13
“Skinny demon, tall! Straight black grande!” Mark called, and I turned from the rack of overpriced coffee beans as the bell over the counter rang. I’d lost my grinder with the church’s kitchen, but if I was honest with myself, coffee was coffee. Unless it’s a tall Italian blend in skim milk, light on the foam with a shot of raspberry in it and cinnamon on top, I thought as I reached for the two steaming cups in their environmentally conscious sleeves.
“Thanks, Mark,” I said, and he smiled warmly.
“I’ll have Mr. Kalamack’s salted caramel and sugar cookie up in a sec. I’m kind of short tonight.” Mark’s smile faltered as he noticed Jenks’s dust on the counter, and embarrassed, Jenks hovered back. “Dali called in sick. I didn’t think demons could get sick.”
“I think he wanted Saturday night off,” I said, again thinking the demon was a coward. “Take your time. We’re meeting someone,” I said, then spun, gasping as I almost ran into Trent. Eyebrows high, he took Glenn’s coffee from me before I spilled it on him.
A straight black grande, I thought with a fond smirk. It described Glenn perfectly. The former FIB detective gone rogue was comfortable, accessible, and street-smart, and his quick insight into a difficult problem could wake you up better than a shot of caffeine. I had missed the tall, athletic man with a flair for making a personal statement. I knew his dad, Edden, did, too. That he’d vanished with little warning to join the-men-who-didn’t-belong, only to have been in town for what was probably two weeks while the zombies were corralled, kind of hurt.
“Where do you want to sit?” Trent looked over the sparsely populated coffeehouse.
“Back,” I said, and Trent headed to a half-bench, half-chair table, Glenn’s drink in hand.
The sun was almost down, and as I suspected, Trent and I had never gotten to the museum. After verifying our suspicions concerning the matching auras of the attackers, Ivy had gone home to sleep and maybe dig up something on the baku, but Trent and Jenks had stuck with me in the hopes that Glenn, who was “amazingly and unexpectedly” in Cincinnati, might tell us something that Ivy’s laptop couldn’t.
I slid into the bench with my back to the wall, then looked up, startled when I realized that Trent was still standing. Clearly he didn’t want his back to the door, either, and when I slid down even more, he gratefully sat beside me.
“You sure you don’t want a pastry or a cookie?” he asked as Jenks landed on the rim of Glenn’s cup and dipped some into the pixy-size mug Mark had given him, gratis.
“No, I’m good, but don’t let that stop you,” I said as I took up my drink. “Sorry about this weekend. I didn’t have anything planned, but talking to a human task force stealing zombies wasn’t on the agenda. I really wanted to get to the museum.” Let’s just add a sprinkle of guilt onto this, I thought as I breathed in the warm steam and took a sip.
“We can try for tomorrow,” Trent said, and Jenks dramatically rolled his eyes. “I spent the afternoon with Mac, recording a spot for his show.” Trent wrangled his phone from a back pocket and set it on the table with a sigh of relief.
“You’re on the night show?” Jenks asked. “Damn. Who’d they bump for that?”
“No one.” Trent’s attention was on the big plate-glass windows looking out onto a narrow Cincinnati street. “It won’t be aired until sometime next week.”
“Even so, that was fast,” Jenks said.
Trent scratched his jawline in a show of unease. “Actually, it’s way overdue. Thank you for pulling my head out of the sand.”
His hand found mine under the table, and I gave it a squeeze. “You’re welcome.”
“I think you mean out of your ass, shoemaker,” Jenks smart-mouthed, and I hit the bottom of the table with my knee to make him dart up from Glenn’s coffee.
“After this, we should get something to eat,” Trent continued as if nothing had happened. “I need to sit somewhere and have people bring me food.” He slid his phone closer and brought it awake. “What sounds good?”
Jenks slurped his coffee, and his sparkles shifted to an almost blinding white in the sudden caffeine buzz. “You gave Maggie the night off, didn’t you.”
