Kim Harrison - Where Demons Dare

Quen shrugged. “He’s also loyal to those who have earned his trust, intelligent, and generous to those he cares about.”

“And those he doesn’t care about don’t matter.” Hip cocked, I silently waited, getting more annoyed. Where in hell is the elevator?

“I wish you’d reconsider,” Quen said, and I jerked back when he pulled an amulet from his sleeve. After giving me a high-eyebrow look, he turned a slow circuit, attention lightly fixed on the redwood disk glowing a faint green. It was probably a detection amulet of some kind. I had one that would tell me if there were any deadly spells in my vicinity, but I’d quit wearing it when it kept triggering the anti-theft wards in the mall.

Apparently satisfied, Quen slid the amulet away. “I need you to go into the ever-after to retrieve an elven sample.”

I laughed at that, and anger flickered over the older man. “Trent just got Ceri’s sample,” I said, pulling my shoulder bag tight to me. “I’d think that would keep him busy for a while. Besides, you couldn’t pay me enough to go into the ever-after. Especially not for a chunk of two-thousand-yearold dead elf.”

One of the elevators behind me dinged, and I backed up to it, ready to make my escape.

“We know where a tissue sample is. We just need to get it,” Quen said, his gaze flicking behind me as the doors opened.

I backed into it, standing so he couldn’t follow me. “How?” I said, feeling secure.

“Ceri,” he said simply, fear flashing in the back of his eyes.

The doors started to close, and I hit the “open” button. “Ceri?” I questioned, wondering if this was why I hadn’t seen much of her lately. She knew I hated Trent, but she was an elf and he was an elf—and seeing as she had been born into royalty and he was a zillionaire, it would be foolish to think that they hadn’t had some contact the last few months, whether they liked each other or not.

Seeing my interest, Quen took a more confident stance. “She and Trent have been having tea every Thursday,” he said softly, sneaking a guilty glance at the hallway. “You should thank her. He’s absolutely obsessed with her even as her demon smut terrifies him. I think that’s part of the attraction, actually. But he’s starting to consider that demon smut might not equal a bad person. She saved my relationship with him. She is a very wise woman.”

She ought to be, seeing as she had over a thousand years of servitude to a demon. The doors started closing again, and I hit the button for a few more seconds. “Everything went to hell when Trent found out you use black magic to protect him, eh?”

Quen didn’t shift, even maintaining his sedate breathing, but his very stillness told me I was right.

“So?” I said belligerently.

“So he’s starting to entertain the thought that you might be trustworthy, too. Will you at least consider it? We need the sample.”

The reminder of my own demon-smut-laced soul bothered me, and I jabbed at the “close” button. No freaking way. “Get back to me later, Quen. Like a hundred years later.”

“We don’t have a hundred years,” Quen said, desperation entering his voice. “We have eight months.”

Oh, shit .

I pushed myself into motion, my shoulder bag catching on the doors as I shoved my way past them. Quen had moved back. His lips were tightly pressed, as if he wished he hadn’t had to say that to get me to listen. “What do you mean, eight months? As in one less than nine?”

Quen said nothing. Didn’t even look at me. And I didn’t dare touch him.

“He got her pregnant?” I exclaimed, not caring who heard me. “The son of a bitch! The stinking son of a bitch!”

I was so angry, I was almost laughing. Quen’s jaw had clenched so tight his pox scars stood out white and stark. “Will you do it?” he said stiffly.

“I want to talk to Trent,” I said. No wonder Ceri was avoiding me. The woman was recovering from a thousand years of demon servitude, and Trent goes and gets her pregnant! “Where is he?”

“Shopping.”

My eyes narrowed. “Where?”

“Across the street.”

He was shopping. A hundred to one it wasn’t for baby booties or a car seat. Remembering Marshal and our coffee date, I glanced out the cloudy window to estimate the time. It couldn’t be much past one o’clock. Plenty of time. Unless this was a ruse and Trent was going to try to kill me—in which case I might run a little late.

I hit the “down” button hard, and the elevator doors opened immediately. Shopping? He was shopping? “After you,” I said, and followed Quen into the lift.

The thin heat from the sidewalk vanished when I turned the corner and entered the shadow of tall buildings. “Where is he?” I said, holding my hair out of my face when I looked to Quen. He was beside and a little behind me, and it gave me the creeps.

The quiet, powerful man pointed with his eyes across the street, and when I followed his gaze, I felt a wash of apprehension. OTHER EARTHLINGS COSTUMER, INC. Holy crap, Trent was picking out a Halloween costume?

I pushed myself into motion and headed for the exclusive costumer. Well, why not? Trent had parties to go to like anyone else. Probably more of them. But Other Earthlings? You needed an appointment just to walk in, especially in October.

Hesitating at the curb, I felt Quen’s presence slide up behind me. “Will you stop guarding me?” I muttered, and Quen made a little start.

“Sorry,” he said, then hastened to catch up when I crossed in the middle of the street. I caught him glancing at the crosswalk and snickered. Yeah, me bad .

After a moment’s hesitation at the brass BY APPOINTMENT ONLY sign, I reached for the door only to have someone from inside pull it open. The doorman looked seriously brain-dead when I entered, but before I could say anything, an older woman in a crisp peach skirt and jacket click-clacked to us, the sound of her heels muffled when they found the thick white carpet. “I’m sorry. We’re closed to walk-ins,” the woman said, her face a mix of cool professionalism and polite disdain at my jeans and sweater. “Would you like to make an appointment for next year?”

My pulse quickened and I cocked my hip at her obvious but unspoken opinion that hell would freeze over before I’d ever have enough money to buy even a complexion charm from them. I took a breath to demand to see their hair straighteners, knowing their claim to be able to straighten any hair wouldn’t be able to touch mine, when Quen settled in behind me, too close for my comfort.

“Oh! You’re with Mr. Kalamack?” she said, only the faintest blush marring the aged whiteness of her complexion.

I glanced at Quen. “Not really. I’m Rachel Morgan, and I’ve got something to say to Mr. Kalamack. I understand he’s here?”

The woman’s mouth dropped open, and she came forward to take my hands. “You’re Alice’s daughter?” she said breathlessly. “Oh, I should have known. You look just like her, or you would if she wouldn’t spell herself down. It is such a pleasure to meet you!”

Excuse me? She was pumping my arm up and down enthusiastically, and when I looked at Quen, he seemed as mystified as me.

“We don’t have any openings today, sweetheart,” she said, and I blinked at her familiarity. “But let me talk to Renfold. He’ll stay late for you. Your mother’s straightening charms have saved our reputation too many times.”

“My mother’s hair straighteners?” I managed, grabbing her wrist and extraditing my hand from hers. I was going to have to talk to my mother. This was so not-good. Just how long had she been making bootleg charms?