Every Witch Way But Dead

Twenty-five

I settled into the seat of Trent's limo, crossing my legs and arranging one of the narrow panels of my skirt to cover my knee. The shawl I was using instead of a coat slid down my back, and I let it stay there. It smelled like Ellasbeth, and my subtler perfume couldn't compete.

The shoes were a half size too small, but the dress fit perfectly: the bustier tight but not confining, and the skirt riding high on my waist. My thigh holster was as subtle as dandelion fluff, completely unseen. Randy had styled my shorter hair up off my neck, binding it with thick gold wire and vintage beads into an elaborate coiffure that had taken the man twenty minutes of unending prattle to fix. But he was right. I felt completely unlike myself and expe-e-e-e-ensive.

This was the second limo I'd been in that week. Maybe it was a trend. If so, I could handle that. Jittery, I glanced at Trent staring out at the huge trees as we approached the gatehouse, their black trunks standing out against the snow. He seemed a thousand miles away, not even aware I was sitting next to him. "Takata's car is nicer," I said, breaking the silence.

Trent twitched, recovering smoothly. The reaction made him look as young as he was. "Mine's not a rental," he said.

I shrugged, foot jiggling as I looked out the smoked window.

"Warm enough?" he asked.

"What? Oh. Yes, thank you."

Jonathan drove us past the guardhouse without slowing, the rising bar reaching its apex the second we passed under it. It closed equally fast. I fidgeted, checking my clutch purse for my charms, feeling for the press of my splat gun, and touching my hair. Trent was looking out the window again, lost in his own world, which had nothing to do with me.

"Hey, sorry about the window," I said, not liking the silence.

"I'll send you a bill if it can't be fixed." He turned to me. "You look nice."

"Thank you." I sent my eyes over his silk-lined wool suit. He wasn't wearing an overcoat, and it was tailored to show off every inch of him. His boutonniere was a tiny black bud rose, and I wondered if he had grown it himself. "You wash up good yourself."

He gave me one of his professional smiles, but there was a new glint to it, and I thought it might actually have a tinge of real warmth.

"The dress is beautiful," I added, wondering how I was going to get through tonight without resorting to talk about the weather. I leaned to tug my nylons straight.

"That reminds me." Trent twisted to dip a hand into a pocket. "These go with it." He held out his hand, dropping a heavy set of earrings into my palm. "There's a necklace, too."

"Thanks." I tilted my head to take out my simple hoops, dropping them into my clutch purse and snapping it closed. Trent's earrings were a series of interlocking circles, and heavy enough to be real gold. I worked them into place, feeling their unfamiliar weight.

"And the necklace…" Trent held it up, and my eyes widened. It was gorgeous, made of interlaced rings the size of my thumbnail and matching the earrings. They made a delicate lace panel, and I would have labeled it goth but for its richness. A wooden pendant in the shape of the Celtic rune for protection hung from the nadir, and I hesitated in my reach. It was beautiful, but I suspected its peekaboo lace would make me a veritable vampire slut.

And Celtic magic gave me the willies. It was a specialized art, much of it depending upon one's belief, not if you did the spell right or not. More of a religion than magic. I didn't like mixing religion and magic—it made for terribly strong forces when something unmeasurable mixed its will with that of the practitioner's intent, making the results not necessarily in line with what was expected. It was wild magic, and I preferred mine nicely scientific. If you invoke the help of a higher being, you can't complain when things don't go to your plan, but to its.

"Turn around," Trent said, and my eyes darted to his. "I'll put it on you. It has to be snug for it to look right."

I was not about to show Trent I was squeamish, and as protection charms were fairly reliable, I took the simple fake gold cord from around my neck and dropped it into my clutch bag with my earrings. I wondered if Trent knew what wearing this was saying, deciding he probably did and thought it was a big joke.

Tension tightened my shoulders as I gathered strands of hair that Randy had pulled for effect. The necklace settled about my neck in a heavy feeling of security, still warm from his pocket.

Trent's fingers touched me, and I yelped in surprise as a surge of ley line energy rose through me and into him. The car swerved and Trent's fingers jerked away. The necklace hit the carpeted floor with a tinkle of metal. Hand to my throat, I stared at him.

He had put himself into the corner. The amber light from the ceiling glinted to make shadows on him. Eyeing me with a look of annoyance, he scooted forward and scooped the necklace from the floor, jiggling it until it hung properly across one hand.

