For a Few Demons More (47 page)

He was silent in thought. Deep concern in his gaze, he looked at the package in my hands, then turned to the officer with us. “How messy is Camelot?”

Camelot?
I mused, and the man in question fidgeted. I could smell his fear on him, and Piscary was watching him. “It's full of mailings,” the officer said. “June's newsletters still have to go out.”

Edden's frown deepened. “It's the only room with a two-way that will hold all of them.”

“Two-way!” I scoffed. “I want a room, not an FIB audience.”

“I'm not going to let you go into a room alone with those people,” Edden said. “You put me here, Morgan, and you're going to do it my way.”

Jenks stifled a snicker, and I cocked my hip, copping an attitude in black lace and butt-kicking boots. “Whatever,” I said, knowing I was at his mercy.

Satisfied, Edden drew the FIB officer even closer. “Grab a couple of guys and get the table cleared off. And have someone get Ms. Morgan's wish list in there.”

My neck grew cold as Jenks took flight. “I'll get them,” he offered, and the FIB officer looked relieved. Edden started to protest, but upon seeing Jenks already fronting the two Weres, he hesitated. Piscary was
next, falling into step behind them. From his corner, Quen closed his phone and rocked forward before Jenks reached him, giving the pixy a nod. Al noticed the mass exodus and joined them, kissing the receptionist's hand in farewell.

“Damn,” Edden swore softly, taking my elbow and angling us to the top of the hallway ahead of them. “I need to get me a pixy on the payroll.”

I couldn't help my smile. “They're expensive,” I warned him.

The comforting blank walls took us in, and the noise behind us dulled. “I thought they worked for sugar water and nectar,” Edden said, and I slowed as I noticed we were passing interrogation rooms.

“I meant in terms of loyalty,” I clarified, pulling him to a stop when I found Trent's room. A soft murmur came from behind the door, and when he saw my expression, Edden's face went hard. There was one more person I wanted to be present. Quen wasn't enough. I wanted Trent.

“No,” Edden said, clearly knowing why I'd stopped, then pressed back against the walls as the Weres, Al, Quen, and Piscary all passed before us in silent expectation. Mrs. Sarong's heels clicked smartly, and Al gave me an amused grin over his smoked glasses. Quen was silent, his shoulders tense under the expensive fabric of his tux. Jenks was with them, and I gave him a nod as he went along to serve as my ears.

Skimmer and Ivy were with Piscary, and my heart clenched as Ivy did nothing when I tried to catch her eyes. She looked pale and empty, her perfect face still blank and beautiful, graceful in her sophisticated gray dress. It hurt to see her like that, and the memory of her voice rang in my head, the broken sound when she had begged me to keep the sun away from her after Piscary had raped her body and her blood and she thought she was dead. Pulling back, I forced myself to keep from reaching out to give her a shake. Piscary smiled in smug satisfaction at my pain, his hand upon the small of her back as he guided her forward.

I watched until they turned the corner. How could I do nothing? How could I stand here and watch her go by without doing something? She was my friend. Hell, she was more. And with that thought I felt my face go cold.

Kisten and Ivy offered me the same chance at finding blood ecstasy,
Kisten's offer packaged in a way my upbringing would have no problem dealing with, yet I'd said no to him. Continually. All the while, I was courting disaster trying to battle both my preconceived notions of myself and the risk of death to find the same thing with Ivy. Why?

And I closed my eyes, shutting out the world as I hammered the thought home. I wanted something lasting with Ivy. Yes, this spring I had come to grips with the idea that I'd probably moved into the church unconsciously hoping she'd bite me. True, I had beaten her off a few times before in fear, but I couldn't bring myself to do it anymore if the van incident this spring was any indication. I made no apology for wanting to try to find a blood balance with her. But only now did I realize what that meant. I was talking about a life commitment. Just because it might not involve sex didn't make it any less important or lasting.

