Id been born with a fairly common genetic defect among witches, Rosewood syndrome, where my mitochondria kicked out an enzyme my body determined was an invader, the result being that I should have died before the age of two. Because my dad had secretly been working closely with Trents dad trying to save his species at the time, Trents dad had tinkered with the genetic makeup of my mitochondria, modifying something just enough that the enzyme would be ignored. I truly believe that he hadnt known the enzyme was what allowed my blood to kindle demon magic, and I thanked God the only people who knew it were me and my friends. And Trent. And a few demons. And whatever demons they told. And whomever Trent told. And Lee, of course, the only other witch Trents dad had fixed.
Okay, so maybe it wasnt that good a secret anymore.
Trent and I were currently at an impasse, with me trying to put him in jail and him trying to buy my services or kill medepending on his moodand while I could bring the house down on him if I went public about his illegal biodrugs, Id probably end up in medical confinement in Siberiaor, worse yet, surrounded by salt water like Alcatrazand hed be back on the streets and campaigning for reelection in less time than it takes a pixy to sneeze. Thats just the kind of personal power the man had.
And it is really irritating, I thought, shifting my weight to my other foot as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.
Immediately I got out and jabbed at the down button. No way was I going to go through the halls to the closet-size secondary elevator and up to the roof with Quen. I was impulsive, not stupid. Quen ghosted out as well, looking like a bodyguard as he stood in front of the elevator doors until they closed again.
My eyes went to the camera in the corner, its friendly red light blinking. Id stay there until another car arrived. Dont touch me, I muttered. There isnt enough money in the world for me to work for Trent again. Hes a manipulative, power-hungry, spoiled only-child who thinks hes above the law. And he kills people like a homeless man opens a can of beans.
Quen shrugged. Hes also loyal to those who have earned his trust, intelligent, and generous to those he cares about.
And those he doesnt care about dont matter. Hip cocked, I silently waited, getting more annoyed. Where in hell is the elevator?
I wish youd reconsider, Quen said, and I jerked back when he pulled an amulet from his sleeve. After giving me a high-eyebrow look, he turned a slow circuit, attention lightly fixed on the redwood disk glowing a faint green. It was probably a detection amulet of some kind. I had one that would tell me if there were any deadly spells in my vicinity, but Id quit wearing it when it kept triggering the anti-theft wards in the mall.
Apparently satisfied, Quen slid the amulet away. I need you to go into the ever-after to retrieve an elven sample.
I laughed at that, and anger flickered over the older man. Trent just got Ceris sample, I said, pulling my shoulder bag tight to me. Id think that would keep him busy for a while. Besides, you couldnt pay me enough to go into the ever-after. Especially not for a chunk of two-thousand-yearold dead elf.
One of the elevators behind me dinged, and I backed up to it, ready to make my escape.
We know where a tissue sample is. We just need to get it, Quen said, his gaze flicking behind me as the doors opened.
I backed into it, standing so he couldnt follow me. How? I said, feeling secure.
Ceri, he said simply, fear flashing in the back of his eyes.
The doors started to close, and I hit the open button. Ceri? I questioned, wondering if this was why I hadnt seen much of her lately. She knew I hated Trent, but she was an elf and he was an elfand seeing as she had been born into royalty and he was a zillionaire, it would be foolish to think that they hadnt had some contact the last few months, whether they liked each other or not.
Seeing my interest, Quen took a more confident stance. She and Trent have been having tea every Thursday, he said softly, sneaking a guilty glance at the hallway. You should thank her. Hes absolutely obsessed with her even as her demon smut terrifies him. I think thats part of the attraction, actually. But hes starting to consider that demon smut might not equal a bad person. She saved my relationship with him. She is a very wise woman.
She ought to be, seeing as she had over a thousand years of servitude to a demon. The doors started closing again, and I hit the button for a few more seconds. Everything went to hell when Trent found out you use black magic to protect him, eh?
Quen didnt shift, even maintaining his sedate breathing, but his very stillness told me I was right.
So? I said belligerently.
