by Ким Харрисон
I dug a twenty out of my purse and handed it to him. "No. There's going to be a dinner afterward, and I'll bum a ride from someone. Can I have a receipt?"
At that, he looked at me over his paperwork, his deeply tanned face showing surprise. "You know someone who's getting married here?"
Jenks was hovering impatiently outside, but I hesitated, beaming. "Yes. I'm in the Kalamack wedding."
"You kidding me?" His brown eyes widened to show that the whites were almost yellow. The faint scent of musk tickled my nose. He was a Were. Most cabbies were. I had no idea why. "Hey." He fumbled for a card, handing it to me along with my blank receipt. "I have my limo license. If they need anyone, I'm available."
I took it, admiring his moxie. "You bet. Thanks for the ride."
"Anytime," he said as I got out. He leaned out after me through the window. "I've got access to a car and everything. This is only my day job until I finish getting my pilot's license."
Smiling, I nodded and turned to the multiple doors. Pilot's license? That's a new one.
The cab merged into the light traffic, and Jenks dropped down from wherever he had been. "I leave you alone for five minutes," he complained, "and you get hit on."
"He just wanted a job," I said, admiring the four strands of sculptured vines arching over the twin set of wooden doors. Absolutely-gorgeous…
"That's what I'm saying," he grumbled. "Why are we here this early anyway?"
"Because it's a demon." I eyed the gargoyles and wished I could talk to them, but trying to wake a gargoyle before the sun was down was like trying to talk to a pet rock. There were a lot of them, though, so the cathedral was probably secure. I winced at the potted flowers on the sidewalk, wondering if I could get them moved. It would be too easy for fairy assassins to hide in them. Bringing my attention to Jenks, I added, "And as much as I'd like to see Trent taken down by a past jealous lover or a disgruntled demon, I want my forty thousand for babysitting."
He bobbed his head before landing on my shoulder. "Speak of the devil…"
I followed his attention to the street. Crap, they were early, too, and now, doubly glad for having gotten here when I had, I tucked in my new shirt and waited as two shiny cars approached, looking out of place among the flatbed trucks and salt-rusted Fords.
I had to jerk myself up and onto the shallow steps when the first one pulled out of traffic and up entirely onto the wide sidewalk. A gray Jaguar was behind it, also parking on the walk.
"You've got to be crapping in my daisies," Jenks said from my earring, and I took my sunglasses off to get a better look.
Ellasbeth was in the first car in the front seat, and while she collected herself, the uniformed driver opened the door for a pair of older people in the back. Mr. and Mrs. Withon, I assumed, since they were tall and elegant, darkly tanned and having the "trendy" look of the West Coast. They were in their sixties, I'd guess, but well-preserved sixties. Hell, they were elves—they could be three hundred for all I knew. Although they were dressed in casual slacks and tops, one could still tell that their shoes cost more than most people's car payments. They stood and smiled in the sun as if looking into the past and seeing the land without the buildings, cars, or urban apathy.
Ellasbeth stoically waited for the driver to open her door. Swooping out, she tugged the short jacket covering her white shirt straight and draped a matching purse over her shoulder. Sandals clicking, she rounded the back of the car, her ankles bare below trim capri pants. She was in hues of peach and cream, her yellow hair back in a braid similar to mine with green ribbons woven in. With red lips and shades firmly in place, she never looked at the church, clearly not pleased to be here.
Seeing her class, I was embarrassingly thankful that Jenks and Ceri had stepped in and bought me a clue.
Putting on my happy face, I came down the steps.
"Isn't this such a sweet little church, Mother?" the tall woman said, twining her arm in her mom's and gesturing at the basilica. "Trenton was right. This is the perfect place for an understated wedding."
"Understated?" Jenks muttered from my earring. "It's a friggin' cathedral."
"Hush," I said, liking her parents for some reason. They looked content together, and I found myself wanting to keep them that way, so when I woke at night alone, I'd know that somewhere there was someone who had found love and made it last. No wonder Ellasbeth was ticked at being asked to marry someone she didn't love when she had grownup seeing her parents' contentment. I'd be mad, too.
