprise flickered over Trent, then vanished under the cool confidence of his six-hundred-dollar suit and hundred-dollar haircut. Quen stood on the walk below like a chaperone. There was a fist-size, pale blue package in Trent's hands, the lid fastened with a matching bow lined in gold. "Is this a bad time, Ms. Morgan?" Trent said, green eyes flicking from my bare feet to Rex, then back up to me.
It was friggin' seven o'clock. I should be in bed right now, and he knew it. Painfully conscious of my damp, rumpled state, I shook my stringy curls out of my eyes. My thoughts zinged back to my idea to get Lee free of Al, but he was here for Ceri. I had almost forgotten.
"Please tell me that's not for me?" I said, gaze dropping to the gift, and he flushed.
"It's for Ceri," he said, his gray-edged voice melting into the humid morning. "I wanted to give her something as a visible display of how pleased I am to find her."
Visible display... God, Trent had a crush on her before even meeting her. Lips pressed tight, I crossed my arms over my chest, but my tough-chick image was being ruined by Rex twining about my feet. She didn't fool me - I was a convenient rubbing post, that's all - and when she realized I was wet, she gave me an insulted look and stalked away. "You didn't find Ceri," I said tartly. "I did."
"Can I come in?" he asked wearily.
He took a step forward, but I didn't move and he stopped. My attention flicked behind him to Quen in his black outfit and shades. They had brought the Beemer instead of the limo. Good call; Ceri would be impressed. "Look," I said, not wanting him in my church unless there was a reason, "I didn't think you were coming, so I didn't say anything to her. This really isn't the best time." Not with her crying the way she was. "I'm usually asleep right now. Why are you here so early? I said four o'clock."
Trent took another step, and I stiffened, almost falling into a defensive stance. Quen twitched, and Trent rocked back. He glanced behind him, then rounded on me. "Damn it, Rachel, stop screwing with me," he said, jaw clenched. "I want to meet this woman. Call her."
My eyes widened. Ooooooh, pushed a button did I? My gaze rose to Jenks sitting out of sight on the lintel inside, and he shrugged. "Jenks, you want to see if she can come over?"
He nodded, and surprise showed on both Trent and Quen when he dropped down. "You bet. She'll probably want a minute to get her hair brushed."
And her face washed, and put on a dress that doesn't have graveyard dirt on it.
"Quen," Trent ordered, and my warning flags went up.
"Just Jenks," I said, and Quen's soft-soled shoes scuffed to a halt on the damp sidewalk. The dark elf looked to Trent for direction, and I added, "Quen, park your little butt right here or nothing's happening." I didn't want Quen over there. Keasley would never speak to me again.
Jenks hovered, waiting, and Trent's eyebrows bunched, weighing his options.
"Oh, please, test me," I mocked, and Trent grimaced.
"Do it her way," he said softly, and Jenks darted off, gone in a flash of transparent wings.
"See?" I said, beaming. "That wasn't so hard." From behind me came a chorus of high-pitched giggles, and Trent blanched. Seeing him nervous, I stepped aside. "You want to come in? She might be a while. You know how those thousand-year-old princesses are."
Trent glanced past the dark foyer, abruptly reluctant. Quen took the steps two at a time, brushing past me in a whiff of oak leaves and aftershave.
"Hey!" I snapped, following him in. Trent pushed into motion and came in on my heels. He didn't shut the door, probably for a quick getaway, and as Trent drew to a halt in the middle of the sanctuary, I ducked back into the foyer and yanked the door shut.
Pixies squealed from the rafters, and Trent and Quen warily watched them. I plucked at my salt-stained shirt and tried to find an air of nonchalance as I prepared to introduce His Most Holy Pain in the Ass to Miss Elf Princess.
The hair on the back of my neck rose as I strolled past Quen and flopped into my rolling chair, parked beside my desk. "Have a seat," I said, shifting back and forth and gesturing to Ivy's furniture, still arranged in the inner corner of the church. "You're in luck. We usually don't have our living room out here, but we're doing some remodeling."
Trent looked at the gray suede couch and chairs and turned away, glancing at my desk before moving on to Ivy's piano, where interest pulled his eyebrows high. "I'll stand," he said.
Rex strolled in from the dark foyer and headed right for Quen. Much to my surprise, the older elf crouched, fondling the orange cat's ears to make her flop onto her back to show her white belly. Quen rose with Rex in his hands, and the cat's eyes slitted in pleasure as she purred.
