The Outlaw Demon Wails

Seven

The thin heat from the sidewalk vanished when I turned the corner and entered the shadow of tall buildings. "Where is he?" I said, holding my hair out of my face when I looked to Quen. He was beside and a little behind me, and it gave me the creeps.

The quiet, powerful man pointed with his eyes across the street, and when I followed his gaze, I felt a wash of apprehension. OTHER EARTHLINGS COSTUMER, INC. Holy crap, Trent was picking out a Halloween costume?

I pushed myself into motion and headed for the exclusive costumer. Well, why not? Trent had parties to go to like anyone else. Probably more of them. But Other Earthlings? You needed an appointment just to walk in, especially in October.

Hesitating at the curb, I felt Quen's presence slide up behind me. "Will you stop guarding me?" I muttered, and Quen made a little start.

"Sorry," he said, then hastened to catch up when I crossed in the middle of the street. I caught him glancing at the crosswalk and snickered. Yeah, me bad.

After a moment's hesitation at the brass BY APPOINTMENT ONLY sign, I reached for the door only to have someone from inside pull it open. The doorman looked seriously brain-dead when I entered, but before I could say anything, an older woman in a crisp peach skirt and jacket click-clacked to us, the sound of her heels muffled when they found the thick white carpet. "I'm sorry. We're closed to walk-ins," the woman said, her face a mix of cool professionalism and polite disdain at my jeans and sweater. "Would you like to make an appointment for next year?"

My pulse quickened and I cocked my hip at her obvious but unspoken opinion that hell would freeze over before I'd ever have enough money to buy even a complexion charm from them. I took a breath to demand to see their hair straighteners, knowing their claim to be able to straighten any hair wouldn't be able to touch mine, when Quen settled in behind me, too close for my comfort.

"Oh! You're with Mr. Kalamack?" she said, only the faintest blush marring the aged whiteness of her complexion.

I glanced at Quen. "Not really. I'm Rachel Morgan, and I've got something to say to Mr. Kalamack. I understand he's here?"

The woman's mouth dropped open, and she came forward to take my hands. "You're Alice's daughter?" she said breathlessly. "Oh, I should have known. You look just like her, or you would if she wouldn't spell herself down. It is such a pleasure to meet you!"

Excuse me? She was pumping my arm up and down enthusiastically, and when I looked at Quen, he seemed as mystified as me.

"We don't have any openings today, sweetheart," she said, and I blinked at her familiarity. "But let me talk to Renfold. He'll stay late for you. Your mother's straightening charms have saved our reputation too many times."

"My mother's hair straighteners?" I managed, grabbing her wrist and extraditing my hand from hers. I was going to have to talk to my mother. This was so not-good. Just how long had she been making bootleg charms?

The woman, Sylvia, according to a name tag outlined in green pearls, smiled and winked at me as if we were grand friends. "You don't think you're the only person who has difficult-to-charm hair?" she said, then reached to touch my hair fondly as if it were a thing of beauty, not a constant bother. "I will never understand why no one is satisfied with what nature gives them. I think it's wonderful that you appreciate yours."

"Appreciate" wasn't the right word, but I didn't want to stand here and discuss hair. "Uh, I need to speak to Trent. He's still here, right?"

The woman's surprise that I was on a first-name basis with the eminently eligible bachelor flashed across her face. She glanced at Quen, who nodded, and with a soft "This way, please," she led us through the store.

I felt better now that we were moving, even if the staff was whispering as Sylvia led us along a wandering path through racks of scrumptious clothing. The store smelled wonderfully of expensive fabrics and exotic perfumes, plus the snap of ozone that said ley line charms were made and invoked here. Other Earthlings was an all-encompassing costumer, supplying the clothes, prosthetics as needed, and charms to make anyone into anyone else. They weren't online, and the only way you could get their products was to make an appointment. I couldn't help but wonder what Trent was going for, costumewise.

