For a Few Demons More (32 page)

“Sorry, sorry,” he slurred, almost falling. “Damn, that's good honey. Gotta take some of this to Matalina. Matalina would like it. Maybe help her sleep a little.”

Clearly concentrating, he had sparkles sifting from him thick and furious as he wobbled down to the table. I sighed apologetically, and Ceri smiled, snagging Rex as the cat padded past her, headed for Jenks. The cat settled herself in Ceri's arms, purring.

“Kitty, kitty, kitty,” Jenks slurred as he landed next to me and his honey. “Kitty wants some honey? S' good hu-honey?”

Yeah, my life was weird, but it had its moments.

Ceri leaned against the counter while she waited for her water to warm. “How have you been sleeping lately?” she asked as if she were my doctor. “Any more sneezing?”

I smiled, flattered she cared. “No. I didn't sleep much this morning, but that wasn't Minias's fault.” Her eyebrows rose, and I added, “Do you think Newt will show up again?”

She shook her head solemnly. “No. He will watch her carefully for a time.”

Fingers gripping my cold coffee, I thought that if Newt did show up, there wasn't much I could do about it, seeing as she had taken control of Ceri's triple circle with the ease of opening a letter. Remembering me taking Tom's circle. I went to ask her about it, then didn't. It had to be because I'd walked into its construction. That's all. I was sure I'd read somewhere that this was possible. And I didn't want to risk hearing her say it was unusual.

Singing the Rolling Stones' “Satisfaction,” Jenks sat cross-legged before his one-ounce jar, ladling honey into himself. “I will protect you, Rache,” he said, cutting his music short. “I'll give that demon a labiotomy, boobotomay, lob, lob, lobotomy if he shows up again!”

I made a wry face, watching him fall over, laughing merrily at himself, then sitting up with a loud “Ow.” Depressed, I pulled a ribbon of dough from the pastry. It was dry, but I ate it anyway.

Ceri's water started to steam. Managing to fill her teapot with Rex still in her arms, she brought her brew to sit on the table. Jenks staggered to the teapot, wings a blur for balance as he put his back to it and slid down with a heavy sigh.

“May I ask you something?” Ceri asked, her eyes on her empty cup.

I didn't have anything to do until about six, when I would start getting ready for my run, so after putting the top back on Jenks's honey, I pulled a foot up onto my chair and clasped an arm around a knee. “Sure. What?”

A faint hint of pink on her cheeks, she asked, “Did it hurt when Ivy bit you?”

I stiffened, and Jenks—his eyes closed—started mumbling, “No, no, no. Damn vampire made it feel good. Ah, crap, I'm tired.”

Swallowing, I met her eyes. “No. Why?”

Her lower lip turned in, and, biting it to look charming, Ceri grew solemn. “You should never be ashamed of loving someone.”

My blood pressure spiked. “I'm not,” I said defensively.

I was belligerent because I was afraid, but instead of responding with an equal amount of ire, she unexpectedly dropped her eyes. “I'm not finding fault with you,” she said softly. “I…envy you. And you need to know that.”

My fingers laced about my knee tightened.
Me? She envies
my
screwed-up life?

“You say you don't trust people,” Ceri rushed to explain, her vivid green eyes pleading for understanding. “But you do trust. You trust too much. You give everything even when you're afraid. And I envy that. I don't think I could ever love anyone without fear…now.”

Jenks hiccupped. “Aw, Ceri. It's okay. I love you.”

“Thank you, Jenks,” Ceri said, sitting primly in her chair. “But it would never work. Your body is not as big as your heart, and much as I'd like to think I am a soul and a mind, I have a body that needs to be satisfied as well.”

“The hell I'm not big enough!” he protested, lurching up. Only one wing was working, and it almost knocked him over. “You just ask Matalina.” The pixy went pale. “Never mind.”

Ceri poured out some tea, the amber liquid gurgling with the sound of contentment to stand at contrast with my unease. I slowly pulled my second knee up to my first. “Jenks, sit down,” I murmured when his staggering path toward the honey went off track and he angled for the table's edge. Glad for the distraction, my thoughts drifted to Trent and Ellasbeth's marriage. I was reaching for Jenks when he collapsed into the napkins and pulled one over his head.