“I gave her the entire weekend,” Trent admitted. “It’s not that I can’t cook—”
“But that you don’t want to. I get it,” I said. “How about we grab a burger at that bowling alley downtown?” I suggested.
“Awww, man-n-n-n . . . ,” Jenks drawled. “Bowling alleys don’t have no decent honey.”
But Trent’s eyes had lit up, and he put his phone away. “Burgers and fries. Deal.”
“Deal.” I licked my thumb and held it out to make the pact official, and while Jenks sulkily sifted a dark blue dust into Glenn’s coffee, Trent licked his thumb and we pressed them together as if we were kids making promises. A flash of memory took me when I wiped my thumb dry on my pants, something about Lee and a hole in the ground. . . .
“Ah, Trent?” I said softly. “Did I help you shove Lee into the well at camp?”
Trent’s head snapped up, his green eyes wide. “Uh, maybe?” he said, looking at his thumb, and I smirked. It wouldn’t have surprised me. There’d been memory blockers in the camp’s water. That both of us were now able to circumvent anyone trying to rub out hours or even weeks didn’t erase past damage. But things surfaced occasionally.
I thought it funny as hell that Lee and Trent had been forced to spend their summers together in an attempt to ease the tension between the East and West Coast drug cartel families. It had worked to a point. The rivalry was now friendly if still deadly serious. Stuffing Lee into a well for three days had gotten better results, though I hadn’t remembered until now that I’d been there.
“No wonder Lee doesn’t like me,” I grumped, and Trent tugged me close, amused.
“Lee likes you. He only tried to kill you the one time, and he thought you were Ku’Sox.”
“Two if you count the boat,” I said.
“Okay. Two. But he apologized,” Trent countered.
Jenks sat on the rim of Glenn’s coffee and kicked the cup with his heels. “You two are sweeter than a newling’s barf.”
“Salted caramel grande, no whip, with a cookie,” Mark said loudly, and Trent stood.
“You sure you don’t want anything else?” he asked, and I shook my head, my fingers trailing from his as he moved away.
“Excuse me,” Jenks said, rising up to follow. “I bet Mark has some honey. It’s colder than troll shit in April in here.”
“Nice, Jenks,” I said, but my shoulders eased when he and Trent began talking to Mark and the kid began searching under the counter. Smiling, I watched the parking lot for Glenn. It had gone dusky in the twilight, and again, I wished we’d gotten to the museum. An evening looking at ancient elven artifacts might not sound exciting, but most of them were thinly disguised weapons of war, and I was never one to turn down the chance to look at elven “guns.”
“Thanks, Mark,” Jenks said brightly, and my attention returned to Trent and Jenks. A small cup of something was wedged between Trent’s cup and cookie. It wasn’t honey, and I eyed it, curious, when Trent set it down and Jenks commandeered it. “Mark is thinking about catering to pixies next spring,” Jenks said as he took his chopsticks from his back pocket and wedged off a wad of what looked like commercially packaged bee pollen. “This here is a taste test.”
“Pollen? Cool,” I said, and Mark gave me a thumbs-up from across the room. Thank you, Mark, I thought gratefully, even if the idea of inviting pixies into a mostly human eatery was a bad idea. Maybe he was going to hire one to man his new drive-through or take orders.
Emotions mixed, I exhaled. “First demons and now pixies. Hey, I want your opinion on something, Trent. Dali wants an introduction to Keric’s parents so he can teach him.”
“For free?” Jenks said, words mangled from the pollen. “He’s like, what? Ten months?”
Paper crackling, Trent drew his cookie out and broke it in half. “No kidding,” he said as he offered me the larger piece, and I shook my head no.
“Mmmm.” I warmed my coffee with a tweak of magic. “You think it’s a bad idea?”
Trent tilted his head in consideration. “Not at all. Having a demon tutor will give Keric’s parents status, and maybe a night out. I imagine it’s hard to find a sitter for a baby demon.”
