Pale Demon

Trent flashed me a look. Picking up his smaller bag, he headed for his room. “Excuse me,” he said, and I would have been hurt but for the reminder that though I could relax for a while, his quest was just starting. He’d given himself three seconds to relax. That was it. Three.

From the bathroom, Pierce said, “You could wash a cow in here.”

“Look, Rache,” Jenks said from the windows behind me. “You can see that bridge they’re always yammering about. Huh, it’s not that big. The one Nick drove off is way bigger. Hey! Look! There’s an island.”

Oh, great. The fog had lifted. “Alcatraz?” I said, turning to see, but he’d darted to my bag, landing on it with his hands on his hips, wings moving so fast I couldn’t see them. My shoulder hurt from yesterday, and I gingerly felt it. I had a pain amulet in my luggage, but it wouldn’t work here. Maybe they had aspirin in the lobby.

“I gotta get changed,” Jenks said as he slipped into the pocket that had been designated as his. “Trent wanted to leave, like, five minutes ago.”

Pierce came out of the bathroom, immediately going into the kitchen and opening the cupboards to see what there was. In a burst of silver dust, Jenks popped from my bag. “You going to be okay here with Mr. Adventure?”

My gaze slid to Pierce, then back to Jenks. “Go have fun. Don’t let him kill you, ’kay?”

Jenks nodded, then tossed his head to get his long, curly hair out of his eyes. In a flash of dust, he had darted into Trent’s bedroom with a wad of clothes. I hadn’t seen him this excited about a run since Matalina died, and it was depressing in a happy way.

I wasn’t too keen on Jenks leaving. Every time he did, I got into trouble. That everyone would think Trent was still in the room might buy me some time—as long as I didn’t leave, either. But there were worse places to be a prisoner. The hair on the back of my neck prickled, and I stood, my gaze drawn to the window and the newly exposed bay.

Yep, there it was. I stood for a moment, twenty feet back from the window, and just looked at the dark blob that was Alcatraz.

The small clink of Pierce at the wet bar caught my attention, and I moseyed over to the kitchen. A little sandwich of overpriced crackers and cheese would wake up my appetite, and I made four of them. “Oh, this is ’ood,” I said around my full mouth, salivating as the salt and bite of the cheese hit the sides. “Pierce, you’ve got to try the white cheese. It’s sharp.”

Pierce gave me a noncommittal mmm, and I headed for Trent’s room with my napkin of goodies. I didn’t know where Trent wanted to be dropped. If I left it up to Al, he might leave them on top of the needle—the outside of the needle.

Trent’s door wasn’t shut, and I tapped on it with my knuckle. “Trent?”

I heard a buzz of pixy wings, and then Trent’s distant “Come in.”

It had come from somewhere deeper in the room, and after brushing the cracker crumbs off, I pushed open the door. “Hey, Trent. Where do you…Wow, this is nice.”

If the living room and kitchen were well appointed, the bedroom was opulent, with more pillows on the bed than we had in the entire church. Wallpaper and metal appliqués disguised the retrofit for the earthquakes, and I’d be willing to bet the canopy over the bed was sturdy enough to handle more than dust. I ate another cracker sandwich, wondering where Trent was until I heard him talking to Jenks from a room off this one.

“Trent?” I called, not wanting to walk in on him in his skivvies.

“In here.”

Having that as an invitation, I crossed the room, feeling the deeper carpet and noticing the lack of even a hint of an echo. It felt nice in here. The first room I peeked into was an office, but the second was clearly a bathroom. “You decent?” I asked, hesitating at the door.

“Depends on who you ask.”

Rolling my eyes, I stepped over the threshold, my toes edging the tile work. Trent didn’t look up from where he was standing over a sink, leaning toward the mirror to apply something to his face. He’d changed out of his jeans, and I hesitated, drinking him in with my eyes. Damn.