Quen was behind me again, and Sylvia led us past a small back counter and to a short hall with four doors. They were set back like the entries to high-class hotel rooms, and from behind the last, I could hear Trent's voice.

The soft murmur of it went right to my middle and twisted something. God, he had a beautiful voice: low, resonant, and rich with unexplored undertones—like shadowed moss in the sun-dappled woods. I was certain his voice contributed to how well he did in the city elections—if the generous donations to underprivileged children and hospitals weren't enough.

Clearly not hearing anything in Trent's voice but words, Sylvia knocked smartly on the door and entered without waiting for an invitation. I hung back and let Quen go in ahead of me. I didn't like being burst in upon by rude salespeople, and they did sell clothes here. And while seeing Trent in his tighty-whities would make my decade, I'd found out long ago that I couldn't stay mad at a man wearing nothing but underwear. They looked so charmingly vulnerable.

The rich smell of wool and leather struck deeper as I entered. The lights were low at the perimeter of the comfortably warm, low-ceilinged room, helping to hide the open cupboards filled with racks of costumes, hats, feathers, wings, and even tails—things that ley line charms couldn't easily create. To my right in the shadows was a low table holding wine and cheese, to my left a tall screen. Smack in the middle and under can lights was an ankle-high round stage cradled in the lee of a trifold mirror. Low racks of amulets surrounded it, the wood structures having the smoothness and color of hundred-year-old ash. And in the center of it all was Trent.

He wasn't aware I was in the room, clearly trying to fend off the overenthusiastic attentions of the witch helping him try on ley line amulets. Beside him was Jon, his freakishly tall lackey, and I bristled, remembering him tormenting me when I had been a mink trapped in Trent's office.

Trent frowned at his reflection and handed the clerk an amulet. His hair flashed back to its usual transparent whiteness that some children have, and the witch began babbling, deducing that he wasn't doing well. Trent was clean shaven and comfortably tan, with a smooth brow, green eyes, that gorgeous voice, and a cultivated laugh. A politician through and through. He wasn't much taller than me when I was in heels, wearing his thousand-dollar silk-and-linen suit with the VOTE FOR KALAMACK pin well. It accented his trim form, making me believe he actually got out and rode his race-winning horses more than once every new moon when he played The Huntsman in his fenced-in, old-growth planned forest.

He gave the witch a professional smile as he refused another amulet, his unworked hands gesturing smoothly. There were no rings on his fingers, and seeing as I broke up his wedding by arresting him, it was likely it would stay that way, unless he was going to make an honest woman of Ceri, which I doubted. Trent lived by appearances, and him publicly joining with a demon's ex-familiar covered in smut any witch could see with their second sight probably didn't fit into his political agenda. He hadn't seemed to have a problem knocking her up, though.

Trent ran his fingers over his carefully styled hair to flatten a few floating strands as Sylvia approached. Shifting my shoulder bag forward, I said loudly, "That suit would look better with a burping pad."

Trent stiffened. His eyes flicking to the mirror, he searched the shadows for me. At his side, Jon pulled himself upright, the distasteful man holding a thin hand to his eyes to see through the glare. The witch at his feet fell back, and Sylvia murmured an apology, flustered, as her most valuable client and the daughter of one of her suppliers glared at each other.

"Quen," Trent finally said, his voice now hard but no less beautiful. "I don't doubt you have an explanation for this."

Quen took a slow breath before he started forward. "You weren't listening, Sa'han. I had to try another method to bring you to see reason."

Trent waved the clerk away, and Jon strode across the room to flick on the main lights. I squinted as light blossomed, then smiled cattily at Trent. He had regained his composure remarkably fast, with only the slight tightening of the skin around his eyes giving away his annoyance. "I was listening," he said, turning. "I choose to think other than you."

Stepping from the stage, the multimillionaire shook his sleeves down. It was a nervous reaction he had yet to break himself of. Or maybe his jacket was too tight. "Ms. Morgan," he said lightly, not meeting my gaze. "Your services are not required. You have my apologies for my security officer wasting your time. Tell me what I owe you, and Jon will draft you a check."

