Kim Harrison: Pale Demon

Wreathed in pixy kids, Trent came into my garden, his motions both slow and irate; clearly he was not liking the noisy, winged escort. Keeping my expression bland, I took in his slim form. In the months since I’d last seen him, Trent had deepened his tan, and his baby-fine, almost translucent hair caught the dappled sun. Instead of his usual thousand-dollar suit, he had on a lightweight gray short-sleeved shirt, dress slacks, and shiny dress shoes. It made him look harmless, but Trent was anything but. And what was he doing here alone? Quen never let him out by himself.

Trent made his way down the fern-laced slate path with the pixies chatting at him, his innocent businessman facade hiding his true demeanor as the head of an illegal bio-drugs and Brimstone distribution. Why am I helping him again?

I am helping myself, I thought, suddenly feeling almost naked. If I didn’t annul the familiar bond between us before I left for the witches’ meeting, Trent would start trying to kill me again, and as much as I detested the man, I liked him rather more when he wasn’t trying to put me in the ground.

Feeling like a big fat hypocrite, I closed my eyes entirely, listening to Trent murmur something to one of Jenks’s kids as his steps scraped on the broken patio tile. My heart beat faster. If it had been anyone other than Trent, someone might think I liked the man. In reality, I was trying hard not to look like the crazy witch living in a church with a gargoyle in the belfry, pixies in the garden, and a cat on the fence—even if I was. No way was he getting into my kitchen. Not with candles all over the place and half-crushed herbs and magnetic chalk everywhere.

“You’ll never guess who I found digging through our trash, Rache,” Jenks said snidely, and I stretched, shivering as a cold shadow slipped over me.

“I thought we got rid of those raccoons,” I said, opening my eyes to find Trent looming over me, nothing more than a black silhouette with the sun behind him. The scent of cinnamon and wine hit me, and I squinted up. Trent was on edge? Curious… If Trent was uncomfortable, then maybe I could keep the upper hand even if I was only half dressed. That would be a nice switch. He was good at putting me on the defensive.

“Oh! Hi, Trent,” I said when the man said nothing, the half shadows of pixy wings making dappled patterns over both of us, their noise almost as loud as their chiming voices. “What the Turn are you doing here already? Avoiding Ivy, are we?”

He backed up, and the sun blinded me—just as he had planned. “Good afternoon, Rachel,” Trent said dryly. “You’re looking well.”

“Thanks.” I reached for my sunglasses and put them on as he moved to stand next to the chair with my robe draped over it, effectively stalling me from taking it. “It’s amazing what two months of not being on anyone’s hit list will do for a person.” I hesitated, realizing his hair was in a more trendy style than usual. “You’re not looking bad yourself, for a murdering drug lord.”

At that, Trent’s smile became real. I think he enjoyed our verbal banter—everyone else was too awed by his bank account to stand up to him. “I apologize for surprising you like this, but I have something I want to discuss with you.” He glanced up at Jenks. “Alone, if possible?”

He was avoiding Ivy then, I mused, thinking it was funny. Jenks snorted, his hands going to his hips. His fingers just brushed the hilt of his garden sword, giving him a mischievous, dangerous look, like Puck with an attitude and penchant for killing. Amused, I beamed at Trent, pulling up a knee so I didn’t feel so exposed.

“Actually, I am kind of busy right now,” I drawled as I settled back into the chair and closed my eyes. “You have to make melanin while the sun shines.” I opened my eyes, smiling at him with bland insincerity, but a small ache of warning furrowed my brow. He’s here alone.

A soft giggle in the trees drew Trent’s attention up, and he made a quick step to the right, getting out of the way of one of last year’s acorns. It pinged on the broken slate of the patio, bouncing and rolling under my lawn chair as a chorus of disappointment grew.

“Excuse me,” Jenks said sourly, darting up into the tree. There was a noisy complaint, quickly hushed, and the pixies started to drop down one by one to leave an acorn, a stick, and even a marble on the table beside my glass of iced tea before they apologized and flew mournfully into the graveyard, all under Jenks’s watchful eye.

“I have four hours to try to get this pasty skin a shade away from death-pallor white for my brother’s wedding,” I said, uneasy and trying to ignore the little drama, “and I’m not spending it in my kitchen twisting your spell. Come back at five. Or you can sit and wait until the sun goes down. I don’t care. Is Quen in the car? He’s welcome to come back. I’ve got more iced tea in the fridge. Or a beer. You guys drink beer, don’t you?”

“I don’t have a babysitter today,” Trent said as if it was a victory, and I cleared my throat. I knew how he felt. My babysitter was either a four-inch man or an annoying ex-ghost, depending on how much trouble I was currently in and which reality I was occupying.

Jenks’s youngest daughter, Jrixibell, dipped forward and back, twisting the hem of her brown silk dress. Apparently it had been her acorn. Under Jenks’s stern gaze, the sweet-looking little girl mumbled a shamefaced “Sorry” and flew to where three of her sisters waited, and together, they darted into a nearby bush to plot further mischief.

Trent smiled, half-turned, and shocked the peas out of me when he brushed the nearby chair free of imaginary dust and sat down, moving gingerly, as if he’d never had to trust plastic webbing before. Staring at him, I took off my glasses.

He’s staying? Sure, I’d offered, but I hadn’t expected him to take me up on it! Suddenly I felt twice as exposed, and I could do nothing as Trent crossed his legs and leaned forward, taking the top magazine off the stack. “Doing some redecorating?” he asked idly.

“Uh, Jenks is,” I said, heart thumping. Crap on toast, I couldn’t just lie here and pretend he wasn’t there. I’d thought he’d get huffy, spout some nonsense about his time being more important than mine, and leave. “You’re, ah, going to wait? Don’t you have something else more important to do?”

“Yes, I do, actually,” he said as he turned a page, his green eyes darting over the images of tiles and artwork. “But I want to talk to you. Alone.” His eyes lifted from the magazine, fixing on Jenks.

“Now just a fairy-farting minute…” Jenks rose up on a column of indignant silver.

My brow furrowed. Trent had come early, stinking of cinnamon and wine, to talk to me alone. So-o-o-o not good. “It’s okay, Jenks,” I said softly, but he didn’t hear me.

“The day I leave you alone with Rachel is the day I wear a dress and dance the polka!” Jenks was saying, and I sat up, putting my feet to either side of the lounge chair.

“Jenks, I’ve got this.”

“We are a team!” Jenks shouted, his hand on the hilt of his sheathed garden sword. “You talk to all of us or none of us!”

There were about a dozen pairs of eyes watching from the edges of the garden and graveyard, and I heard a rustle of leaves overhead. I glanced at Trent. His lips pressed together for an instant, and then his expression eased, hiding his irritation.

“Jenks,” I said softly, “it’s okay. I’ll tell you what he says.” Trent’s eyes squinted, and I lifted my chin. “Promise.”

Immediately Jenks calmed down, his wings clattering as he landed next to my iced tea in a huff. Trent got that little worry wrinkle, but it was true. I’d tell Jenks just about anything, and Trent needed to know that.