The hair on my arms prickled, and I turned to see Quen already out of the gleaming Jaguar. He was dressed in his usual black pants and shirt, a pair of soft shoes on his feet. A leather belt with a silver buckle was his only decoration. I wondered if it was charmed. The pox-scarred man raised his eyebrows at me in greeting, and I decided it probably was.
Quen was headed for Trent's door, but before he could get there, Trent had opened it himself. Blinking in the strong afternoon sun, he gazed at the sky, his eyes moving as he traced the lines of the front tower outlined against it. His jeans fit him nicely, properly faded and hitting his boots just right. A silk shirt of a deep green that matched Ellasbeth's ribbons gave him some flash, going well with his tan and fair hair. He looked good, but not happy.
Seeing the five elves together, I wondered at the differences. Ellasbeth's mother had Trent's same wispy hair, but her father's was closer to Ellasbeth's—rougher, almost looking like a poor attempt to match it. Beside them, Quen's dark features and ebony hair looked like the other side of the coin, but no less elven.
Ellasbeth brought her gaze from the scrollwork above the big doors when Trent and Quen approached. Her gaze lit upon me, and her expression froze. I smiled as she realized we had our hair up in the same way. Her face under her perfect makeup went stiff.
"Hello, Ellasbeth," I said, having been introduced to her by her first name the night she'd walked in on me soaking in her tub. Long story, but innocent enough.
"Ms. Morgan," she said, extending a pale hand. "How are you?"
"Fine, thank you." I took her hand in mine, surprised that it was warm. "I'm honored to be in the wedding party. Have you decided which dress yet?"
The woman's expression went even stiffer behind her shades. "Mother? Father?" she said, not answering me. "This is the woman Trenton arranged to work additional security."
As if they can't tell I'm not one of her friends? I thought, taking their hands as they were offered. "Pleasure to meet you," I said to each of them in turn. "This is Jenks, my partner. He'll be working the perimeter and communication."
Jenks's wings clattered to life, but before he could charm them with his sparkling personality, Ellasbeth's mother gasped. "He's real!" she stammered. "I thought he was a decoration on your earring."
Ellasbeth's father tensed. "A pixy?" he said, taking a wary step back. "Trent-"
A burst of dust spilled from Jenks to light my shoulder, and I all but snapped, "This is my team. I may be bringing on a vamp if I think it necessary. If you have a complaint, take it up with Trent. My backup can keep his mouth shut about your precious secret identities, but if you show up for the wedding dressed like extras for some ridiculous movie, it won't be my fault if someone figures it out."
Ellasbeth's mother was staring at Jenks in fascination, and the pixy had noticed. Red-faced, he zipped from one side of me to the next in agitation, finally landing on a shoulder. Clearly the pixy paranoia went from coast to coast, and she hadn't seen one in a while.
"I can't keep your butts above the grass without him," I continued, darting increasingly nervous glances at Ellasbeth's mom, whose green eyes were bright and captivated. "And this overdone media circus is likely going to bring the weirdos out of the woodwork."
I stopped, seeing as no one was listening. Mrs. Withon had blushed to look ten years younger, one hand on her husband's shoulder as she failed to hide her desire to talk to Jenks.
"Oh, the hell with it," I muttered under my breath. Then, louder, "Jenks
, why don't you escort the ladies into the church where it's safer."
"Rache," he whined.
Mr. Withon pulled himself straighter. "Ellie," he warned, and I reddened.
Trent cleared his throat. Stepping forward, he took my elbow in restraint, disguising it as a companionable motion. "Ms. Morgan's commitment to her job is as obvious and up-front as her opinions," he said dryly. "I've used her in the past, and I trust her and her partners implicitly in sensitive matters."
Used me. That's about right.
"I can keep a secret," Jenks muttered, his fitfully moving wings shifting my hair.
Mrs. Elf beamed at him, and again I wondered at the possible species relationship elves and pixies might have had, broken when the elves went underground. Jenks's kids loved Ceri. Course, they loved Glenn, too, and I knew he was a human.
Ellasbeth caught her father's wary look, her red lips compressing at her mother's charmed smile. "Trenton, dear," the nasty woman said, looping her arm back into her mother's. "I'm going to show my parents the interior of the cathedral while you instruct the help on their duties. It's such a quaint little church. I honestly didn't know they made cathedrals this size."