"Sorry," I said, heart pounding and my hand still covering my neck.

Trent frowned, meeting Jonathan's gaze in the rearview mirror before gesturing for me to turn back around. I did, very conscious of him behind me. "Quen said you've been working on your ley line skills," Trent said while he draped the metal over me again. "It took me a week to learn how to keep my familiar's energy from trying to equalize when I touched another practitioner. Of course I was three at the time, so I had an excuse."

His hands fell from me, and I settled into the supple cushions. His expression was smug, his usual professionalism gone. It wasn't any of his business that this was the first time I had tried to spindle line energy in me as a matter of convenience. I was ready to bag it. My feet hurt, and thanks to Quen, I wanted to go home, eat a carton of ice cream, and remember my dad.

"Quen knew my dad," I said sullenly.

"So I hear." He looked not at me but the passing view as we made our way into the city.

My breath came faster, and I shifted in my seat. "Piscary said he killed my dad. Quen implied there was more to it than that."

Trent crossed his legs and unbuttoned his suit coat. "Quen talks too much."

Tension pulled my stomach tight. "Our fathers were working together?" I prompted. "Doing what?"

His lip twitched, and he ran a hand across his hair to make sure it was lying flat. From the driver's seat, Jonathan coughed in warning. Right. Like his threats meant anything to me?

Trent shifted in the seat to look at me, his face holding a shade of interest. "Ready to work with me?"

I cocked an eyebrow at him. Work with me. Last time it was work for me.

"No." I smiled though I wanted to step on his foot. "Quen seems to blame himself for my dad's death. I find that fascinating. Especially when Piscary claimed responsibility."

A sigh came from Trent. His hand went out to steady himself when we eased onto the interstate. "Piscary killed my father outright," he said. "Your father was bitten while trying to help him. Quen was supposed to be there, not your father. That's why Quen went to help you subdue Piscary. He felt he needed to take your father's place, seeing as he believes it was his fault your father wasn't there to help you himself."

My face went cold, and I pushed myself back into the leather seat. I had thought Trent had sent Quen to help me; Trent had nothing to do with it. But a niggling thought surfaced through my confusion. "But my father didn't die of a vampire bite."

"No," Trent said carefully, his eyes on the growing skyline. "He didn't."

"He died when his red blood cells started attacking his soft tissues," I prompted, waiting for more, but Trent's posture went closed. "That's all I'm getting, isn't it?" I said flatly, and the man gave me half a smile, charming and sly.

"My offer of employment is ever open, Ms. Morgan."

It was hard, but I managed to keep a somewhat pleasant expression on my face as I slumped in the seat. I suddenly felt like I was being lulled, lured into places that I once vowed I'd never go: places like working for Trent, sex with a vampire, crossing the street without looking. All of them you could get away with, but eventually you were going to get blasted by a bus. What in hell was I doing in a limo with Trent?

We had passed into the Hollows, and I sat up, taking more interest. The holiday lights were thick, primarily green, white, and gold. The silence stretched. "So-o-o, who is Ellasbeth?"

Trent shot me a poisonous look, and I smiled sweetly. "Not my idea," he said.

How very interesting, I thought. I found a nerve. Wouldn't it be fun to stomp on it? "Old girlfriend?" I guessed brightly. "Live-in? Ugly sister you hide in the basement?"

Trent's expression had returned to its professional emptiness, but his restless fingers were ever-moving. "I like your jewelry," he said. "Maybe I should have had Jonathan put it into the house safe while we were gone."

I put a hand to his necklace, feeling it warm from my body. "I was wearing crap, and you know it." Damn it, I had enough of his gold on me to make a set of false teeth for a horse.

"We can talk about Nick, then." Trent's soothing voice carried a derisive edge. "I'd much rather talk about Nick. It was Nick, wasn't it? Nick Sparagmos? He's moved out of the city, I hear, after you sent him into an epileptic seizure." Hands clasped at his knee, he gave me a telling look, pale eyebrows high. "What did you do to him? I never could find that out."

"Nick is fine." I pulled my hands down before they could play with my hair. "I'm watching his apartment while he's away on business." I looked out the window, reaching behind me to pull the shawl back up over my shoulders. He could sling mud better than the best rich-bitch at school. "We need to discuss what it is I'm supposed to be protecting you against."

