For a Few Demons More

moved him back to a person and destroyed it. It matched one they got from Trent from when you got him hauled in last year.'

'Hot damn!' I whispered, too excited to be disgusted that I had more than Trent's admission that he had abducted, tortured, and killed another person in the name of… whatever holy mission he thought he was on. 'I've got to get dressed. I have to go to work.' I put a hand to my snarled hair and hesitated. 'Uh, Glenn's going to let me bring him in, right?'

'Yup.' Jenks hovered an inch from the cool porcelain, wings faintly humming. 'He said he's turning this over to you, seeing as you're… Just a minute, I want to get this right. He said you're not a detective person but a smack-them-up-and-bring-them-in person. All he wants is for you to wait until he has the paperwork in his hands. That's why he's going up there to get it himself. He's afraid it will get lost in the fax machine or something.'

I didn't blame him. Not for one glorious moment. Ecstatic, I headed to the kitchen to see if I needed to make anything. 'I've got a warrant for Trent for murder,' I said, sliding the last yard or so in my socks to land in the threshold. 'I'm going to tag him! I'm going to get him off my back for good! And I don't have to rescue a demon familiar to do it!'

Jenks was smiling at me. 'You are so funny,' he said. 'It's like Christmas for you.'

'Okay,' I said, feeling the blood thrum in me as I found the sun-bright kitchen. The window was open, but still, the faint scent of yew from the forget potion I'd been planning on making for Newt lingered. 'Let me think. You going to be around this afternoon, Jenks? I'm going to need your help.'

'Like I would miss this?' He was grinning, looking happy and relaxed.

Beaming, I threw my charm cupboard open and ran my hands through my amulets. I had enough of everything except disguise amulets, but I wouldn't need them to bring in Cincy's favorite bad boy. 'I have to take a shower,' I said, excited as I limped across the kitchen. 'Are you sure Kisten's okay? '

Jenks landed on the spigot, his fitfully moving wings sending flashes of morning light everywhere. 'I expect he's exactly the way he was when you left him.'

I had to trust that. And he'd be okay now until the sun went down. As Jenks had said, the I.S. was probably watching me and would relay my movements to whoever was looking for Kisten. Actually, that might make tagging Trent more difficult, unless… 'Get yourself cleaned up,' I said to Jenks as I headed for the shower. 'We have a wedding to go to.'

'What?' Jenks yelped as he followed. 'You're going to arrest Trent at his wedding?'

'Why not?' I halted in the threshold to the bathroom. My hand was on the doorframe, but I didn't want to shut the door on him. 'It's the only place I'll be able to tag him without him siccing Quen on me. Not to mention the I.S. bothering me. I am invited.' I felt my expression grow hard. 'And Piscary, probably. I'd rather talk to him there than on his own turf.' This was going to work in so many ways. It was perfect.

Jenks's sigh was loud. 'Rachel, you're cruel.'

'Right,' I said, eyebrows rising. 'Like Trent really wants to marry Ellasbeth?'

Shrugging, he darted out of the kitchen, shouting to Matalina if she knew where his good bow was. I got the shower going and stripped, my motions slowing as I found that my hip was sore from Ivy's chair—and my foot? I prodded the swollen, tender tissue as I waited for the water to warm, thinking I was way too young to get sore from sleeping in a chair. But the water was hot, and when I got into it, it soothed all the aches away. Kist was in hiding, and I could barter for his safety—our safety— once dusk fell. But before that. I got to pick up Trent, at last.

Damn, this was going to be a good day.

Thirty-three

I put a hand out to brace myself against the seat ahead of me as the bus bounced forward through the heavy fog, gears slipping. Taking my car to Trent's wedding would have been easier, but this was safer when it came to getting pulled over by the I.S. and hauled in for driving with a suspended license. Then there was the little question of the ugly dent someone had put into my front fender, along with breaking the left turn light. It had happened somewhere between yesterday and today, and it ticked me off that it might have been the I.S. trying to up the citations.

I eyed my red nails peeping past the long lace sleeve, thinking the black weave looked nice against my pale skin. My shoulder bag sat beside me, and Jenks was swinging from a ceiling strap, the silver dust sifting from him making a bright spot on the otherwise dim bus. It was crowded, but everyone was giving me loads of room. Smirking, I glanced at my black butt-kicking boots showing past the hem of the delicate silk dress and wondered why.

Okay, even I knew the boots didn't go with the dress, but I wasn't going to tag Trent in heels. No one would see them anyway. I didn't know which dress Ellasbeth had picked out, but I wasn't going to wear that ugly green thing. God! I'd be the laughingstock of the I.S. Besides, my foot still hurt, and heels would have me in agony.

Nervous, I squinted in the glare of the oncoming traffic. We were almost to the basilica, and my pulse was quickening. I had my splat gun in a thigh holster Keasley had given me—like I could really believe he was just a harmless old man now?—and a spindle of line energy in my head. The present on my lap held the focus; I had gone out and picked it up as a general delivery at the post office this afternoon. Trent wasn't getting it, but it was better than trying to find a place for it in my bag, still full of the accumulated crap of the week. I thought it ironic that I had used the carefully preserved paper and bow from Ceri's gift to wrap it.

I looked up from the floor in anxiety. Ceri had come over after hearing what I was going to do, and though she'd pursed her lips in disapproval, she'd helped the pixies braid my hair and work in the flowers. I looked gorgeous. Except for my boots, She had asked if I needed backup; I told her that was Jenks's job. The reality was I didn't want to see her and Ellasbeth in the same room. Some things you just don't do.

I wasn't too worried about making this run with only Jenks as backup. I had the law on my side, and in a room full of witnesses, a publicity-conscious Trent was going to come quietly. After all, he was up for reelection next year, which was probably why he was getting married, the flop. If he was going to kill me, it would be a private affair. At least that's what I was telling myself.

Brakes huffing, we turned a sharp corner. The old woman across from me was eyeing my present, and when her gaze dropped to my boots, I shifted my knees so my dress would cover them. Jenks snickered, and I frowned.

We were almost there, and I shuffled through my bag for my cuffs, enduring the looks as I hiked up the dress and clipped them onto the thigh holster, carefully adjusting the slip and dress back over it. They'd jingle when I walked, but that was okay. I glanced at the cute guy three seats down, and he nodded as if telling me they were hidden.

I turned my phone to vibrate and went to tuck it in a pocket, frowning when I realized the dress didn't have one. Sighing, I tucked it in my meager cleavage, getting a thumbs-up from Mr. Three Seats Down. The plastic was cold, and I started when it slipped a little too far. I couldn't wait for Glenn to call me with the news he had the warrant in his hand. I'd talked to him a few hours ago, and he'd made me promise to do nothing until he did. Till then I'd be the perfect bridesmaid in black lace.

A smile curved up the edges of my lips. Yeah. This was going to be fun.

Jenks dropped to the back of the seat ahead of me. 'Better stand up,' he said. 'We're almost there.'

My focus sharpened. The blocky structure of the cathedral loomed ahead, the floodlights bathing it in a beautiful glow in the fog and almost full moonlight. Tension spiked. Hiking my bag onto my shoulder, I held my present close and stood.

The driver's attention flicked to me, and he pulled off. The entire bus went silent, and my skin crawled as I edged to the front, all eyes on me.

'Thank you,' I muttered as the driver opened the door, then jerked back when my dress caught on a screw poking out of the ceiling-to-floorbar.

'Ma'am,' the driver said as I laboriously unhooked it, 'pardon my asking, but why are you taking the bus to a wedding?'

'Because I'm going to arrest the groom, and I didn't want the I.S. stopping me en route,' I said flippantly,