For a Few Demons More th-5

by Ким Харрисон

  My face went cold, and I felt my stomach drop. Oh, shit.

  I stood upright when Quen shifted to stand between us—maneuvering.

  "Stop!" I said, my hand outstretched, and he did. Heart pounding, I held him off with my fingers splayed, trying to figure it out. Trent was the one killing the Weres?

  "You killed Brett?" I said, seeing him flush. "It was you!" I exclaimed, dropping my hand and flushing in anger. Damn it, what had I almost done? What in hell was wrong with me? This couldn't be happening!

  "I didn't kill him. He killed himself," Trent said, his jaw clenched. "Before he could tell me you had it," he finished, hands behind his back.

  Quen was balanced with his weight on his toes, his arms loose at his side. As if in a dream, I said to him, "You killed Brett. And Mr. Ray's secretary. And Mrs. Sarong's aide."

  Quen's face darkened with guilt, and his muscles tensed.

  "You sons of bitches," I whispered, not wanting to believe it, cursing myself for wanting Trent to be better than he was, wanting both of them to be better than murderers and assassins. "I thought you had more honor than this, Quen."

  The older elf's jaw clenched.

  "We didn't kill them," Trent said, defending himself, and I snorted with derision. "They committed suicide," he insisted, the devil in his perfect suit and perfect hair. "Every last one of them. None of them had to die. They could have told me."

  As if it made a difference. "They didn't know I had it!"

  Trent took a step forward, finger pointing, and Quen pulled him back. "This is a war, Rachel," the younger man said tightly, shaking off Quen's grip. "There will be casualties."

  I stared at him in disbelief. "This is not a war. This is you angling for more power. God, Trent, how much more do you need! Are you so insecure that you have to be king of the freaking world to feel safe?"

  I thought of my church and my friends, and I lifted my chin. Yeah, they had killed people, but Ivy was trying to get out, and Jenks had to in order to ensure his and his children's survival. And seeing as I had pretty much sacrificed Lee in order to survive, I couldn't claim I was pristine and pure either. But I'd never killed for money or power—and neither had my friends.

  My words hit Trent, and he reddened in shame or guilt. "How much do you want for it?" he said softly.

  Shocked, I gaped at him. "You want… to buy it?" I stammered.

  Trent licked his lips. "I'm a businessman."

  "And a murderer by hobby?" I accused. "Or do you think the tenuous state of your species gives you the right to murder?"

  Face showing his guilt and anger, Trent tugged his coat straight. If he had brought out a checkbook, I would have screamed. "Anything, Rachel. Enough to make you safe. You, your mother, Jenks, even Ivy. Enough to have anything you want."

  It sounded so easy. But I didn't want to deal with him anymore. Piscary killed people, but he didn't have the concept of pity or remorse. It would be like telling a shark he was a bad fish and to stop eating people. But Trent? He knew he was doing wrong, and he did it anyway.

  Trent never dropped my eyes, waiting. I hated him. I hated him to the bottom of my soul. He was attractive and powerful, and I had almost let that cloud my sense of right and wrong. So he could kill me. So what? Did that make it right to cut deals with him to keep myself safe? Why in hell should I trust him to honor to his word? It was like making a deal with a demon or using a demon curse. Both were the easy way out, the lazy way.

  I wasn't going to use demon curses. I wasn't going to make deals with demons. I wasn't going to trust Trent to honor his word. He was a casual murderer who put his species above all others. Screw him.

  Quen knew what I was thinking, and I saw him tense. Trent, though, wasn't so perceptive. He was a business man, not a warrior. A slimy little businessman. "I'll give you a quarter million for it," Trent said, disgusting me.

  My face twisted. "You don't get it, pixy dust," I said. "It would start a war if it got out. I'm giving it to Piscary so he can put it back into hiding."

  "He'll kill you once he has it," Trent said quickly, his beautiful voice thick with truth. "Don't be a fool this time. Give it to me. I'll keep you safe. I'm not going to start a war. Just bringing everything into balance."

  "Balance?" I stepped forward, stopping when Quen mirrored me.

  "Maybe the rest of Inderland likes how things are balanced right now. Maybe it's time for the elves to die out. If they're all like you and Ellasbeth, scrabbling for money and power, maybe you've gone so far from your roots, so far from grace and moral standing, that you're already dead as a species. Dead and gone and good riddance," I mocked while Trent reddened. "If you're the model of what you're going to build your species with, then we don't want you back."

