by Ким Харрисон
Landing upon my shoulder, Jenks said, "That little charm shop is looking mighty good right about now, eh, Rache?"
"Shut up, Jenks," I muttered, but I let him stay where he was— needing him.
Edden came to a halt beside Rose's desk and gazed over the maelstrom of officers trying to deal with upset Inderlanders. They looked as if they were doing okay. Maybe the essays Edden had asked me to write up for their handbook were helping.
Piscary was standing off a little by himself, his inquiring eyes on me and his grip possessively on Ivy as Skimmer spoke lawyer to a nervous woman with a clipboard. They were all sitting down, and my heart clenched at Ivy's blank stare. It was like she wasn't there. The news crews were visible through the black windows, lights glaring in the fog as they clustered outside the doors like wannabes trying to get into a club.
"I meant to tell you that's a pretty dress," the captain said, not looking at me as he rocked from heel to toe with his hands behind his back. "The boots are a nice touch."
I looked at them and sighed. "My foot hurts. They help." My foot, my arm, my back—they all ached like crazy. I felt like I'd been in a fight, not sleeping in Ivy's chair. God, I hope she's okay.
Edden chuckled at my dry sarcasm. "I thought you simply liked stomping around in them." Turning away, he gestured for a thin officer who looked less harried than the rest. "I hope you can work something out for your boyfriend."
Jenks's wings fanned faster. "Thanks," I said, carefully tucking away a strand of hair.
"Why don't you find a nice witch?" Edden said, shifting back a step to make room for the approaching officer. "Take the opportunity to get some space between you and Mr. Felps. I care what happens to you, and I hate to see you getting involved in vampire politics. People die when they do that."
I couldn't help my smile. "Gee, thanks, Dad. Can I have my driving privileges back?"
His eyes glinted. "You're grounded until you clean up your room, and you know it."
From my shoulder came a tiny snort, but Jenks was too close to see. Clean my room? I suppose that was a suitable metaphor. I had certainly put the city in a mess.
The officer that Edden had pulled from the melee stopped expectantly before us, and Edden drew him close. "Where's Kalamack? Ms. Morgan needs a room, and I don't want her anywhere near him."
I huffed in insult, and the man gave me an apologetic glance. "He's in five, but three is available," he said.
"No way," I said tightly. "I am not getting in a little interview room with Piscary. I want a conference room. Big enough so that I can have a few witnesses." And kick some vampire ass if I need to.
Edden crossed his arms over his chest to turn immovable. "Witnesses?"
"Witnesses." I gripped the focus tighter. This wouldn't work unless everyone knew I didn't have it anymore. "I want Mr. Ray and Mrs. Sarong." I turned to look over the open offices, each one occupied with a belligerent Inderlander and one or two nervous but doggedly determined FIB officers. "Quen," I said, finding him standing alone and on the phone as if none of this was touching him. "And Al," I finished, finding the demon flirting with the receptionist, now glowing from the attention of someone she thought was a wealthy eligible bachelor in a tux. Ellasbeth's dad was behind him, the upright man looking like he was ready to whip out his checkbook right here if it would help get his daughter married.
"Al?" Edden said, following my gaze to his receptionist, handing her phone number to the smiling man. "That's Mr. Saladan. Piscary said he exorcised the demon from him. My people have seen him in the sun."
I shook my head, feeling Al's gaze on me. "Piscary's lying. That's still Al."
The FIB officer with the clipboard paled. "That's a demon?" he squeaked.
Edden's brow furrowed. Putting a thick hand on each of our shoulders, he turned our backs to the room, all the while scanning the surrounding people to decide if they had heard him. "Rachel," he said, voice hushed but intent, "I'm not set up to deal with this situation."
His hand was warm through the lace on my shoulder, and I shivered. "Neither am I, but here I am. I can do this, Edden. I just need a quiet room. Your people don't have to do anything. No one's going to get hurt." But I couldn't promise it.
He was silent in thought. Deep concern in his gaze, he looked at the package in my hands, then turned to the officer with us. "How messy is Camelot?"
Camelot? I mused, and the man in question fidgeted. I could smell his fear on him, and Piscary, was watching him. "It's full of mailings," the officer said. "June's newsletters still have to go out."