Stupid cat.
Trent cleared his throat, and my gaze shot to him.
"Rachel," he said, setting his gift on top of the closed piano, "do you make a habit of showering in your clothes? "
My back-and-forth motion stopped. I tried to think up a lie, but that the power was out didn't lend itself for me to be damp. "I... uh, slept in the graveyard," I said, not wanting to tell him my neighbor had downed me with my own spell, hoping Trent might think it was dew.
A smirk came over him, and somehow he made it look good. He knew I was afraid of Piscary. "You should have killed Piscary when you had the opportunity," he said, his wonderful voice filling the open space of the sanctuary with the sound of grace and comfort. Damn, the man had a beautiful voice. I had almost forgotten. And yes, I could have killed Piscary and probably gotten off with a plea of self-defense, but if I had, the vampire wouldn't be around to hide the focus for me. So I said nothing. Trent, though, apparently wanted to talk.
"That doesn't explain why you're soaking wet," he prompted.
My jaw clenched, but then I forced myself to relax. Hell, if Ivy could do it, I could, too. "No," I said cheerfully. "It doesn't."
Carefully lowering himself to sit on the piano bench, he inclined his head. "Having trouble with your charms?" he said, fishing for an answer.
"Absolutely not."
Quen let Rex drop to the floor, and the cat shook herself, making the little bell Jenks had put on her jingle. I watched Trent fidget subtly, reading in his slightly elevated color and his crisp enunciation how nervous he was. My thoughts went to his anger when he had asked me to work security for his nuptials, his blaming me for Lee's capture and installation as a demon's familiar. A twinge of guilt took me, quickly suppressed. But if I got Lee free of Al, Trent would owe me a big debt of gratitude. One big enough that he might leave me alone?
"Ah," I said hesitantly into the pixy-giggle-laden air, and Trent looked at me, green eyes interested. Someone in the rafters shrieked when he or she got shoved off the beam, and Trent's eyelid twitched.
Feeling a smidgen of sympathy, I stood and clapped my hands at the ceiling. "Okay, you've all stared enough. Time to go. There's waxed paper behind the microwave. Go polish the steeple."
Quen started when Jenks's kids dropped down in a swirling maelstrom of silk and high-pitched complaints. It was Jhan who took control, and with his hands on his hips in a painful reminder of Jenks, he browbeat them all into the hallway.
"Thanks, Jhan," I said. "I heard blue jays earlier. Be sure to watch for them."
"Yes, Ms. Morgan," the pixy said seriously, then darted out, Rex trailing under him. There was a crash and a shriek from the kitchen, then nothing.
Wincing, I moved to lean against the back of Ivy's couch. Quen looked at me expectantly, and Trent said, "Aren't you going to see what they broke? "
My head shook. "I... uh, wanted to thank you again for interrupting Al yesterday," I said, and my face warmed. God! Al had practically pulled me into an orgasm, right in front of every body.
Trent's attention flicked to the pixies in the side yard, blurs through the stained-glassed windows, and then his gaze came back to me. "No problem."
Uncomfortable, I crossed my arms over my chest. "Really. You didn't have to, and I appreciate it."
Quen shifted his weight and settled in, and, seeing his relaxed posture, Trent found a less-stiff position. He still looked like a male model, sitting at Ivy's baby grand. "I don't like bullies," he said simply, as if embarrassed.
I grimaced, wishing Ceri would hurry up. A beep came from the kitchen, and the whine of electronics hit my middle ear. The lights winked on, invisible in the bright sun, and from behind me the TV slowly blossomed into noise. Scrambling for the remote, I clicked it off.
Embarrassment sprang up from nowhere, and I got mad at myself. I could feel Trent evaluating me and my life - my little TV, Ivy's living room set, my plant-strewn desk, the two-bedroom, two-bath church we lived in - and it ticked me off that I was coming in so much shorter than his huge living room, his big-screen TV, and his stereo system that filled a wall.
"Excuse me," I muttered, hearing the washer start to fill. I bet Trent didn't have to entertain with the chug chug of a Whirlpool in the background.
