The Outlaw Demon Wails th-6

by Ким Харрисон

  Ivy's brown eyes were peaceful as she curled her feet under her. "I'm working. Make Jenks big and play with him."

  I lifted my eyebrows, and from behind me at the desk still blissfully empty of his kids came Jenks's bark of rude laughter. "Make me big," he scoffed. "No fairy-loving way."

  Ivy's attention slid to my wrist, where Kisten's bracelet had been for the last three months, when I handed her the cue. It immediately flicked back to me, accusing, and I tightened my jaw. "You took off Kisten's bracelet."

  My pulse increased and I let go of the cue stick. "I took it off," I admitted, feeling the same flash of grief that I had worked through this afternoon when I had placed it in my jewelry box and shut the lid. "I didn't throw it away. There's a difference. Think about it," I finished belligerently.

  From behind me came a soft "Uh, ladies?" as Jenks flitted nervously between us. He had no clue what we had talked about while shopping. All he knew was we had left tense and returned with a jar of honey for him and a roll of wax paper for the kids to slide down the steeple on. And that's all he was going to know.

  Ivy's expression softened, and then she looked away in understanding. I hadn't thrown the bracelet away, I'd set it aside in memory. "One game," she said as she rose, sleek and lanky in her exercise outfit and the long, baggy sweater she hid half her body behind.

  I dropped the chalk into her hand. "I rack, you break."

  The doorbell rang, and Ivy sighed. "I'll rack them," she said. "You get the door."

  Jenks stayed with Ivy, and content, I swatted aside a low-hanging bat and grabbed the candy bowl. Feeling all was right with the world, I pushed the door open only to have my good mood fade in a flash of annoyance. Trent?

  It had to be him. He looked his usual self apart from the fact that he was wearing a baggy suit that was three inches too long and shoes that gave him an extra two inches in height. Obviously he had been in costume. My eyes flicked to the KALAMACK FOR CITY COUNCIL 2008 button, and he reddened. A sports car idled at the curb, its hazard lights flashing, and the door open. Trent's gaze went from the bats behind me to the bruises decorating the underside of my jaw where Al had gripped me, and finally to my new, red-rimmed bites. Maybe he'd think they were a costume. Maybe.

  "What the sweet sugar candy-ass do you want?" I said in irritation, then stepped out of his reach in case it was Al in disguise. My thoughts winged back to Quen, and I fought with the urge to demand that he tell me if Quen was all right and the desire to call the FIB and tell them I was being harassed by a Trent look-alike. I had already said no. He wasn't going to change my mind.

  Jenks had darted up at my exclamation, and his wings took on a faint orange glow as his circulation increased. "Hey, Ivy—come here for a sec! I know how you like watching Rache kick the bad guys to the curb."

  A trio of witches with glowing wands, chattering madly, dodged Jenks's pumpkin and ran up the stairs shouting, "Trick or treat!" Looking pained, Trent brushed his hair from his eyes and stood aside, clearly agitated. Ivy slid up behind me, and I handed the bowl to her when the three boys left amid thank-yous prompted by their moms on the sidewalk. They jumped the last two steps, and I put my fist on my hip, eager to tell Trent to shove it.

  "I want you to come with me," he said before I could speak, his voice terse and his attention darting to Ivy.

  A hundred rude responses came from nowhere, but what I said was, "No. Go away."

  I moved to close the door, shocked when Trent put his foot in the way. I stopped Ivy's reach to shove him back, and Trent's tanned face reddened. Then, with what must have been a Herculean effort, he pulled his foot back and said in a much softer voice, "Why do you have to be difficult?"

  "It keeps me alive," I shot back, "but in this case it's fun, too. I'm busy tonight. Get off my front steps so the kids can get up here." How on earth had Jonathan let him come out here on his own? Trent seldom had an entourage, but I'd never seen him alone.

  I shooed him off the steps, and his face took on a whisper of fear. "Please."

  Jenks rose up in a column of gold sparkles. "Sweet daisies, I think I'm going to crap my silk undies. The cookie maker said please."

  Trent's eyes glinted in annoyance. "Please. I'm asking. I'm here for Quen, not myself, and most definitely not you."

