My gaze followed his, my stomach tightening as I realized the window wasn't clear anymore, but swirling with amber shades of gold. Damn. It had taken on the color of my aura. Clearly Jonathan hadn't expected this. My hand ran through my short hair. 'Ah…Oops.'
'What did you do to the window?' he exclaimed.
'Nothing.' I took a guilty step back. 'I just touched it, that's all. Sorry.'
Jonathan's hawklike features took on more ugliness. Steps long and jerky, he strode to me. 'You hack. Look what you did to the window! I will not allow Quen to entrust Mr. Kalamack's safety to you tonight.'
My face warmed, and finding an easy outlet for my embarrassment, I let it turn to anger. 'This wasn't my idea,' I snapped. 'And I said I was sorry about the window. You should be lucky I'm not suing for pain and suffering.'
Jonathan took a loud breath. 'If he comes to any harm because of you, I'll—'
Anger flashed through me, fed by the memory of three days in hell as he tormented me. 'Shut up,' I hissed. Ticked that he was taller than me, I stepped up onto a nearby coffee table. 'I'm not in a cage anymore,' I said, keeping enough presence of mind not to poke him in the chest with a finger. His face went startled, then cloric. 'The only thing between your head and my foot becoming real close and personal right now is my questionable professionalism. And if you ever threaten me again, I'll slam you halfway across the room before you can say number-two pencil. Got it, you tall freak of nature?'
Frustrated, he clenched his long thin hands tight.
'Go ahead, elf-boy,' I seethed, feeling the line energy I had spindled in my head earlier almost spill over to fill my body. 'Give me a reason.'
The sound of a closing door jerked our attentions to the second-story walkway. Jonathan visibly hid his anger and took a step back. Suddenly I felt really stupid on top of the table. Trent came to a startled halt above us in a dress shirt and pants, blinking. 'Rachel Morgan?' he said softly to Quen, standing beside and a little behind him. 'No. This isn't acceptable.'
Trying to scrape something from the situation, I threw one hand extravagantly into the air. Putting the other on my hip, I posed like a prop girl showing off a new car. 'Ta-da!' I said brightly, very conscious of my jeans, sweatshirt, and the new haircut I wasn't particularly fond of. 'Hi, Trent. I'm your baby-sitter tonight. Where do your folks hide the good booze?'
Trent's brow furrowed. 'I don't want her there. Put on your suit. We leave in an hour.'
'No, Sa'han.'
Trent had turned to walk away, but he jerked to a stop. 'Can I speak to you for a moment,' he said softly.
'Yes, Sa'han,' the smaller man murmured deferentially, not moving.
I hopped off the table. Did I know how to make a good first impression or what?
Trent frowned, his attention going from an unrepentant Quen to Jonathan's nervous stance. 'You're both in on this,' he said.
Jonathan laced his hands behind his back, subtly shifting himself another step from me. 'I trust Quen's judgment, Sa'han,' he said, his low voice rising clear in the empty room. 'I do not, however, trust Ms. Morgan's.'
Affronted, I huffed at him. 'Go suck on a dandelion, Jon.'
The man's lips twitched. I knew he hated the shortened name. Trent, too, wasn't happy. Glancing at Quen, he started down the stairway with a fast, even pace, half dressed in his dark designer suit and looking like a cover model for GQ. His wispy blond hair had been slicked back, and his shirt pulled slightly across his shoulders as he descended to the lower floor. The spring in his step and the glint in his eye told me more clearly than anything that elves were at their best the four hours around sunup and sundown. A deep green tie was draped casually across the back of his neck, not yet fastened into place. God help me, but he looked good, everything anything of the female persuasion could ever want: young, handsome, powerful, confident. I wasn't pleased that I liked the way he looked, but there it was.
Question high in his expression, Trent shook his sleeves down and buttoned the cuffs with a preoccupied quickness as he came down the stairs. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, making an intriguing sight. His head came up as he reached the lower landing, and he paused for a heartbeat when he saw the window.
'What happened to the ward?' he questioned.
'Ms. Morgan touched it.' Jonathan had the smug glee of a six-year-old tattling on his older sibling. 'I'd advise against Quen's plans. Morgan is unpredictable and dangerous.'
Quen shot him a dark look that Trent missed since the man was buttoning the top of his shirt. 'Lights full,' Trent said, and I squinted when huge lights in the ceiling flickered on one by one to make it bright as day. My stomach clenched as I looked at the window. Crap. I had broken it but good. Even my streaks of red were in it, and I didn't like that the three of them would know I had that much tragedy in my past. But at least Al's black was gone. Thank God.
Trent came closer, his smooth face unreadable. The clean smell of aftershave drifted from him as he stopped. 'It did this when you touched it?' he asked, his gaze going from my new haircut to the window.
'I, uh, yeah. Quen said it was a sheet of ever-after. I thought it was a modified protection circle.'
Quen ducked his head and stepped closer. 'It's not a protection circle, it's a ward. Your aura and the aura of the person who set it up must resonate to a similar frequency.'
His young features creased in worry, Trent squinted at it. An unshared thought passed through him, and his fingers twitched. I eyed the tell, knowing he thought it more than odd, and significant. It was a notion that solidified when Trent glanced at Quen and something of a security nature passed between them. Quen made a small shrug, and Trent took a slow breath.
'Have someone from maintenance look at it,' Trent said. Tugging at his collar, he added loudly, 'Lights revert.' I froze when the glare vanished and my eyes tried to adjust.
'I don't agree with this,' Trent said in the soothing dimness, and Jonathan smiled.
'Yes, Sa'han,' Quen said softly. 'But you will take Morgan or you will not be going.'
Well, well, well, I thought, as the rims of Trent's ears went red. I hadn't known Quen had the authority to tell Trent what to do. Clearly, though, it was a right seldom invoked, and never without consequences. Beside me, Jonathan looked positively ill.
'Quen…' Trent started.
The security officer took a firm stance, looking over Trent's shoulder at nothing with his hands laced behind his back. 'My vampire bite makes me unreliable, Sa'han,' he said, and I winced at his obvious pain of openly admitting it. 'I'm no longer sure of my effectiveness.'
'Damn it, Quen,' Trent exclaimed. 'Morgan has been bitten, too. What makes her any more sure than you?'
'Ms. Morgan has been living with a vampire for seven months and hasn't succumbed,' Quen said stiffly. 'She has developed a series of defensive strategies for combating a vamp trying to bespell her. I haven't, yet, and so I'm no longer reliable in questionable situations.'
His scarred face was tight with shame, and I wished Trent would shut up and just go with it. This confession was killing Quen.
'Sa'han,' he said evenly. 'Morgan can protect you. I cannot. Don't ask me to do this.'
I fidgeted, wishing I was somewhere else. Jonathan glared at me as if it were my fault. Trent's face was pained and worried, and Quen flinched when he put a comforting hand upon his shoulder. With a reluctant slowness, Trent let his hand fall away. 'Get her a corsage and see if there's something suitable for her to wear in the green suite. She looks about the same size.'
The flash of relief that crossed Quen was replaced by a deeper self-doubt that looked wrong and worrisome. Quen appeared broken, and I wondered what he was going to do if he felt he couldn't protect Trent anymore. 'Yes, Sa'han,' he murmured. 'Thank you.'
Trent's gaze fell on me. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, and I felt cold and uneasy. The feeling strengthened when Trent nodded once to Quen and said, 'Do you have a moment?'
'Of course, Sa'han.'
The two of them headed into one of the unseen downstairs rooms to leave me with Jonathan. The unhappy man gave me a look rife with disgust. 'Leave your dress here,' he said. 'Follow me.'