Why hadn't I told Trent about Ceri? Or Ceri about Trent? I was a lousy judge of character, but even I could tell that the two seemed made for each other. Trent wasn't that bad. Though he had kept me caged as a mink. And put me in the fights. And tricked me into trying to take Piscary down by myself, though some of that stupidity was my fault.

I pulled another ribbon of pastry from a roll. Trent
had
treated me with respect the night I'd been his paid bodyguard, then kept me alive during the aftermath. He'd trusted me to take care of Lee on my own instead of killing him like he wanted to. Though if I had let Trent kill his friend, I wouldn't be playing bodyguard at his wedding…probably.

This is a mess,
I thought, washing the pastry down with a swallow of cold coffee. Ceri could decide what she wanted to do. And if Trent used her, I'd freaking kill him. And because I was gaining his trust, I could probably get close enough to do it. Which was a terrifying thought.

My heart beat faster, and I wiped my fingers on a napkin. “Ceri?” I said, and she looked up expectantly. Rex was still on her lap, and her fingers were gentling the animal. Taking a steadying breath, I said, “I've got someone I want you to meet.”

Her green eyes met mine, and a smile grew. “Who?”

I looked at Jenks, but he was out of it, sleeping under the napkins. “Uh, Trent.” My chest clenched, and I prayed I was doing the right thing. “See, he's an elf.”

Beaming, Ceri pushed Rex to the floor so she could lean across the table. The cat stalked out of the room, and the scent of wine and cinnamon filled me when Ceri gave me a quick hug. “I know,” she said as she leaned back and smiled at me. “Thank you, Rachel.”

“You knew?” I said, warm from embarrassment. God, she must think me an insensitive boob, but she settled herself in her chair and smiled as if I had just given her a pony. And a puppy. And then the freaking moon. “Kalamack, right?” I stammered. “We're talking about the same Trent? Why didn't you say anything?”

“You gave me back my soul,” she said, her hair drifting. “And with it the chance to redeem my sins. I look to you for guidance. Until you approved of him, it would have caused problems. You made no attempt to hide that you don't like him.”

She smiled shyly, and I stared. “You knew he was an elf?” I asked, still not believing it. “How? He doesn't know about you!”
At least I don't think he does.

Embarrassed, she pulled her feet up under her to sit cross-legged, looking both wise and innocent. “I saw him in a magazine last winter, but you didn't
like
him.” Her eyes flicked to mine and then back down. “I knew he had hurt you. Keasley told me he controls the Brimstone trade, and, like anything in excess, it's damaging. But, Rachel, how can you condemn all the good for a little bad?” she said, not a hint of pleading in her voice. “It's been illegal for thirty-two years out of five thousand and is a blatant way for humans to try to control Inderland.”

When you put it like that, Trent almost sounded respectable.
Bothered, I leaned back. “Did Keasley tell you he blackmails people using illegal genetic research? That his Make-A-Wish camps are underground genetic labs where he helps children in order to blackmail their parents?”

“Yes. He also told me that Trent's father cured your blood disease because your father was his friend. Don't you think you owe him a debt of gratitude?”

Whoa.
My breath caught, and I felt cold, not about the debt-of-gratitude thing, but that Keasley knew something I hadn't until last solstice. “Keasley told you that?”

Ceri watched me over her teacup. Her head went up and down, nodding sharply.

My worried gaze went to the blue-curtained window above the sink and the sunlit garden beyond. I was going to have to have a talk with Keasley. “Trent's father saved my life,” I admitted, bringing my attention back to her. “My dad and his were friends and work partners. And they both died because of it, so I think that rubs out any gratitude I might have.”
Stupid-ass elf thinks the world owes him everything.

But Ceri only sipped at her tea. “Maybe Trent put you in the rat fights because he blames your father for his father's death.”

I took a breath to protest, then slowly let it out.
Crap. Is Trent as insecure as the rest of us?
Smug, Ceri topped off her cup.

