Where Demons Dare. Kim Harrison
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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