Flicking off the overhead lights as I went, I stopped in my bathroom to open the washer's lid. It could soak. Then I did a quick check in Ivy's bathroom in case Trent wanted to rifle through her medicine cabinet under the excuse of using the can. It was neat and tidy, the incense-and-ashes scent of vampire a dim hint under the orange-perfumed soap she used. Depressed now, I headed to the kitchen to see if the lights were on.
My cell phone rang, the electronic music blaring out to startle me. Scrambling for it, I cursed Jenks. I usually had it on vibrate, but someone - aka Jenks - had monkeyed with it, changing my ring tones. Fumbling to the tune of "I've got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts," I finally wrestled the thing out of my damp pocket. Real funny, Jenks. Ha, ha.
It was Glenn's number, and after a moment's hesitation I leaned against the kitchen counter and flipped it open. I had a bug to put in his ear.
"Hi, Glenn," I said tightly; he knew I was usually sleeping right about now. "I hear Piscary's out. It would have been nice if someone had told me the undead vampire I put in jail was free!"
I could hear keyboards and a loud argument in the background. Glenn's sigh was heavy over it. "Sorry," he said by way of greeting. "I left a message on your phone when I heard."
"I never got it," I said, only slightly mollified. Then I grimaced. "Look, I didn't mean to bark at you. But I spent the night in my graveyard, and I'm a little cranky."
"I would've called again," Glenn said, and I heard papers being shuffled. "But when your demon burned down The Warehouse using their bouncers as kindling, we got swamped."
"My demon!" I yelped, phone pressed tight to my ear. "Since when is Al my demon?" I said softly, remembering how well Trent and Quen could hear.
"Since you called him up to testify." The FIB officer covered the mouthpiece. I heard something muttered, and I stewed until he returned.
"That doesn't explain why Piscary is out," I snarled.
"What do you expect?" Glenn said, sounding annoyed. "Neither the I.S. nor the FIB is equipped to deal with a demon who can walk under the sun. You weren't doing anything. There was an emergency meeting of the City Council, and they let Piscary out to deal with it." He hesitated, then, "I'm sorry. They gave him a full pardon."
City Council? That meant Trent had known. Hell, he'd been in on it. What a total ass. I had risked my soul to put Piscary behind bars for killing ley line witches. Apparently that meant nothing. It made me wonder why I'd even bothered.
"This isn't why I called," Glenn said. "Another body has turned up."
My thoughts were still on Piscary, apparently free to do whatever he wanted to my roommate. "And you want me to come down?" I said, my hand to my forehead and my head bowed as I got angrier. "I told you. I'm not an investigator, I'm a haul-them-in person. Besides, I don't know whether I want to work for you anymore if you're just going to let murderers out when things get rough."
"Rough!" Glenn exclaimed. "We had sixteen major fires last night, five riots, and a near lynching of some guy in a dress reading Shakespeare in the park. I don't think they even know the number of fender benders and assault charges. It's a demon. You said yourself you spent the night hiding in your churchyard."
"Hey!" I snapped. That was unfair. "I was hiding from Piscary, not Al. Al's burning things up to get me to go to the ever-after with him. And don't you dare sit there and call me a coward because I don't want to."
I was furious - my anger fueled by guilt - and I fumed until Glenn muttered, "Sorry."
"All right, then," I huffed, wrapping an arm around my middle and turning away from the hall. This isn't my fault. I'm not responsible for Al's actions.
"At least he's gone," Glenn said, no emotion in his voice.
I laughed bitterly. "No, he isn't."
There was a moment of silence. "Piscary said - "
"Piscary and Al are working together. And you fell for it, letting him out so now you have two monsters with free run of Cincy, not one." My face twisted bitterly. "Don't ask me to take care of them for you this time, okay?"
The background office noise filled my ear. "Can you come down here anyway?" Glenn finally said. "I want you to identify someone."
My heart clenched. He had said there was another body. Suddenly Piscary was the last thing on my mind. "David?" I said, knees going weak, cold though the sun shone in strong on my back through the kitchen window. Someone had killed him. Someone was killing Weres looking for the focus, and lots of people knew that David was my alpha. God help me, they've killed him.
"No," Glenn said, and relief, made my breath tremble in my lungs. "It's a Were by the name of Brett Markson. He had your card in his wallet. Do you know him? "
My brief elation that David was okay shifted to numb shock. Brett? The Were from Mackinaw? I slid to the floor, my back against the sink cupboard, my knees scrunching up.
