A Perfect Blood

except for some of the books. They’re across the hall.”

“Along with the desks?” I asked, and his eyebrows went up. “There aren’t any here,” I added, and he nodded in understanding.

Jenks finished his circuit and landed on the sink’s spigot. “You sure you don’t have a mole? It’s the easiest answer.”

Quen shifted his feet, a move that wasn’t missed by Trent. “That’s always a possibility,” Quen said, sounding insulted.

“We’re not actively pursuing that avenue of entry,” Trent added.

I frowned and turned away. Though easy, a mole seemed unlikely to me, too. Trent paid everyone far too much to be easily bribed, but ignoring any prospect seemed risky. “I saw one of these over there, too,” I said, pointing at a titrator, and I shivered. It was scary knowing that HAPA had been an elevator ride away from the girls. Eloy had been here, taken what he’d wanted, and left. Illegal machines used for illegal genetic research.

I shifted down the counter, moving slowly so my motions wouldn’t break my amulet-to-skin contact. Everything here had probably been used to save me from the Rosewood syndrome. It was weird that I’d once tried so diligently to bring Trent down. He hadn’t changed. I had.

Had I sold out? I wondered. Or just gotten smarter? My dad had worked with Trent’s dad. But my dad was not the honest, upright man that I’d thought he was. Sighing, I ran a hand along a mundane dishwasher. Maybe I was wrong . . .

“Who am I dealing with?” Trent asked, the cold tone in his voice pulling my head up.

“Besides HAPA?” Jenks asked.

I hesitated, silent but not ignoring him while feeling my way down the counter as if trying to sense the people who had been here before me. Quen was wincing at my hands-on approach, but Trent wanted me to touch or he wouldn’t have let me in. I really needed to start cutting the guy some slack. He understood how I worked, and he let me get the job done.

“Two human women,” I said as I lifted the door to the freezer chest and a wave of stale, room-temp air rose up. “Chris is the driving force behind the science. She can tap a line, so she’s got some elf in her somewhere. I think HAPA is going to ignore that until they don’t have to, and then she’s dead. In the meantime, she runs the science behind the plan,” I said idly as I closed the fridge. “She’s not much of a team player, more of a team yeller. Thinks she’s in charge, but she’s not. Did they take anything from the fridge?”

Trent looked inquiringly at Quen, and the man muttered, “Several cases of tissue-growth media.”

Nodding, I leaned heavily on the counter as I retraced my steps, not knowing why. My leg hurt, and Jenks watched, his dust becoming a concerned blue. “Chris has no problem treating people as a means to an end,” I said, jaw clenched as the memory of Gerald forcing Winona’s clothes off swam up, unwanted. “Really likes her black magic. If she was a witch, curiosity would have her dead by now. If she doesn’t smarten up, I give her a month, but I think she’s just clever enough to survive. They used a curse to hide one of their victims, and I’d be willing to bet she owes someone a favor.”

Once again at the far end of the counter, I opened a drawer to see a plethora of plastic-wrapped instruments. I frowned, not knowing what they were for, then shut the drawer, looking up in exasperation at the large fluorescent lights. “Then there’s Jennifer,” I said, and Jenks laughed.

“Jennifer?” he scoffed, and I curled my fingers under so he wouldn’t see them shaking. “HAPA takes in Jennifers?”

“Don’t stereotype, Jenks. HAPA is an equal-opportunity hate group,” I said. “She’s the pretty face they use to catch their takes and procure their lab supplies. I think she’s a nurse when she’s not mutilating witches. She keeps the data books.” Frowning, I rubbed my fingers over the counter, wondering if I could feel a faint tingle of magic in my memory. “Jennifer doesn’t like the magic, but she’s not as military as Eloy.”

My pulse quickened, and I looked at the floor and an unusual pair of scuff marks—as if from a ladder. Again I looked at the light fixture. By the door, Quen shifted his weight, probably concerned that he’d missed something.

“Then there’s Gerald,” I said, shuffling to the counter against the wall to look at the scratches from a different angle. “Up until I tried to take his head off with a pipe, he didn’t seem to be a bad egg—for a hypocritical, bigoted card-carrying HAPA member with a squirrel rifle under his bed. He’s the muscle and security. Guns and cameras. Good old boy with a degree.”