Edden's frown deepened. "It's the only room with a two-way that will hold all of them."
"Two-way!" I scoffed. "I want a room, not an FIB audience."
"I'm not going to let you go into a room alone with those people," Edden said. "You put me here, Morgan, and you're going to do it my way."
Jenks stifled a snicker, and I cocked my hip, copping an attitude in black lace and butt-kicking boots. "Whatever," I said, knowing I was at his mercy.
Satisfied, Edden drew the FIB officer even closer. "Grab a couple of guys and get the table cleared off. And have someone get Ms. Morgan's wish list in there."
My neck grew cold as Jenks took flight. "I'll get them," he offered, and the FIB officer looked relieved. Edden started to protest, but upon seeing Jenks already fronting the two Weres, he hesitated. Piscary was next, falling into step behind them. From his corner, Quen closed his phone and rocked forward before Jenks reached him, giving the pixy a nod. Al noticed the mass exodus and joined them, kissing the receptionist's hand in farewell.
"Damn," Edden swore softly, taking my elbow and angling us to the top of the hallway ahead of them. "I need to get me a pixy on the payroll."
I couldn't help my smile. "They're expensive," I warned him.
The comforting blank walls took us in, and the noise behind us dulled. "I thought they worked for sugar water and nectar," Edden said, and I slowed as I noticed we were passing interrogation rooms.
"I meant in terms of loyalty," I clarified, pulling him to a stop when I found Trent's room. A soft murmur came from behind the door, and when he saw my expression, Edden's face went hard. There was one more person I wanted to be present. Quen wasn't enough. I wanted Trent.
"No," Edden said, clearly knowing why I'd stopped, then pressed back against the walls as the Weres, Al, Quen, and Piscary all passed before us in silent expectation. Mrs. Sarong's heels clicked smartly, and Al gave me an amused grin over his smoked glasses. Quen was silent, his shoulders tense under the expensive fabric of his tux. Jenks was with them, and I gave him a nod as he went along to serve as my ears.
Skimmer and Ivy were with Piscary, and my heart clenched as Ivy did nothing when I tried to catch her eyes. She looked pale and empty, her perfect face still blank and beautiful, graceful in her sophisticated gray dress. It hurt to see her like that, and the memory of her voice rang in my head, the broken sound when she had begged me to keep the sun away from her after Piscary had raped her body and her blood and she thought she was dead. Pulling back, I forced myself to keep from reaching out to give her a shake. Piscary smiled in smug satisfaction at my pain, his hand upon the small of her back as he guided her forward.
I watched until they turned the corner. How could I do nothing? How could I stand here and watch her go by without doing something? She was my friend. Hell, she was more. And with that thought I felt my face go cold.
Kisten and Ivy offered me the same chance at finding blood ecstasy, Kisten's offer packaged in a way my upbringing would have no problem dealing with, yet I'd said no to him. Continually. All the while, I was courting disaster trying to battle both my preconceived notions of myself and the risk of death to find the same thing with Ivy. Why?
And I closed my eyes, shutting out the world as I hammered the thought home. I wanted something lasting with Ivy. Yes, this spring I had come to grips with the idea that I'd probably moved into the church unconsciously hoping she'd bite me. True, I had beaten
her off a few times before in fear, but I couldn't bring myself to do it anymore if the van incident this spring was any indication. I made no apology for wanting to try to find a blood balance with her. But only now did I realize what that meant. I was talking about a life commitment. Just because it might not involve sex didn't make it any less important or lasting.
"No way, Rachel," Edden said, and I stared in panic until I realized he was talking about my wanting Trent with us, not the possibility of Ivy and me together. Bound by blood and friendship. That it didn't necessarily preempt a secondary, more traditional relationship with a man—with Kist?—only added to the scary factor.
Edden's head tilted in confusion at my deer-in-the-headlights expression, and I dropped my gaze, feeling dizzy. Crap, why did I always pick the best times to figure things out?
"I need Trent there," I said, pressing the focus to my middle. "If he doesn't see me give this thing to Piscary, then it doesn't do me any good."
Edden grimaced, making his mustache stick out. "Quen can tell him."
