Chapter Twenty-seven
Ribs aching, I sat next to Trent in his snazzy car as he pulled into Junior's and parked, lights off, engine running. My fingers looked silver in the dash's blue light, and all my bruises were invisible but aching. The earbud lay on the console between us, the volume cranked as terse commands went back and forth in a busy, well-organized flow. Inside Junior's it was peaceful. I can change that, I thought dryly, knowing that the next ten minutes were really going to mess up the new understanding that Mark and I seemed to have.
It was nearing three in the morning according to the clock on Trent's dash, and if the coffeehouse had been in the Hollows it would be jumping. As it was, it felt much later, the brightly lit eatery sending its glow through the plate-glass windows onto an almost deserted parking lot. Junior, or Mark, as his name really was, was stocking shelves from a pallet of boxes beside him. There were no other employees that I could see.
In the corner, two customers argued over their to-go cups - Eloy and Dr. Cordova. Eloy had a jeans coat on over his white prison jumpsuit. Dr. Cordova was going more casual than usual in black pants and a knit top - comfortable to travel in should she need to jump a plane. In the corner, an athletic-looking man in a jogging outfit sat with his back to them, but I'd sell my best panties online if he wasn't one of the-men-who-don't-belong watching everything going on behind him with some sort of electronic gizmo.
Trent hit the seat warmer again as it went out. "Here," he said, reaching into his belt pack and handing me a tiny vial. "You look like you're hurting."
I took it, my eyebrows high. "And this is?"
"Numbs the pain. I could really use your assistance, but not if I have to help you in the door. It masks pain better than your amulet. But it won't heal you." He grimaced, needlessly flicking his fair hair back out of his eyes. "I'm not that good, either."
"I said I didn't have the time," I said, and he looked at me.
"And I wasn't going to ask for Ceri's help," he added as if I hadn't said anything. "All you have to do is swallow it."
"Oh thank God," I said, slugging the tiny vial of amber liquid back. My lips curled as the bitter concoction slipped down, tasting of ash and willow. Trent's lips parted, clearly surprised, and I shrugged. He was right. I wasn't much good if I couldn't move fast.
Inside, Eloy and Dr. Cordova continued to discuss something, her arms waving in her dramatic fashion, Eloy leaning back, letting her rage, his disdain obvious. Breath held, I waited for something to happen, but nothing did. My wrist still hurt, my ankle still throbbed, and I still couldn't take a deep breath. "It's not working," I said, my estimation of Trent's abilities fading.
In a quick, irate motion, he took the empty vial. "I haven't invoked it yet. Ta na ruego," he said as our fingers touched.
Starting, I shivered as I felt a filmy sheet of numbing gray slither over me, working from my aura in, muffling the pain and storing it up for later. Wild magic tingled along my muscles, and I took a deep, painless breath. "Dude. That's good stuff. Thanks."
Trent cracked his neck, and I filed the motion away as him trying to hide his pleasure. The chatter from the earbud was getting intense. Inside, the man at the table was stirring his coffee, the sound of his spoon hitting the table a bare instant after he did it. My heart pounded as he turned halfway to the window, noticing us. His eyes almost black in the dim light, Trent adjusted his rearview mirror to see the Laundromat down the street. "Ready to go?"
I gave my ankle a wiggle and took a cleansing breath. I was going to pay for this in spades later, but for now, I didn't hurt. "Yes, thank you."
"I have another when we're done if you want it. You've got an hour until it wears off."
An hour? Jeez, not much of a spell. "Thanks again," I said, meaning it.
Trent reached for the door handle, and from between us, that low, deep voice drawled in a smooth, even tone that rivaled Trent's, "Blockades in place. Beater, approach at personal discretion. All units stand by for cleanup. This is going to be a messy one, people."
"Wait," I said, reaching out to touch his knee, and Trent hesitated. "I don't like the sound of this," I said as I barely resisted the urge to flip the visor mirror down and look behind us. "They're going to trash Mark's place."
"Negative, that's a negative," a sharp voice with a New York accent said. "Black car in the parking lot. Two civilians. Ninety-eight percent confident that it's the demon and the elf."
My pulse jumped, and I grabbed the battery pack to flip on the mic. "What are you doing?" Trent said.
"These guys are good, and a joint venture might be the start of a beautiful friendship," I said. "Besides, they're here, and we could use the help."
Trent looked at the expensive toy in my hand, then nodded. Pleased, I brought the battery closer to my mouth. "Hey, hi, guys. Your plan sounds good and all, but there's one problem. Eloy knows that's your man in there pretending to be a jogger slamming down a six-hundred-calorie drink. He's going to make a bloodbath of the place, and I can't let that happen. I like Mark, and he's too nice to get shot."
"Morgan!" the deep voice barked, then faintly, "Who counted the equipment?"
"I did, Captain," a faint voice said. "The discrepancy was noted."
"You failed to inform me that the radio was still active!" There was a slight hesitation, and then, very clearly, hitting every vowel hard, "Morgan, leave the watering hole."