I bit back my ire, proud of the Hollows' basilica. And I wasn't the "help." I was the person who was going to keep the rabble from taking potshots at them as they paraded their rich elf asses down main street.
"That sounds equitable, love," Trent said from beside me. "I'll meet you inside."
Ellasbeth leaned to give him a peck on the cheek, and though he trailed a hand along her cheek as she moved away, he didn't kiss her back.
Heels clacking on the sidewalk, she led her parents to the side door, since the front was clearly locked. "Send Caroline in when she arrives?" she said over her shoulder, effectively telling us to stay outside until the maid of honor got here. That was fine with me.
"I'll do that," Trent called after them, and the three elves turned the corner, Ellasbeth loudly telling her mother about the lovely little baptism pool. Her father was bent in conversation with her mother, clearly berating her for her interest in Jenks. She wasn't listening, almost walking sideways in her attempt to get a last look at Jenks.
Jenks was silent, clearly embarrassed. I though it odd, since he charmed humans all the time. Why was it different when an elf liked him?
"Hey, uh, Rachel," he said, the hum of his wings loud as he lifted to hover before my eyes, "I'm going to take a look around. Back in five."
"Thanks, Jenks." But he was already gone, his tiny body a speck darting over the spires.
I brought my eyes back to find Quen waiting for me. "You expect me to believe a pixy is an effective backup?" he asked, eyebrows high. "Why do you have him out here? Are you trying to make the situation difficult?"
Somehow Quen's attitude didn't surprise me. Stifling my pique, I headed to the side parking lot. "He'll have the lowdown on the entire block in thirty seconds. I told you you're doing yourself a disservice by keeping pixies out of your garden. You should be begging for a clan to move in, not lacing sticky web in your canopy. They're better sentries than geese."
The older elf's wrinkles slid into each other as he frowned. He had come up on my left, and with Trent on my right I felt surrounded. "And you trust Jenks?" Quen asked.
I think it was the first time Quen had called Jenks by his name, and I glanced at him as we rounded the corner and the traffic noise dulled. "Implicitly."
No one said anything, and, embarrassed, I blurted, "I can't protect you if you aren't together. Or is this just a way to have someone pretty on your arm when you walk into a room?"
"No, Ms. Morgan," Trent said softly, his bangs drifting in the slight breeze. "But seeing as the sun is up, how much danger can we be in from a demon? I don't expect Lee to show, and if he does, it won't be until after dark." He hesitated. "With a demon pulling his strings."
We couldn't very well go in after Ellasbeth had told us to stay out, and I wasn't eager to spend more time than I had to with her. It seemed Trent wasn't either, so we drifted to a stop by the side stairs and the less-imposing secondary entrance off the parking lot. My sandals scuffed against the white lines of the painted-on basketball court, but Quen was silent in his soft shoes. I wanted a pair despite that they would leave me that much shorter.
"You… ah, trust me in sensitive matters?" I said to Trent. "What does that mean?"
Trent tracked a flock of pigeons, blinking as they crossed the sun. "It means I trust you to keep your mouth shut but not to keep your fingers out of my desk."
Quen shifted to stand almost out of my sight. I turned to keep him in it. "That bothered you, didn't it? That I could sneak into your office?" I asked.
Ears reddening, Trent glanced at me. "Yes."
Pleased, I shifted my shoulders. Casual looked good on him, and I wondered what he'd look like in a burger joint with his elbows on the table and his hands wrapped around a half pound of beef. He wasn't much older than me, forced to grow up fast when his parents died. I wanted to ask him if his kids would have pointed ears when they were born, but I didn't. "I won't do it again," I said suddenly, not knowing why.
At that, Trent turned to face me. "Break into my home? Is that a promise?"
"No. But I won't."
Quen cleared his throat to cover a chuckle. Green eyes fixed on mine, Trent nodded. He didn't look happy, and I was feeling sorry for him. "That," he said, "I'll believe."
Quen stiffened, but his attention was on the sky, not me. I put my hand up when I recognized Jenks's wings. "Rache," he panted, landing on my hand and grasping my thumb when he nearly fell off. "We got a problem… coming down the road… in a '67 Chevy."
"Better than a trip wire," I said dryly to Quen, wondering if I should move my new cuffs from my shoulder bag to my hip. Then I asked Jenks, "Who is it? Denon?"
