Pale Demon (5 page)

“Yeah, you did!” I exclaimed, not taking my eyes off the head guy.

As expected, my being left to my own devices made the security people more nervous, not less. I wasn’t being abandoned; I was capable of handling this on my own.

“Well?” I said, again finding my pleasant inner demon. “You going to give me my dress and my car keys, or am I going to show you why I was shunned?” My smile grew even brighter, even as my mood became more pissed.

“Give it to her,” the man said, his words clipped and precise.

“But they said to detain her!” the woman said, sounding disappointed.

Taking his eyes from mine, the head security man met his subordinate’s eyes. “Give the woman her dress,” he said, pushing my bag back to me across the table. “She’s not the one they want.”

“But…”

“Give the woman her God-blessed dress!” he shouted, and everyone looked at us, the noise of a plane taking off sounding all the louder in the sudden silence. His ears reddening, he hunched like a bear. “I have had an incident-free workplace for three years, and I’m not going to let you ruin that because you want a little gold star, Annie.”

The woman huffed, but the man beside her had handed me my things.

Sliding the straps of my bag over my shoulder, I accepted the unwieldy garment bag. “Thanks,” I said, surprised that calm and pleasant had gotten me further than hotheaded threats. Maybe there was something to a demon’s methods. My bags had never been out of my sight, but I hesitated, finding and holding the man’s attention. “Are they bugged?”

“No,” he said, his eyes flicking from me to the distant doors behind me and back again. “But your checked luggage probably is. Good luck, Ms. Morgan. You helped my grandfather once. About three years ago, on a bus. I think you’re getting a bum rap.”

I hesitated, then smiled as I searched my memory for a familiar face and found a close match. “He was being harassed by Were pups? Winter, wasn’t it?” I asked, getting a flustered nod in return. “It was my pleasure. You take care of yourself, okay? And thanks.”

He smiled, totally ignoring the woman behind him having a hissy, and with my pride intact, I spun on a heel and strode for the big plate-glass doors.

The second I emerged from the low-ceilinged hallway, Jenks dropped down to me. “I told you so,” he sang out, wings spilling a yellow dust over me like a sunbeam. Somehow, though, I didn’t have it in me to be mad. It wasn’t often that I ran into anyone who knew me, and even less frequent that they thanked me.

“Yes, you did,” I said, disappointed. Six hours on a plane, and I’d have been there. Now I had three days to get to the West Coast. Stiff, I pushed the automatic door aside when it didn’t slide quickly enough. The fresh air hit me, and I hesitated, fumbling in my bag for a moment until I remembered that I’d sat on my sunglasses yesterday.

“What about your luggage?” Jenks asked, and I shook my head, squinting in the bright morning light and brisk wind, looking for Ivy.

“Forget it. It’s bugged,” I said. “I’d have to dip everything in salt water.”

My new jeans, the silk sweater I was going to impress Robbie with, the swimsuit that took me three weekends to find…gone.
At least I still have my dress,
I thought, hiking it farther up on my shoulder. “Where’s Ivy?”

Jenks’s wings hit a higher pitch, and when he started swearing in one-syllable words, I followed his line of sight down to the end of the curb. Sighing, I pushed myself into motion and made my way past the chatting skycaps to the low black car. Ivy was there with her briefcase at her feet, the flat of her arms on the open front window as she talked to the driver. Her butt was giving the porters something to stare at, and not all the oglers were men. It had to be Trent. Whoopie friggin’ surprise.

From somewhere above me, Jenks shrilled, “Listen to me! Listen this time, witch! This is Trent’s doing! He wants to get you alone and brainwash you with a charm! Hit you with an enthrallment spell. What about yesterday, huh? You saw what he did! How stupid can you get?”

“Pretty stupid,” I said, feeling my heels clunking all the way up my spine as I dodged oversize luggage and yet another cheerleading team. “Trent isn’t going to charm me,” I said, not so sure anymore. He had tried once before, the spell fizzling only because I’d been drenched in salt water at the time. I wanted to trust him but couldn’t bring myself to do it, even if he’d shown me a part of himself that would be dangerous in the right hands. And what was with the elven magic? That stuff could kill you if you didn’t do it right.