I could resist no longer. I flipped the visor mirror down, but there was nothing behind us. "Its code name is Junior's, captain of the-men-who-don't-belong. Get it right." Handing the battery pack to Trent, I pulled my bag onto my lap and started looking for a piece of paper. "I've been listening to your plans for the last fifteen minutes, and they suck. Eloy is going to shoot your men, if you're lucky. He's going to start throwing curses if you're not. He's got a vial of my blood, a demon textbook, and fewer morals than the most depraved demon I've ever partied with." Receipt in hand, I shuffled around for a pen. Exasperated, I looked up. "You got a pen?"
Disbelieving, Trent pulled a slim black-gold pen from the console and handed it to me, his fingers not shaking like mine were.
"Thanks." Clicking it open, I jotted a note. "You've been after him for months and failed to catch him. I propose we try together."
"Drive away, Morgan," the captain said. "This is your last warning."
"Don't get your jockstrap in a knot," I said, grimacing when the tip of the pen broke through the paper I was using my leg to write on. "He kicked my ass a couple of times, too. He and Cordova are a potent team. Apart, neither of us is effective, but together?" Nervous, I clicked the pen closed. DON'T CALL I.S. OR FIB. GET OUT ASAP. SORRY ABOUT THE MESS. R.
The radio was silent, and I added, "I propose we work together on this. What do you say? Frankly, I'd like to prove to you that I'm a team player. My demon magic, your guns. Work with me, gentlemen. I could be your new best friend."
Again, a long silence. Fidgeting, I handed Trent his pen back. Sure, I'd said we needed to work together to get him, but the truth was, I was more interested in showing this very dangerous underground group of well-funded humans that I was not the enemy. Once they took care of HAPA, I might be next on their list.
"What do you propose?" the captain's voice said, and my eyes closed briefly in relief. Beside me, Trent made a small sound, as if he only now realized what I had been doing. Not as oblivious as you thought, eh, little cookie maker?
"Eloy wants me, Captain, above all others," I said. "With us distracting him, you can get your men in there without him and Dr. Cordova killing everyone. I suggest you do it."
Breath held, I waited. Beside me, the scent of mulled wine became stronger. Trent's foot was twitching, and he stilled it.
"You may approach the suspects," the captain said, and I exhaled loudly, meeting Trent's eyes and smiling eagerly. "Engage at will. You will stand down when we take the premises or you will be shot. Is that clear?"
"Crystal," I said, and Trent clicked the mic off.
"I see what you're trying to do," he said as he dropped the battery into his belt pack and affixed the earbud to his left ear. "I'm not sure it's a good idea."
My tension heightened, and I opened the door. "They know I exist. Better this than trying to be mysterious and threatening. I tried that and landed in Alcatraz." Relishing the lack of pain, I got out. It was a false sense of well-being, but I'd take it. The thump of the door shutting echoed, and I realized I hadn't seen another car since we'd pulled in. The-men-who-don't-belong had cleared the street. Even the I.S. had trouble with that.
My boots were nearly silent as I quickly moved to the front of the car, wanting to get in fast. The man in the corner in his jogging outfit was watching us, his lips moving.
"Please tell me you're not trusting this?" Trent said mildly, meeting me step for step.
"Not for a second."
His hand dipping into his jacket pocket, he pointed a fob at his car and locked it. The shiny vehicle beeped, and I looked at him. We were on a run, and he was worried about his car?
"Seriously?" I said, and he half smiled at me as he reached in front of me to grab the door handle. Adrenaline scoured through me as I was forced to hesitate while the glass door opened and Trent gestured for me to go first. The chimes rang, and I boldly walked in, my tight shoulders not relaxing at all as the coffee-scented air enveloped me. Eloy's eyes landed on us, and he cut Dr. Cordova's harangue off short.
I gave the man in the jogging suit a bunny-eared kiss-kiss, and Trent chuckled at something coming in over the earbud. "We never did decide how we were going to do this," Trent said as he took my arm when Mark looked up, his first enthusiastic hail dying away when he saw it was me. "What do you have in that bag of yours?"
"My phone, a hair pick. My keys." I slipped my note into Trent's hand and smiled at Mark. "Can you get this to Mark for me?"
Trent's grip on my arm tightened as the note slipped into his fingers. "You don't have any charms at all?" he whispered through his clenched teeth, leaning in so his breath tickled my ear even as he smiled confidently at Dr. Cordova, spinning in her chair to look at us like we were stupid. "What do you plan to do? Spill coffee on them?"
I kept smiling. "I was having pizza at Detective Glenn's house," I said tightly, my lips hardly moving. "I didn't think I needed any charms. I've got my usual. Splat gun, magnetic chalk, plus the charms you gave me. What have you got?"
"Nothing you're going to like. You lead, I'll follow."
That surprised me, and I gave him a sideways smile that he mirrored before I focused on the two people at the table. Plan A it was. Go in brash and come out bashed. "Hello, Cordova, Eloy," I said, refusing to address her as doctor. "Nothing like a good caffeine buzz before kidnapping and mutilating more people, eh?"