“No way, Rachel,” Edden said, and I stared in panic until I realized he was talking about my wanting Trent with us, not the possibility of Ivy and me together. Bound by blood and friendship. That it didn't necessarily preempt a secondary, more traditional relationship with a man—with Kist?—only added to the scary factor.

Edden's head tilted in confusion at my deer-in-the-headlights expression, and I dropped my gaze, feeling dizzy. Crap, why did I always pick the best times to figure things out?

“I need Trent there,” I said, pressing the focus to my middle. “If he doesn't see me give this thing to Piscary, then it doesn't do me any good.”

Edden grimaced, making his mustache stick out. “Quen can tell him.”

The door to Trent's interrogation room opened, cutting our argument short. The FIB officer stopped, but it was too late, Trent had followed him out, accompanied by a second man in a suit. His lawyer, probably.

Trent looked totally unlike himself, yet nothing significant had changed. He was still dressed in his wedding finery, he still walked with grace, but there was an eerie wariness that had been absent before. His gaze fastened on mine with the usual intensity, but the edge of icy hatred was new. Disturbingly controlled, he drew himself upright, hiding the fatigue born of his efforts to lie his way out of his heinous crimes.

“Trent needs to be there,” I blurted, trying to muddle things more. “He's a council member until proven guilty, and he needs to be present. This involves the city's security. You want to wait around for someone else to show up? You're pretty good if you think you can put a master vampire in a room with two alpha Weres, a demon, and a…a whatever Quen is,” I said, remembering to keep his elven heritage a secret.

“Rachel…” Edden warned, but I had given Trent all he needed.

“If there is a city security issue, I have a right to be present,” he said, regaining a modicum of his usual crisp presence. Trent didn't know what I was doing, but clearly I was trying to include him in it, and despite his probably wanting to put out a contract on me for tagging him, he'd go along with it. All things in their own time, apparently.

The officer and the suit flanking him had a hushed conversation, and when the FIB guy shrugged, Edden sighed. “Damn it, Rachel,” he muttered, squeezing my elbow. “This is not how I do things.”

Tired, I said nothing as I waited for his decision. My thoughts went to Ivy, then Kist.

The squat ex–military man rubbed a hand over his chin and took a firmer stance. “I'm in there with two other men.”

“Just you, and you can cuff him to a chair,” I came back.

Trent's frown deepened until it showed on his forehead. We all had to press back against the walls as three harried-looking officers carrying boxes of blue paper and envelopes passed. Apparently the room was cleaned up, and I started getting nervous again.

“All right,” Edden said sourly. “Mr. Kalamack, would you please accompany me? Ms. Morgan seems to want to have a town meeting. We'll get you back to your processing as soon as possible so you can make bail.”

Bail!
I thought, not having imagined they would even offer it.

Trent saw my startled expression, and he allowed a hint of smugness to show. “Thank you, Captain. I would appreciate that.”

Jenks flitted into the hallway to hover by the door. “Okay, Rache. They're all yours.”

Mine,
I thought as I steadied myself and followed Edden and Trent. But what by Tink's little red shoes was I supposed to do with them, now that I had them?

Edden escorted Trent into the room ahead of me. Hesitating in the hall, I tugged the lacy collar of my dress straight, tucked a stray curl behind an ear, hiked my shoulder bag up, took a tighter grip on the wrapped present, and wished I could run to the bathroom.

“Charm shop,” Jenks taunted from my shoulder, and I made a rude noise. There was a mild stir as everyone reacted to Trent's appearance. It wasn't going to get any easier. Knowing that Ivy was already in there, I squared my shoulders and walked in.

I scanned the room and saw where the Camelot remark had come from. A round table with its attendant half circle of chairs took up the right side of the large, rectangular room. Between it and the two-way mirror to my left was a wide space that gave me the impression of a stage. At the far right was a coffee-stained counter with a sink, covered in anything anyone could possibly use to put together a presentation: tatty binder clips, scratched report covers, three-hole paper punches, and a massive paper cutter that looked like it could chop wood for a campfire.