"Rachel?" came Glenn's voice from far away. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I breathed. "No," I amended. "I'll come right down." Ceri. I licked my lips and tried to swallow. "Can you give me about an hour?" Shower and eat. "Maybe two?"
"Ah, damn it, Rachel, did you really know this guy?" Glenn said, his voice guilty now. "I'm sorry, I should have come over."
I looked up, seeing Ivy's empty spot at the table. "No, I'm fine. He was... an acquaintance." I took a breath, remembering the last time I saw Brett, hanging at the outskirts of my life trying to ease his way into my pack, a powerful man looking for something to believe in.
"It's what? Seven-thirty?" Glen was saying. "I'll send a car at noon. Unless you have your license? "
I shook my head, though he couldn't see it. "A car would be nice."
"Rachel? Are you okay? "
There was a demon loose in the city. A master vamp was out to get me. My church was unsanctified. And Brett was dead. "I'm fine," I said, sounding wispy. "See you after noon."
Numb, I hung up the phone before he could say anything more. It felt heavy in my hand, and I stared at my spell books, at eye level. Damn it, this wasn't right. I wiped my eyes and got to my feet, feeling like everything had changed.
Bare feet squeaking, I headed into the sanctuary. I came to a halt just past the top of the hallway. Trent was examining the stained-glass artwork, and his shiny shoes caught the light when he turned. Quen was six feet away, looking ready for anything.
"Trent, I'm sorry," I said, thinking my face must be white when his eyebrows went high. "I can't do this right now. I don't think Ceri is going to come over anyway."
"Why?" he asked, spinning on a heel to face me fully.
Oh, God, they had killed Brett. "I shoved her down last night," I said, "and she's probably still upset about it." Brett was dead. He was military. How could someone kill him? He was damned good at staying alive.
Trent shook out the sleeves of his expensive suit and let out a disbelieving laugh. "You shoved her down? Do you know who she is?"
I took a quick breath, trying to hold myself together. Brett was dead. Because of me. "I know who she is, but when someone pushes me, I push back."
Trent glanced at Quen, his face going tight. My jaw clenched, and I kept my breathing shallow. I looked to the rafters for Jenks, trying not to cry. Someone had killed Brett. He had been only one step away from me. I was so damned vulnerable. All it would take was a sniper, but I couldn't live in a cave. This was crap. Purple fairy crap with green sparkles on it.
I trailed my hand along the wall as I went to sit in Ivy's chair. The scent of vampire incense made me feel even worse. I had to stop living my life as if it were a game. I had to start buying insurance, or I wouldn't live to hear my mother complain about the lack of grandchildren. Though it twisted my gut, I was going to give Piscary the focus to put into hiding, to bribe him into not killing me. Then I was going to rescue Lee to get Al back where he belonged and Trent off my case. Might as well start there, I thought, sitting up and taking a deep breath. Al, I could take care of later. After dark.
"Trent," I said, closing my eyes in a long blink as I felt my sense of right and wrong take a hit, "I think I might have a way to get Lee free of Al. It won't cost you a dime, but I want you to leave me alone." I looked at him, his face blank in wonder. "Think you can you do that?"
"You said you couldn't get a familiar free from a demon," he said, his velveteen voice holding a rough edge.
I shrugged, staring past him at the door and unfolding myself so I didn't look so miserable. "Where do you think Ceri came from?"
His expression empty, Trent glanced at Quen. The dark elf blinked once with meaning. "I'm listening," Trent said warily.
This was where it would get sticky. "I'm going to try to swing a deal with Piscary - "
"Careful," he mocked. "Someone might think your black-and-white outlook is going gray."
"Shut up!" I shouted at the billionaire, feeling the sting. "I'm not breaking the law. I have something he might want, and once he has it, I ought to be able to get rid of Al safely and in such a way that will free Lee. But I want your word that you'll leave me and the people I care about alone. And..." I took a deep breath, feeling like I was becoming one of them. "... I'll leave you and your business dealings alone."
I wanted to survive. I wanted to live. I had been playing in a sandbox with murders and casual killers, with the arrogant innocence of a snowflake in hell. The FIB couldn't protect me. The I.S. wouldn't. Trent could kill me, and I had to respect that even if I didn't respect him. God, who am I becoming?
