Ever After

I blinked, lips parting. Wow. “Oh,” I said, trying to decide what I could say. “Yes. We were at Carew Tower.” I looked down at my dress, clearly not suitable for a deli.

Trent moved to stand next to me, so near I could smell his aftershave under the broken-green smell of him. Together we watched the newscaster finish her interview with a nurse, and him being that close was almost worse than his accusing stare. “You were discussing me,” he said, his voice a shade high, his attention fixed determinedly across the room. The scent of spoiled wine and cinnamon joined the mix.

“Quen asked me to fill in for him when your schedules don’t mesh,” I said. “He knows you’re planning the conflicts—did you think he would do nothing?”

His eye twitched, that’s it, but I could see right through it. “Give the man a break,” I said, and he finally gave up his false indifference to glare at me. “Quen cross-checked your prom date and took you to the DMV office for your license. He worries about you, okay?”

Unwilling to believe, Trent frowned. I could feel the reporters watching. His eyes flicked to them and slowly his hands unclenched. Exhaling, he forced a fake smile, but I didn’t think he was fooling anyone now. He was ready to walk, and I took his elbow.

“Trent, I told him no,” I said softly, and his gaze shot from my grip to my eyes. “I told him you don’t need a babysitter. I told him he was selling you short and that you had the skill and dexterity to take care of yourself. He’s trying to wrap his mind around it, but after a decade of keeping you safe, it’s hard. You might want to ease up on the rebelliousness for a while.”

Trent’s anger vanished. “Rebelliousness?” he said, and we both moved sideways as the vacuum guys trundled out past us. “Is that his word or yours?”

“Mine,” I said, relieved that I hadn’t tried to lie to him. “I know rebelling when I see it. Come on,” I cajoled, my hand slipping from him. “Let the poor guy come to grips with your independence before you go forcing it on him. That’s kind of cool, you know? That he loves you so much.”

Again he started, clearly at a loss. “Thank you,” he said as his gaze canvassed the room behind me, but his smile was honest when it returned to me. “I never saw it like that.”

My heart thumped when Trent ducked his head to rub his chin ruefully, and a funny feeling went to my middle. Behind me, the bright lights of the news crews pinned down the human tragedy like the African sun, exposing it in a distasteful savagery akin to lions ripping the underbelly of a gazelle. It was just as hard to look away.

I took a breath to tell him if he ever wanted someone to watch his back to give me a call, but I chickened out. Instead, I nervously shifted to stand beside him again. A wisp of separation drifted between us. “You’re leaving.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, clearly surprised. “That newswoman has been eyeing me, and I don’t want to give an interview.”

I nodded in understanding. As soon as he left, I was going to beat a hasty retreat in the other direction in search of Nina. Maybe they’d let me into the crime scene if Felix asked them to.

“Rachel,” Trent said suddenly, and I brought my attention back from the empty hallway between the kitchen and the bedrooms. “Be careful. It might be HAPA even if Felix says it isn’t.”

Angry, I nodded. Whoever was doing this knew I was a hard target, so they’d abducted babies instead. Cowards.

Trent was rocking forward to leave, and I stuck out my hand. “You be careful, too. If whoever this is knows about the enzyme, they’ll know that you’re the only one who can make the cure permanent.” Could I ever work for him? I wondered as he looked at my hand and I recalled the satisfaction of bringing in Cincinnati’s HAPA faction with him and the two-hour-long conversation with him over pie and coffee afterward. It had been wonderful, but I didn’t think I could stomach taking direction from him, and I doubted he would ever learn to be anything other than what he was. I didn’t know if I’d like him if he changed. Damn, I liked him, and it kind of hurt admitting it.

Trent eyed my hand for a half second, taking it only to pull me toward him. Surprised, I almost fell, my breath held as he gave me a quick, professional hug, our shoulders touching. My free hand went around him for balance, and the memory of kissing him flashed through my mind as my hand slid from his waist. “Thank you, I’ll be careful,” he said as my heart pounded and I stared at him. Then he let go and I stepped back, my face warming.

“Are you available tomorrow morning?” he asked, as if unaware I was now bright red. Jeez Louise, what was with the hug? And in front of the reporters? Everyone can see me blushing. “I’d like to talk to you about what this might mean,” he said, his gaze rising to take in the entire ugly scene. “And I know Ceri and the girls would like to see you.”

I hesitated. I hadn’t seen Lucy and Ray for a few weeks. I was their godmother. Of course I wanted to come over, regardless of the reason. “Make it . . . ten?” I said, remembering that elves, like pixies, usually slept the four hours when the sun was the highest. “I’m, ah, usually not up before eleven, but I can swing ten . . . occasionally.”

Oh God, I was blushing even more now, but Trent only bobbed his head, smiling at my red face. “We can make it eleven if you like,” he said. “That’s their usual riding time. Wear boots. We can talk on the trail. I’ll see you then.”

Calm and relaxed, Trent headed for the door, his steps confident as he timed his retreat perfectly to avoid the rising newscaster reaching for him. And then he was gone.

Crap on toast, I was gripping my clutch purse like a fig leaf, and disgusted that I’d handled that with the grace of a troll, I fidgeted where I was, feeling out of place in my tawny dress now that I wasn’t standing next to a man in a suit. My heart was still pounding, and through the window, I saw a flash of light as Trent got into his car.

Hands swinging, I edged backward down the hall where Quen and Felix had gone. Quen would want to know Trent had ditched him again. I expected that the hallway led to the nurseries, and indeed, behind the first door I hesitantly peeped in was the expected double bed, two soft chairs, a rocker, TV, dresser, mirror, and a crib. There was a bank of white cupboards. I was sure they held lifesaving equipment, hidden like an ugly secret.

“Not here,” I said to myself, starting to relax the farther I got from the noise and warmth of the living room. I pulled the door shut, then hesitated, looking at my fingers. They felt slippery, and I brought them to my nose, breathing in the smell of crushed leaves.

Pixy dust?

Pulse quickening, I went down the hallway, following voices. “Felix?” I called out, hiking my dress up so I could move better.

“In here, Rachel,” Nina called back, and I froze at the tiny ultrasonic wing chirp of surprise that followed. I never would have heard it over the noise, except that I lived with pixies.

I spun back to the kitchen, my eyes widening. “Jax?” I blurted, seeing the little pixy looking at me from over the rim of the light fixture. “Jax!” I shouted as he darted down the hall and into the kitchen.

I moved. Dress hiked up, I stormed down the hall, blowing into the kitchen and scaring the two I.S. guys standing at the open fridge. The sparkling of pixy dust hung in the air.

“Pixy!” I shouted, and the two men stared at me. “Where did he go?”

Wide-eyed, they said nothing, the pie between them like guilt given substance.

“Where did the damn pixy go!” I repeated, my heart thudding.

“Pixy?” one of them asked, as if I were asking about a unicorn.

The sound of a vehicle starting came in through the open window, and I ran to the back door. Adrenaline surging, I shoved the door open. Cool night air hit me, misty with no moon—and the sifting silver dust of a pixy trailed like a moonbeam. It drifted to the sidewalk running past the Dumpster and vanishing around the corner.

Breathless, I followed the tracing of dust, my heels sending shocks up my spine as I clip-tapped around the corner. A squeal of tires brought me to a halt, and I put a hand on the Dumpster and watched as a blue Ford truck drove away, tires smoking. Anger sparked, but it wasn’t until it hit a speed bump and the passenger door flew open that I was sure.

N-n-n-n-nick.

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