From the driver's seat came Jonathan's snort. Trent, too, chuckled. "I'm not in need of protection," he said. "If I was, Quen would be here. You're a semifunctioning decoration."

Semifunctioning… "Yeah?" I shot back, wishing I could say I was surprised.

"Yeah," he said right back, the word sounding odd coming from him. "So sit where you're put and keep your mouth shut."

Face warming, I moved so that my knees almost touched his thigh. "Listen to me, Mr. Kalamack," I said sharply. "Quen is paying me good money to keep your ass above the grass, so don't leave the room without me and don't get into my line of sight with the bad guys. Got it?"

Jonathan turned into a parking lot, and I had to brace myself when he applied the brakes too sharply. Trent glanced at him, and I watched their gazes lock through the rearview mirror. Still angry, I looked out to find ugly piles of snow a good six feet high. We were down by the riverfront, and my shoulders tensed at the gambling boat with its stacks steaming slightly. Saladan's gambling boat? Again?

My thoughts went back to my night with Kisten and the guy in a tux who had taught me craps. Shit. "Hey, uh, do you know what Saladan looks like?" I asked. "Is he a witch?"

The hesitancy in my tone was probably what caught Trent's attention, and while Jonathan parked in the long spot reserved for a car of this length, he eyed me. "He's a ley line witch. Black hair, dark eyes, my age. Why? Are you worried? You should be. He's better than you."

"No." Crap. Or should I say craps? Grabbing my clutch purse, I slumped back into the cushions when Jonathan opened the door and Trent got out with a grace that had to be practiced. A blast of cold air replaced him, making me wonder how Trent could stand there as if it was summer. I had a feeling I'd already met Saladan. Idiot! I berated myself. But showing Lee I wasn't afraid of him after his failed little black charm would be extremely satisfying.

Becoming eager for the encounter, I slid across the bench seat to the open door, jerking back when Jonathan slammed it in my face. "Hey!" I shouted, adrenaline making my head hurt.

The door opened, and Jonathan gave me a satisfied smirk. "Sorry, ma'am," he said.

Past him was Trent, a tired look on his face. Holding my borrowed shawl close, I watched Jonathan as I slid out. "Why, thank you, Jon," I said brightly, "you freaking bastard."

Trent ducked his head, hiding a smile. I jerked the shawl higher, and making sure I kept my line energy where it was supposed to be, I took Trent's arm so he could help me up the icy ramp. He stiffened to pull away, and I grabbed his arm with my free hand, pinching my purse between us. It was cold, and I wanted to get inside. "I'm wearing heels for you," I muttered. "The least you can do is make sure I don't fall on my can. Or are you afraid of me?"

Trent said nothing, his posture shifting into an uneasy acceptance as we went, step for step, across the parking lot. He turned to look over his shoulder at Jonathan, indicating that he should stay with the car, and I simpered at the tall un happy man, giving him Erica's crooked-bunny-ear kiss good-bye. It was fully dark now, and the wind blew bits of snow against my legs, bare but for my nylons. Why hadn't I insisted on borrowing a coat? I wondered. This shawl was worthless. And it stank like lilac. I hated lilac.

"Aren't you cold?" I questioned, seeing Trent seemingly as warm as if it was July.

"No," he said, and I remembered Ceri walking in the snow with a similar tolerance.

"Must be an elf thing," I muttered, and he chuckled.

"Yup," he said, my eyes jerking to his at the casual word. They were bright with amusement, and I glanced at the beckoning ramp.

"Well, I'm frozen through," I grumbled. "Can we move a little faster?"

He quickened his pace, but I was still shivering by the time we got to the entry door. Trent solicitously held it for me, ushering me in ahead of him. Letting go of his arm, I went inside, my hands clasping my upper arms to try to warm myself. I gave the doorman a brief smile, and got a stoic, blank look. Taking my shawl off, I held it between two fingers to the coat attendant, wondering if I could conveniently leave it here—by accident, of course.

"Mr. Kalamack and Ms. Morgan," Trent said, ignoring the guestbook. "We're expected."

"Yes, sir." The doorman gestured for someone to take his place. "Right this way."

Trent offered me his arm. I hesitated, trying to read his quiet face and failing. Taking a breath, I linked my arm in his. As my fingers brushed the top of his hand, I made a conscious effort to maintain my level of line energy when I felt a slight pull from my chi. "Better," he said, his eyes searching the busy game room as we followed the doorman. "You're improving by leaps and bounds, Ms. Morgan."