Piscary and Ivy sat at the back near the counter, Skimmer's thin grace standing submissively behind them in her strict black business suit. A flash of nervousness went through me, shortly followed by self-disgust. I was going to buy protection from the same man who had abused Ivy and given Kisten's death to someone as a thank-you gift. But
what choice did I have? Someone powerful had to hold the focus. It didn't matter whether I liked him or not if he could keep me and Kisten alive and prevent a worldwide Inderland power struggle.

The two Weres sat near the middle of the table across from the door. Upon seeing me enter, Mrs. Sarong yanked Mr. Ray back into his seat before he could make an ass of himself. Trent was sitting beside the door, with Edden looming behind him. The elf wasn't in cuffs. Across from them Quen stood with his arms over his chest, looking good in his tux/uniform.

My attention went to Al. He was a vision of upright elegance in his black tux, standing with his back to me before the two-way mirror. The demon was breathing heavily on the glass to mist it up, using a gloved finger to scribe ley line symbols I couldn't understand. I didn't want to imagine the fear of the men and women watching behind the glass.

Al turned, beaming over his round smoked glasses. “Rachel Mariana Morgan,” he drawled, his accent proving that despite looking like Lee, he was all Algaliarept. “Watching you cuff Trenton was extre-e-e-emely entertaining. What
will
you do for your next trick?”

Glowering beside Mrs. Sarong, Mr. Ray grumbled, “Pull a flaming bunny out of her ass, maybe?”

Quen stifled a smirk, and I came forward, boots clunking and dress furling. Jenks left me for the overhead lights in a soft hum. Only Quen and Al watched him go, the rest clueless as to how much of a threat he was up there. The gown made me feel stupid, but everyone was over-dressed. I tried to get Ivy's attention as I stood at the table a few chairs down, with Trent between me and Al. She never looked up, her gaze fixed on the nothing and her face peacefully blank. Skimmer let her hatred show, and I ignored the sophisticated, pretty, blond vamp.

I set the package and my shoulder bag on the table, pushing them together as I gathered my thoughts. “Thanks for meeting me here, Piscary,” I said, forcing my hand off my aching upper arm. “You are the foulest thing I've ever seen, but I hope we can come to some agreement.”
God, I'm such a hypocrite.

Piscary smiled while petting Ivy's hand, and when Al took a breath to say something, I turned. “Shut up,” I demanded, and he huffed, though I could tell he thought it all a big joke. “You're here as witnesses. All of you. That's it.”

There was a nervous shifting of position from everyone but Quen, and, satisfied, I touched my stuff on the table and tried not to think about my full bladder. “Okay,” I said, and Trent smiled mockingly at my nervousness. “As you all probably figured out, I still have the focus.”

Mr. Ray stiffened, and Mrs. Sarong's grip on his wrist tightened.

“I've got the focus,” I continued when he settled back. “And all of you want it.” I sent my gaze to my right. “Trent, I imagine you want it for a power play, seeing as you offered me an insane amount of money for it.”
And killed three Weres, but why bring
that
up?

“We double his offer,” Mrs. Sarong said crisply, and Trent laughed outright, bitter and mocking. It was a new side to him, and it wasn't attractive. The woman turned scarlet, and Mr. Ray hunched over, looking uncomfortable.

“It's not for sale,” I said, before anyone else could interrupt, then turned to Piscary. “Piscary, you want me dead for obvious reasons,” I added. “And so does Trent, probably, by now.”

“Don't forget me, love,” Al said, turning his back on the mirror. “I just want you for an hour. One hour and this would all go away.”

Jenks clattered his wings in warning, and I steadied myself. “No,” I said, though my stomach was starting to hurt. An hour with him would become an eternity.