"Well, if it's not Daddy Warbucks and Little Orphan Annie." Eloy leaned his chair back on two legs, the picture of confidence and contempt. My eyes narrowed.
"By the Turn, you really are stupid," Dr. Cordova said, and both Trent and the guy in the corner tensed as she reached into her bag. My pulse hammered and I felt Trent tap a line as she pulled out a big-ass, honking pistol the length of my arm. The thing could probably stop a vampire. My hold on the line strengthened. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea.
"You cost me my job," she said, sighting down it. "I'm going to kill you dead."
"No, Doctor, you're not." It was Eloy, the demand in his voice jerking her attention to him in annoyance. "There's room in my truck for three."
Dr. Cordova's eyes flicked to Mark, then the guy in the corner, his hands out of sight. "I'm not going to jail," she said, her aim shifting from me to the jogger.
I edged closer, pulling in enough energy off the line to make Trent wince. "Oh, I can guarantee that, Cordova," I said.
White faced, Mark edged back behind the counter. I gave a quick shake of my head when he pantomimed having a phone to his ear. Maybe we were all stronger than we thought.
I jumped when Eloy's chair thunked forward, back on four legs. "You can shoot her in the leg, though."
Dr. Cordova smiled, the gun coming up again. "Rhombus!" I shouted, and Trent swore, hunching as I stood tall, my hand outstretched toward Dr. Cordova and the bullet headed for us. It twanged off my circle and a light in the corner shattered.
Dr. Cordova's gun boomed again, her face ugly as she shot at the jogger. The-man-who-didn't-belong had vaulted over the counter at the first shot, and she screamed as her gun went off a third time, leaving a splintered hole the size of a squash in the wall of the counter. I could see Mark through it, his face white as he skittered out of sight.
"Get the operative!" Eloy was shouting, shoving Cordova at the front counter where the-man-who-didn't-belong had gone.
"Get your circle up!" I shouted at Trent, then dove through mine, feeling his energies licking my heels as I rolled to a stop, my hand deep in my bag as I looked for my magnetic chalk. I'd circle them like every other demon.
"Crap!" I exclaimed as I saw Eloy aiming at me. I fell onto a table, knocking it down to hide behind. A sharp ping of sound and the chimes hanging on the door behind me rang with a weird, choking peal, hit by the ricochet.
I pulled the line into me, my hands aching and my wrist throbbing with the pain Trent's charm had dulled. Energy roiled beneath my skin, gold and black mixing in darkness and light. I heard Trent struggling, and I looked over the table. He was behind the counter. A burst of energy hit the ceiling like a cloudburst, and someone grunted. Eloy was taking aim at me again, and I threw my ball of energy at him, flashing a circle up with hardly a second to spare.
Eloy dove for cover as the black-and-gold ball hissed toward him. It hit the wall, spreading out in an ugly, almost electrical storm before subsiding. I kicked the overturned table out of the way, teeth clenched as my broken ankle twinged through Trent's charm. Not yet. Give me a little more time. Eloy looked up from the floor, and I started to scribe a circle, my eyes never leaving his.
"Chubi whore," he snarled, and I flashed a bubble in place. Expression ugly, he raised his gun at the ceiling. It went off in a series of three pops. Dust sifted down on my bubble, and I looked up.
"Look out!" Trent shouted, and I cowered as the light fixture fell on me, bouncing off my bubble and sliding to the floor. Seeing me unhurt, Eloy bared his teeth and shot at me again.
I'd had about enough.
I stood, pulling in the line like it was a ribbon from a spool, gathering it in my soul until my hair started to float. My palms burned as I forced it into my hands and shoved it at Eloy like a beach ball. His lips parted as the head-size ball of energy broke through my circle and added my barrier's energy to its own. I was vulnerable, and he took aim. "Dilatare!" I shouted, then dropped, covering my head.
The ball of energy exploded in midair, rocking the light fixtures and making the tempered-glass windows shake. I looked past my arms and saw Eloy sprawled on the floor. Heart pounding, I scrabbled to reach him, eager to do some personal damage.
"Stop!" Dr. Cordova shouted. "Stop right there, demon!"
I dove for Eloy as he moved to sit up. Sliding, I kicked the gun from him, then continued my foot's arch to smack his head. Grunting, he slid back, before I connected, hatred in his eyes. I grinned savagely, and he smiled back.
"I said stop!" Dr. Cordova shouted again. "Or I kill the kid. Right here. Right now."
Shit.
I stopped.
My sour expression turned to fear as Dr. Cordova dragged Mark out from behind the counter, her arm around his neck and that honking huge pistol pressed into his temple. Shit, shit, shit! I'd really messed this up. Trent limped out from behind the counter from the opposite side and joined me. His hair was wild, and his eyes were dark with anger. Tense and jerky, he helped me to my feet, and I palmed my chalk to him in the process. "Where's the jogger?" I said breathily as I watched Dr. Cordova yank Mark closer to Eloy and the back door.
Touching his lip and finding it swollen, Trent shook his head. "He pulled out. I think we're on our own."
