“You’re not thinking like a pixy,” Jenks said, seeing Trent’s lingering doubt. “Four inches?” he said pointedly. “I only need a hole the size of a dime. Code requires adequate ventilation in those kind of facilities, and wire mesh is easy to cut.”
“You can get in,” Trent said, and I smiled when he propped his bare feet up on the edge of the table so he could use his legs as a makeshift table. “Which means we have an in as well.”
“Jenks, how long would it take for you to whip up some pixy pow?” I asked, seeing possibility where there’d only once been doubt. It was the same plan, but we were in charge now, and it made all the difference.
“Hey!” he exclaimed, a bright flash of silver slipping from him in a temporary sunbeam. “Who told you . . .” He glanced at Trent, his wings slowing. “I can have enough to blow the steeple off the church by midnight. Sundown with some help.”
Ivy hit a key decisively, and from the kitchen came the hum of the printer. “We’ll only need a thimbleful to take out the redundant power system they have in there,” she said, clearly in a better mood, though her fear for Nina was just under the surface. “I’ll take out the main power. Jenks can get you in and shut down the internal system. By the time you’re ready to run, I can be outside with a van. David plows the road to Loveland.”
Why did it sound so much better when she said it? Beaming, I passed the popcorn to her. “Told you,” I said to Trent, and he leaned back, eyeing us over his scribbled legal pad.
“You have amazing friends.”
“I need them to stay alive through my amazing life,” I said, and Ivy became almost sultry as she pulled herself together in her chair and smiled at Trent.
“Very well. But I’m still concerned that if everything goes as planned and the Goddess takes them back, she won’t be able to master them and we’ll be right back where we started.” His eyes met mine, and my shoulders hunched. It was a possibility that we had no control over, no way to plan for, and it bothered me.
Ivy stiffened when the doorbell rang. “More news crews,” she grumbled, gathering herself to stand, but Trent was faster.
“It’s probably Quen,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I asked him to bring over my phone and daily short list. If it’s reporters, I won’t open the door.”
“If it’s reporters, I’ll sic my kids on them,” Jenks said, taking to the air, and Trent jogged out, bare feet making tiny chirps of sound on the old oak flooring. It was a noise I’d never heard before in the church, and I ached that it might never sound again.
“I wonder how Quen got past the quarantine,” I said, and Ivy cleared her throat. The dry sound of it caught my attention, and I stiffened. Oh yeah. That.
“I’m not calling what we did a mistake,” I said defensively. “Nothing is going to change.” At least not where it showed.
“It has already,” she said faintly, and then her eyes fixed on mine, black and unreadable.
“I’m not moving out, Ivy.” God! What did she think I was going to do? Go live with the man? I liked my church, even if Trent did have a pool the size of my house and a twenty-four-hour kitchen. “That would be my least favorite thing to do,” I added, and her eyes dropped, making me wonder if she was the one who wanted out of this weird relationship we had.
Head down, she stared at her fingers, silent on the keypad. “Rachel? I . . . Thank you.”
Surprised, I stood, not wanting to be sitting when Quen came in. “For what? Dragging you into this? No problem. I’ll probably be doing it again before Christmas.”
Her lips curled into one of her few smiles, surprising me even more. “Sort of. Three years ago?” she said, hand lifting to indicate the church. “I can admit now that you were my long hunt. I’m sorry, but you were, and you slipped me.”
My lips parted, her bare honesty pulling through me like a heartache.
“But you proved I could help someone, even as messed up as I was. You helped me find a feeling of worth. Made me live up to my ideals.”
“Oh God, Ivy,” I said as she sniffed, and I went to her.
“I almost quit a hundred times,” she said as she smiled at me, eyes beautiful and black. “But you thought I had it in me and I wanted to prove I was as good as you thought I was, and now Nina is in jeopardy and you’re helping me . . .”