"Shove it, Trent," I said, smiling at the people who looked up when we entered. His hand was warm under my fingers, and I felt like a princess. There was a lull in the noise, and when the conversations rose again, they had an excitement that couldn't be laid entirely at the feet of gambling.

It was warm, and the air pleasantly scented. The disk hanging over the center of the room seemed quiet, but I imagined if I bothered to look at it with my second sight that it would be pulsating with that ugly purple and black. I glanced at my reflection to see if my hair was behaving under the stylist's sprays and wires, glad the yellow of my black eye was still hidden behind the mundane makeup. Then I looked again.

Damn! I thought, slowing. Trent and I looked fantastic. No wonder people were staring. He was trim and debonair, and I was elegant in my borrowed dress with my hair up off my neck and bound with that heavy gold wire. Both of us were confident, both of us were smiling. But even as I thought we made the perfect couple, I realized that though we were together, each of us was alone. Our strengths were not dependent upon each other, and while that wasn't bad, it didn't lend itself to being a couple. We were simply standing next to each other looking good.

"What is it?" Trent asked, gesturing that I should go up the stairs ahead of him.

"Nothing." Gathering my slit skirt as best I could, I went up the narrow carpeted stairway after the doorman. The sound of gaming people went faint, turning into a background hum to stir my subconscious. A cheer rose, and I wished I could be down there, feeling my heart pound in the breathless wait to see what the dice would show.

"I thought they'd search us," Trent said softly so the man escorting us couldn't hear.

I shrugged. "For what? Did you see that big disk on the ceiling?" He glanced behind us, and I added, "It's a huge spell damper. Kind of like the charms I used to have on my cuffs before you burned them all to hell, but it affects the whole boat."

"Didn't you bring a weapon?" he whispered as we reached the second floor.

"Yes," I said through my teeth, smiling. "And I could shoot someone with it, but the potions won't take effect until whoever it is leaves the boat."

"What good is it then?"

"I don't kill people, Trent. Get over it." Though I might make an exception for Lee.

I saw his jaw tighten and relax. Our escort opened a narrow door, gesturing for me to enter. I stepped in, finding Lee looking pleasantly surprised as he brought his attention from the paperwork on his desk. I tried to keep my expression neutral, the memory of that man writhing on the street under a black charm aimed at me making me angry and ill all at the same time.

A tall woman stood behind him, leaning to breathe upon his neck. She was leggy and lean, dressed in a black jump-suit with bell-bottom hems. The neckline went almost to her navel. Vamp, I decided, when her eyes dropped to my necklace and she smiled to show me small, pointy canines. My scar twinged, and my anger slowed. Quen wouldn't have stood a chance.

Eyes alight, Lee rose and tugged the coat of his tux straight. Physically pushing the vampire out of his way, he came out from around the desk. Trent entered, and his gaze became even more animated. "Trent!" he exclaimed, striding forward with his hands extended. "How are you, old man!"

I stepped back as Trent and Lee warmly clasped hands. You've got to be kidding me.

"Stanley," he said, smiling, and it finished falling into place. Stanley, long for Lee.

"Damn!" Lee said, pounding Trent on the back. "How long has it been? Ten years?"

Trent's smile flickered, his annoyance at that back slap nearly undetectable but for the slight tightening in his eyes. "Almost that. You look good. Still hitting the waves?"

Lee ducked his head, a roguish grin turning him into a scalawag despite him being in a tux. "Now and again. Not as much as I like. My damn knee has been giving me trouble. But you look good. Got some muscle on you now. Not that skinny boy trying to keep up with me."

Trent's eyes flicked to mine, and I gave him a mute look. "Thanks."

"Word is you're getting married."

Married? I was wearing his fiancée's dress? Oh, this was getting better and better.

Lee brushed his hair out of his eyes and sat against the desk. The vamp behind him started to rub his shoulders in a sultry, whore-bitch sort of a way. She hadn't taken her eyes off me, and I didn't like it. "Anyone I know?" Lee prompted, and Trent's jaw clenched.

"A beautiful young woman named Ellasbeth Withon," he said. "From Seattle."

"Ah." Brown eyes wide, Lee smiled as if he was laughing at Trent. "Congratulations?"