  "We were not the ones who abandoned the ever-after to the demons!" Trent shouted, anger pouring from him honest and raw, the source of his drive flowing from him in a wave of frustration. "You left! You left us to fight alone! We made sacrifices while you turned tail and ran! If I'm ruthless, it's because you made me that way!"

  Son of a bitch… "You can't blame me for something my ancestors did!"

  Trent grimaced. "Ten percent of my portfolio," he said, seething.

  Sick bastard. "It's not for sale. Get out."

  "Fifteen percent. That's a third of a billion."

  "Get the hell out of my church!"

  Trent gathered himself as if to speak, then looked at his watch. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he said, his steps loud as he quickly retreated to the piano. Pocketing his gift for Ceri, he asked, "Is it on the premises?"— pretending it was just an idle question.

  Damn. I went wire-tight. "Jenks!" I shouted, finding my balance. "Jhan, get your dad!" But he was watching for blue jays, like I'd told him to. Double damn.

  Quen was waiting for direction, and sweat broke out over me. Trent brought his head up with what I hoped was regret in his eyes. "Quen," he said softly, "secure Ms. Morgan. We'll talk to Ceri at a later date. Apparently she's not coming today. Do you have a memory potion?"

  Oh, God.

  "In the car, Sa'han."

  It was not a happy voice, and I glanced at Quen, knowing what was going to happen.

  "Good." Trent looked as unyielding as iron. "No memories means no loose ends. We'll leave her sleeping, and she'll wake when someone picks her up for her trip to the morgue."

  "Son of a bitch," I whispered, then looked to the empty rafters. Damn it, why had I told them to leave? "Jenks!" I shouted, but there was no clatter of wings. Quen pulled a splat gun from the small of his back, and I swore under my breath.

  "What is it?" I asked, thinking of mine in the bucket by the back door. If I moved, he'd shoot.

  "A little different being on the other end of the weapon, isn't it?" Trent mocked, and it was all I could do to keep from screaming at him.

  "Trent…" I backed up a step with my hands raised in placation.

  Quen handed the gun to Trent. "You want her like that, you shoot her yourself," he said.

  Trent hefted the gun, taking sight at me down its length. "I can do that," he said, then pulled the trigger.

  "Hey!" I yelped when it hit me, stinging and painful. Damn it, twice in one day. But I didn't collapse. It wasn't a sleepy-time charm. Trent didn't seem surprised when I didn't fall but simply stumbled back, my impulse to flee coming far too late.

  Trent handed the weapon back to Quen. "Honor is expensive, Quen. I don't pay you enough." Quen was not happy, and I stared at them, scared for what might happen next.

  Voice cold, Trent enunciated clearly, "Rachel. Tell me where the focus is."

  "Go to hell."

  Trent's green eyes went wide. Quen looked me up and down in shock, then relaxed, almost laughing. "She's covered in salt water," he said. "She said she pushed Ceri down. The woman obviously spelled her, and Rachel's still wet from breaking the charm."

  That wasn't quite what had happened, but I wasn't going to enlighten him. Standing in my bare feet, I started to get
mad. From Trent's question I was forming the distinct impression that Trent had stocked his splat gun with subjugation charms. Illegal. Gray, seeing as you didn't need to kill anything to make it, but very, very illegal.

  Trent made a puff of noise and tugged his sleeves down. "Fine. Subdue her your way. Try not to leave any bruises. No traces mean no reason to dig for missing memories."

  Okay, not out of this yet… Pulse fast, I fell into a fighting stance, searching for the sound of pixy wings. Quen came forward, his earlier indecision apparently having stemmed from using magic, not force, to assert his right to dominate. Seemed if I couldn't best him physically, I deserved to be used and discarded.

  "Quen, I don't want to have to do this," I warned, remembering our last fight. He would have creamed me if my roommates hadn't interfered. "Get out or I'll-"

  "You'll what?" Trent said, standing sideways by the piano with an infuriating smile on him. "Turn us into butterflies? You don't do black magic."

  Hands made into fists, I steadied myself.

  "She doesn't," came Ceri's voice from behind me in the hall, and Trent's gaze shot over my shoulder. "But I do."

