Ким Харрисон - Every Witch Way But Dead

Trent's brow furrowed. "I don't want her there. Put on your suit. We leave in an hour."

"No, Sa'han."

Trent had turned to walk away, but he jerked to a stop. "Can I speak to you for a moment," he said softly.

"Yes, Sa'han," the smaller man murmured deferentially, not moving.

I hopped off the table. Did I know how to make a good first impression or what?

Trent frowned, his attention going from an unrepentant Quen to Jonathan's nervous stance. "You're both in on this," he said.

Jonathan laced his hands behind his back, subtly shifting himself another step from me. "I trust Quen's judgment, Sa'han," he said, his low voice rising clear in the empty room. "I do not, however, trust Ms. Morgan's."

Affronted, I huffed at him. "Go suck on a dandelion, Jon."

The man's lips twitched. I knew he hated the shortened name. Trent, too, wasn't happy. Glancing at Quen, he started down the stairway with a fast, even pace, half dressed in his dark designer suit and looking like a cover model for GQ. His wispy blond hair had been slicked back, and his shirt pulled slightly across his shoulders as he descended to the lower floor. The spring in his step and the glint in his eye told me more clearly than anything that elves were at their best the four hours around sunup and sundown. A deep green tie was draped casually across the back of his neck, not yet fastened into place. God help me, but he looked good, everything anything of the female persuasion could ever want: young, handsome, powerful, confident. I wasn't pleased that I liked the way he looked, but there it was.

Question high in his expression, Trent shook his sleeves down and buttoned the cuffs with a preoccupied quickness as he came down the stairs. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, making an intriguing sight. His head came up as he reached the lower landing, and he paused for a heartbeat when he saw the window.

"What happened to the ward?" he questioned.

"Ms. Morgan touched it." Jonathan had the smug glee of a six-year-old tattling on his older sibling. "I'd advise against Quen's plans. Morgan is unpredictable and dangerous."

Quen shot him a dark look that Trent missed since the man was buttoning the top of his shirt. "Lights full," Trent said, and I squinted when huge lights in the ceiling flickered on one by one to make it bright as day. My stomach clenched as I looked at the window. Crap. I had broken it but good. Even my streaks of red were in it, and I didn't like that the three of them would know I had that much tragedy in my past. But at least Al's black was gone. Thank God.

Trent came closer, his smooth face unreadable. The clean smell of aftershave drifted from him as he stopped. "It did this when you touched it?" he asked, his gaze going from my new haircut to the window.

"I, uh, yeah. Quen said it was a sheet of ever-after. I thought it was a modified protection circle."

Quen ducked his head and stepped closer. "It's not a protection circle, it's a ward. Your aura and the aura of the person who set it up must resonate to a similar frequency."

His young features creased in worry, Trent squinted at it. An unshared thought passed through him, and his fingers twitched. I eyed the tell, knowing he thought it more than odd, and significant. It was a notion that solidified when Trent glanced at Quen and something of a security nature passed between them. Quen made a small shrug, and Trent took a slow breath.

"Have someone from maintenance look at it," Trent said. Tugging at his collar, he added loudly, "Lights revert." I froze when the glare vanished and my eyes tried to adjust.

"I don't agree with this," Trent said in the soothing dimness, and Jonathan smiled.

"Yes, Sa'han," Quen said softly. "But you will take Morgan or you will not be going."

Well, well, well, I thought, as the rims of Trent's ears went red. I hadn't known Quen had the authority to tell Trent what to do. Clearly, though, it was a right seldom invoked, and never without consequences. Beside me, Jonathan looked positively ill.

"Quen…" Trent started.

The security officer took a firm stance, looking over Trent's shoulder at nothing with his hands laced behind his back. "My vampire bite makes me unreliable, Sa'han," he said, and I winced at his obvious pain of openly admitting it. "I'm no longer sure of my effectiveness."

"Damn it, Quen," Trent exclaimed. "Morgan has been bitten, too. What makes her any more sure than you?"

"Ms. Morgan has been living with a vampire for seven months and hasn't succumbed," Quen said stiffly. "She has developed a series of defensive strategies for combating a vamp trying to bespell her. I haven't, yet, and so I'm no longer reliable in questionable situations."

His scarred face was tight with shame, and I wished Trent would shut up and just go with it. This confession was killing Quen.

"Sa'han," he said evenly. "Morgan can protect you. I cannot. Don't ask me to do this."

I fidgeted, wishing I was somewhere else. Jonathan glared at me as if it were my fault. Trent's face was pained and worried, and Quen flinched when he put a comforting hand upon his shoulder. With a reluctant slowness, Trent let his hand fall away. "Get her a corsage and see if there's something suitable for her to wear in the green suite. She looks about the same size."

The flash of relief that crossed Quen was replaced by a deeper self-doubt that looked wrong and worrisome. Quen appeared broken, and I wondered what he was going to do if he felt he couldn't protect Trent anymore. "Yes, Sa'han," he murmured. "Thank you."

Trent's gaze fell on me. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, and I felt cold and uneasy. The feeling strengthened when Trent nodded once to Quen and said, "Do you have a moment?"

"Of course, Sa'han."

The two of them headed into one of the unseen downstairs rooms to leave me with Jonathan. The unhappy man gave me a look rife with disgust. "Leave your dress here," he said. "Follow me."

"I have my own outfit, thanks," I said picking up my shoulder bag, coat, and my garment bag from where I had left them and following him to the stairs. At the foot of the stairs, Jonathan turned. His cold eyes traveled over me and my garment bag, and he sniffed patronizingly.

"It's a nice outfit," I said, warming when he snickered.

He took the steps quickly, forcing me to scramble to keep up. "You can look like a whore if you like," he said. "But Mr. Kalamack has a reputation." He eyed me over his shoulder as he reached the top. "Hurry up. You don't have much time to get presentable."

Seething, I took two steps for every one of his as he cut a sharp right into a large common room holding a comfortable, more normal-sized living room. There was an efficiency at the back, and what looked like a breakfast nook. One of Trent's live-shot video feeds showed a second view of the dim garden. Several heavy-looking doors opened up onto the area, and I was guessing this was where Trent did his "normal" living. I became sure of it when Jonathan opened the first one to show a small sitting room opening onto an extravagant bedroom. It was decorated entirely in shades of green and gold, managing to look wealthy without dipping into gaudy. Another fake window past the bed showed the forest, dusky and gray with twilight.

I assumed that the other doors led to other such suites of rooms. All the wealth and privilege couldn't hide that the entire area was set up to be very defensible. There probably wasn't a real window in the place other than the one downstairs covered in ley line energy.

"Not that way," Jonathan all but barked as I took a step to the bedroom. "That's the bedroom. Stay out of it. The changing room is over here."

"Sorry," I said sarcastically, then hitched my garment bag higher atop my shoulder and followed him into a bathroom. At least I thought it was a bathroom. There were so many plants it was hard to tell. And it was the size of my kitchen. The multitude of mirrors reflected the lights that Jonathan flicked on until I was squinting. The glare seemed to bother him, too, since he worked the bank of switches until the multitude of bulbs reduced to one over the commode and one over the single sink and expansive counter. My shoulders eased in the dimmer light.