Jenks dropped down to my shoulder, reminding me of a shoulder angel. “He’s going to convince you to get in that car,” he said. “And then you’re going to believe everything he says.”

I tried look at Jenks but failed. He was too close. “Probably. I want to talk to Quen.”

Wings going full tilt, Jenks drifted backward off my shoulder, sputtering.

Ivy noticed my approach and pulled herself out of the window, a hint of relief in her dark eyes. They were dilated despite the early sun but not bad. Worry, not fear. Squinting from the morning light, I looked inside to find Quen behind the wheel. A real smile came over me, and I crouched to avoid looking bad next to Ivy’s perfection. Despite, or maybe because of, having fought Trent’s security officer in the past, I liked Quen, and by the honest smile on the older man’s pebbly textured face, I knew he liked me, too.

“Hi, Quen,” I said cheerfully. “How’s Ceri?”

From the backseat, Trent cleared his throat, but I was mad at him and ignored him.

“Round, irritable, and as happy as if the world were hers,” Quen said, the dark-complexioned man reaching across the seat to shake my hand. It felt small in mine but powerful, and it reminded me of Pierce’s. His voice was as gravelly as his skin, both remnants of the Turn. It hit some species harder than most, but witches, vampires, pure elves, and Weres not at all. Quen had some human in him. Not that I thought any the less of him for it.

“It is,” I said as I took my hand back. There was something wrong with me. I could free thousand-year-old slaves, outwit militant Weres, survive exploding boats and a vampire roommate once fixated on my blood and body both, but I couldn’t find my own happiness. Yet seeing Ceri smile as she held her baby? That would be a good second place.

Quen was an honorable man. If Trent was up to something he didn’t approve of, he’d tell me. Wouldn’t he? Unsure, I angled my head to Quen. “If you were me, what would you do?”

“I’d get in the car.” His eyes were focused out the front window, his jaw tight. He was Trent’s security officer and abided by his wishes, but he’d also helped raise Trent and was probably the only one besides Ceri who could say no to him with impunity. And he wanted me to get in the car. A shiver ran through me. Something bad was coming. I could feel it.

“Good enough,” I said, hearing Trent’s exasperated sigh from the back.

My hand went to the handle, but Ivy’s was already there.

“I am not sitting in the back with Trent,” she said, eyes narrowing in warning. Behind her, Jenks pantomimed being hanged.

“Oh, for Tink’s diaphragm!” the pixy said. “What is wrong with you women?”

The trunk popped open with a slow whine, and I went around back to stow the garment bag nice and flat. Quen met me back there, and I handed it to him. “Thanks,” I said softly as Ivy and Jenks got in the front seat, arguing. The door slammed, and Quen gently put my dress into the trunk, already holding a bland but expensive-looking piece of luggage. We had only a moment. Time for only one question. Licking my lips, I blurted out, “Did Trent send those elves yesterday to persuade me to help him?”

Quen met my eyes, a lifetime of nobility in them. “No,” he said simply. “I’d feel better if he had, though.”

My shoulders slumped, and I didn’t move as he eased the trunk closed and the power lock whined as it shut. Squinting, I looked up at a plane taking off, roaring overhead to who knew where. Portland, maybe. My gaze dropped to the bustle of people. Life was going on, and no one but a handful of people cared if I lived or died.

“Yeah. Me, too,” I said with a sigh. Feeling trapped, I went to the door that Quen opened for me and slid into the leather-scented darkness.

I
f looks could kill, my face would show the imprint of Jenks’s thoughts. The irate pixy was sitting on the rearview mirror of Trent’s big black car, heels thumping the glass and scowling at me as a green dust sifted from him, sparkling in the sun before it hit the dash to make an evil puddle, then spilling to the floor. Ivy was in the front passenger seat, talking softly to Quen about the success he’d had with Trent’s highly experimental treatment to make vampire neurotoxins dormant. I could tell it bothered Trent that they were discussing the illegal, high-risk procedure, and the only reason it didn’t bother me was because it wouldn’t help Ivy in her quest to be free of her vampirism. She was a vampire, and making the neurotoxins dormant in her wouldn’t save her soul when she died.