My leg hurt, and I straightened. “Last is Eloy. He’s not there much, either working as a distant sentry or just making himself scarce. He’s old-school HAPA. Military background. Planner. Finds and stocks their next location. He doesn’t like magic. At all. I think he was the one who killed the vampires when they took me.” I dropped my head and rubbed my brow, thinking I might need a new pain amulet. Everything was hurting. “He’s in charge, but is letting Chris have enough latitude that she thinks she’s running it, and there is clearly some question in her mind. He has the purse strings, but the real question is where HAPA is getting their funds.”

“I agree,” Trent said slowly, and I noticed that he hadn’t moved from where he’d first come in. “What are the chances that HAPA has teamed up with another group whose aim is simply a return to old science?”

I quit rubbing my forehead. “I thought of that, too. Chris was adamant that she’s HAPA.”

Looking from Trent’s concerned expression, my wandering eyes landed on the ceiling again. Jenks cleared his throat, his hands on his hips as he waited for me to tell him what was going on in my head. “Jenks, tell me what you think of that light,” I finally said, and his wings hummed into invisibility as he rose. Quen was frowning, but something had been right under the light and in the traffic flow, and I was guessing it had been a ladder.

Sure enough, the pixy whistled. “It’s clean!” he exclaimed, still out of sight between the ceiling and the top of the fixture. “Really clean. Someone wiped it. No dust at all.”

Trent turned to Quen, and the man had the decency to look embarrassed. “I’ll find a ladder,” Quen said, looking awkward as he shifted past Trent to get to the door.

Jenks dropped from the ceiling, his dust a bright gold. “I’ll come with you,” he said, and after Trent’s initial cringe, he nodded his agreement. Not that Trent could stop Jenks from doing whatever the hell he wanted without downing him with sticky silk.

Quen almost slunk out the door, clearly upset that we’d found something he’d missed, but I wasn’t going to lie to save face for him. Jenks had put himself on the chagrined elf’s shoulder, and just as the door shut, I heard him say, “Hey, don’t sweat it. I didn’t think to look up there, either. She’s good like that.”

The heavy door shut behind them, and the silence took hold. Trent’s suit made a soft sound as he levered himself up onto a counter, looking at odds with the lab setting, more like the man I remembered from our cross- country trip, even if he was wearing dress shoes instead of stable boots.

Remembering the conversation in the elevator, I ran my hand across the top of the counter, leaning against it, the space of the room between us. My chair was across the hall, and I was too macho to ask him to get it for me. Propping my crutch up beside me, I covered my middle and met his eyes, refusing to let the silence get to me. We were alone again, and this time, I swore I wasn’t going to yell at him.

“Why did you come out to find me?” I asked, and he rubbed his nose, ducking his head to avoid my gaze as he slowly slid from the counter.

“I was afraid you might try taking your charmed silver off without breaking the spell first,” he said, his gaze going to it. “And kill yourself in the process.” His eyes met mine. “I rescued you. Mmm. I’ve never done that before.”

“You didn’t rescue me,” I said. “Winona and I got out on our own! She even stomped on the bad guy!”

“You got shot,” he said, his voice suddenly bland as he looked at the ceiling. “You had no phone, no magic, no car. Your only mode of transportation was a scared woman who looked like a demon.” His attention fell on me, and I felt stupid. “Still mad at me, I see . . .”

Damn it, I was doing it again. Frustrated, I forced myself to exhale slowly. “You’re right,” I said, swallowing hard. “You rescued me. Us. Thank you.” My eyes narrowed. “You’re not my Sa’han, though.”

He blinked, arms falling from his middle as he stood upright. “Ah, you heard that?” he said, face crimson.

I’d never seen Trent blush, and I hesitated in my anger. “Oh yeah.”

He winced. “See, there’s more than one meaning to that honorific. It’s not always a term of respect from a subordinate to a superior.”

I nodded. “Uh-huh. You’re not my Mal Sa’han, either.” I’d heard him try to call Ceri that, and she wouldn’t let