“Ivy, I’m so proud of you,” I said, dropping down to give her a hug. “Nothing is going to change.” My eyes closed, and I felt her arms go around me, the strength in them holding a frightening loyalty though we’d never be more than we were today. And that was enough. “We will get Nina out of this,” I promised, and she sniffed again, pulling back to wipe a tear away. “She’s a beautiful person. A little crazy, but good for you.”
Her head bobbed, and I scooted back to sit on the coffee table. “Do you . . .” She hesitated, jaw tightening, clearly determined to be out with it. “Do you think Jenks would be mad if I moved out?” My eyes widened, and she rushed to add, “Not right away. Maybe in a month or two?”
“Um,” I said, standing up at the soft sound of Quen’s shoes in the hall. “Honestly? Probably. But it’s nothing he won’t get over.”
Why does she pick the worst times to do stuff like this? I thought, my mind swinging back to Quen as he walked in. He was not a dumb man. Even if Trent hadn’t been up front about his feelings for me with him, the way Trent must have blown out of his estate without his phone or a way to reach him would not go unremarked upon.
Sure enough, Quen’s expression was tight with a sour annoyance. I gave him a confused smile as I tried to wrap my head around Ivy’s possibly moving out, feeling it slip from me at the man’s hard stare—as if I should have known better. Trent had that same preoccupied, tension-filled expression I’d come to associate with him trying to handle six things at once. The folder in his hands was leaking papers, and he immediately sat down and spread it open.
“How did you get through quarantine?” I asked when Quen noticed Ivy’s wet eyes.
“Rachel,” he almost drawled. “Ivy,” he said with a little more professionalism.
“You can get past the blockades any time you want, can’t you?” I accused Trent, and a faint blush marred the rims of his somewhat pointy ears.
“For the moment.” Trent leafed through the small stack. “Though I’m finding things have a tendency to change fast. Here.” He held out a stapled group of papers. “You might be interested in this. I’ll have a copy sent over every week if you like.”
Jenks’s wings hummed as he came to sit on my shoulder as I took it and sat down on the couch. Ivy shut her laptop with an accusing snap. “Ooooh, figures and data!” I said sarcastically, and then brightened as I flipped the page of chemical compounds, numbers, and graphs over to see a fussing infant. “Oh! The Rosewood babies!”
Trent was smiling when I looked up, and a warm feeling kindled in my middle. The infants’ continued survival was the first decision we’d come to together, one that would need decades to see through. I knew it meant a lot to him, even if I’d chosen the path he hadn’t wanted.
Seeing my expression, Quen slumped in exasperation.
“Don’t start,” Jenks said, his wings tickling my neck. “I think this is a good thing.”
Did we have to talk about this? So we had had sex. So what? We’d been “dating” for almost three months. They all knew my track record. Where was the big surprise here?
“That’s because pixies think with their hearts,” Quen said, ignoring Trent’s peeved expression. “This decision is already causing problems.”
“Most warriors think with their hearts,” I said, telling the mystics to back off and that I wasn’t angry with anything they could crush or explode. “It’s what keeps them alive through the crap they have to deal with to keep the rest of you safe.”
For a long moment, no one said anything, then Trent cleared his throat. “The Rosewood babies are doing fine, both in development and security. So far, no demon activity has been noticed, but I think all of them have been marked. If you think it prudent, I’ll move them again. I don’t want to rely on good luck to keep them safe.”
Good luck would be a nice change, I thought, which started a new line of argument among the mystics. I figured I was probably glowing like a friggin’ lightbulb by the way Jenks was looking at me, but at least I wasn’t speaking in tongues.
Trent reached for the papers as I nodded, and I handed them over. “Watch this one,” he said to Quen as he flipped through and circled something. “I don’t like his levels. Try that new permutation, see if we can’t even out his metabolism a little more. If there’s no dramatic shift, I want a detailed report in three months. If it works on him, it might boost self-repair in the others.”
“Yes, Sa’han.”