No, she expected me to do that.

Crossing my knees, I looked out the tinted window. We were passing through a weird mix of airport and industry on our way to long-term parking, and I felt cut off. The light making it through the tint was ugly, and it made me uneasy. No one was looking at us. We were just another black car. That made me uncomfortable, too.

From the far side of the backseat, Trent said, “Quen, could we have the roof open?”

Their conversation never hesitated as Quen touched a button and the small square of roof slid back to let the wind and sun roll in. I couldn’t stop my sigh of relief, and I settled back into the comfortable leather. I hadn’t meant to telegraph my unease, but I thought it telling that Trent was trying to make me more comfortable. Taking a deep breath, I tucked a stray curl behind my ear and looked at him. I’d called his bluff and was still alive. It must irritate him to no end.

He met my eyes and simpered, destroying any illusion I might have had about him being miffed with me. Damn it, he had warned me that I wouldn’t be able to fly, and it rankled that I’d have to admit he was right. That jet of his was looking easy. Easy like a demon curse, and those always came back to smack you.

I smiled back, thinking of that curse I owed him. He wouldn’t kill me for delaying it, but I was pushing him, and he would push back eventually. That he wasn’t dressed for revenge, having gone extremely casual today, made me feel better, and whereas Quen was in his usual black outfit that looked somewhat like a uniform crossed with a martial artist’s robe, Trent was wearing jeans and a lightweight short-sleeved shirt. Instead of his thousand-dollar boardroom shoes, he had on brown boots, scuffed from the stables and comfortable.

I was sure his appearance had been painstakingly contrived to remind me of the evening we had ridden over his fields. His number one man, Jonathan, had died under a pack of dogs that night for having attempted to kill me without Trent’s permission. Killing an enemy’s enemy was probably elven tradition for cementing a new relationship, but that Trent had run his own man down like some perverted version of the Hunt left me cold. Trent had insisted that it hadn’t been Jonathan out there and stayed with me while the horns blew and the dogs bayed, but I hadn’t seen Jonathan since.

Green was truly Trent’s color, and I wondered if the buttons of his shirt were real silver. The wind shifted the collar to show a wisp of hair, and I looked away, my pulse quickening. The moon had been new that night, and it had been wonderful riding as Trent tried to show me what it was like to rule creation with dogs singing for the blood of the one who had hurt me. It had left me feeling curiously…lofty.

And then he goes and does black magic in my kitchen?
My attention flicked back to Trent, his expression open and wondering, clearly curious as to where my thoughts had gone. Looking toward the front through the quietly moving car, I sighed and said loudly, “Okay. I can’t fly. You told me so. I’m still not getting on your jet. And I’m still not going to remove your familiar mark until I’m free of the coven.”

Jenks made a rude sound and a burst of dust came from his wings.

Trent shifted in his seat, inadvertently giving away his mood. “I never offered the use of my jet. There you are, jumping to conclusions again, Ms. Morgan.”

My runner instincts kicked in, a soothing adrenaline starting to flow. Trent was trying to look relaxed when he was almost sweating. “Jumping to conclusions is my only option when every third word out of your mouth is a half-truth,” I shot back. “The Withons trying to kill you for standing up their daughter is a good story, except I know she walked out on you, not the other way around. You’re still lying to me. No.”

Quen’s eyes flicked to mine by way of the rearview mirror. His conversation with Ivy had cut off, and the tension in the car spiked. “You don’t need to know why I need to get to the coast,” Trent said softly, and Quen’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. Crap on toast, whatever it was, it was bad. “All you need to do is get me there,” Trent finished.

Jenks’s wings were humming a warning, and even Ivy looked worried as she turned in the front seat so she could see me. Her window made a soft sound as she cracked it.

