'Where do you want it?' the demon asked, and I wondered why, unless it was more degrading to look at it every day knowing you asked for it, rather than have it forced on you. I felt the raised circle on the inside of my wrist, thinking I had to get rid of one of these soon.
His eyes never leaving Minias's, Trent shoved his sleeve up to show a lightly muscled arm, toned and sun- darkened. Minias grabbed his wrist, and Trent flinched at the knife the demon suddenly held, jerking only once as he scribed a circle bisected with a single line into him. I thought I smelled the acidic scent of blood and the rich aroma of cinnamon. I glanced at Ivy—her pupils were dilating as Quen looked at her in disgust.
'Tell me of Rachel's father,' Minias said, his hand still around Trent's wrist. The mark had stopped bleeding, and Trent was staring at it, shocked that it looked old and long healed.
'Give me the way to cross the lines,' he said, his gaze jerking up to Minias's.
The demon's eye twitched. 'It's in your head,' he said. 'Just say the words of invocation, and you and whoever is with you will cross the lines. Now tell me of Rachel's sire. If I don't think it worth the imbalance of four trips through the lines, I'll simply upgrade your mark and give you a second slash.'
I fidgeted, and my mother shook off Marshal's restraint. Damn it, Takata. I'm sorry. Trent was a bastard. I was going to get him for this.
'The man who raised her was human,' he said, staring at Minias. 'I found out when he came to my father asking for a cure. I have Morgan's father's medical records, but there's no name on them. I don't know who he is.'
Keasley and Marshal looked shocked that my dad wasn't a witch, but my lips parted in wonder. Trent had… lied? My mother was sagging in relief, and I reached behind me until I touched the wall of ever-after, leaning my hand against it for support. He hadn't told. He hadn't told Minias. Trent had lied.
Minias's attention flicked to me and back again. His grip on Trent tightened. 'Who's her birth father?' he asked, and Trent's gaze grew wild.
'Ask her,' he said, and my heart seemed to start beating again. 'She knows.'
'Not enough,' Minias said, knowing he was lying. 'Tell me…or you're mine.'
My fear redoubled. Did he expect me to save his ass by blurting it out?
'The man is alive,' Trent said, that same wild glint in his eye. 'He's alive, and Rachel's mother is alive. Morgan's children will survive carrying the ability to kindle demon magic. And I can make more like her.' His smile grew ugly. 'Let go of me.'
Minias's gaze flicked to me. With a shove, he let go of Trent and took a step back. 'The mark stands as it is.'
Ceri was crying silently, tears trickling down her face as she stood and watched Trent find his composure. Had Trent just assured him that in a few generations they'd have a crop of highly desirable witch familiars available? Ones that could invoke their curses so they wouldn't have to? God help me, he was slime. Utter slime. He had put demon hit-marks on my potential children before they were even born.
I stood where I was and fought to keep from throttling him. He had spared Takata only because he had found a way to hurt me worse. 'Can we go now?' I said, hating him.
Minias nodded, and Trent stepped back. The elf set the inner circle to trap him, and when Ceri dropped hers, he retreated to stand beside us. The scent of burnt amber caught at my throat, and Trent reeked. Knowing Trent's circle would fall when we left, Ceri reinstated the second circle about Minias.
The rising and falling bands of power were making me ill. Minias smiled from behind the two different arcs of reality as if he didn't care that he was going to be trapped in a small circle for thirteen hours until the rising sun freed him. Trent's words must have pleased him to no end.
I picked up my satchel and stood ready. My eyes flicked from Ivy to my mom, and my heart pounded. It was going to be over one way or the other really soon. Afterward, Trent and I were going to chat.
'Be careful,' my mother said, and I nodded, gripping the straps of my bag tighter.
And then Trent tapped a line and said a word of Latin.
The breath was pushed out of my lungs, and I felt myself fall. The curse seemed to shred me into thoughts held together by my soul. A tingling washed through me, and my lungs rebounded, filling with a harsh gritty air.
I gasped, my hands and knees slamming into the grass-covered ground and my hat falling off. Beside me I could hear Trent retching.
Stumbling to my feet, I swallowed the last of my nausea and looked past my blowing curls to the red-stained sky and long grass. I wanted to give Trent a swift kick for putting my future kids on the demon's radar, but figured I could wait until I knew I had a future.
'Welcome to the homeland, Trent,' I muttered, praying we all got back to where we belonged before sunup.
Twenty-six
Shaky, I fumbled with the satchel's zipper to find the map and orient myself. It was cold, and I pulled my hat lower as the acidic wind pushed the hair from my face and I scanned the image of a dim wasteland glinting under the red-smeared sky. I half-expected to see the ruins of my church, but there was nothing there. Stunted trees and twisted bushes rose between hummocks of dried grass. A red haze glowed from the bottom of the clouds where Cincy would have stood, but here, on this side of the dry river, it was mostly sad-looking vegetation.
Trent wiped his mouth with a hankie he then hid under a rock. His eyes were black in the red light, and I could tell he didn't like the wind pushing on him. He didn't look cold, though. The man never got cold, which was starting to tick me off.
Squinting, I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and focused on the map. The air stank, and the scent of burnt amber caught deep in my throat. Trent coughed, quickly stifling it. David's duster shifted about my heels, and I was glad I had it, wanting something between me and the greasy-feeling air. It was dark, but the clouds reflecting the glow from the broken, distant city gave everything a sick look, like the light in a photographer's darkroom.
Arms wrapped around my stomach, I followed Trent's gaze to the twisted vegetation, trying to decide if the red-sheened rocks hiding in the grass were tombstones. Amid the trees was a large, shattered slump of crumbling stone. With a lot of imagination, it could have been the kneeling angel.
Trent looked down at the faint tink of metal at his feet. Bending for a closer look, he thumbed a penlight on. It glowed a sickly red, and I cringed at the revealing light, then leaned so our heads almost touched for a better look. In the scuffed grass was a tiny bell, black with tarnish. It wasn't solid, but made of decorative loops that brought to mind a Celtic knot. Trent's hand reached, and in a wash of adrenaline, I gave him a shove.
'What in hell are you doing?' I all but hissed as he glared at me, and I wished I had hit him hard enough to knock him on his butt. 'Don't you ever watch TV? If there is a pretty sparkly thing on the ground, leave it alone! If you pick it up, you're going to release the monster, or fall through a trapdoor, or something. And what is it with the light? You want to tell every demon this side of the ley lines where we are? God! I should have taken Ivy!'
A surprised look replaced Trent's anger. 'You can see the light?' he said, and I snatched it from him and clicked it off.
'Duh!' I exclaimed in a whisper.
He yanked it back. 'It's a wavelength that humans can't see. I didn't know that witches could.'
Slightly mollified, I backed down. 'Well, I can. Don't use it.' I stood and watched in disbelief as he flicked his light on and belligerently picked up the bell. It tinkled faintly, and after knocking the dirt from it, he jingled it again. I could not believe this. Putting a hand on my hip, I glared at the red glow hovering over the broken city miles away. The pure sound was muffled, and he tucked it in a little belt pouch.
'Freaking tourist,' I muttered, then, louder, said, 'If you've got your souvenir, let's go.' I nervously stepped to the more certain dark of a twisted tree. It had no leaves, and it looked dead, the cold, gritty wind having scoured all life from it.
Instead of following, Trent pulled a paper from his back pocket. The penlight came on again, and he shone it on a map. A red glow reflected up on his face, and furious, I snatched the light away again.
'Are you trying to get caught?' I whispered. 'If I can see it, and you can see it, what makes you think a