At least he isn't dead behind the counter. "Aren't we always?" I said bitterly, scraping my resolve together. So we had to bring them in ourselves now. Damn it, they had Mark. The kid looked terrified. The memory of Winona surfaced, and my heart clenched. Not Mark. Not him.
"You want to take his place?" Eloy looked far too confident.
"Rachel, no."
I shook Trent's hand off me. "Finish that circle. Get them into it. Invoke it. That's the plan," I breathed, my heart pounding. I had to buy Trent some time. This was the only way.
Hands up, I stepped in front of Trent. "You've been a bad boy, Eloy," I said. "Murdering what scares you. That's not how grown-ups solve problems. And, Cordova? I'd like to have five minutes alone with you. Maybe show you up close and personal what that bastard did to Winona. You know Winona, right? Cloven feet, horns, red pelt? Can't miss her."
Mark was frozen in her grip, too scared to move. His eyes were on mine, terrified. "Charms on the table," she said, the strain obvious in her voice, and I took another step forward.
"Here's the sitch," I said, locking my knees so they wouldn't see them shake. I wasn't afraid, I was mad. "The guy in the corner just stepped out to get his buddies. He's got lots of friends with really cool toys, and if you don't let Mark go this instant, I'm going to get mad enough to do something I'm going to regret. I'm a demon, Cordova. Don't push me."
Cordova jammed her weapon into Mark a little harder. "Charms on the table. Now!"
Eloy was touching the back of his head where he'd hit the floor. His gun was again pointed at Trent. Mark's eyes were clenched closed, and his lips were moving. In a charm? I wondered, my heart pounding hard. Probably a prayer.
A part of me said the hell with it. Take a chance. But the fear of becoming careless with other people's lives was stronger. I had to be more careful now, not less, and I angled an arm down to let my bag hit the floor. Trent's charms spilled everywhere, and my phone slipped out.
"Rachel, wait."
It was Trent, and Dr. Cordova jammed the mouth of her weapon harder into Mark's head, making him gasp. Eloy's aim shifted to me, and I strengthened my hold on the line, ready to make a circle.
"Not now, Trent," I said. "It's me they want."
"No, it isn't."
Mark opened an eye slightly, and I risked a quick look at Trent, standing beside me in his loose-fitting, head-to-toe black, smelling of wine and broken wood as he lifted his chin and dared me to protest. He looked ticked, but not at me. "What are you doing?"
He shook his head, looking far too calm and in control. "This is not utilizing our skills to their fullest extent," he said softly, his hand on my shoulder, and then he sent his gaze past me to them. "I know how to stabilize the Rosewood enzymes," he said loudly, and I stiffened. "I'm the one you want. Not her."
"Trent!" I exclaimed, a thread of panic coming from out of nowhere to tighten around my heart, and he pushed me behind him, surreptitiously handing my magnetic chalk back. "What are you doing?"
"Something you won't," he said, and then his eyes touched on mine. "You're a good person. Don't change because I'm a bastard." Anger and frustration filled him, and then . . . as he turned so they couldn't see . . . I saw a thread of excitement running behind his thoughts, a desire to find justice, a need to prove to himself that he was not just his father, but that his mother lived in him, too. He had an idea - one he really liked and I probably wouldn't.
Someday, you're going to be glad I have that particular skill.
God save us. He was going to do something bad. Seeing my understanding, he leaned back, breaking eye contact as if it hurt. "Trent . . ." I whispered, and he handed me the battery pack and earbud.
"Improvise."
And then he turned away.
"Take me," he said boldly, his hands at his sides, his fingers spread wide, making his missing digits obvious. "I can cut your research down to days."
For three seconds, Eloy considered it. Dr. Cordova tightened her grip on her pistol, clearly reluctant to let Mark go. "He's not a witch," the woman said, and Mark's eyes met mine, looking for direction. I had none to give.
A slow smile began to spread across Eloy's face, and my heart pounded. He had his gun again, and he motioned for me to move. "Back up, Rachel," he demanded, his voice dripping scorn, and Dr. Cordova shifted her feet, which made Mark stumble.
"He's not a witch!" she said louder, and Eloy gave her a look that told her she was being stupid. "If we take him, the entire country is going to be on us!"
"Exactly right." Satisfaction in his every motion, Eloy gestured for Trent to put his hands on his head and come closer. "It will be on every news station in every U.S. city. Everyone will know that HAPA has struck back. They will know that we are no longer going to sit and hide, but that the animals that have enslaved and murdered us will again be hunted and slaughtered." He shouted at me, righteous anger slamming into me like a wall, "You will back up!"
Mouth dry, I retreated, slipping when my foot hit the charms spilling out of my bag. Was that why Trent had taken my place? Did he know my magic was faster? Was he going to distract them so I could do something? Improvise? Damn it, I wish I knew what he was doing!
Dr. Cordova shifted from foot to foot. A gap of air showed between Mark's head and the gun in her hand. I found my balance, spooling line energy until my skin hurt. There was nothing from the earbud dangling down my front.
"Get rid of that useless witch," Eloy barked, and Dr. Cordova shoved Mark at me.