So hes starting to entertain the thought that you might be trustworthy, too. Will you at least consider it? We need the sample.
The reminder of my own demon-smut-laced soul bothered me, and I jabbed at the close button. No freaking way. Get back to me later, Quen. Like a hundred years later.
We dont have a hundred years, Quen said, desperation entering his voice. We have eight months.
Oh, shit.
I pushed myself into motion, my shoulder bag catching on the doors as I shoved my way past them. Quen had moved back. His lips were tightly pressed, as if he wished he hadnt had to say that to get me to listen. What do you mean, eight months? As in one less than nine?
Quen said nothing. Didnt even look at me. And I didnt dare touch him.
He got her pregnant? I exclaimed, not caring who heard me. The son of a bitch! The stinking son of a bitch!
I was so angry, I was almost laughing. Quens jaw had clenched so tight his pox scars stood out white and stark. Will you do it? he said stiffly.
I want to talk to Trent, I said. No wonder Ceri was avoiding me. The woman was recovering from a thousand years of demon servitude, and Trent goes and gets her pregnant! Where is he?
Shopping.
My eyes narrowed. Where?
Across the street.
He was shopping. A hundred to one it wasnt for baby booties or a car seat. Remembering Marshal and our coffee date, I glanced out the cloudy window to estimate the time. It couldnt be much past one oclock. Plenty of time. Unless this was a ruse and Trent was going to try to kill mein which case I might run a little late.
I hit the down button hard, and the elevator doors opened immediately. Shopping? He was shopping? After you, I said, and followed Quen into the lift.
Seven
The thin heat from the sidewalk vanished when I turned the corner and entered the shadow of tall buildings. Where is he? I said, holding my hair out of my face when I looked to Quen. He was beside and a little behind me, and it gave me the creeps.
The quiet, powerful man pointed with his eyes across the street, and when I followed his gaze, I felt a wash of apprehension. OTHER EARTHLINGS COSTUMER, INC. Holy crap, Trent was picking out a Halloween costume?
I pushed myself into motion and headed for the exclusive costumer. Well, why not? Trent had parties to go to like anyone else. Probably more of them. But Other Earthlings? You needed an appointment just to walk in, especially in October.
Hesitating at the curb, I felt Quens presence slide up behind me. Will you stop guarding me? I muttered, and Quen made a little start.
Sorry, he said, then hastened to catch up when I crossed in the middle of the street. I caught him glancing at the crosswalk and snickered. Yeah, me bad.
After a moments hesitation at the brass BY APPOINTMENT ONLY sign, I reached for the door only to have someone from inside pull it open. The doorman looked seriously brain-dead when I entered, but before I could say anything, an older woman in a crisp peach skirt and jacket click-clacked to us, the sound of her heels muffled when they found the thick white carpet. Im sorry. Were closed to walk-ins, the woman said, her face a mix of cool professionalism and polite disdain at my jeans and sweater. Would you like to make an appointment for next year?
My pulse quickened and I cocked my hip at her obvious but unspoken opinion that hell would freeze over before Id ever have enough money to buy even a complexion charm from them. I took a breath to demand to see their hair straighteners, knowing their claim to be able to straighten any hair wouldnt be able to touch mine, when Quen settled in behind me, too close for my comfort.
Oh! Youre with Mr. Kalamack? she said, only the faintest blush marring the aged whiteness of her complexion.
I glanced at Quen. Not really. Im Rachel Morgan, and Ive got something to say to Mr. Kalamack. I understand hes here?
The womans mouth dropped open, and she came forward to take my hands. Youre Alices daughter? she said breathlessly. Oh, I should have known. You look just like her, or you would if she wouldnt spell herself down. It is such a pleasure to meet you!
Excuse me? She was pumping my arm up and down enthusiastically, and when I looked at Quen, he seemed as mystified as me.
We dont have any openings today, sweetheart, she said, and I blinked at her familiarity. But let me talk to Renfold. Hell stay late for you. Your mothers straightening charms have saved our reputation too many times.