“Didn't you blame him for the loss of your father?” she asked, unnecessarily, I might add.

“Yes,” I said, realizing that her putting it in past tense worked. I didn't blame him anymore. Piscary had killed him—in a roundabout way. Somehow. Maybe. And if I was a good little witch and kept Trent's little elf ass above the green, green grass during his wedding, he just might tell me the details. Giving myself a mental shake, I filed that away to think about later. “Do you want to meet him?” I asked tiredly, sounding oh so thrilled at the prospect.

Her remaining ire vanished, and she smiled from across the table. “Yes, please.”

Yes, please. As if she needed my okay.
“You don't need my permission.”

My tone was almost sullen, but she dropped her eyes demurely. “I want it.” She set her cup on the saucer with a clink. “I was raised with the expectation that someone would guide me in matters of the heart: a guardian and confidante. My mother and father are deceased. My kin has been diluted by time. You rescued my body, freed my soul. You are my Sa'han.”

I straightened in my chair as if ice had washed over me. “Whoa! Wait up, Ceri. I'm not your guardian. You don't need one. You're your own person!”
Is she nuts?

Ceri set her feet on the floor and leaned forward, her eyes asking for
understanding. “Please, Rachel,” she begged. “I need this. Being Al's familiar tore everything from me. Give this piece of my life back to me? I need to resume ties to my old life before I can cut them and move into this one.”

I felt panicky. “I'm the last person you should seek advice from!” I stammered. “Look at me! I'm a mess!”

Smiling softly, Ceri dropped her eyes. “You're the most caring person I know, consistently risking your life for those who can't fight on their own. I see this in the people you love. Ivy, who is afraid she can't fight her battle alone anymore. Kisten, who struggles to stand in a system where he knows he's too weak. Jenks, who has the courage but not the strength to make a difference in a world that doesn't even see him.”

“Aw, thanks, Ceri,” the pixy mumbled from under his napkin.

“You often see the worst in people,” she said, “but you
always
see the best. Eventually.”

I gaped at her. Noting my unease, she hesitated. “Do you trust Trent?”

“No!” I blurted, then paused. But here I was broaching the subject of introducing Ceri to him. “Maybe in some things,” I amended. “I trust your judgment, though.”

Apparently it was the right thing to say, since Ceri smiled and put a cool hand upon mine. “You believe in him more than you realize, and though I may not know him, I trust your judgment, slow as it is in coming.” Her smile turned wicked. “And I'm not a silly girl to be blinded by a tidy posterior and expansive landholdings.”

Tidy posterior and expansive landholdings? Was that the Dark Ages equivalent of a tight ass and a lot of money? I chuckled, and her hand slipped away. “He's devious,” I warned. “I don't want you to be taken advantage of. I know he's going to want a sample for his labs.”

Ceri sipped her tea, her eyes focused on the sunlit garden. “He can have it. I want my species to recover as much as he does. I only wish I'd pre-dated the curse so the damage could be fixed completely instead of the bandage he has been slapping on our children.”

My fingers curled around the cool porcelain, but I didn't bring the cup to my lips. Trent owed me big-time. Ceri was giving him one hell of a better bandage. “He's manipulative,” I added, and she raised one eyebrow.

“And I'm not? Do you think I couldn't wind this man about my
finger if I wanted?”

I looked away, worried. Yeah, she could.

Ceri laughed. “I don't want a husband,” she said, green eyes twinkling. “I have to reinvent myself before I can share my life with anyone. Besides, he's getting married.”

I couldn't help my snort. “To a really nasty woman,” I muttered, starting to relax. I did
not
want Trent marrying Ceri. Even if Trent weren't such a dirtbag, I'd probably never see her again after she found his garden.

“I do believe,” Ceri said wryly, “you think this wedding is just punishment for past sins.”

Nodding, I glanced into the garden following a flash of motion. I stood up and went to the window to see that it was just Jenks's kids driving a hummingbird out of the yard. “You haven't met her,” I said, marveling at their teamwork. Ceri came to stand beside me, the rich scent of cinnamon drifting off her to tickle my nose. “She's a terrible woman,” I added softly.