Mr. Ray himself tugged out from under Mrs. Sarong's grip. “Give it to me or I'll hunt you down like an animal and take it.” Then the man jumped, and Mrs. Sarong's smile made me speculate about what she had done to him under the table. Gold pixy dust sifted down to put the Were in a temporary sunbeam, and Mr. Ray looked up in surprise, clearly having forgotten about Jenks.

Wondering if he had just been pixed, I stifled a smirk. “Yes,” I said dryly. “I know. Which is why I'm talking to Piscary, not you.”

There was a heartbeat of silence, and Mr. Ray surged to his feet. “No!” he bellowed, his round face flashing red. “You sorry little whippet. You can't give it to that undead bast—”

His words cut off when Quen put a hand on his shoulder and shoved him down. “Close your mouth,” Quen said. “Listen before you draw your battle lines, lest you alienate your allies.”

Oh, that sounds just peachy damn keen.
But at least it was quiet. Shifting my weight to my other foot, I glanced at Al—who was starting to
match Mrs. Sarong in terms of pissed-off-ness, to Trent, who was clearly thinking furiously, and finally to Piscary. The undead vamp was smiling like the benevolent god he believed he was. A honey-hued hand sat atop the pale purity of Ivy's, and I imagined he thought I was going to barter the focus for her and Kisten. I wanted to, but Keasley was right. She had to escape him on her own, or she would never be free of him.

“I'll give it to Piscary,” I said as sweat trickled down my spine. “But I want something.”

All eyes were on me. Piscary's smile widened. He slipped an arm behind Ivy and pulled her gently close. There was barely a flicker behind her brown eyes. “Ivy is mine,” he said.

My breath shook as I exhaled. “Ivy belongs to herself. I want you to rescind the blood gift you made of Kisten, take him back into your camarilla, and give me protection from yourself and those yahoos,” I said as I tossed my head to indicate everyone else in the room. “I also want my church back, and the freedom to pursue my business interests without interference.”

Trent stiffened. Quen uncrossed his arms and took a more balanced stance. Al turned completely around from where he'd been scribing more ley line symbols on the two-way mirror. Piscary blinked in surprise. “Kisten?” he murmured in question. “You want…Kisten?”

“Yes, I want Kisten back under your protection,” I said belligerently. “Will you rescind his blood gift or not?”

Piscary made a small sound of surprised consideration. Then, as if shifting his thoughts, he said, “You would have to restrain from persecuting me, of course.”

“That's not fair,” Al protested indignantly. “I'm trying to get Cincinnati's gambling and protection, and that gives you an unfair advantage. I want a witch on my payroll, too.”

I gritted my teeth.
I will not put myself on Piscary's payroll. I will not.
“I can work on that,” I said to Piscary. “It depends upon how much you tick me off.”

The small man in his traditional Egyptian robes steepled his fingers in consideration. “You want me to rescind my gift of Kisten, take him back into my graces, grant you protection from all of them,” he said with an elegant gesture, “and have me still be subject to your unique sense of moral outrage?”

Al's shoes clicked smartly, and everyone tensed as he came to the table. Clearly enjoying everyone's unease at his approach, Al sat with a provocative motion at the head of the table. “I'll say it again, Rachel Mariana Morgan. You're not shy about asking for things.”

I wished he'd stop using all my names. “Look,” I said, seeing Edden relax now that the demon was sitting. “I know what the focus is, what it does, and that it works. I've got it, and I won't give it away for nothing.” My gaze slid to Trent's. “And money doesn't keep me alive.”

“I can keep you alive,” he said, his gray voice confident, though Edden stood behind him to cart him off to a cell if he couldn't make bail. “You underestimate me if you think I can't.”

I grimaced as I remembered him offering me an island to get me out of the city and under his thumb. I still didn't know why. Maybe because he'd known that my blood could kindle demon magic? But he was afraid of black magic. It didn't add up.