That was kind of insulting, and I couldn't help my snort. "I don't charge if I don't do the run," I said. "Unlike some people." I held my arms over my chest as a flicker of annoyance crossed Trent's face and vanished. "And I didn't come here to work for you," I added. "I came because I wanted to tell you to your face that you're a lowlife, manipulative bastard. I told you if you hurt Ceri that I'd be ticked. Consider yourself warned." Angry was good. The pain from losing Kisten disappeared when I was angry, and right now, I was pissed.

The witch who had been helping him gasped, and Sylvia started for me, rocking to a halt when Trent lifted his hand to stop her. God, I hated that—as if he had given me permission to call him names. Ticked, I tilted my head, waiting for his response.

"Is that a threat?" Trent asked softly.

My gaze went to Jon, who was grinning as if my saying yes would please him immensely. Quen's expression had gone dark. He was mad, but what had he really expected me to do? Still, I did want to get out of here on my own power and not at the end of an I.S. leash, arrested for harassment…or whatever Trent wanted. He might own the I.S. now that Piscary was gone.

"Take it any way you want," I said. "You are scum. Absolute scum, and the world would be better without you." I wasn't sure I truly believed that, but it felt good saying it.

Trent thought for all of three seconds. "Sylvia, if we might have the room?"

I stood, smug, as the room emptied with soft murmurs of apologies given and reassurances offered.

"Jon," he added as Sylvia headed out, "see that we are not disturbed."

Sylvia hesitated by the open door, then vanished into the hallway to leave the door open. The older man's craggy face went pale. He was being gotten rid of, and he knew it.

"Sa'han," he started, cutting it short when Trent's eyes narrowed. What a sissy-pants.

Jon's thin, long hands clenched as he shot me a look and left. The door shut softly behind him, and I turned to Trent, ready to blast him. I wasn't about to air Ceri's dirty laundry where it might get into the tabloids, but now, I could really say what I thought.

"I can't believe you knocked Ceri up. God, Trent! You are unbelievable!" I said, gesturing. "She is just starting to rebuild herself. She doesn't need this emotional crap!"

Trent glanced at Quen. The security officer had taken a wide-footed stance before the closed door, his arms loose at his sides and his face lacking emotion. Seeing his nonchalance, Trent stepped back onto the stage and began sifting through the charms. "None of this is your business, Morgan."

"It became my business when you romanced information from my friend, knocked her up, then asked me to do something you're afraid to," I said, taking offense at his cavalier attitude.

Trent bent over the metallic ley line charms as he watched me through the mirror. "And what have I asked you to do?" he said, his voice rising and falling like a gust of rain.

My blood pressure spiked, and I stepped forward, halting when Quen cleared his throat. "You are despicable," I said. "You know the chances that I'd go into the ever-after to help Ceri are a hundred times better than me going to help you. I'd hate you for that if nothing else. How cowardly is that? Manipulating someone into doing something you're afraid to do yourself. A stinking coward, not willing to help your kin except for when you're safe and secure in your little underground labs. You're a mouse burger."

Trent straightened, surprised. "Mouse burger?"

"Mouse burger," I stated again, arms crossed and hip cocked. "A weenie little man with the courage of a mouse."

A faint smile quirked the corner of his lips. "That sounds funny coming from a woman who dated a rat."

"He wasn't a rat when we dated," I shot back, face flaming.

Trent's attention went to his image in the mirror, and he pulled the pin on the ley line charm to invoke it. A shimmer flared through his aura, making it visible for an instant as the illusion took over. I snorted; Trent now looked like he had gained twenty pounds of muscle, his coat seeming to bulge with the illusion. "I didn't ask for your help with retrieving a sample of elven tissue," he said, turning sideways to see himself and frowning at the result.

Behind me, Quen shifted uneasily. It was a small motion, but it rang through me like a gunshot. The request for help could have been Quen acting on his own. He'd done so before.