  Twenty-seven

  "Damn it," Trent swore softly, his eyes on Ceri as Quen halted.

  The air seemed to crackle, but then I realized it was Jenks's wings. The pixy hovered beside me, waiting for direction. I could feel Ceri behind me, but I couldn't take my eyes off Quen, standing with his lips parted and his arms slack at his sides in his black uniform.

  Slowly I straightened from my crouch. Ceri came forward, smelling of soap, in a fresh dress of purple and gold that hid her bare feet when she stopped beside me. Her crucifix rested easy against her, and her confidence was absolute. As was her anger.

  "Uh, Ceri," I said, not knowing what else to do, "that man in the suit is Trenton Aloysius Kalamack, drug lord, murderer, and Fortune 30 member. That's Quen before him, his security officer. Trent, Quen, this is Ceridwen Merriam Dulciate, originally from the Dark Ages of Europe." Let's get this party started!

  Trent's face was white. "How long were you listening… ?"

  Ceri's narrow chin lifted. "Long enough."

  I blanched when I realized that the humming noise was coming from Ceri and the black haze edging her fingers with their little butterfly bandages was magic waiting for direction. Oh, crap.

  "Uh, Rachel…" Jenks said, his voice high.

  A shiver took me at her proud anger. "Let's hang back, Jenks. This might get nasty."

  The warning slant to Trent's eyebrows told me he wanted to pretend nothing had happened so he could make Ceri's acquaintance without the ugly reality of his life intruding. Ri-i-i-i-ight…

  Multicolored sun coming in through the stained-glass windows added a surreal look to the standoff. Quen was by the piano, and when the older elf stepped to join Trent, Ceri calmly turned her gaze to him. Quen stopped. Seeing his acquiescence, the black surrounding her hands vanished.

  My shoulders eased when I felt her drop the ley line. I knew she probably had enough ever-after spindled in her head to blow the roof off the church, but Trent and Quen didn't.

  "Now that I've found you, I see that Rachel is right," Ceri said as she gracefully took the middle of the room, her dress moving gently. "You're a demon."

  "I beg your pardon?" Trent's beautiful voice held more ire than confusion.

  I didn't have a clue how this was going to end, but I was glad to be out of the line of fire. Ceri noticed Quen moving to mirror my position, and she stiffened, pale hair shifting as she cocked her head regally. "Did Rachel tell you I was a demon's familiar before she rescued me?" she said to Trent. Seeing his understanding, she continued, "I know demons very well. And that's what they do. They offer you something that looks out of your reach in exchange for something they want that is out of theirs. They're called businessmen here. You're very good."

  His face reddened. "This is not how I wanted to make your acquaintance."

  "I'll bet," Ceri said. The modern phrase and the sarcasm with which she said it were shocking.

  Proud and collected in his tailored suit, Trent fingered his gift and came closer, hiding his tension under a practiced calm learned in the boardroom. I couldn't help but be impressed with his determination to try to salvage something from this.

  "I brought you a gift," he said, extending the wrapped box. "A show of thanks for your cellular sample."

  Jenks landed on my shoulder. "The man has more balls than a prize bull," he muttered, and the rims of Ceri's ears colored. She didn't take it, and Trent finally set it atop the piano.

  Ignoring him, Ceri turned to Quen. "You hesitated to attack Rachel at first. Why?"

  Quen blinked, clearly not expecting this. "Rachel's strongest defensive abilities are in her physical skills, not her magic," he said, his gravelly voice blending beautifully with Ceri's smooth, perfect tones. "I'm proficient with both, and it wouldn't be honorable to defeat her using something she can't defend against when I can assert my will where she has a chance to meet me equally."

  From my shoulder came Jenks's loud comment, "Piss on my daisies, I knew there was something I liked about the little cookie maker."

  "That's important to you?" Ceri questioned regally, ignoring Jenks's comment.

  Quen dropped his head, but his eyes were unrepentant from beneath his dark bangs. Trent shifted his feet. I knew it was a ploy to bring her attention to him, but Ceri smiled at Quen. "There is a spark of us left," she said, then took a breath as if readying herself for a difficult task.

  Outside, pixies plastered themselves against the glass, and I felt a stab of nervousness when Ceri returned her focus to Trent. Seeing them together, I was struck by how much they looked alike. Their hair was that same fine, almost-transparent blond, their features both had the same delicate yet firm cast. Slim without losing strength. Strength without sacrificing beauty.