Trent handed it back to me, and I smiled at the pictures. This was much better than gravestones—until the demons came for them and I’d have to fight for every single one of their lives. My smile faded. Difficult future or not, it had been a good decision. Nothing would change my mind. Their parents would back me up.
“And here’s the latest on the issue you wanted to move forward with,” Quen said, pulling a sheaf of paper from the small stack. “Your groves in Madagascar have been overrun with a rare species of butterfly that have taken a liking to Brimstone leaves.”
Trent’s brow furrowed, making him charming in that silk shirt of Jenks’s. “Oh. Very nice. Yes.” His frown deepened. “Quen, there’s coffee in the kitchen. Help yourself.”
Quen put his hands behind his back and stared at the fireplace. “Without intervention, their larvae can eat an entire field down to the roots in two days. Since it’s a rare species, we’ve been relocating rather than destroying, but if their numbers continue to increase, we’ll have to resort to chemical warfare to maintain a minimal harvest.”
Yep, my boyfriend was a drug lord, and I leaned to see if there was a picture, but it was all figures and data.
“Mmmm,” Trent hummed, clearly preoccupied. “Maintain current suppression methods.”
Quen nodded. “One last thing that arrived this morning,” he said, taking an envelope from his jacket’s inner pocket. “It’s an enclave decree to desist from all contact with Rachel Morgan.”
Shocked, I jerked my head up. “Beg pardon?”
“Seeing as she is a day-walking demon,” Quen finished, handing it to Trent.
Ivy’s incessant tapping ceased, and she looked up as Jenks rose on a column of silver sparkles. His dust left a glowing trail as he hovered over the paper Trent was now unfolding, and I watched the silver sparkles make a shadow where the watermark was.
“Well, I’ll be Tink’s Great-Uncle Bob. Lookie there, Rache. You’re an undesirable citizen.”
Trent finished scanning the letter and let it fall to the table. Leaning back, he steepled his fingers and stared at nothing.
“That is so unfair!” I said. “They can’t tell you who you can . . . talk to!”
Trent’s eyes flicked to mine, a surprising flash of pleasure crossing him at my outrage. “No, it’s okay. I expected this.”
“But how did they find out so fast!” I exclaimed, then flushed. This wasn’t because we had done the horizontal fandango, as Jenks would have said. It was because Trent had walked away from his voice in their enclave to have a voice in my life. Not to mention I’d survived where their highest authority, their grand pooh-bah of their religion, had died. They were scared. And Trent was the one taking the hit.
Quen jerked the paper out of Ivy’s reach when she leaned forward for it, the man stoically folding it and putting it back in the envelope. “You’re under investigation for collaboration with her in endangering the stability of the Goddess and threatening the religious power structure. You’ve been requested to appear at a summons next week to explain yourself. Shall I bring Charlie into this?”
Charlie was his species-law lawyer, and I huffed, arms over my chest. They’d be lucky if we even had a next week.
“Well?” Jenks said, landing on the table before me. “Isn’t that kind of what you are doing? Collaborating?”
He was right, but it wasn’t as if we had any choice. No one else could do anything about the mystics, and since it was my aura they were attracted to, I felt responsible.
“Quen, here’s what I want done,” Trent said, and the smaller man seemed to come to attention. “Abandon the relocation efforts at the Brimstone fields. Let them have it. I’d rather have one less endangered species than a Brimstone field anyway. Besides, with Cincinnati’s and the Hollows’ master vampires out for the week, demand has taken a hit. No layoffs, just shift everyone over to the secondary output.” His focus blurred. “The world needs more windmills.”
“Yes, Sa’han.”
He wasn’t writing anything down, but Quen was like one of those waiters who could remember everyone’s dinner better than the girl who used a notepad and numbers.
Ivy’s eyebrows were high. “You have more Brimstone fields, right?”
“What about the decree?” I said, still angry.
Trent’s eyes slid to me. “A decree is nothing more than something someone is afraid to tell you to your face. Until they do, I’m ignoring it.”