Ceri's gaze followed mine into the garden. “So am I,” she said, more softly still.

Slumped in the back of the cab, I watched the passing buildings and imagined Ellasbeth's disdain for the clearly lower-class shops. Though the Hollows' cathedral was world-renowned, it was in a somewhat depressed area of town. Unease trickled through me, and I straightened, pulling my bag with its charms and splat gun onto my lap. I should have worn something else. I was going to look like a slob in jeans.

Jenks was on my shoulder, rapping my hoop earring in time with the calypso beat on the cabbie's radio. It was way past annoying, and though I knew it would likely only encourage him, I murmured, “Stop it.”

My neck went cold as he lifted off to land on my knee. “Relax, Rache,” he said, standing with his legs spread wide for balance and his wings a blur. “This is a cakewalk. How many people? Five, counting her parents? And Quen will be there, so it's not like you're alone. It's the wedding you're going to have to worry about.”

I took a deep breath, cracking the window to set my hair drifting. Looking down, I picked at the engineered hole in my knee. “Maybe I should have worn a dress suit.”

“It's a wedding rehearsal, for Tink's panties!” Jenks burst out. “Don't you watch the soaps? The richer you are, the more you dress down. Trent will probably be in a swimsuit.”

My eyebrows rose, picturing his trim physique wrapped in spandex.
Mmmm…

Wings stilling, Jenks adopted a bored expression. “You look great. Now, if you had worn that
little thang
you picked out…”

I shifted my knee, and he took to the air. We were only a block away, and early.

“Excuse me,” I said, leaning forward and into the cabbie's enthusiastic rendition of Madonna's “Material Girl.” I'd never heard it done calypso before. “Could you circle the block?”

He met my gaze through the rearview mirror, and, though clearly thinking I was crazy, lurched into the left-turn lane and waited for the light. I rolled the window down all the way, and Jenks landed on the sill. “Why don't you check it out?” I said softly.

“Already ahead of you, babe,” he said, reaching to see that his red bandanna was in place. “By the time you get around the block, I'll have met the locals and get the sitch.”

“Babe?” I said tartly, but he had darted out and was among the gargoyles. I rolled up the window before the street breeze could make a mess of the intricate French braid his kids had put my hair in. I didn't let them go at my hair very often. Their work was fantastic, but they chatted like fifteen-year-olds at a concert—all at once and a hundred decibels louder than necessary.

The light changed, and the driver made the turn carefully, probably thinking I was a tourist getting an eyeful. The sharp-cornered, tidily mortared stones rose up as high as perhaps an eight-story building, to look massive and permanent compared to the low shops that surrounded it. The cathedral sat tight to the curb on two sides, shading the street. There were shade-loving plants tucked into the moist shelter of the flying buttresses. Expansive stained-glass windows were everywhere, shadowed and dull from the outside.

I squinted as I took it all in, surprised at the lack of welcome that I found in my church. It was like visiting your great-aunt who disapproved of dogs, loud music, and cookies before dinner; she was still family, but you had to be on your best behavior and you never felt at ease.

After a quick scan of the side of the cathedral, I dug in my bag for my cell phone and tried to call Ivy again. Still no answer. Kisten wasn't answering either, and there had been no response when I called Piscary's earlier today. I'd be worried, but it wasn't unusual. They didn't open until five, and no one manned the phone when they were closed.

The back of the cathedral was a narrow walled garden and cracked parking lot. At the corner I set my phone to vibrate and tucked it into my front jeans pocket, where I would know if it rang. More parking was on the third side, empty but for a dusty late-model black Saturn in the shade and a basketball court, the hoop bolted onto a light pole at NBA regulation height. Across the way was another, much taller one. Mixing species on the court wasn't a good idea.

I braced myself when the cabbie pulled up, running his left wheel over the low curb of the one-way street. Shoving the car into park, he started messing with a clipboard. “You want me to wait?” he asked, glancing at the dingy storefront across the street.

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 grown up 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 other 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.”