  I took a breath to answer, but Jenks was way ahead of me. "Go suck a slug egg," he snarled, unusually defensive. "Rachel doesn't owe Quen anything."

  Actually, I sort of did—seeing as he saved my butt last year with Piscary—and the beginnings of shame trickled through me. Damn it. If I didn't go visit Quen, I was going to feel guilty the rest of my life. I really hated this growing-up thing.

  Ivy crossed her arms and cocked her hip. Trent dropped his gaze, steadying himself. When he brought his attention back to me, I saw a glimmer of fear, not for himself, but for Quen. "He isn't going to live through the night," he said, the calling children in the street a macabre contrast to his words. "He wants to speak to you. Please."

  Jenks saw me hesitate, and in a burst of anger, he lit my shoulder with gold sparkles. "Hell no, Rachel. He just wants to get you off hallowed ground so Al can kill you."

  I winced, thinking. Quen had given me information before, and people did weird stuff on their deathbed. Last confessions, that kind of thing. I knew I should stay on hallowed ground, but I'd been on and off it all night. I was going to go. I had to. Quen had known my dad. This might be my last and only chance to find out about him.

  Ivy saw it in my face, and she grabbed her coat from the peg. "I'm going with you."

  My pulse quickened, and Trent's expression turned confused at my change of heart.

  "I'll get your keys," Jenks said.

  "We'll take my car," Ivy countered, turning to get her purse.

  "No," Trent said, stopping her cold. "Only her. No pixies. No vampires. Just her."

  Majorly ticked, Ivy looked him up and down.

  The two were going to be at each other's throats before we hit the sidewalk, even if Trent did give in and let her come. "None of you are coming," I said firmly. "Trent doesn't live on hallowed ground—"

  "Which is exactly why we are going," Ivy interrupted.

  "And I can take care of myself easier if I'm not worrying about you." I took a deep breath, my hand coming up to forestall another protest. "Tom isn't going to summon Al. He's afraid I'll send him right back at him." Trent blanched, and I shot him a dry look. "I'll get my stuff," I said, then darted to the kitchen.

  Ivy and Jenks were having a hushed argument in the corner when I returned to the foyer, and while Trent watched in silence, I made a point of pulling out my splat gun, checking the hopper, then sliding it into the small of my back. There was a stick of magnetic chalk and the amulets from my run with David earlier, and as Ivy flung her hand in the air and scowled at Jenks, I looped the cord of the heavy-magic detection charm over my head. It would give me a few seconds if Al showed.

  "I'll call you in a few hours," I said, and jingling my car keys, I stepped past the threshold and firmly outside the church's influence.

  My heart pounded. I heard the excited kids, felt the night. The smell of burning pumpkin was strong, and I waited for a "Hello, Rachel Mariana Morgan" or "Trick or treat, love" in a proper English accent. But there was nothing. Al wasn't going to show. I had taken care of it myself. Yay, team.

  Jenks landed on my hoop earring, flying up and away when I reached for him. "You're staying, Jenks."

  "Smelly green grass farts, I'm not," he said, darting to Trent and forcing him back a startled step. "Ivy and I discussed it, and I'm going with you. You can't stop me, and you know it. And who's going to help you circle Al if he shows up? Trent? He should be begging me to come with you. He can't stop a demon." The pixy got in the elf 's face. "Or do you have some special talent we aren't aware of?"

  Tired, I looked at Trent. The young man frowned. "He can come to the front gate, and that's it," he said. With a smooth grace, he turned and started down the stairs.

/>   "Front gate, my dragonfly's green turds," Jenks muttered.

  Worry tightened my chest, and my gaze went to Ivy standing alone with her arms over her middle just inside the door. God, I was so stupid, running off to Trent's stronghold to sit with a dying man. But the guilt, and maybe curiosity, were stronger than my fear.

  "You know I want to go," she said, and I nodded. Quen had been bitten by a vampire and had an unbound scar. To ask him to overlook Ivy's presence wasn't going to happen.

  "I'll call you when I know something," I said. I hesitated before her, not knowing what else to say, and when Jenks landed on my earring, I headed down the stairs. Seeing me going to the carport, Trent rolled down his window and called, "I'll drive you out, Morgan."