I reached out and caught him, keeping us upright as our feet scrabbled for purchase amid the spilled charms. He was a tad overweight, and we almost went down, even as he turned to face them, sweating and stinking of redwood.
I crouched to grab a charm, pulling to a stop when Eloy made a negative sound.
Hand reaching, I froze as I saw Dr. Cordova's gun aimed at Trent's middle. A shot there wouldn't kill him right away, but it would kill him.
Trent just stood there, his lips pulled back from his teeth slightly, that same wild look I'd seen on him once before as Cordova's arm wrapped around his neck, her gun pointed into his side. "I would have preferred Eloy, but this is acceptable," he said, and then I stiffened when I felt a circle go up. It wasn't me. It wasn't Mark. It was Trent.
"No!" I shouted, reaching out helplessly as the gold shimmer wove a net around all three of them. Behind the haze, Trent became boneless, his dead weight making Dr. Cordova tighten her grip on him. The gun went off, and Eloy cried out, the shot ricocheting off the inside of Trent's circle and slamming into Eloy's shoulder.
Swearing, the man fell back against the inside of Trent's circle, one hand on his shoulder, the other pointing his gun at Dr. Cordova.
"Ta na nevo doe tena!" Trent shouted, Dr. Cordova's arms holding him to her.
Dr. Cordova screamed as Trent's magic hit her. I backed up, horrified as I recognized the curse, the same one that had mutilated Winona. Where did he get the blood? I wondered when Cordova let go and fell, pawing at herself as her body contorted, her shoes falling off as hooves formed. Her head hit the floor, her brow heavy and misshapen. Small horns scraped the tile as she screamed, her voice cut off in a strangled gurgle of terror as she looked at her hands, now thick and short fingered. Terrified, her voice came in high-pitched squeals as a curly red pelt wormed its way out of her skin.
Blood seeping from around his fingers, Eloy pressed against the wall of Trent's circle. Gun forgotten, he stared in horror as Dr. Cordova turned into the mirror image of Winona. The woman's thin tail lashed wildly, and he recoiled when it touched him. It worked on humans. The curse worked on humans . . .
"On the floor. Now," Trent said to Eloy. "Or I'll turn you into what you really are, too."
His voice was cool and dispassionate, hard and unforgiving. I stared at him, seeing not a businessman out of place playing at something he was not, but the same man who'd perched atop a horse in the sunset, the world at his fingertips and justice waiting to be meted out - calmly, surely, and satisfyingly. Eloy dropped his gun, terrified.
I jumped when Mark accidentally bumped my shoulder. He was watching, wide eyed. "Wow," he breathed as Trent's circle dropped and Dr. Cordova mewled weakly, her little hooves scrabbling at the tile. "I almost didn't come in tonight."
Eloy lowered himself to the floor, his eyes never leaving Dr. Cordova. The woman was crying, dark streaks running down her black face. Her breath rasped in and out, and she cried out pitifully. Eloy jumped when Trent kicked his gun to me, then Cordova's to a corner.
Cold steel slid across the tiles, and I stopped Eloy's gun with my foot, not bothering to pick it up. "I thought you said I wouldn't like your charms," I said, and Trent grinned, reminding me, for some reason, of seeing him perched in a tree, crouched and dangerous. He hadn't killed anyone, and a part of me was undeniably glad.
An unexpected burst of radio noise came from out of nowhere, and I twisted, finding the earbud on the floor. Something was happening.
In a surge of motion, Dr. Cordova scrambled to her feet, her hooves skittering on the smooth tile. Goat-slit eyes wide in panic, she tried to run only to reach for a table and miss, her jaw cracking on the flat of it. She slid to the floor and started to crawl, crying.
"Get her!" I cried, and Eloy lifted his head. In a fast crab walk, he lunged for Cordova's gun, six feet away under a table.
"Look out!" Mark shouted, and I turned to the front windows - just in time to see six men boil in the front door. The-men-who-don't-belong screamed at us to freeze as they surrounded all of us. Though dressed unalike and in street clothes, it was obvious they were professionals. It wasn't the wicked-looking guns pointed at us, or the boots designed for running. It wasn't the short haircuts, or that every single one of them looked like he could do a six-minute mile. It was their faces, as uncaring as if they'd have no problem shooting us even if it was a mistake.
"Gun! Gun!" I shouted, pointing at Eloy, but it didn't matter. They already had him down, and as I watched, someone snapped his wrist when he refused to let go of his pistol. Eloy screamed, and I felt myself pale.
Remembering what the captain had said, I put my hands in the air. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I shouted as a very large black man walked in, his cap saying "captain" more than his confident walk. "I got nothing on me but chalk. Splat gun is in the purse. Where in the hell have you been?"
Trent started to kneel with his hands behind his neck, and one of the men grabbed him, shoving him into a booth. "Hey," I started, affronted, and then shouted, "Hey!" again when the captain grabbed my biceps and roughly propelled me onto the same bench as Trent. "I thought we were working together!" I exclaimed, but my sudden pull on the ley line sputtered to nothing and my knees gave way.