“You’re the only one Quen…trusts,” Trent added, his gaze on his fingers in the shaft of early sun, gray through the tinted windows.

There was that word again, and I grimaced as I looked to Quen and he inclined his head at me in unspoken encouragement. Damn it, I didn’t want to be responsible for Trent. I didn’t even
like
Trent. “Just get your little elf butt on your private jet and go,” I muttered, jealous that his money made everything easy for him.

“I can’t,” Trent explained patiently. “I can’t take the train, either. Tradition says I have to go by land, and I need to be there by Sunday night.”

“Two days!” I yelped. “By car? Are you nuts? What do you need to do on the West Coast in two days that you can’t do by phone?”

Jenks’s wings hummed as if he was going to join us in the back, but a look from Ivy stopped him. The car turned a corner and the sun shifted, coming in to touch my knee without warmth. Trent leaned back into the shadows, reluctant to answer. “What’s on the West Coast?” I asked again. “Trent, if you want my help, treat me like a professional. I need to know. Especially if lame-ass assassins are going to be dogging us.”

Quen sighed heavily, and at the sound Trent seemed to get mad. “It’s my personal business,” Trent said, glancing at the back of Quen’s head. “No one will be hurt by it, and it doesn’t touch on your upcoming trial.”

“It’s not a trial, it’s a pardon,” I said quickly, but we all knew he was right.

Trent looked at me across the seat, his green eyes almost black in the shadows. “If you can get me there by Sunday, I should have time to speak for you at the meeting as well,” he said, earning a bark of laughter from Jenks. “That is, if my familiar curse is gone by then.”

Carrots. Sweeter than vinegar but still unpalatable,
I thought, remembering the drug-laced carrots I’d eaten once while a mink trapped in his office. Son of a bitch, what was I doing?

“Get me there after Sunday, and I’ll miss my window of opportunity,” Trent added. “Three days, and there is no reason for me to go at all. If we leave immediately, we can make both of our deadlines.”

My trial was Sunday night, and I met Jenks’s and Ivy’s eyes. This had all the earmarks of the tip of an iceberg. Trent was in trouble with the biggest elf family on the West Coast. And though he hadn’t blamed me, I might have had some part in it. Guilt licked at my soul. I had a really bad feeling about this.

“Will you do it?” Trent asked. He sounded angry but not at me, and I could hear a whisper of past arguments with Quen in his tone. Though Trent was the boss, Quen ran Trent’s life, had since Trent’s father died. It had to rankle when the only way Quen would let him go would be with me.

“No,” I said, sitting up straighter. “The last time I worked for you willingly, the boat blew up. That water was cold.”

“Atta girl, Rache!” Jenks exclaimed, and Ivy leaned over to whisper a question to Quen.

Trent’s expression was empty. “I kept you alive, didn’t I?”

“Only so you could pound my head into a tombstone!”

“I was upset,” he said, avoiding my glare as he gazed at the parking lot we’d turned into. The sun shifted to him, making his embarrassment easy to read.

“I had just saved your life!” I said. “And you try to kill me for something I hadn’t done and wouldn’t do. No, I don’t think so. You’re spouting pretty words like ‘trust,’ but you don’t give it. I’m not going to help you get to the West Coast so you can run your
personal errand.
Especially if you are playing around with black magic.”

Trent’s eyes fixed on mine, his anger easy to read as he put one ankle on his knee, looking both cold and professional. “Ceri does black magic. You like her.”

I squinted at him. “Ceri has morals,” I said, and Quen winced. “I might not understand them half the time, but she’s got them. You…” I almost poked Trent in the chest, turning the motion into a quick point. “I don’t trust you.”

“You need me,” Trent said, playing it like it was his last card, desperate despite his attempts to hide his stress. “If I’m with you, the coven will be less inclined to take potshots at you. I’ll admit that my dealings with you to date have been less than aboveboard.” His jaw clenched. “I’m trying to change that. If not for me, you wouldn’t even have this chance to clear your name. I swear, Rachel, that my business on the West Coast has nothing to do with you.”