"You've met her," Trent said sourly, and Lee chuckled.

"I've heard of her." He made a pained face. "Am I invited to the wedding?"

I puffed impatiently. I had thought we came here to knock heads, not have a reunion. Ten years would put them in their late teens. College? And I didn't like being ignored, but I supposed that was standard for hired help. At least whore-bitch hadn't been introduced either.

"Of course," Trent said. "The invitations will go out as soon as she decides between the eight options she's narrowed it down to," he said dryly. "I'd ask you to be my best man, if I thought you'd ever get on a horse again."

Lee pulled himself off the desk and out of the vamp's reach. "No, no, no," he protested, going to a small cabinet and bringing out two glasses and a bottle. "Not again. Not with you. My God, what did you whisper into that beast's ear, anyway?"

Trent smiled, a real one this time, and took the offered shot glass. "Fair is fair, surfer dude," he said, and I blinked at the accent he affected. "Seeing as you almost drowned me."

"Me?" Lee sat back on the desk, one foot off the floor. "I had nothing to do with that. The canoe had a leak. I didn't know you couldn't swim."

"That's what you keep saying." Trent's eye twitched. Taking a tiny sip, he turned to me. "Stanley, this is Rachel Morgan. She's my security tonight."

I beamed a false smile. "Hello, Lee." I held out my hand, careful to keep my ley line energy reined, though with the memory of that man's screams echoing through me, it was hard not to give him a jolt. "Nice to see the upstairs this time."

"Rachel," Lee said warmly, turning my hand to kiss the top of it instead of shaking it. "You can't imagine how bad I felt for getting you mixed up in that ugly business. I'm so pleased you came away from it unscathed. I trust you're being compensated properly tonight?"

I yanked my hand back before his lips touched it, making a show of wiping it off. "No apologies needed. But I'd be remiss for not thanking you for teaching me how to play craps." My pulse quickened and I stifled the urge to slug him. "Want your dice back?"

The vampire slid behind him, her hands going possessively atop his shoulders. Lee kept his smile in place, seemingly oblivious to my barb. God, the man had been bleeding from his pores, and that had been aimed at me. Bastard.

"The orphanage was most grateful for your donation," Lee said smoothly. "They put a new roof on with it, so I'm told."

"Fantastic," I said, honestly pleased. Beside me, Trent fidgeted, clearly dying to interrupt. "I'm always glad when I can help those less fortunate."

Lee took the vampire's hands in his and moved her to stand beside him.

Trent took my arm while they were distracted. "You bought the new roof?" he breathed.

"Apparently," I muttered, noting he was surprised about the roof, not the scuffle in the streets.

"Trent, Rachel," Lee said as he held the vampire's hand in his. "This is Candice."

Candice smiled to show her teeth. Ignoring Trent, she fixed her brown eyes on my neck, a red tongue edging the corner of her mouth. Exhaling, she eased closer. "Lee, sweetheart," she said, and I gripped Trent's arm tighter when her voice ran like ripples over my scar. "You told me I'd be entertaining a man." Her smile went predatory. "But this is okay."

I forced a breath. Waves of promise were coming from my neck, making my knees weaken. My blood pounded and my eyes almost slipped shut. I took a breath, then another. It took all my experience with Ivy to keep from responding. She was hungry, and she knew what she was doing. If she had been undead, I would have been hers. As it was, even with my scar she couldn't bespell me unless I let her. And I wasn't going to.

Aware of Trent watching, I gained control of myself, though I could feel the sexual tension rising in me like fog on a damp night. My thoughts slid to Nick, then Kisten, where they lingered to make things worse. "Candice," I said softly, leaning closer. I wouldn't touch her. I wouldn't. "It's nice to meet you. And I will break off your teeth and use them to pierce your belly button if you even as much as look at my scar again."

Candice's eyes flashed to black. The warmth in my scar died. Angry, she drew away, her hand atop Lee's shoulder. "I don't care if you are Tamwood's plaything," she said, trying to be all Queen of the Damned, but I lived with a truly dangerous vampire and her efforts were pathetic. "I can take you down," she finished.

My jaw clenched. "I live with Ivy. I'm not her plaything," I said softly, hearing a muted cheer from downstairs. "What does that tell you?"

"Nothing," she said, her pretty face going ugly.

"And nothing is exactly what you're going to get from me, so back off."