Smiling as if having expected it, the captain hauled me back to my feet, a silver amulet in the shape of an eagle suddenly glowing brightly. Dazed, I wondered if that was where my attempted blast of ever-after had gone. "Did you just . . ." I started, reaching for it, and he shoved me farther into the booth.
I hit Trent's shoulder, and the elf grinned at me as he scooted over to make room, his hands carefully atop the table where everyone could see them. "You enjoying this?" I said, in a bad temper, and he smiled even wider, the scent of woods and wine spilling from him.
"It's better than studying portfolios with Quen," he said as Mark landed on the bench across from us, looking scared but relieved. My shoulder bag was next, sliding to a stop at the end of the table. The charms, I noticed, were being swept up with a huge, very quiet vacuum cleaner that was taking everything not nailed down: chunks of plaster, broken glass from the pictures, Dr. Cordova's shoe . . .
People were still pouring in, some of them in street clothes, but most in nondescript blue work coveralls. Hats and clipboards, I thought, thinking they could walk anywhere at any time and get into anyplace, never seen, never noticed. And what was with that ley-line drain? I'd never felt anything like it. Watching the captain, I started to slowly spindle the line, taking it in a trickle.
"Knock it off, Morgan, or I'll show you how we take down dead vampires," the big man said without looking at me, and I let go of the line. Damn! Who had I just invited into my parlor?
"They're fixing the damage," Trent said as the dusty scent of wall spackle pricked my nose and a metal ladder clanked upward.
"You okay?" I asked him, and he nodded, his enthusiasm undimmed but getting harder to see as his usual calm control exerted itself. I could see it there, though, simmering.
"Yeah!" Mark said, leaning over the table toward us since we appeared to have been forgotten for the moment. "What just happened? What is she?" he said as Eloy and Dr. Cordova were literally dragged out the back door.
"Justice," Trent said, and the big man standing at the end of the table turned.
"Better you don't know," I said as the captain's eyes squinted. He had his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging from under his polo shirt. "I thought we were doing this together?" I complained. "Nice of you to come back, but if all you're going to do is abuse us, you can just go away and we'll take Cordova and Eloy in ourselves."
"Relax, Rachel. I'm sure this will even itself out," Trent said as he scooted a bit farther from me and relaxed his shoulders. In an eyeblink, the businessman was back, but I could see through it. I think the captain could, too.
"Truer words have never been spoken," the man said, his voice the same one from my earbud. His eyes never leaving mine, he shifted a lapel mic closer to his mouth. "Cleaners."
My gut tightened as the captain's satisfaction that they had HAPA was tempered by my feeling of a new uncertainty. We'd given them their take, but I didn't like how they were treating us. Mark hiccupped and slid to the back of the booth when the captain eased his well-muscled bulk onto the bench across from me. Past our little corner of quiet, a dozen people silently worked washing Eloy's blood and Dr. Cordova's spit from the floor, spackling, painting, replacing pictures of babies dressed up as flowers. From the ceiling, the whine of a battery-powered drill intruded, and I blinked as they replaced the broken fixture with an identical one.
"Thanks for the help," he said, and I brought my gaze back to the captain, startled to see him sitting quietly with his hands laced on the table.
"Really? You're appreciative?" I said tartly. "You could have fooled me. Here I am trying to get to know you, and you get nasty."
The captain inclined his head. "I wanted to evaluate your performance in a controlled setting. You did good. He did better. Interesting."
Trent? I thought, following the captain's attention to him, and Trent frowned, clearly angry with himself. He had thought this might happen. I'd known it was a possibility, but I had so badly wanted a working relationship with someone who had guns that I'd ignored it. My heart pounded, remembering both the ley-line sink and his comment about taking down dead vampires. And now they were interested in Trent? Great.
Trent cleared his throat, the sound attention-getting, confident. "We just saved you - "
"Nothing," the man interrupted as he leaned back, sourly eyeing us all. "You got in the way. Made a mess of things. Jeopardized six weeks of work - not just this acquirement, but the entire week. The last ten minutes proved to me that you're a menace, Morgan, not only to yourself, but to everyone around you."
I'd been told that before, and it still didn't bother me. "We can work together, you know. It works with Glenn pretty good. Inderlanders and humans." I wasn't going to give this up. I wanted someone on my side.
The captain's focus sharpened, his mind clearly on something else. "Tell me about Mathew Glenn."
Beside me, Trent stiffened. "Don't."
"He's one of the most honest, upright people I know," I said hotly. "You think he's HAPA? You think he's working with that nutcase you just carted out of here? He's dating my roommate and he eats pizza. There's no one except maybe Jenks and Ivy I would trust more with my life."
Trent's foot touched mine. "You're making a mistake."
"That's exactly what I'm telling them!" I said, then frowned as a man in a lab coat came in, a little tackle box in his hand.
"No," Trent said patiently. "You're making a mistake."
I shut my mouth. I didn't like men in lab coats. The big man across from me sighed, his arms back over his chest as he flicked a glance at the doctor, then back to me. "I think so, too. Just wanted your opinion."