The car in question came around the corner: a powder blue convertible with the top open. Engine racing, it pulled into the far end of the lot. Quen shifted from casual to protective. Pulse pounding, I tapped a line. The rush of power took me by surprise, and I staggered. "I'm fine," I said, pushing Trent's arm off me. "Stay behind me."
"It's Lee!" Trent said, his face alight. "My God, Lee!"
My mouth dropped open. The car lurched to a halt, parked ten feet away and cantwise to the lines. Trent stepped forward, and I yanked him back. Lee escaped Al?
The man turned off the car and pulled his head up, smiling at the three of us and squinting from the sun. Leaving the keys in the ignition, he opened the door and got out.
"Lee… ?" I stammered, not believing it. A rush of guilt swept me. Though I had tried to prevent it, I had been there when Al took Lee as his familiar instead of me. That he had escaped was impossible, but here he was, angling his trim, surfer-boy body out of the car with an unconscious grace. His small nose and thin lips gave him casual good looks, and his Asian heritage was obvious in the straight, severely black hair cut short above his ears. Looking confident and cocky in a faintly frumpy black suit, he strode forward with hands outstretched.
"It's not Lee," Jenks said, having moved himself to my shoulder. "He doesn't smell right, and that's not a witch's aura. Rache, that isn't Lee!"
Shock became mistrust. "Stay back!" I said, jerking Trent behind me when he moved.
He stumbled, then caught his balance. Scowling, he tugged his shirt straight. "The sun is up, Morgan. I know a few rules about demons, and that one you can't break. Lee escaped. What did you expect? He's an expert at ley line magic. Deal with the jealousy."
"Jealous!" I barked, not believing this. "You want to bet your life on it?" Lee was still coming forward, and, putting out a hand, I shouted, "Stop right there! I'm telling you to stop!"
Lee obediently halted ten feet away, his black hair gleaming in the light. He drew a pair of round sunglasses from a pocket and perched them on his small nose, hiding his brown eyes. Hands spread wide in innocence wronged, he almost bowed. "Good afternoon, Rachel Mariana Morgan. You look emine
ntly ravishable with the sun in your hair, love."
The blood drained from my face, and I took a faltering step backward. It wasn't Lee. It was Al. The voice had been Lee's, but the cadence and pronunciation were Algaliarept's. How?
"Holy crap! It's Al!" Jenks squeaked, and his grip on my ear tightened.
"Get him in the church," I hissed at Quen Feeling betrayed, I almost panicked. The sun was up! This wasn't fair! There was scuffling behind me and Trent's indignant complaint. Damn it, I thought. This isn't a committee decision. "Get him out of here!" I yelled.
Al's smile widened. He stepped toward us.
There wasn't time. I lunged forward, my forearms hitting the pavement, my fingers brushing the white marking of the basketball court, and my toes taking the rest of my body weight. "Rhombus!" I shouted. Tears sprang up at the gravel cutting the soft part of my arms, but with a welcoming drop of power through me, the amber wash of ever-after flowed up from the earth, arching to a close over our heads.
Hurt, I let my knees touch the pavement, and I slowly got up, brushing my arms and palms free of grit. Damn it, I had ruined Ceri's present. I glanced first at Al—who looked mildly insulted—then Trent and Quen, safe inside my circle with me.
The older elf was stiff, clearly not liking being in my bubble—large as it was. Face tight, he eyed the black smears of demon smut crawling over my amber-tinted enclosure. It looked particularly ugly in the sun, and since Quen was skilled in ley line magic, he knew that the black was a reflection of what I had done to my soul—and the only way I could have gotten it that fast was by playing with demon magic.
Angry, I backed up, still rubbing my arms. "I got it twisting a demon curse to save my boyfriend's life," I said in explanation. "I didn't kill anything. I didn't hurt anyone."
Quen's face was empty of emotion. "You hurt yourself," he said.
"Yeah. I guess I did."
Trent scuffed his feet. "That's not Lee," he whispered, his face ashen.
Jenks landed on my shoulder—having flown off when I hit the ground. "Good God, the man is dumber than Tink's dildo. Didn't I say it wasn't him? Did my lips not move and say it wasn't him? I'm small, not blind!"