  "I've been watching you for some time," Ceri said softly. "You're very confusing. Very confused. You have forgotten nothing, but you don't know how to use it."

  Trent's expression almost hid his anger. Almost. "Mai Sa'han—"

  Ceri's breath hissed, and she dropped back a step, dress furling to show her bare feet. "Don't," she said, complexion a delicate rose. "Not from you."

  Quen twitched when she reached for her waistband, and she froze him with a look as she pulled a swab in a torn cellophane package from it. I recognized it as one of mine. "I came to give you this," she said, handing it to Trent. "But since I have your attention…"

  Jenks's wings made spurts of cool wind on my neck, and the tension escalated. Ceri tapped a line, and her hair shifted in a breeze that touched only her. I thought I sensed a metallic taste on my tongue. My face cold, I looked over the sanctuary as if expecting a demon to melt into existence, but then my gaze fell upon Ceri, and I blanched.

  "Holy crap…"Jenks breathed, his wings going absolutely motionless.

  Ceri had gone deathly still, gathering intent and power about her as if supplementing her damaged aura. Her undeniable beauty was like that of a fairy, savage and pale, face hollow, hard and unyielding. Quen didn't move as she closed in on Trent, near enough that her hair mingled with his. Near enough that she could pull his aura into her as she breathed.

  "I am black," she said, and a shudder rippled through me. "I am foul with a thousand years of demon curses. Don't cross me or I will bring you and your house down. Rachel is the only clean thing I have, and you won't sully her to further your high ideas. Understand?"

  A hard expression replaced Trent's shock, reminding me of who he was and what he was capable of. "You're not who I though you would be," he said, and Ceri let a cruel smile curve the corners of her mouth.

  "I'm your worst nightmare come to walk this side of the lines. I'm an elf, Trent, something you've forgotten how to be. You're scared of black magic. I can see fear shimmering under your aura like sweat. I live and breathe black magic. I'm so tainted with it that I will use it without thought, without guilt,
and without hesitation."

  She stepped forward into his space, and Trent moved back. "Leave Rachel alone," she said, the words soft as rain and as commanding as a god's.

  Ceri reached to touch him, and in a blinding fast motion, Quen bolted forward.

  I took a breath to shout a warning, but Ceri spun, a hurling black ball of ever-after. "Finire!"

  "Ceri!" I exclaimed, then cowered when it hit the circle Quen flung up and exploded into black sparkles.

  Clearly ticked, Ceri strode to Quen, Latin spilling from her like black smoke. "Quis custodiot ipsos custodies?" she said wrathfully, then plunged a tiny white fist into his circle.

  Quen stared in shock as his circle fell.

  "Finire," Ceri said tightly, reaching for him, and when Quen grasped her wrist to do something, he froze, then dropped to the hardwood floor, out cold.

  "Holy crap!" Jenks chirped from the rafters, and Ceri looked away from Quen. Anger made her pale beauty terrible.

  "Ceri," I coaxed, then stopped when she rounded on me.

  "Shut up!" she said, long hair flying. "I'm angry at you, too. No one has ever shoved me before in my entire life."

  Mouth open, I looked at Trent. The shocked billionaire was backing to the door. "Excuse me," he said. "This was a mistake. If you will release Quen, I'll leave."

  Ceri spun to him. "My apologies for keeping you from your next appointment. You're a very busy man," she said caustically, then turned her attention to Quen, slumped on the floor. "Is he a good person?" she asked abruptly.

  Trent paused, and the metallic stench tickling my nose grew stronger. "Yes."

  "You should listen to him more often," she said, crouching before him, her dress pooled like water turned to silk. "That's why we have others around us."

  Jenks dropped down to me, and I wondered if Ceri thought of me like that. Sort of a servant with whom to talk things over.

  Trent's eyes pinched in worry as Ceri muttered Latin, and a black shimmer of ever-after coated Quen. He snorted, the black splintering away to silver threads when his eyes opened. Scrambling up, he stood while Ceri found her feet with more grace. It was obvious by his chagrined expression that he was surprised and humbled. I couldn't help but feel bad for the man. Ceri was a handful, even when she wasn't pushing us around.