"You'd stop trying to tag me?" Trent said softly, and then went still in unvoiced thought. His lips parted, and he looked at Quen in wonder. "She has the focus," he said to him, then turned to me, amused. "That's what you're going to give Piscary. You have the focus," he said around his laugh. "I should have known it was you!"
My face went cold, and I felt my stomach drop. Oh, shit.
I stood upright when Quen shifted to stand between us - maneuvering.
"Stop!" I said, my hand outstretched, and he did. Heart pounding, I held him off with my fingers splayed, trying to figure it out. Trent was the one killing the Weres?
"You killed Brett?" I said, seeing him flush. "It was you!" I exclaimed, dropping my hand and flushing in anger. Damn it, what had I almost done? What in hell was wrong with me? This couldn't be happening!
"I didn't kill him. He killed himself," Trent said, his jaw clenched. "Before he could tell me you had it," he finished, hands behind his back.
Quen was balanced with his weight on his toes, his arms loose at his side. As if in a dream, I said to him, "You killed Brett. And Mr. Ray's secretary. And Mrs. Sarong's aide."
Quen's face darkened with guilt, and his muscles tensed.
"You sons of bitches," I whispered, not wanting to believe it, cursing myself for wanting Trent to be better than he was, wanting both of them to be better than murderers and assassins. "I thought you had more honor than this, Quen."
The older elf's jaw clenched.
"We didn't kill them," Trent said, defending himself, and I snorted with derision. "They committed suicide," he insisted, the devil in his perfect suit and perfect hair. "Every last one of them. None of them had to die. They could have told me."
As if it made a difference. "They didn't know I had it!"
Trent took a step forward, finger pointing, and Quen pulled him back. "This is a war, Rachel," the younger man said tightly, shaking off Quen's grip. "There will be casualties."
I stared at him in disbelief. "This is not a war. This is you angling for more power. God, Trent, how much more do you need! Are you so insecure that you have to be king of the freaking world to feel safe?"
I thought of my church and my friends, and I lifted my chin. Yeah, they had killed people, but Ivy was trying to get out, and Jenks had to in order to ensure his and his children's survival. And seeing as I had pretty much sacrificed Lee in order to survive, I couldn't claim I was pristine and pure either. But I'd never killed for money or power - and neither had my friends.
My words hit Trent, and he reddened in shame or guilt. "How much do you want for it?" he said softly.
Shocked, I gaped at him. "You want... to buy it?" I stammered.
Trent licked his lips. "I'm a businessman."
"And a murderer by hobby?" I accused. "Or do you think the tenuous state of your species gives you the right to murder?"
Face showing his guilt and anger, Trent tugged his coat straight. If he had brought out a checkbook, I would have screamed. "Anything, Rachel. Enough to make you safe. You, your mother, Jenks, even Ivy. Enough to have anything you want."
It sounded so easy. But I didn't want to deal with him anymore. Piscary killed people, but he didn't have the concept of pity or remorse. It would be like telling a shark he was a bad fish and to stop eating people. But Trent? He knew he was doing wrong, and he did it anyway.
Trent never dropped my eyes, waiting. I hated him. I hated him to the bottom of my soul. He was attractive and powerful, and I had almost let that cloud my sense of right and wrong. So he could kill me. So what? Did that make it right to cut deals with him to keep myself safe? Why in hell should I trust him to honor to his word? It was like making a deal with a demon or using a demon curse. Both were the easy way out, the lazy way.
I wasn't going to use demon curses. I wasn't going to make deals with demons. I wasn't going to trust Trent to honor his word. He was a casual murderer who put his species above all others. Screw him.
Quen knew what I was thinking, and I saw him tense. Trent, though, wasn't so perceptive. He was a business man, not a warrior. A slimy little businessman. "I'll give you a quarter million for it," Trent said, disgusting me.
My face twisted. "You don't get it, pixy dust," I said. "It would start a war if it got out. I'm giving it to Piscary so he can put it back into hiding."
"He'll kill you once he has it," Trent said quickly, his beautiful voice thick with truth. "Don't be a fool this time. Give it to me. I'll keep you safe. I'm not going to start a war. Just bringing everything into balance."
"Balance?" I stepped forward, stopping when Quen mirrored me.