I smiled at that and sipped my now-hot coffee as I looked for Glenn’s tall shape. I was surprised Ivy hadn’t stuck around, but maybe she was mad at him for leaving the FIB to work with a humans-only vigilante group. I know I would have been.
“Thank you for convincing me to take the harder road with them,” Trent added so softly that my eyes flicked to his. “The children Ku’Sox stole?” he added, brow furrowed. “I don’t know if I could live with myself now if I’d let them die simply because it was easier than hiding them from the demons, hoping they never tried to steal them again. I never dreamed that a demon would be asking permission to teach them a few months later. You were right.”
“Hey, how about that, Rache?” Jenks said, the sharp point of his chopsticks working a chunk of pollen from his teeth. “You were right.”
Warming, I found Trent’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I was lucky.”
“No, you were right,” he insisted, and Jenks snorted. “If I hadn’t listened to you, there wouldn’t be demon children growing up happy and safe, and I wouldn’t have you here beside me, keeping me the person I want to be. Which is as scary as all hell,” he muttered, almost unheard. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you get more requests. There are nearly a dozen Rosewood babies.”
“Perhaps.” I took another sip. “But have you noticed how Al and Dali are the only two demons living openly?” I asked, and Trent looked up from brushing cookie crumbs from his shirt. “Al said they aren’t in the new ever-after. They’re here. Hiding.” I hesitated, watching Mark move competently behind the counter. “I think Dali and Al are their canaries in a coal mine.”
Trent reached for his coffee, his brow furrowed. “How so?”
I shrugged as Jenks gave me a salute and hummed off. “Dali is slinging coffee, and Al consults for the FIB.” My breath caught. I couldn’t bear thinking of him locked up somewhere waiting for the baku. “I think the rest are waiting to see if anyone tries to lynch them again.”
“We didn’t make much of a first impression, did we,” Trent said, and I stifled a shudder. I’d been dragged up on the stage at Fountain Square, lined up with Al and Newt to be executed by a mob. Helpless before thousands of people screaming for my death because of whom I called kin had been the most terrifying thing I’d ever endured. If not for the mystics, they would have succeeded.
“You don’t think Dali offering to teach is a publicity ploy, do you?” Trent asked.
“I think it’s real,” I said, eyes on Jenks as he came back. The heavy gold dust he was laying down told me he was plenty warm. “I’m guessing he’s been watching Al and thinks he can do a better job.” I held out my hand, and Jenks landed on it, his sparkles making tingles. “Glenn here?”
“Yep.” Jenks nodded to the door. “And he brought a friend,” he finished sarcastically.
“Friend, eh?” Jenks took to the air when I stood, and my gut tightened at the sight of Glenn trailing along behind a barrel-chested, dark-skinned man, his thick arms swinging and biceps bulging from under his black polo. A silver medallion in the shape of an eagle hung around his neck, and I grimaced when I felt every ounce of ley line energy sort of . . . drain away.
“I forgot about that,” Trent said, frowning as he shifted out from behind the table to stand beside me.
“You know that guy?” Jenks said, and I nodded, my expression stiff.
The captain halted steps inside the door, head swiveling to look at everything and everyone. My excitement at seeing Glenn utterly vanished. It was as I had thought, but worse. He’d obviously left the FIB to work with them, but just as obvious, they’d put him in a subservient position. Glenn was too smart to be anyone’s lackey.
“You know him, too,” Jenks said to Trent, his dust shifting to an ugly brown. “And you really don’t like him. What did he do?”
“He tried to dose Rachel and me into forgetting we had apprehended the head of HAPA,” Trent said, voice tight.
Wings clattering, Jenks put his hand on the hilt of his garden sword. “Why would bringing in the leader of a humans-only hate group be something you shouldn’t remember?”
“That was my question, too.” My stomach hurt. I think that had been the night I’d begun to care about Trent, not simply understand him. To forget that would have changed my life for the worse.