“Thanks, but no,” I said tightly. “I'd rather deal with the undead.” Mrs. Sarong was looking at my shoulder bag as if she might snatch it, and I pulled it closer. “The focus will cause more turmoil than the Turn. I can't destroy it without twisting demon magic, and despite what you all think, I avoid it when I can.” I took a deep breath, turning to Piscary. “I'm assuming you will keep it hidden and on this side of the lines so the Weres don't overthrow vampire superiority?” I asked, and he nodded, the light glistening on his shaven scalp.

“They are not superior to us!” Mr. Ray bellowed, and Mrs. Sarong edged her chair away in a show of distancing herself from him, clearly tired of his lack of grace.

“And that's why you want it so bad?” I said sharply. “Without the focus you're second, maybe third, on the food chain. Deal with it. Everyone else does.”

Tension had pulled all my muscles tight. I was losing control. Edden had a weapon, but there were two predators and one elven warrior in here, all deadly on their own.

Piscary alone looked confident. “You're afraid,” he breathed, the rim of brown about his eyes starting to disappear. “You smell…so good.”

Adrenaline dove through me, followed by the memory of him pinning me to the floor of his apartment, licking the blood from my elbow
on his way to my neck. “And you stink like three-day-old carrion under your pheromones and witch charms. Do we have a deal or not?”

“Perhaps,” he said shortly. “But you ask for too much. I'm going to have my hands full trying to keep that fluffy ball of damnation under control,” he said, glancing at Al, as his smile grew to show his fangs. “That's why they let me out. I must do my civic duty.”

Behind him Skimmer shifted uneasily, and glanced nervously at her. “You mean Al?” I questioned when the demon leaned back and put his shiny dress shoes on the table in satisfaction. “No problem. I'll have him back in the ever-after as soon as I make an interdimensional phone call.”

I wasn't a demon practitioner.
I wasn't.

“You little
canicula
!” Al swore, his feet hitting the tile as he stood. His glasses slipped, and he fumbled for them. “You can't! You don't know anyone's summoning name but mine!”

Edden moved, drawing his weapon. The safety clicked off, and Al stumbled to a halt, remembering he had a body now that couldn't go misty. Quen was tense, and Trent was stiff in his chair. I was the nearest to him, but he knew I wouldn't protect his lame elf ass. Besides, he was looking at me as if I had sprouted black wings with matching tail and horns.

Piscary, though, was as cool and calm as ever, Skimmer behind him looking scared at last, and Ivy blinking, the faintest worry lines showing upon her forehead. Compared to Piscary, Al was weak now, trapped in a witch's body and capable of doing only what Lee could. “You can't banish him,” the undead vampire said coolly. “Not with him possessing another.”

I lifted one shoulder in a nervous shrug. “Someone in the ever-after owes me a favor. Al's over here hiding from trouble. If I blow the whistle, someone will pick him up.”

“You bitch!” Al howled, jerking when Edden aimed his weapon. “You don't know anyone but Newt, and Newt doesn't have a summoning name. Who gave you their name?”

“He's back into the ever-after?” Piscary said, smiling again to show his fangs.

“And out of your territory.” My fingers trembled, and I glanced at Trent, bothered by his look of horror. “Territories,” I added to make it plural, not liking that Trent thought I dealt in demons. “I'll do that for you for free, Trent.”

Trent shook his head, his fair hair floating in the breeze of the building's air. “You consort with demons,” he whispered, then turned to Quen, looking betrayed. Everyone he thought was untainted was not. Seemed like Trent had his own problems.

“I don't,” I said, unclenching my teeth before I gave myself a headache. “Someone in the ever-after owes me. You have a problem with my calling in a favor to get rid of Al?”

His confidence shaken, Trent asked, “What did you give a demon for a favor owed?”

Stomach cramping, I turned to Piscary. “Do we have a deal or not?”

The vampire smiled to make me shudder. “Very much so.”

Al growled, and as Edden held him at gunpoint, I shoved the package down the entire length of the table. “Mazel tov,” I said, depressed, anxious, and jittery.

“It was the gift?” Trent stammered. “You brought it to the wedding?”