The door to Trent's interrogation room opened, cutting our argument short. The FIB officer stopped, but it was too late, Trent had followed him out, accompanied by a second man in a suit. His lawyer, probably.
Trent looked totally unlike himself, yet nothing significant had changed. He was still dressed in his wedding finery, he still walked with grace; but there was an eerie wariness that had been absent before. His gaze fastened on mine with the usual intensity, but the edge of icy hatred was new. Disturbingly controlled, he drew himself upright, hiding the fatigue born of his efforts to lie his way out of his heinous crimes.
"Trent needs to be there," I blurted, trying to muddle things more. "He's a council member until proven guilty, and he needs to be present. This involves the city's security. You want to wait around for someone else to show up? You're pretty good if you think you can put a master vampire in a room with two alpha Weres, a demon, and a… a whatever Quen is," I said, remembering to keep his elven heritage a secret.
"Rachel…" Edden warned, but I had given Trent all he needed.
"If there is a city security issue, I have a right to be present," he said, regaining a modicum of his usual crisp presence. Trent didn't know what I was doing, but clearly I was trying to include him in it, and despite his probably wanting to put out a contract on me for tagging him, he'd go along with it. All things in their own time, apparently.
The officer and the suit flanking him had a hushed conversation, and when the FIB guy shrugged, Edden sighed. "Damn it, Rachel," he muttered, squeezing my elbow. "This is not how I do things."
Tired, I said nothing as I waited for his decision. My thoughts went to Ivy, then Kist.
The squat ex—military man rubbed a hand over his chin and took a firmer stance. "I'm in there with two other men."
"Just you, and you can cuff him to a chair," I came back.
Trent's frown deepened until it showed on his forehead. We all had to press back against the walls as three harried-looking officers carrying boxes of blue paper and envelopes passed. Apparently the room was cleaned up, and I started getting nervous again.
"All right," Edden said sourly. "Mr. Kalamack, would you please accompany me? Ms. Morgan seems to want to have a town meeting. We'll get you back to your processing as soon as possible so you can make bail."
Bail! I thought, not having imagined they would even offer it.
Trent saw my startled expression, and he allowed a hint of smugness to show. "Thank you, Captain. I would appreciate that."
Jenks flitted into the hallway to hover by the door. "Okay, Rache. They're all yours."
Mine, I thought as I steadied myself and followed Edden and Trent. But what by Tink's little red shoes was I supposed to do with them, now that I had them?
Thirty-five
Edden escorted Trent into the room ahead of me. Hesitating in the hall, I tugged the lacy collar of my dress straight, tucked a stray curl behind an ear, hiked my shoulder bag up, took a tighter grip on the wrapped present, and wished I could run to the bathroom.
"Charm shop," Jenks taunted from my shoulder, and I made a rude noise. There was a mild stir as everyone reacted to Trent's appearance. It wasn't going to get any easier. Knowing that Ivy was already in there, I squared my shoulders and walked in.
I scanned the room and saw where the Camelot remark had come from. A round table with its attendant half circle of chairs took up the right side of the large, rectangular room. Between it and the two-way mirror to my left was a wide space that gave me the impression of a stage. At the far right was a coffee-stained counter with a sink, covered in anything anyone could possibly use to put together a presentation: tatty binder clips, scratched report covers, three-hole paper punches, and a massive paper cutter that looked like it could chop wood for a campfire.
Piscary and Ivy sat at the back near the counter, Skimmer's thin grace standing submissively behind them in her strict black business suit. A flash of nervousness went through me, shortly followed by self-disgust. I was going to buy protection from the same man who had abused Ivy and given Kisten's death to someone as a thank-you gift. But what choice did I have? Someone powerful had to hold the focus. It didn't matter whether I liked him or not if he could keep me and Kisten alive and prevent a worldwide Inderland power struggle.
The two Weres sat near the middle of the table across from the door. Upon seeing me enter, Mrs. Sarong yanked Mr. Ray back into his seat before he could make an ass of himself. Trent was sitting beside the door, with Edden looming behind him. The elf wasn't in cuffs. Across from them Quen stood with his arms over his chest, looking good in his tux/uniform.