"Well, Quen did, then," I said, knowing I was right when Trent's attention flicked to the security officer through the mirror.

"Apparently," Trent said dryly. "But I didn't." Grimacing, he felt his face. It looked like he'd been pumping iron, bulgy and ugly. "I don't need your help. I will go into the ever-after myself and retrieve the sample. Ceri's child will be healthy."

I couldn't stop my laugh at the mental image of Trent standing in the ever-after, and the man reddened. Relaxing, I slumped into one of the cushy chairs by the wine and cheese and sat with my feet spread wide. "I can see why you came to me," I said to Quen. "You think you can handle the ever-after?" This was directed at Trent. "You wouldn't last a minute. Not a freaking minute." I eyed the cheese. I hadn't eaten anything since this morning, and my mouth started to water at the sharp scent. "The wind might muss up your hair," I said lightly.

Quen stepped from the door. "So you'll go in his stead?"

Reaching for a cracker, I hesitated until Trent grimaced. But he hadn't said I couldn't have it, so I snapped the cracker in two and ate half. "No."

Looking like a steroid poster boy, Trent frowned at Quen. "Morgan doesn't need to be involved in this." His gaze went to me. "Rachel. Leave."

As if I ever do anything he tells me to do?

Trent's fingers sifted through a display of amulets, choosing one that added eight inches to his height. The fake bulk thinned a little, but not much. I could feel the tension rise as I stayed where I was. Quen would have to work to get me out of here, and I knew he'd rather wait until I was ready. "Lowlife Romeo," I said, taking another cracker and adding a piece of cheese. "Slime of the earth. I knew you were a murderer, but knocking up Ceri and abandoning her? That's pathetic, Trent. Even for you."

At that, Trent turned. "I did nothing of the kind," he said, his voice rising. "She is getting the finest care. Her child will have every opportunity."

I smiled. It wasn't often I could get him to lose his professional edge and act his age. He wasn't much older than me, but he got precious little chance to enjoy his wealthy youth.

"I'll bet," I said, egging him on. "Who are you trying to be here?" I asked, gesturing to the charms. "Frankenstein's monster?"

His neck went red, and Trent took off the height and weight charms. "You're embarrassing yourself, not me," he said, once again his usual size and shape. "I offered to move her into my compound. I offered to put her anywhere she liked from the Alps to Zimbabwe. She chose to stay with Mr. Bairn, and whereas I might object—"

"Bairn?" I gasped, jerking upright, my fake indolence vanishing. "You mean Keasley?" I stared into Trent's mocking green eyes. "Leon Bairn? But he's dead!"

Trent was positively smug. Showing me his back, he rifled through a rack of earth charms and watched his hair shift color. "And whereas I might otherwise object—"

"Bairn did the investigation on your parents' deaths," I interrupted, thoughts scrambling. "And my dad's." Bairn is supposed to be dead. Why is he across the road pretending to be a kind old man named Keasley? And how did Trent know who he was?

His hair now an authoritative gray, Trent frowned. "And whereas I might otherwise object," he tried again, "Quen assures me that between Bairn and two pixies—"

"Two!" I blurted. "Jih took a husband?"

"Damn it, Rachel, will you shut up?"

My attention fixed on him, and I hesitated. Trent's face was longer, kind of creepy. He had the bulking-up charm on again, but with the extra height, the roundness had been lost. I blinked at him, then closed my mouth. Trent was giving me information. That didn't happen very often. Maybe I should shut up.

I forced myself to recline in the chair, pantomiming zipping my mouth shut. But my foot was jiggling. Trent watched it for a moment, then turned to the mirror.

"Quen assures me that Ceridwen is as safe in that nasty little hole of a house as she would be with me. She's agreed to receive medical attention at my expense, and if she's lacking anything, it's because she has stubbornly refused to accept it."