My mothers hair straighteners? I managed, grabbing her wrist and extraditing my hand from hers. I was going to have to talk to my mother. This was so not-good. Just how long had she been making bootleg charms?
The woman, Sylvia, according to a name tag outlined in green pearls, smiled and winked at me as if we were grand friends. You dont think youre the only person who has difficult-to-charm hair? she said, then reached to touch my hair fondly as if it were a thing of beauty, not a constant bother. I will never understand why no one is satisfied with what nature gives them. I think its wonderful that you appreciate yours.
Appreciate wasnt the right word, but I didnt want to stand here and discuss hair. Uh, I need to speak to Trent. Hes still here, right?
The womans surprise that I was on a first-name basis with the eminently eligible bachelor flashed across her face. She glanced at Quen, who nodded, and with a soft This way, please, she led us through the store.
I felt better now that we were moving, even if the staff was whispering as Sylvia led us along a wandering path through racks of scrumptious clothing. The store smelled wonderfully of expensive fabrics and exotic perfumes, plus the snap of ozone that said ley line charms were made and invoked here. Other Earthlings was an all-encompassing costumer, supplying the clothes, prosthetics as needed, and charms to make anyone into anyone else. They werent online, and the only way you could get their products was to make an appointment. I couldnt help but wonder what Trent was going for, costumewise.
Quen was behind me again, and Sylvia led us past a small back counter and to a short hall with four doors. They were set back like the entries to high-class hotel rooms, and from behind the last, I could hear Trents voice.
The soft murmur of it went right to my middle and twisted something. God, he had a beautiful voice: low, resonant, and rich with unexplored undertoneslike shadowed moss in the sun-dappled woods. I was certain his voice contributed to how well he did in the city electionsif the generous donations to underprivileged children and hospitals werent enough.
Clearly not hearing anything in Trents voice but words, Sylvia knocked smartly on the door and entered without waiting for an invitation. I hung back and let Quen go in ahead of me. I didnt like being burst in upon by rude salespeople, and they did sell clothes here. And while seeing Trent in his tighty-whities would make my decade, Id found out long ago that I couldnt stay mad at a man wearing nothing but underwear. They looked so charmingly vulnerable.
The rich smell of wool and leather struck deeper as I entered. The lights were low at the perimeter of the comfortably warm, low-ceilinged room, helping to hide the open cupboards filled with racks of costumes, hats, feathers, wings, and even tailsthings that ley line charms couldnt easily create. To my right in the shadows was a low table holding wine and cheese, to my left a tall screen. Smack in the middle and under can lights was an ankle-high round stage cradled in the lee of a trifold mirror. Low racks of amulets surrounded it, the wood structures having the smoothness and color of hundred-year-old ash. And in the center of it all was Trent.
He wasnt aware I was in the room, clearly trying to fend off the overenthusiastic attentions of the witch helping him try on ley line amulets. Beside him was Jon, his freakishly tall lackey, and I bristled, remembering him tormenting me when I had been a mink trapped in Trents office.
Trent frowned at his reflection and handed the clerk an amulet. His hair flashed back to its usual transparent whiteness that some children have, and the witch began babbling, deducing that he wasnt doing well. Trent was clean shaven and comfortably tan, with a smooth brow, green eyes, that gorgeous voice, and a cultivated laugh. A politician through and through. He wasnt much taller than me when I was in heels, wearing his thousand-dollar silk-and-linen suit with the VOTE FOR KALAMACK pin well. It accented his trim form, making me believe he actually got out and rode his race-winning horses more than once every new moon when he played The Huntsman in his fenced-in, old-growth planned forest.
He gave the witch a professional smile as he refused another amulet, his unworked hands gesturing smoothly. There were no rings on his fingers, and seeing as I broke up his wedding by arresting him, it was likely it would stay that way, unless he was going to make an honest woman of Ceri, which I doubted. Trent lived by appearances, and him publicly joining with a demons ex-familiar covered in smut any witch could see with their second sight probably didnt fit into his political agenda. He hadnt seemed to have a problem knocking her up, though.