My chest hurt as he stood up and gestured for the man in the lab coat. "You leave him alone. You hear me?" I all but hissed. "If you touch him, I swear I'll . . . I'll . . ."
The man in the lab coat stopped at the table beside ours, opening up his little box and bringing out a glass vial and three syringes. The glass vial hit the table with a clear and certain clunk, and I stared at it, my pulse hammering. Seeing what was happening, Trent sighed. Mark's eyes were huge, but he didn't move, trusting us - trusting me.
"Roll up your sleeves, please," the doc said, and I stared up at him, scared out of my mind. Beside me, Trent was undoing his cuff button, his motions having a quick sharpness that told of his anger.
"I'm sorry. Do what he says, Rachel," Trent said, and I shook my head, shrinking back and holding my arms to myself.
"No. You can't do - hey!" I shouted as someone grabbed me from behind and another yanked my arm out, pinning it to the table. I tried to rise, the line singing in me. The captain pinned my wrist to the table, and the line washed out of me. I tried to stand, but someone behind me had grabbed my feet from under the bench.
"Rachel!" Trent shouted, and I caught my panic. The captain was watching me sharply. Mark was frightened, his arm out as the doctor finished injecting him with something. Trent offered his arm next, and I felt a moment of helplessness. I couldn't fight them all alone.
"It's a memory blocker," Trent said, his eye twitching as the doctor tied his arm off. "I recognize the label. I'm sorry. I should have . . . done something."
Memory blockers? I hesitated in my panic, and then a new fear slid into place behind it. I would be fine, but Trent. Damn it, I didn't want him forgetting the last three days! I'd had fun!
"You lied to me!" I said, and the captain smiled.
"Not at all. I haven't shot you - yet," he said, and I struggled until the man holding my arm hurt me. Wanting to fight back, I looked around the coffeehouse. Everything was back where it belonged, right down to a cup of coffee steaming at the pickup window. Most of the-men-who-don't-belong were gone. It was just us - and whatever they had injected into Trent.
Trent grimaced as he bent his arm up to prevent any blood leaking out. His motions jerky, he pulled his sleeve back down and buttoned it.
"You're all going to pay for this," I said and the doctor gingerly tied a rubber hose around my arm. "You're all bullies," I said, wincing as the needle slipped in. "Bullies and weenies. You know what happens to weenies?" The needle pulled out without a pinch, and the doctor turned to put his stuff away. Someone let go of my feet, and I kicked at them. "They get roasted!" I shouted as the man behind me let go of my shoulders. Panting, I sat there as they all left and the door shut behind them. Damn it to the Turn and back. As soon as it took hold, Trent was going to forget - the curses he gave me, helping me with Eloy under the streets, our conversation in my kitchen.
And then it was just us three, the doctor, and the captain.
Trent's car keys hit the table, dusty from the vacuum and apparently lost in the fight. Or maybe they had lifted them to search his car. I was betting it was the latter as Trent dragged them off the table and into his hand with a sour expression. This sucked. This sucked royally.
Mark was pale, and he pulled himself away from the wall. "Are we going to die now?" he said, his voice quavering.
The captain put his hands on the table and looked down at us. They were huge and covered with scars. "No. You're going to forget the last two hours happened."
I looked up from rubbing my arm as the doctor snapped his bag shut and glanced at his watch. I wasn't. I was going to remember. I wasn't going to let this go. Ever.
"You will not notice anything out of the ordinary when we are gone," the captain continued, "and you, Mark, will change your entrance code at the back door to 0101 like I told you the last time. Got it?"
Mark bobbed his head. "Yes, sir."
I could feel the demon curse hazing through me, spilling along my muscles like slow tequila as it neutralized the toxins. "And maybe repaint the floor with some metallic circles so I can catch people easier," I added, making the captain of the-men-who-don't-belong frown.
"Yes, ma'am," Mark said obediently, and the captain turned to Trent and me.
"You're not going to get away with this," I said, frustrated anger filling me. "I hate memory charms! They don't last. We will remember." I'd make sure of that. It might take me a week in Al's library, but I'd find a way to return Trent's memory. I didn't want to be the only one to remember this - the way he looked, what he did to see the run through. How dare they take that away, a moment when he was exactly who he wanted to be? It was only two hours, but it was the stuff that made us who we were.
I jerked back as the captain reached for me, finding his hand behind my neck as his other hand pulled my lower eyelid down to see how my pupils were dilated. "Which is precisely why we don't use them, Ms. Morgan," he said softly as he gauged my state. "I prefer old-fashioned drugs."
"Get off," I snarled, and he jerked his hand back as I tried to hit him.
Eyes narrowed, the captain leaned away. "You both will forget the entire evening," he said, and I glared at him. "Including the realization that HAPA has infiltrated the FIB. We're getting them one by one, and your interference is sending them deeper. HAPA does not exist anymore as far as you're concerned."
