For a Few Demons More

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.'