My attention went to Al. He was a vision of upright elegance in his black tux, standing with his back to me before the two-way mirror. The demon was breathing heavily on the glass to mist it up, using a gloved finger to scribe ley line symbols I couldn't understand. I didn't want to imagine the fear of the men and women watching behind the glass.
Al turned, beaming over his round smoked glasses. "Rachel Mariana Morgan," he drawled, his accent proving that despite looking like Lee, he was all Algaliarept. "Watching you cuff Trenton was extre-e-e-emely entertaining. What will you do for your next trick?"
Glowering beside Mrs. Sarong, Mr. Ray grumbled, "Pull a flaming bunny out of her ass, maybe?"
Quen stifled a smirk, and I came forward, boots clunking and dress furling. Jenks left me for the overhead lights in a soft hum. Only Quen and Al watched him go, the rest clueless as to how much of a threat he was up there. The gown made me feel stupid, but everyone was overdressed. I tried to get Ivy's attention as I stood at the table a few chairs down, with Trent between me and Al. She never looked up, her gaze fixed on the nothing and her face peacefully blank. Skimmer let her hatred show, and I ignored the sophisticated, pretty, blond vamp.
I set the package and my shoulder bag on the table, pushing them together as I gathered my thoughts. "Thanks for meeting me here, Piscary," I said, forcing my hand off my aching upper arm. "You are the foulest thing I've ever seen, but I hope we can come to some agreement." God, I'm such a hypocrite.
Piscary smiled while petting Ivy's hand, and when Al took a breath to say something, I turned. "Shut up," I demanded, and he huffed, though I could tell he thought it all a big joke. "You're here as witnesses. All of you. That's it."
There was a nervous shifting of position from everyone but Quen, and, satisfied, I touched my stuff on the table and tried not to think about my full bladder. "Okay," I said, and Trent smiled mockingly at my nervousness. "As you all probably figured out, I still have the focus."
Mr. Ray stiffened, and Mrs. Sarong's grip on his wrist tightened.
"I've got the focus," I continued when he settled back. "And all of you want it." I sent my gaze to my right. "Trent, I imagine you want it for a power play, seeing as you offered me an insane amount of money for it." And killed three Weres, but why bring that up?
"We double his offer," Mrs. Sarong sai
d crisply, and Trent laughed outright, bitter and mocking. It was a new side to him, and it wasn't attractive. The woman turned scarlet, and Mr. Ray hunched over, looking uncomfortable.
"It's not for sale," I said, before anyone else could interrupt, then turned to Piscary. "Piscary, you want me dead for obvious reasons," I added. "And so does Trent, probably, by now."
"Don't forget me, love," Al said, turning his back on the mirror. "I just want you for an hour. One hour and this would all go away."
Jenks clattered his wings in warning, and I steadied myself. "No," I said, though my stomach was starting to hurt. An hour with him would become an eternity.
Mr. Ray himself tugged out from under Mrs. Sarong's grip. "Give it to me or I'll hunt you down like an animal and take it." Then the man jumped, and Mrs. Sarong's smile made me speculate about what she had done to him under the table. Gold pixy dust sifted down to put the Were in a temporary sunbeam, and Mr. Ray looked up in surprise, clearly having forgotten about Jenks.
Wondering if he had just been pixed, I stifled a smirk. "Yes," I said dryly. "I know. Which is why I'm talking to Piscary, not you."
There was a heartbeat of silence, and Mr. Ray surged to his feet. "No!" he bellowed, his round face flashing red. "You sorry little whippet. You can't give it to that undead bast—"
His words cut off when Quen put a hand on his shoulder and shoved him down. "Close your mouth," Quen said. "Listen before you draw your battle lines, lest you alienate your allies."
Oh, that sounds just peachy damn keen. But at least it was quiet. Shifting my weight to my other foot, I glanced at Al—who was starting to match Mrs. Sarong in terms of pissed-off-ness, to Trent, who was clearly thinking furiously, and finally to Piscary. The undead vamp was smiling like the benevolent god he believed he was. A honey-hued hand sat atop the pale purity of Ivy's, and I imagined he thought I was going to barter the focus for her and Kisten. I wanted to, but Keasley was right. She had to escape him on her own, or she would never be free of him.