Lee stepped between us. "Candice," he said, putting a hand on the small of her back and pushing her to the door. "Do me a favor, sweetheart. Get Ms. Morgan some coffee, will you? She's working tonight."

"Black, no sugar," I said, hearing my voice rasp. My heart was pounding and sweat had broken out. Black witches I could handle. Skilled, hungry vampires were a little harder.

Unkinking my fingers from Trent's arm, I pulled away. His face was quiet as he looked at me and then the vamp Lee was escorting to the door. "Quen…" he whispered.

"Quen wouldn't have had a chance," I said, my heart slowing. If she had been an undead, neither would I. But Saladan wouldn't have been able to convince an undead vampire to back him, lest Piscary find out and kill him or her twice. There was honor among the dead. Or maybe it was just fear.

Lee said a few words to Candice, and the woman slunk out into the hall, giving me a sly smile before she left. Red heels were the last I saw of her. My thoughts spun when I noticed she had an anklet identical to Ivy's. There couldn't be more than one like that without a reason—perhaps Kisten and I ought to chat.

Not knowing what it meant, if anything, I sat in one of the green upholstered chairs before I fell over from the fading adrenaline. Hands clasped to hide their faint trembling, I thought of Ivy and the protection she gave me. No one had made a play for me like that in months, not since the vamp at the perfume counter had mistaken me for someone else. If I had to fight that off every day, it would only be a matter of time before I became a shadow of myself: thin, anemic, and belonging to someone. Or worse, belonging to anyone.

The sound of sliding fabric pulled my attention to Trent as he sat in the second chair. "You all right?" he breathed when Lee shut the door behind Candice with a firm thump.

His voice was soothing, surprising me. Forcing myself to straighten, I nodded, wondering why he cared, or even if he did. Exhaling, I forced my hands open and loose.

Bustling with efficiency, Lee edged back around his desk and sat. He was smiling to show his white teeth amid his suntanned face. "Trent," he said, leaning back in his chair. It was larger than ours, and I think it put him several inches taller. Subtle. "I'm glad you came to see me. We should talk before anything gets more out of hand than it has."

"Out of hand?" Trent didn't move, and I watched his concern for me melt into nothing. Green eyes hard, he set his shot glass on the desk between them, the soft click sounding louder than it should. Never looking from Saladan's sloppy grin, he took over the room. This was the man who killed his employees in his office and got away with it, the man who owned half the city, the man who thumbed his nose at the law, living above it in his fortress in the middle of an old-growth, planned-out forest.

Trent was angry, and I suddenly didn't mind that they were ignoring me.

"You derailed two of my trains, caused a near strike of my trucking line, and burned down my primary public relations effort," Trent said, a wisp of his hair starting to float.

I stared at him while Lee shrugged. Primary public relations effort? It had been an orphanage. God, how cold could you be?

"It was the easiest way to get your attention." Lee sipped his drink. "You've been inching your way past the Mississippi the last ten years. Did you expect anything less?"

Trent's jaw tightened. "You're killing innocent people with the potency of the Brimstone you're putting on the streets."

"No!" Lee barked, pushing the glass from him. "There are no innocents." Thin lips pressed together, he leaned forward, angry and threatening. "You crossed the line," he said, shoulders tense under his tux. "And I wouldn't be here culling your weak clientele if you stayed on your side of the river as agreed."

"My father made that agreement, not me. I've asked your father to lower the levels he allows in his Brimstone. People want a safe product. I give it to them. I don't care where they live."

Lee fell back with a sound of disbelief. "Spare me the benefactor crap," he simpered. "We don't sell to anyone who doesn't want it. And Trent? They want it. The stronger, the better. The death levels even out in less than a generation. The weak die off, the strong survive, ready and willing to buy more. To buy stronger. Your careful regulation weakens everyone. There's no natural balance, no strengthening of the species. Maybe that's why there are so few of you left. You've killed yourself by trying to save them."

I sat with my hands deceptively slack in my lap, feeling the tension rise in the small room. Culling weak clientele? Strengthening the species? Who in hell did he think he was?

Lee made a quick movement, and I twitched.

"But the bottom line," Lee said, easing back when he saw me move, "is that I'm here because you are changing the rules. And I'm not leaving. It's too late for that. You can hand everything over to me and graciously move off the continent, or I will take it, one orphanage, one hospital, one train station, street corner, and bleeding-heart innocent at a time." He took a sip of his drink and cradled it in his laced hands. "I like games, Trent. And if you remember, I won whatever we played."