The last was said rather dryly, and I couldn't help my rueful smile as Trent studied his reflection, clearly not pleased with what he saw. I understood completely. Though mild mannered most times, when Ceri set her mind to something, she was quietly adamant, then aggressively so if she didn't get her way. She had been born into royalty, and I had a feeling that apart from having to be submissive to Al when she was his familiar, she had pretty much ruled the rest of his household. Until her mind had broken and she lost the will to do anything at all.

Trent was watching me when I met his gaze, clearly bewildered at my fond smile. Shrugging, I ate another cracker. "What are her chances for a healthy baby?" I asked, wondering how guilty I was going to have to feel about my refusal to go into the ever-after.

A silver-haired Trent went back to the ley line charms. He was silent, and I imagined he was weighing his words carefully. "If she had a child with someone from her own period, chances would be good that her child would be healthy with a minimal amount of genetic intervention," he finally said. Choosing another ley line charm, he invoked it. A shimmer cascaded over him, and his height grew by almost three inches. Tossing the invocation pin aside, he kept the charm.

His fingers among the shards of metal, he almost whispered, "Having a child with someone of our generation, the chances of a healthy child are only marginally better than anyone else's without intervention. Though some of the repairs my father and I have managed are hooked into mitochondrial DNA and therefore passed from mother to child, most aren't, and we are limited by the health of the egg and sperm at the time of conception. Ceri's reproductive capabilities are excellent." His eyes met mine, every drop of emotion gone. "It's those of us who are left that are failing her."

I wouldn't look away, though guilt smacked me a good one. Trent's father had kept me alive by modifying my mitochondria. Even if I conceived a child with a man who carried Rosewood syndrome, our child would survive, free of the genetic aberration that had been killing thousands of witches in infancy for millennia. My attention rose from the half-eaten cracker in my hands. It seemed unfair that elven efforts could save a witch but not the elves themselves.

Trent smiled knowingly, and I dropped my gaze. He had to guess where my thoughts were, and it made me uncomfortable that we were starting to understand what drove each of us, even if we didn't agree on each other's methods. Life had been easier when I had been able to pretend I couldn't see shades of gray.

"Who are you trying to be?" I said suddenly, trying to change the subject and gesturing at the amulets so he knew what I was talking about.

Quen shifted into a more comfortable position, and Trent sighed, going from successful business executive to embarrassed young man in an instant. "Rynn Cormel," he said hesitantly.

"It's awful," I said, and Trent nodded as he looked at his reflection.

"Yes, it is. I think I should try for someone else. Something less…ominous."

He started taking off charms, and gathering myself, I lurched out of the chair and brushed my sweater free of crackers. Leaving my shoulder bag on the table, I headed to the open closets. "Here," I said, giving him an oversize black suit coat.

"That's too big," he said, but he took it. The only charm he still had was the earth charm that turned his hair gray, and the silver gave him a more distinguished look.

"It's supposed to be big. Just put it on," I griped, watching as he shuffled out of his linen coat and handed it to me. A puff of scent rose as I took it, and I breathed deeply. Sort of a mix of mint and cinnamon…with a little bit of crushed leaves and, oh, was that a hint of leather from the stables? Damn, he smelled good.

Trying not to be obvious about my sniffing, I draped it over one of the amulet racks and turned to find Trent wearing the coat. The sleeves covered his hands but for his fingertips; it was clearly too long. The starkness of the black fabric looked bad with his complexion, but when I was done with him, it would be perfect.

Trent moved to take it off, and I waved for him to wait. "Try this," I said, handing him a ley line charm to add about six inches of height. He could make up the rest with his shoes and it wouldn't cost him beaucoup bucks. The usual rate was a thousand dollars an inch, but here it was probably more.

He put the charm on, but I didn't wait to see the result, already back among the amulets and the more familiar earth charms. "Longer, longer…," I muttered. "Don't they have these in any order? Ah. Here it is." Pleased, I turned, almost smacking into him. Trent backed up, and I extended the charm. "This will add a few inches to your hair. Hold on." I shuffled through the clutter, found a finger stick, pricked my finger, and while Trent watched, invoked the amulet with three drops of my blood.