"Maybe the rest of Inderland likes how things are balanced right now. Maybe it's time for the elves to die out. If they're all like you and Ellasbeth, scrabbling for money and power, maybe you've gone so far from your roots, so far from grace and moral standing, that you're already dead as a species. Dead and gone and good riddance," I mocked while Trent reddened. "If you're the model of what you're going to build your species with, then we don't want you back."
"We were not the ones who abandoned the ever-after to the demons!" Trent shouted, anger pouring from him honest and raw, the source of his drive flowing from him in a wave of frustration. "You left! You left us to fight alone! We made sacrifices while you turned tail and ran! If I'm ruthless, it's because you made me that way!"
Son of a bitch... "You can't blame me for something my ancestors did!"
Trent grimaced. "Ten percent of my portfolio," he said, seething.
Sick bastard. "It's not for sale. Get out."
"Fifteen percent. That's a third of a billion."
"Get the hell out of my church!"
Trent gathered himself as if to speak, then looked at his watch. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he said, his steps loud as he quickly retreated to the piano. Pocketing his gift for Ceri, he asked, "Is it on the premises?" - pretending it was just an idle question.
Damn. I went wire-tight. "Jenks!" I shouted, finding my balance. "Jhan, get your dad!" But he was watching for blue jays, like I'd told him to. Double damn.
Quen was waiting for direction, and sweat broke out over me. Trent brought his head up with what I hoped was regret in his eyes. "Quen," he said softly, "secure Ms. Morgan. We'll talk to Ceri at a later date. Apparently she's not coming today. Do you have a memory potion?"
Oh, God.
"In the car, Sa'han."
It was not a happy voice, and I glanced at Quen, knowing what was going to happen.
"Good." Trent looked as unyielding as iron. "No memories means no loose ends. We'll leave her sleeping, and she'll wake when someone picks her up for her trip to the morgue."
"Son of a bitch," I whispered, then looked to the empty rafters. Damn it, why had I told them to leave? "Jenks!" I shouted, but there was no clatter of wings. Quen pulled a splat gun from the small of his back, and I swore under my breath.
"What is it?" I asked, thinking of mine in the bucket by the back door. If I moved, he'd shoot.
"A little different being on the other end of the weapon, isn't it?" Trent mocked, and it was all I could do to keep from screaming at him.
"Trent..." I backed up a step with my hands raised in placation.
Quen handed the gun to Trent. "You want her like that, you shoot her yourself," he said.
Trent hefted the gun, taking sight at me down its length. "I can do that," he said, then pulled the trigger.
"Hey!" I yelped when it hit me, stinging and painful. Damn it, twice in one day. But I didn't collapse. It wasn't a sleepy-time charm. Trent didn't seem surprised when I didn't fall but simply stumbled back, my impulse to flee coming far too late.
Trent handed the weapon back to Quen. "Honor is expensive, Quen. I don't pay you enough." Quen was not happy, and I stared at them, scared for what might happen next.
Voice cold, Trent enunciated clearly, "Rachel. Tell me where the focus is."
"Go to hell."
Trent's green eyes went wide. Quen looked me up and down in shock, then relaxed, almost laughing. "She's covered in salt water," he said. "She said she pushed Ceri down. The woman obviously spelled her, and Rachel's still wet from breaking the charm."
That wasn't quite what had happened, but I wasn't going to enlighten him. Standing in my bare feet, I started to get mad. From Trent's question I was forming the distinct impression that Trent had stocked his splat gun with subjugation charms. Illegal. Gray, seeing as you didn't need to kill anything to make it, but very, very illegal.
Trent made a puff of noise and tugged his sleeves down. "Fine. Subdue her your way. Try not to leave any bruises. No traces mean no reason to dig for missing memories."
Okay, not out of this yet... Pulse fast, I fell into a fighting stance, searching for the sound of pixy wings. Quen came forward, his earlier indecision apparently having stemmed from using magic, not force, to assert his right to dominate. Seemed if I couldn't best him physically, I deserved to be used and discarded.
"Quen, I don't want to have to do this," I warned, remembering our last fight. He would have creamed me if my roommates hadn't interfered. "Get out or I'll-"
"You'll what?" Trent said, standing sideways by the piano with an infuriating smile on him. "Turn us into butterflies? You don't do black magic."
Hands made into fists, I steadied myself.
"She doesn't," came Ceri's voice from behind me in the hall, and Trent's gaze shot over my shoulder. "But I do."