Trent's eye twitched. It was his only show of emotion. "You have two weeks to get out of my city," he said, his voice a smooth ribbon of calm water hiding a deadly under-tow. "I'm going to maintain my distribution. If your father wants to talk, I'm listening."

"Your city?" Lee flicked his eyes over me, then back to Trent. "Looks to me like it's split." He arched his thin eyebrows. "Very dangerous, very attractive. Piscary is in prison. His scion is ineffective. You're vulnerable from the veneer of honest businessman you hide behind. I'm going to take Cincinnati and the distribution net you have so painstakingly developed, and use it as it ought to be. It's a waste, Trent. You could control the entire Western Hemisphere with what you have, and you're pissing it away on half-strength Brimstone and biodrugs to dirt farmers and welfare cases that won't ever make anything of themselves—or anything for you."

A seething anger warmed my face. I happened to be one of those welfare cases, and though I would probably be shipped off to Siberia in a biocontainment bag if it ever got out, I bristled. Trent was scum, but Lee was disgusting. I opened my mouth to tell him to shut up about things he didn't understand when Trent touched my leg with his shoe in warning.

The rims of Trent's ears had gone red, and his jaw was tight. He tapped at the arm of the chair, a deliberate show of his agitation. "I do control the Western Hemisphere," Trent said, his low, resonating voice making my stomach clench. "And my welfare cases have given me more than my father's paying customers—Stanley."

Lee's tanned face went white in anger, and I wondered what was being said that I didn't understand. Perhaps it hadn't been college. Maybe they had met at "camp."

"Your money can't force me out," Trent added. "Ever. Go tell your father to lower his Brimstone levels and I'll back off from the West Coast."

Lee stood, and I stiffened, ready to move. He placed his hands spread wide, bracing himself. "You overestimate your reach, Trent. You did when we were boys, and nothing has changed. It's why you almost drowned trying to swim back to shore, and why you lost every game we played, every race we ran, every girl we made a prize." He was pointing now, underscoring his words. "You think you're more than you are, having been coddled and praised for accomplishments that everyone else takes for granted. Face it. You're the last of your kind, and it's your arrogance that put you there."

My eyes shifted between them. Trent sat with his legs comfortably crossed and his fingers laced. He was absolutely still. He was incensed, none of it showing but for the hem of his slacks trembling. "Don't make a mistake you can't walk away from," he said softly. "I'm not twelve anymore."

Lee backed up, a misplaced satisfaction and confidence in him as he eyed the door behind me. "You could have fooled me."

The door latch shifted and I jerked. Candice walked in, an institutional-white mug of coffee in her hand. "Excuse me," she said, her kitten-soft voice only adding to the tension. She slunk between Trent and Lee, breaking their gazes on each other.

Trent shook out his sleeves and took a slow breath. I glanced at him before reaching for the coffee. He looked shaken, but it was from repressing his anger, not fear. I thought of his biolabs and Ceri safely hiding with an old man across the street from my church. Was I making choices for her that she should be making for herself?

The mug was thick, the warmth of it seeping into my fingers when I took it. My lip curled when I realized she had put cream in it. Not that I was going to drink it. "Thanks," I said, making an ugly face right back at her when she took a sexually charged pose atop Lee's desk, her legs crossed at the knee.

"Lee," she said, leaning to make a provocative show. "There is a slight problem on the floor that needs your attention."

Looking annoyed, he pushed her out of his way. "Deal with it, Candice. I'm with friends."

Her eyes went black and her shoulders stiffened. "It's something you need to attend. Get your ass downstairs. It won't wait."

I flicked my gaze to Trent, reading his surprise. Apparently the pretty vamp was more than decoration. Partner? I wondered. She sure was acting like it.

She cocked one eyebrow at Lee in mocking petulance, making me wish I could do the same. I still hadn't bothered to learn how. "Now, Lee," she prompted, slipping off the desk and going to hold the door for him.

His brow furrowed. Brushing his short bangs from his eyes, he pushed his chair back with excessive force. "Excuse me." Thin lips tight, he nodded to Trent walked out, his feet thumping on the stairway.

Candice smiled predatorily at me before she slipped out after him. "Enjoy your coffee," she said, closing the door. There was a click as it locked.