"Now try it," I said.

Trent took it, his silver-enhanced hair growing the instant his fingers encircled the redwood disk. Unlike ley magic charms, earth magic needed to be touching the skin, not just within a person's aura.

"Okay…you don't want a bulk-up amulet," I directed. "You don't need muscles, you need mass." I turned with the proper ley line charm. "Try this," I said, and he silently took it, his weight seeming to grow to match his new height. I smiled as I eyed my efforts. It was a delicate balancing act, one I'd practiced with my mom for the better part of two decades before I'd moved out. And having this much variety at my fingertips made it a real pleasure.

"Rynn Cormel's facial structure is kind of spare," I murmured, fingers dancing through the ley line charms. "We don't want to mess with your weight-to-height ratio, so if we add a few years with an age amulet, and then add a complexion charm to remove the wrinkles…" I quickly chose the age ley line charm, then hesitated. If it were me, I'd spring for the earth magic complexion amulet rather than a ley line spell of illusion in case someone touched my face. Then I shrugged. Like anyone would be touching Trent's face at a party? And a second ley line charm joined the pile.

"Your chin needs to be longer…," I murmured, rifling through the labeled ley line charms. "Get rid of the tan. A wider brow, thicker eyebrows. Shorter eyelashes. And ears…" I hesitated, my focus blurring as I brought the undead vampire's face to mind. "His ears don't have much of a lobe and are round." I glanced at Trent. "Yours are kind of pointy at the top."

He cleared his throat in warning.

"Here," I said, invoking the charms I had selected as I dropped them one by one into his hand. "Now let's see what you look like."

Trent slipped them into a pocket, and I turned to the mirror. Slowly I smiled. Trent said nothing, but Quen swore softly, his steps unheard on the carpet as he came forward.

I went to a drawer marked GLASSES and, after shuffling around, pulled out a pair of modern wire-rims. I gave them to Trent, and when he put them on, Quen whistled low and long. "Morgan," Quen said, shooting me a wary but impressed glance. "That is fantastic. I am going to install a few more charm monitors in the hallways."

"Thank you," I said modestly, beaming. I stood beside Trent and admired my handiwork. "You need teeth, yet," I said, and Trent nodded slowly, as if worried he might break the spell if he moved too fast. "Are you going with caps or a charm?" I asked.

"Charm," Trent said absently, turning his head to get a better glimpse of himself.

"Caps are more fun," I said, inordinately pleased. There was an entire bin of teeth charms, and I went ahead and invoked the ley line spell and dropped it into his pocket.

"And you would know that how?" Trent asked slyly.

"Because I have a pair," I said, refusing to show any pain about Kisten in front of Trent, but I couldn't meet his eyes.

Done, I stood beside Trent as he smiled at the illusion of longer teeth. Somewhere along the line, I'd joined him on the stage. Not wanting to get down and look subservient, I quieted my sudden nervousness at how close we were. And neither of us was trying to kill or arrest the other. Huh. How about that?

"What do you think?" I asked, since I had yet to hear Trent's opinion.

Standing beside me, Trent, who now had distinguished gray hair, a thin, almost hollowed face, six more inches, and fifty more pounds, shook his head, looking nothing like himself and everything like Rynn Cormel. Damn, I should have gone into showbiz.

"I look just like him," he said, clearly impressed.

"Almost." More pleased than I wanted to be by his approval, I invoked and handed him one last ley line charm.

Trent took it, and my breath caught. His eyes had gone pupil black. Hungry vampire black. A shiver rose through me. "Holy crap," I said, pleased. "Can I play dress-up, or what?"

"This is…impressive," Trent said, and I got off the stage.