  "I'm taking my car," I countered, never slowing. "I'm not going to get stuck at your compound with no way home."

  "Suit yourself," he said dryly, then rolled the window up. The hazard lights flicked off, and he waited for me.

  I looked to Ivy, who was standing beside Jenks's pumpkin. Somewhere between me opening the door to find Trent and me getting to my car, it had gone out. She didn't look happy, but neither did I. "I hope she's okay," I said as I opened my car door.

  "I'm more worried about us, Rache," said Jenks.

  Getting in, I slammed the door and settled myself. "Tom's a weenie," I said softly. "He's not going to call Al."

  Jenks's wings cooled my neck. "What if someone else does?"

  I started the car, the engine rumbling to life with the sound of security. "Thanks, Jenks. I really needed that."

  Twenty

  The long road just off the interstate to Trent's house/corporate office was busy. The two-lane road wound and twisted its way through a sprawling, planned old-growth forest. Having run for my life through it once with dogs and horses chasing me, it had lost much of its appeal.

  The ride out here had been fast and quiet once we got out of the city. Jenks had maintained a pensive silence after I suggested he peacefully stay at the outer gate and meet me inside when he managed to slip the guards. That had been a mere five minutes ago, and I missed the pixy already. Worried, I glanced at my shoulder bag on the seat beside me. I'd leave it open so he could duck in when he showed up. I'd be stupid to think Trent didn't expect Jenks to try to circumvent their security, but it would be one way to prove to Trent he was doing himself a disservice by shunning pixies as security specialists. With Quen dying, he was going to have to come up with something.

  Quen is really dying? I thought, feeling guilty for not taking Trent seriously yesterday. And why does he think it's my fault?

  My gaze dropped to the speedometer, and I tunked it down to keep from running into Trent. And as the multistory, sprawling complex of offices and business research buildings came into view, I slowed to a crawl, surprised.

  His visitor lot was crammed and overflowing onto the grass. To one side were several white-painted school buses clashing with the ranks of expensive cars and what was clearly a band's tour bus. I looked at the back of Trent's head in the car ahead of me, disgusted. Quen was dying, and he was having a party?

  I slowed further, rolling my window down to hear the chatter, hoping Jenks would swoop in. People in costume were everywhere, their movements fast with excitement as they milled around before heading to the expansive front entryway. Trent's brake lights flashed, and adrenaline surged when I hit my own brakes to avoid rear-ending him. I was ready to lose it when I glimpsed a three-foot-tall ghost darting between cars, a harried woman with a clipboard chasing him or her.

  It was Trent's yearly Halloween extravaganza, thrown for the obscenely wealthy to mingle with the tragically unfortunate, hoping to tug at heartstrings and make a bold political statement as much as genuinely help them. I hated election years.

  My fingers tightened on the gearshift and I crept forward, watching for both people and a parking spot. I couldn't believe there weren't valets, but apparently part of the fun was pretending you were slumming it.

  Trent's arm came out the window to point to a service entrance. It was an excellent idea, and I took the left after him, ignoring the DO NOT ENTER sign. A man in a black suit started jogging across the manicured grass to us, but he drew to a halt and gestured for us to continue when he saw who it was. I wasn't surprised. We'd been waved through several informal checkpoints since passing the main entrance three miles up the road.

  My gaze scanned the dark grounds as I followed Trent into his private underground parking area, squinting until my eyes adjusted to the electric lights. Another big man in a suit had come forward with the pace and attitude of someone who knew who we were but had to check anyway. This guy had a gun and a pair of glasses I'd be willing to bet were charmed to see through spells. I rolled my window down to talk to him, but Trent parked his car and got out, drawing the man to him instead.

  "Good evening, Eustace," he said, his voice carrying over the sound of our cars with a weary cadence that I'd never heard in him before. "Ms. Morgan wanted to bring her car. Can you find a spot for it, please? We need to get to the private floors as quickly as possible."

  The big man bobbed his head. "Yes, Mr. Kalamack. I'll have another driver here for Ms. Morgan's car in a moment."

  Trent's heel ground into the grit as he shifted to glance at me. His worry was clear in the bright glare of my headlamps. "Ms. Morgan can drive me to the kitchen entrance and you can park mine now."