Finally the captain slapped Glenn companionably on his shoulder and pushed him our way before giving me a cautious nod and sauntering to the order window. My smile was stiff as Glenn neared. There was guilt in his eyes. Guilt, and maybe . . . embarrassment?
“Rachel,” the wide-shouldered man said, his blush hard to see behind his dark skin. He was shaving his head again, and his cheeks were smooth apart from a tiny goatee as if to say he was capable of far more if given the chance. “Jenks. Mr. Kalamack.”
“It’s just Trent.” Trent offered his hand, and the two men shook.
“Hi, Glenn,” I said guardedly, and then gave in and pulled the man into a hug. He smelled like coffee and electronics, and my eyes closed as I breathed him in. Last time I’d given him a hug, he’d smelled like Ivy. I pushed back, my smile real again. “Tell your dad. Now,” I said, and he stepped back out of my grip.
“I can’t,” he said, panic rising behind his eyes.
“If he finds out you’re in Cincinnati and haven’t told him, he’s going to be crushed,” I said, and Glenn’s expression eased.
“Oh, that,” he said, making me wonder what he thought I’d meant. That he quit the FIB to work for the men-who-don’t-belong, maybe? That he was in Cincinnati stealing zombies from the zoo? Or perhaps that he was here chasing the same serial killer that we were?
“He knows I’m in town,” Glenn said with a nervous nod. “I’m staying for Thanksgiving.”
“Good.” I shifted to make room for Mr. Captain-Bench-Press coming over with two coffees. Behind him, Mark had a hand to his head as if fighting off a headache. I knew my head wasn’t feeling all that great, either.
“You’re looking good,” Trent said as the captain handed Glenn a coffee before spinning a chair around and taking the head of the table as his own. Seeing us standing, he gestured for us to sit. My jaw clenched. The last time I’d sat with him, he’d held me to a bench seat and injected me with a memory blocker. But my back was to the wall this time, and finally I sank down, Trent a heartbeat behind.
“You too. I mean it,” Glenn said as he sat as well. “You look really good together.”
Concern creased his brow, and even my fake smile faded. Why would Trent and me looking good together worry Glenn?
“So what are you and tight pants here doing with my zombie?” Jenks said, and the captain grunted in surprise.
“You saw that, huh?” Glenn said. “The gas station camera, right? I knew we should have taken that one out.”
“That was never your zombie,” the captain said, and Jenks bristled.
“It was in my graveyard,” the pixy said, hands on his hips.
“Your dad made me sign a paper taking ownership.” I sipped my coffee, trying to look nonchalant. “Then another giving it to the zoo. You took Mr. Z. You and those . . . guys. What are you called anyway?”
Glenn looked at the captain as if for permission, and my ire rose. “Most times they’re called the Order,” Glenn said, his words so formal I could almost see the capital letter.
“They?” Jenks landed on the table, head tilted. “I thought you worked for them.”
Again Glenn glanced at the captain. “I do,” he said. “But I’m . . . It’s complicated.”
The captain smiled, showing off his beautiful white teeth. I swear, humans were more dangerous than vampires sometimes. “Glenn has been helpful to us in the past. But he hasn’t been with the Order long enough to identify with it yet. Soon.” He grinned, making me distrust him more. “I’m sure.”
Nodding, Trent held out his hand and I wondered if that gleam in his eye was him wanting to sell them some of his toys. “It’s good to see you again, Captain . . .”
“Weast.” The man took Trent’s hand briefly. His gaze lingered on Trent’s pointy ears as if they were wrong, and it irritated me. “You shouldn’t remember seeing me the first time.”
“We know how to keep our mouths shut.” I didn’t offer my hand. No way. Not when that amulet around his neck was cutting off my access to the ley lines and giving me a headache. “Personally, I’ve found the odd well-kept secret or two have extended my life several times over.”
“No doubt,” Weast said, his gaze now on Jenks.