My foot braced against the carpet as the car gently halted. I looked up, seeing the back of my mom’s car.
Finally.

“Thanks. I have it from here,” Ivy said with her usual calm control. Opening her door, she slipped out. Jenks followed her, shrilling something about his kids. Quen, too, got out, and the trunk whined as it opened. Ivy had a set of keys to my mom’s Buick, and she opened the trunk, taking my garment bag as Quen handed it to her. Reaching for the door, I picked up my shoulder bag.

“You,” I said to Trent, gripping my bag tightly, “are anything but aboveboard with me. You ask me to trust you, but even now you’re not telling me everything. You must think I filled a prescription for stupid pills if you think I’m going to get you out to the West Coast in two days for ‘personal business.’ God, Trent, you told the coven I was a demon!” I could bear to say it now that Ivy, Jenks, and Quen weren’t in the car, but my face still burned.

I pulled on the handle, but nothing happened. Damn it, the thing had child locks.

“I need your help,” Trent said as I leaned over the front seat and unlocked the doors from the passenger panel. I flopped back in the seat and reached for my handle, shocked when Trent touched my arm.
“I need your help,”
he said again, letting go.
“Please.”

Oh crap. He’d said please. Gut clenching, I covered my arm where he’d touched me. His eyes were pinched, and I wondered if I was really seeing that whisper of desperate need in the back of his eyes, or if this was all a trick to get me to do what he wanted. “Why?” I asked, letting go of my arm. It felt like he was touching me still.

At the question, the tight press of his lips eased. Outside the car, Quen, Jenks, and Ivy were talking in a small huddle, but the drama was inside the car. Trent wasn’t faking. He needed me—and he wouldn’t tell me why.

Exhaling, I closed my eyes in a long blink. Crap, I was a sucker for helpless males, especially when they looked as good as Trent. A quiver rose through me, and I felt my resolve start to fall apart. He was powerful, he was suave, and he needed my help. He’d
asked
for it.

Damn it, damn it, damn it!
I suddenly realized that no matter how much I complained and argued, I was going to do exactly what Trent wanted. Again. And it irritated me that he was right. If the coven
was
going to take a shot at me en route, they would think twice if Trent was with me. I didn’t trust Trent, but I trusted the coven even less.

“I desperately need to get to the West Coast before Sunday night,” he said, and my eyes opened. “It’s a private matter. This is the most important thing in my life.
Please
help me.”

The faint scent from his boots of stables was winding its way into me now that the car wasn’t moving and the air was still. His clothes, the sun in his hair, everything combined to remind me of a summer afternoon when I was twelve and he had found me crying in the stables at summer camp, thinking I’d alienated my best friend. The thrill I’d felt, the power he’d given me when we took a fence together on his horse twined through me. Then a mere two months ago when we had pounded over his fields under the moonlight, believing the lie that the scream we had heard was a fox and not the man who had tried to kill me. Remembering it all, I quivered, feeling myself pulled to him. Shit. Maybe I was a demon.

I spoke to my knees. “If I get you to the West Coast by Sunday, you have to promise to help me at the coven meeting. I need them to reinstate my citizenship that you pushed them into revoking
and
guarantee that everyone stops gunning for me.” Heart pounding, I looked up. “If I can’t beat this, I’m permanently in the ever-after.” I was going to regret this. I knew it.

“I didn’t know that,” he said, looking like he was realigning his thinking.

He went to say something more, but Jenks had dropped down through the open roof to hover between us. “You ready to go, Rache?” he asked, looking far too bright and eager.

“Yes,” I said, tired as I gathered my bag to myself again. “We need to talk. I’m going to get Trent to the coast. I’m going to need your help, and don’t try to stop me.”

The pixy put his hands on his hips and grinned at me. “I know.”

My lips parted, and I stared at him.
I know? He’d said, I know?
“Who are you, and how did you kill my partner?” I said, and Jenks spilled a silver dust.

“Cookie farts is right,” he said. “Neither of you will make it out there without the other. And me, to help.”