Bullshit. But I forced myself to relax like Trent and Mark were, pretending. I let my hands unclench, and my shoulders slumped. Beside me, Trent breathed, slow and relaxed. I'm sorry, Trent. I will get your memory back for you. I promise.
Head bobbing, I watched the captain huff as if satisfied, then glance up at the doctor, standing at the end of the table. "Well?" the captain said, and the doctor looked at his watch.
"They won't remember a thing," the man said, his European accent harsh. "Not even how they got here."
"Good. Let's go. Lady. Gentlemen," he said, hands on the table as he rose. Without a backward glance, they headed for the door. Just as they reached it, the captain hesitated, turning with one hand raised in question. "Oh, and if you ever interfere with another one of my actions, I will put both of you in the cells next to those cretins we just caught. I have lots of room in my facility, and unlike Alcatraz, I've never had anyone break out. Elf. Vampire. Were, or witch."
Touching his forehead in salute, he turned to leave, holding the door for the laughing couple coming in. Depressed, I sat for a moment as the bells jingled against the door.
That's a different chime, I thought as I looked up. My eyes were damp, and I wiped them. How was I going to explain to Trent why he was here dressed in thief black and with his lip swollen? He'd never believe me.
Something hit my foot, and I jerked my attention to Mark as he slid out from the bench, confusion pinching his eyes. "Ah, I'll have your coffee in a sec," he said, glancing at the seat as if wondering why he had been in it. "What was it you wanted?"
I swallowed hard, my hands shaking. "I'd like a grand latte, double espresso, Italian blend - "
"Light on the froth, heavy on the cinnamon, with a pump of raspberry in it?" he finished, starting to smile. "I remember. And for you . . ." He looked at Trent. "It was a grand latte, hazelnut, with two pumps, right? You were in here last week."
"If you would," Trent said, his low voice sounding as depressed as I felt.
Mark strode briskly away, his pace jerking to a pained slowness after three steps. Rubbing his shoulder as if confused, he went behind the counter, pulling his sleeve up to look at the new bruise in the making.
"I'm sorry, Rachel," Trent whispered as if to himself. "I should have worked harder to find a memory charm that worked on demons."
My head jerked up. "You remember?"
Trent's jaw dropped. "B-but . . ." he stammered, his eyes going to my arm where they had injected me.
"You remember!" I said, elated, then lowered my voice, almost dancing as I moved around to sit across from Trent, taking my shoulder bag from the table and sliding it next to me. "Oh my God! Trent! How?"
Looking delighted but confused, he leaned in until our heads almost touched. "My father owns the patent on those drugs. You don't think I know how to circumvent them?" He shook his head, amazed. "But you. Rachel . . . I didn't have time . . . It was either the pain charm or the memory charm, and I thought you'd rather be alive without your memory than dead with it."
I leaned back, then forward again, not knowing what to do with myself. He remembered. "The I.S. was wiping the memories of witnesses, and since I didn't want to solve these crimes for them and wind up with nothing in my bank account . . ." My words trailed off, and suddenly I couldn't look at him anymore. His ring glinted on my pinkie, and I turned it over and over, a weird feeling coursing through me as I avoided his eyes. "It doesn't work for anyone but demons. I would have found something for you, but there wasn't time to do that and everything else."
He was silent, and I looked up. "I'm glad you didn't forget," he said, and I froze when he reached across the table, put his hand on mine for a bare second, and gave it a squeeze. I blinked, startled, and he jerked away, the rims of his cropped ears turning red.
"You okay?" I said, a new tension starting to build as he hid his hand under the table. There was a group of highly trained, well-funded humans who could take down Inderlanders and keep them incarcerated. We had helped them capture two HAPA members, one deeply entrenched in the FIB. I was having coffee with Trent. It was the third thing that I was worried about.
As if appreciating the change in topic, he shifted uncomfortably on the hard seat. "I'm finding it very hard to believe that there's been a group of humans policing HAPA and Inderland without my knowledge." Crossing his arms, he looked over the repaired coffeehouse. "I wonder who funds them. I've got some toys they might be interested in."
I snorted, my arms draped over the table in contrast to his upright decorum. "They just tried to wipe your mind and you want to sell them stuff?"
Shrugging, he flicked his eyes to mine, looking embarrassed. "I need to make a call."
In the background, Mark was staring in confusion at the note in his pocket. I bit my lip, feeling the sweet relaxation of burnt-out adrenaline. I didn't want this to end yet. We had gotten HAPA, survived the-men-who-don't-belong, and my coffee was on the counter waiting for me. "Can it wait? I need a moment to catch my breath," I said, and his attention jumped to me.
"Sure." His gaze going to the dessert shelves, he tilted his head. "How about a piece of cherry pie to go with that coffee? Bringing down bad men makes me hungry."
"Perfect," I said as I stood. Pie? Trent liked cherry pie? I'd have to remember that.
"My treat," Trent said, and I hesitated, waiting as he reached behind him for his wallet. His breath caught and he blinked up at me. "Ah, I didn't bring my wallet," he said, and I laughed.
"I got it this time, Daddy Warbucks," I said, and I ambled to the counter, happy and content with the world.