“But I also know how to ask for help.” I leaned back against the wall, coffee in hand and trying to look as if I was in control. “Isn’t that right, Trent?”
“Well, she’s getting better at it,” Jenks said, ruining it.
Grimacing, I pushed forward. “So you’ll understand my curiosity. Did you lose the baku when the lines went down?”
Weast’s small sound told me I was right. As if Glenn’s shocked expression wasn’t enough.
“I told you she could help—,” Glenn said, his words cutting off at Weast’s suddenly pressed lips.
“You will keep your nose out of this, Ms. Morgan,” the man said evenly, but my pulse was racing. We’re right. They lost it. But if they lost it, they probably knew how to catch it again despite Hodin’s belief that it wasn’t possible. Someone had been holding it for the last two thousand years.
“The pixy piss, we will!” Jenks said for all of us. “Whatever this baku is, it’s in our city. That makes it our business.”
“Your city?” Weast smiled at Jenks as if he were a toy.
“The last time I turned a blind eye to a citywide threat, they let Piscary out of prison, so yes, my city,” I said, and Jenks shifted to my shoulder in a righteous huff.
“Glenn, what are you doing with this pixy-dusted excuse of a troll turd?” Jenks said, and Glenn’s eye twitched. “Your dad taught you better than this.”
“Mmmm.” Weast crossed his arms over his chest to make his biceps bulge. “Do we have an issue?”
“There’s no issue,” I said, and Trent smiled and sipped his coffee, more than willing to let me do the talking. “We can work together to bring in the baku. What can you share with us?” By the lack of information coming from Ivy, it was a good bet that the I.S. knew what was going on and was sitting this one out. They knew all the victims had similar auras, but had suppressed the knowledge. Weast had probably chased the I.S. off the task, which made me want to text Ivy right this second to be careful. If anything pissed off the I.S., it was digging into things they wanted buried. Sort of a dead-vamp thing.
Glenn spun his coffee on the table between his thumb and finger. “We haven’t been able to pinpoint who’s hosting the baku. A charm or spell to track it would help.”
Dude. We’re in. A thrill of belonging raced through me as I grinned at Trent and Jenks. That is, until Weast stood in a smooth, unhurried motion.
“Glenn, a word?”
Glenn’s grip on his coffee tightened, and Jenks’s wings rasped in warning. “You’re discounting her ability and desire to help . . . sir. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”
“A. Word?” Weast practically bit the sentence in two.
For three heartbeats, Glenn didn’t move, and then he stood, chair scraping. “Yes, sir.”
I exhaled as they moved away, then lifted my chin to tell Jenks to follow them. The pixy rose straight up, not a hint of dust as he hummed just under the ceiling before easing down behind Weast. Glenn knew he was there, but Glenn also knew not to look at him and give him away.
“You think they’re going to let us in on this?” I asked, and Trent, currently topping off his coffee with the cup we’d bought for Glenn, sighed.
“Not a Turn’s chance,” Trent mildly swore.
“Yeah, that’s what I figure, too.” I sipped my coffee, the sweet drink no longer palatable. “Which is really stupid. I can’t go to sleep until this thing is caught. The demons aren’t doing a damn thing to help Al. Trent, I have to catch it. Whatever it costs.”
Trent turned from Glenn and Weast arguing, about us probably. “If it’s targeting Al, why can’t you safely sleep?” he asked, and I shrugged, not liking the feeling of vulnerability coursing through me. But when had I ever not been vulnerable?
“My aura looks like his,” I said, very glad I had those no-doze amulets in my bag. That flash of nightmare in front of the church couldn’t be a coincidence. It had happened again this morning when I’d been woken by tapping a line in my sleep. The baku had already found me. If I had been its real target, it might have been over right then.
“What a cowardly way to fight a war,” I whispered. “Making your enemies kill the very people they love.” And then I stiffened as Glenn and Weast started back to us, their discussion apparently not falling to our favor. Glenn looked positively pissed, scowling and his hands clenched into fists.