He was in a skintight black two-piece of spandex and cotton. Not only that, but he was wearing it extremely well, and I stood for a moment and just appreciated what he usually hid behind his suit and tie, all lean muscle and long lines. His fair hair was slicked back, and the slightly darker color and flat look changed his entire appearance, making him look less professional boardroom and more professional bad boy. A utility belt rested on the counter, holding what were probably thief tools.

Hovering at his eye level and rubbing a dark smear under his eyes was Jenks. The two of them looked remarkably alike—once you dismissed the wings and size difference. Seeing him unaware, I could appreciate how slim Trent was, athletic, with just enough muscle in all the right places. A runner’s body. I tried to keep my eyes where they belonged—then gave up, letting my eyes linger where they would—then warmed when my eyes rose to find Trent watching me in amusement in the mirror.

His smile shifted as he recognized my appreciation, the slight movement of his body an invitation to look more. God, he was teasing me, and flushing, I took my eyes off him. Ellasbeth, your name is fool.

“What is that you’re putting on your face?” I asked to try to move the nonverbal communication away from how good Trent looked and how smug he was that I’d noticed. It smelled like cut grass in here—clean, refreshing, and carrying the bite of chlorophyll. I didn’t think it was the toilet-bowl cleaner.

Pulling back from the mirror, Trent capped a bottle and jauntily tossed it to me. I had to move fast, almost dropping my last two cracker sandwiches as I snagged it one-handed. My shoulder gave a twinge as I caught it. “It covers my scent,” he said, and I set my napkin down so I could open it. I gave the nondescript white stuff a good sniff to verify that this was where the cut-grass smell was coming from. My shoulders eased as the scent slipped into me, reminding me of summer. All this, and he smells good, too.

“You don’t stink,” I said as I dabbed a bit of it on the back of my hand, and from nowhere, the question flitted through me of what he had wanted to be when he grew up.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” His voice was light, teasing, and I stayed where I was as he reached for the jeans he’d had on earlier, his motions becoming tauntingly slow as he put one foot in, then the other. “I suppose I should have said it will mask any smell I’ll pick up in the ever-after,” he added, turning to give me a sideways view as he zipped up his pants.

The familiar sound hit me, and I jerked my gaze away, pretending to be looking at the flat-screen TV they had in here. Okay, so he’d been wearing a lot less just a moment ago, and I’d seen him just about naked in the shower, but something about seeing a guy hike up a pair of jeans followed by that distinctive sound of a zipper was so…very intimate. And the worst part? It was obvious he knew he was pushing my buttons.

Knowing it as well, Jenks sighed at me and continued arranging his hair. His long blond ringlets were oiled back just like Trent’s, and I wondered if there was some kind of hero-worship thing going on. Frowning, I set the bottle down. Trent was putting on his casual shirt over his skintight top, and I didn’t dare look at him as he got dressed, but his reflection caught my eye as he stretched, showing every lanky inch of himself. Damn it, seeing him getting dressed was almost more tantalizing than seeing him getting undressed might be.

“You look great,” I said, unable to stop myself. “You should wear thief more often.”

“How do you know I don’t?” Trent teased as he sat on a bench that was in here and began to put his shoes on. No laces. Slip on, slip off. Easy. The casual clothes over a black outfit, the scent-disguising salve, shoes too soft for any real use…it added up to a break-and-take. Sure, Trent had the look and the talk, but could he walk the walk? “Ah, Trent…,” I started, arms crossed as I leaned into the wall.

Trent looked up from his shoes. “Don’t worry. I’ve practiced this.”

“Nothing in that belt pack is lethal, right?” I persisted, wanting to go look. “Not that I care,” I said when he eyed me. “But if you’re caught, lethal usually gets you put in jail.”

Smiling faintly, he stood up and looked at himself. “And if it looks like a harmless prank, they let you go. I got that part. Thanks.” He buttoned another button to hide the black shirt underneath. “If they catch me, I’ll be dead, not in jail.”

I pushed away from the door frame. “Whoa! Hold on a sec. I told Quen I’d watch you. Just what are the risks here?”

Jenks clattered his wings, but I couldn’t tell by his worried expression if this was something he’d known about before or not.