  "Yes, sir," Eustace said, a hand atop the open car door. "I'll have the staff clear out as many people as they can, but it's going to be difficult to get through unless you want pushers."

  "No," Trent said quickly, and I thought I heard frustration in it.

  Eustace bobbed his head, and Trent touched his shoulder in parting, surprising me. The large man's motions were quick and efficient as he got in the car and drove away. Trent's head was bowed and his steps slow. I moved my shoulder bag to the back when he got in, surprised and a little uncomfortable when he settled wearily into the leather seats to fill my car with the scent of a woodsy cologne and his shampoo.

  "That way," he prompted distantly, and I put the car in gear, jerking us.

  Warming from the rough start, I let out the clutch and we started forward. My fingers twitched, and I wondered why I cared if he was honest with his feelings to everyone but me. He wouldn't show me any true warmth or depth of emotion. But Eustace probably hadn't put him in jail.

  "Take that left," he directed. "It will bring you up to the back."

  "I remember," I said, seeing two men waiting for us outside the kitchen entrance.

  Trent checked his watch. "The easiest way in is through the kitchen and the bar. If I'm detained, get to the top floor. It's been cordoned off, so no one should be there. The staff is expecting you and will let you through."

  "Okay," I said, feeling my hands start to sweat. I didn't like this. I didn't like this at all. I had been worried about Al trashing a bar. What if he showed up here amid Cincy's finest citizens and its most helpless orphans? I'd be lynched.

  "I'd appreciate you waiting for me in the common area upstairs before going in to see Quen," he was saying as I pulled up beside the two guys and put the car into park.

  "Sure," I said, very uncomfortable. "Is he going to be okay?"

  "No."

  The emotion in that single utterance was vast, a glimpse of his true emotions slipping through. He was scared, angry, frustrated…and blaming me.

  The shadow of one of the waiting men fell over the car, and I jumped when he tapped expectantly at the window. The doors had automatically locked, and I fumbled for the button. The moment they disengaged, Trent's door was opened by a second man whose suit and tie screamed security.

  The faint thumping of music echoed in the vast underground garage. The dark carried the scent of damp concrete and the tang of exhaust. My door was opened as well, and my ankles went cold in the new draft. I looked up at the man's stoic face, suddenly unsure. I was being rushed into a situation I didn't have control
of, and it made me feel vulnerable in a way I hadn't before. Shit.

  "Thank you," I said, unbuckling myself and getting out. I grabbed my bag from the back, moving out of the way when a smaller man came from the kitchen and settled himself in my seat. He drove away with an ease that assured me he wasn't going to damage my car, leaving nothing but space between me and Trent, who was deep in conversation with the second man.

  Again, I saw him in an unguarded moment, the aide's caring and concern pulling a depth of emotion from Trent that I hadn't seen in him before. He was hurting. Deeply.

  The two men shook hands, and the security guy took a deferential step back. Trent pushed himself into motion, bothered and hurried as he put a hand on the small of my back and guided me in. The two men stayed outside.

  I preceded Trent in. The short aisle opened up to a busy kitchen that had a steamy, fragrant warmth and exotic accents shouted at loud volumes. I could hear the music better, and my step bobbled as I recognized Takata's singing.

  Takata is here? I thought in delight when I remembered the tour bus, then quashed it. I was here for Quen, not to be a fawning groupie.

  Trent's presence was quickly noted by the kitchen staff, each and every one of them meeting Trent's eyes with an understanding that bit deep, making me almost angry that they cared so much for him. Then I quashed that, too. No one stopped us, and it wasn't until we came out into the extravagant bar tucked under the second floor that we saw the first guest.

  "Here we go, Ms. Morgan," Trent said, the professional, congenial air of a host coming over him. "Get upstairs and wait."

  I faltered when the heat of the room hit me, the music pounding my insides. "No problem," I said, not sure he heard me. Suddenly I felt vastly underdressed. Hell, even the woman dressed down as a hobo had diamonds on.

  One of the bartenders intervened when the first guest approached, and we lost our security escort at the next. News of Trent's arrival went out like a wake, and a ribbon of panic pulled through me. How did he deal with this? So many people wanting his attention, demanding it.