“Your offer of help is appreciated but not necessary,” Weast said, cutting off my protest as he touched that amulet of his in warning. “Glenn spoke out of turn. You will forget our conversation or we will be more aggressive in finding a way for you to forget.” His narrowed gaze found Jenks, the pixy again hovering beside me as if he’d never moved. “Permanently.”
“Please don’t threaten us,” I said, and Weast all but rolled his eyes when Jenks flew backward and flipped him off with both hands.
“Have a good evening, Morgan.” Weast looked at Trent. “Mr. Kalamack.”
Trent stood, but he didn’t offer his hand. “And you,” Trent said as Weast bodily spun Glenn to the door.
“Excuse me.” I stood up. “This baku,” I said loudly, and Mark, behind the counter, perked up. “It’s responsible for the recent murders, yes? What’s your plan for catching it? Do you need bait? I happen to know what type of aura it seems to prefer.”
Weast jerked to a halt. I lifted my eyebrows, not caring that several conversations had ceased. “We have this under control,” Weast said again, and I cocked my hip.
“No, you don’t,” I said. “It’s been what, three murders? Five attacks?” I wasn’t going to bring up Al. The demons were under enough pressure. “How did you catch it the last time? I might be able to help.” Because until it was caught, I wasn’t going to be sleeping.
Weast stiffened. “Don’t interfere.”
“Is it because I’m a girl?” I insisted, not knowing why Trent was softly fidgeting. “A witch?” I said, and Weast spun to leave. “A demon?” I tried again, pushing past Trent and following Weast to the door. “Is it because I don’t belong to your club? Because I’m not human?”
Weast stopped, and I skidded to a halt. My heart pounded as he turned, but I didn’t back down, even if Glenn had real fear in his eyes.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” I said. “You won’t let me help because I’m not human.”
Thumbs in his pockets, Weast rocked back and forth on his heels. “Pretty much.”
“Rachel, be careful,” Trent whispered at my elbow, but I was tired of it.
“Wow.” I lifted my chin. “And I thought all the Neanderthals had died out.”
Weast’s lip twitched. And then, without a word, he walked off. Glenn hesitated, clearly torn. “It’s not because you’re not human,” he blurted as Weast hit the door and left. “Rachel, please. Stay out of this. Don’t convince Weast that you’re a threat.”
“How is helping them catch a serial killer a threat?” I asked, mystified.
Glenn’s eyes were pinched, and he looked awful. “You need to stop,” he said, hunched as he walked backward to the door. “They don’t like that you have such a close tie to the Goddess.”
“Neither do I,” I said sourly, jumping when Trent’s arm went about my waist.
Glenn backed out through the door. “Lie low for a while? Forget you saw me. Us.”
“Glenn!” came Weast’s voice from the lot, and the frustrated man grimaced.
“I’m trying to make this better,” Glenn said. “Trust me.” And then he turned and jogged to Weast waiting impatiently beside a black Hummer.
“I do trust you,” I whispered. I was angry, but not at him. “Bye, Glenn.” But he was already gone, and I slumped when Trent gave me a little tug into him.
“Excuse me,” Jenks said dryly. “I want to see if Captain Tight Ass bugged your car.”
“Thanks, Jenks,” Trent said, and the pixy darted out before the door even closed.
“That was fun,” I said, not liking that my knees were wobbly. Exhaling, I tapped a line and let it fill me, washing away all the unease.
Trent pulled out a chair, and I flopped into it. Silent, he sat next to me in the middle of the store. In the lot, Jenks’s dust glowed under Trent’s car in a fitful come-and-go light. “Maybe you should sit this one out?” Trent suggested, and I looked askance at him, surprised.
“You too?” I said. “Why?”
He shrugged, an uneasy expression creasing his forehead. “Glenn is right. If Weast decides you’re a threat, he might try to put you in the cell next to the zombies.”