"You're welcome," I said. "Don't let them overcharge you. There are only thirteen charms there, and only the two for your hair are earth magic and not pure illusion." I glanced at the plush surroundings, deciding that they wouldn't sell temporary ley line spells with a reduced life. "Maybe sixteen grand for the entire outfit if they put it all in two charms. You can triple that considering who you're buying them from." Doppelgänger charms were legal on Halloween, not cheap.

Trent smiled, a truly vampiric smile, charismatic, dangerous, and oh-so-seductive. Oh, God. I had to get out of there. He was hitting all my buttons, and I think he knew it.

"Ms. Morgan," Trent said, his suit rustling as he followed me off the stage. "I do believe you're betraying yourself."

Swell. He totally knew it. "Don't forget to pick up a charm to change your scent," I said as I went to get my shoulder bag. "You won't be able to match Cormel's individual smell, but a generic scent charm ought to fool everyone." I plucked my bag up, then turned, taking one last look at him. Damn. "Everyone except those who know his scent, of course."

Trent glanced at Quen, who was still staring in disbelief. "I'll keep that in mind," Trent muttered.

I headed for the door, my pace faltering when Quen said, "Rachel, please reconsider?"

My good mood crashed, and I stopped two feet from the door with my head bowed. Quen was asking, but I knew he was asking for Trent. I thought of Ceri and the happiness a healthy child would bring her, the healing that could come of it. "Trent, I can't. The risk—"

"What would you risk for your child to be healthy?" Trent interrupted, and I turned around, surprised at the question. "What would any parents do?"

Tension pulled me stiff, and hearing the accusation of cowardice in his voice, I hated him more than I ever had before. I'd never thought about children much until I met Kisten, and then it had always been with a melancholy sadness that they wouldn't have his beautiful eyes. But if I had a child? And that child was suffering as I had in my past? Yeah. I'd risk it all.

Trent seemed to see it in my eyes and a hint of victory quirked his lips. But then I thought of Al. I'd been his familiar once. Sort of. And it was hell on earth. That was assuming he wouldn't outright kill me. I wouldn't chance it. I was going to think with my head this time and not be goaded into a stupid decision by Trent pushing my buttons—and I wasn't going to feel guilty about it either.

A shiver lifted through me and was gone. Lifting my chin, I stared until the disgust I directed at him made his eye twitch. "No," I said, my voice shaking. "I won't. I go in the ever-after, and Al will pick me up three seconds after I tap a line. After that, I'm dead. It's that simple. You can save your own damn species."

"We don't need Morgan's help," Trent said, his voice tight. But I noticed he'd waited until I refused before he said it. Ceri wasn't the only stubborn elf, and I wondered if Trent's new desire to prove his worth came from his trying to impress her.

"This isn't my problem," I muttered, hiking my shoulder bag up. "I have to go."

Feeling ugly, I opened the door and walked out, bumping Jon in his gut with my elbow when he didn't get out of my way quick enough. I had never cared about Trent's grand plan to save the elves before, but this wasn't sitting well with me.

I consoled myself that Ceri's child would survive whether they had a thousand-year-old sample from her or a two-thousand-year-old sample from the ever-after. The only difference was the amount of tinkering that they would have to do to the child.

My mouth twisted into a grimace as I remembered my three summers spent at Trent's father's Make-A-Wish camp for dying children. It would be stupid to believe that all the children there were on the roster to save. They were a living camouflage for the few that had the money to pay for a Kalamack cure. And I would give anything to have escaped the pain of making friends with children who were going to die.

The chatter of the people up front changed when they caught sight of me, and I waved so they'd leave me alone. I stormed to the door, not caring if Jon thought his boss had gotten the best of me. I didn't stop or slow down until my feet reached the sidewalk.

Street noise hit me, and the sun. Slowing, I remembered where I was and did an about-face. My car was the other way. I didn't look up as I passed the front window, hiding my eyes as I dug my phone out of my bag. Bothered, I hit the return-last-call number to tell Marshal I had a friend emergency and I'd let him know if I couldn't make Fountain Square by three.

I had to talk to Ceri.