Every Which Way But Dead

The warm water I was sitting in was nice. I had been in it long enough to prune twice, but I didn't care. Ellasbeth's sunken tub was fab. I sighed, leaning my head back and staring at the ten-foot ceilings framed by the potted orchids lining the bathtub. Maybe there was something to this drug lord business if you got to have a tub like this. I'd been in it for over an hour.



Trent had called Ivy for me even before we reached the city's limits. I'd talked to her myself not too long ago, telling her I was okay and was soaking in warm water and wasn't getting out until hell froze over. She had hung up on me, but I knew we were okay.



Dragging my fingers through the bubbles, I adjusted Trent's borrowed pain amulet hanging about my neck. I didn't know who had invoked it; maybe his secretary? All my charms were at the bottom of the Ohio River. My smile faltered as I remembered the people I hadn't been able to save. I would not feel guilty that I breathed and they didn't. Their deaths were laid at Saladan's feet, not mine. Or maybe Kisten's. Damn it. What was I going to do about that?



I closed my eyes and said a prayer for them, but they jerked open when a faint cadence of brisk steps grew louder. They quickly grew closer, and I froze as a thin woman dressed smartly in a cream-colored suit clacked and clicked in over the bathroom tile unannounced. There was a depart ment store bag over her arm. Her steely gaze was fixed on the doorway to the changing room, and she never saw me as she vanished into it.



It had to be Ellasbeth. Crap. What was I supposed to do? Wipe the bubbles from my hand and offer to shake hers? Frozen, I stared at the door. My coat was on one of the chairs and my garment bag was still hanging by the changing screen. Pulse quickening, I wondered if I could reach the green towel before she realized she wasn't alone.



The faint rustling stopped, and I shrank down into the bubbles when she strode back in, house afire. Her dark eyes were narrowed in anger and her high cheekbones were red. Posture stiff, she halted, bag still over her arm and apparently forgotten. Her thick, waving blond hair was held back to give her narrow face a stark beauty. Lips tight, she held her head high, her eyes fixing vehemently upon me as soon as she cleared the archway.



So that's what it looked like when hell froze over.



"Who are you?" she said, her strong voice domineering and cold.



I smiled, but I knew it looked rather sickly. "Ah, I'm Rachel Morgan. Of Vampiric Charms?" I started to sit up, then changed my mind. I hated the question that had crept into my tone, but there it was. 'Course it might have been there because I was naked except for bubbles, and she was standing in four-inch heels and a casually tasteful outfit that Kisten might pick out for me if he took me shopping in New York.



"What are you doing in my bathtub?" She gazed disparagingly at my healing black eye.



I reached for a towel and dragged it in with me, covering myself. "Trying to warm up."



Her mouth twitched. "I don't wonder why," she said sharply. "He's a cold bastard."



I sat up in a rush of water as she walked out. "Trenton!" her voice rang out, harsh against the peace I had been wallowing in.



My breath puffed out, and I looked at the soaked towel clinging to me. Sighing, I got up and opened the drain with my foot. The water swirling about my calves settled and began to escape. Ellasbeth had thoughtfully left all the doors open, and I could hear her shouting at Trent. She wasn't far away. Perhaps as close as the common room. Deciding that as long as I could hear her out there, it was probably safe enough to get dried off in here, I wrung out the soaked towel and grabbed two new ones from the warmer.



"God save you, Trenton," came her voice, bitter and abusive. "Couldn't you even wait until I was gone before bringing in one of your whores?"



I reddened and my motions to dry my arms grew rough.



"I thought you had left," Trent said calmly, not helping matters. "And she's not a whore, she's a business associate."



"I don't care what you call her, she's in my rooms, you bastard."



"There wasn't anywhere else to put her."



"There are eight bathrooms this side of the wall, and you put her in mine?"



I was glad my hair was somewhat dry, and that it smelled like Ellasbeth's shampoo made me feel all peachy-keen. Hopping ungainly on one foot, I tried to get my underwear on, thankful I had only been wearing the nylons that I brought from home when I went into the drink. My skin was still damp and everything was sticking. I almost went down when my foot got stuck halfway into my jeans leg, and lurching, I caught myself against the counter.



"Damn you, Trenton! Don't even try to say that is business!" Ellasbeth was shouting. "There's a naked witch in my bathtub, and you're sitting in your robe!"



"No, you listen to me." Trent's voice was iron hard, and I could hear his frustration even from two rooms away. "I said she's a business associate, and that's what she is."



Ellasbeth made a harsh bark of laugher. "From Vampiric Charms? She told me the name of her bloodhouse herself!"



"She's a runner, if it's any of your business," Trent said so coldly I could almost see his clenched jaw. "Her partner is a vampire. It's a play on words, Ellasbeth. Rachel was my security escort tonight, and she fell into the river saving my life. I wasn't going to drop her at her office half dead from hypothermia like an unwanted cat. You told me you were taking the seven o'clock flight out. I thought you were gone, and I wasn't about to put her in my rooms."



There was a moment of silence. I shimmied into my sweatshirt. Somewhere on the bottom of the river was several thousand dollars of soft ribbon gold from Randy's coiffure and one earring. At least the necklace had survived. Maybe the charm worked only on the necklace.



"You were on that boat.... The one that blew up..." Itwas softer, but there wasn't a hint of apology in her sudden concern.



In the silence, I fumbled at my hair, grimacing. Maybe if I had half an hour I could do something with it. Besides, there was no way to recover from the first stellar impression I'd made. Taking a steadying breath, I squared my shoulders and padded in my sock feet to the common room. Coffee. I could smell coffee. Coffee would make everything better.



"You can understand my confusion," Ellasbeth was saying as I hesitated by the door, unnoticed but able to see them. Ellasbeth stood beside the round table in the breakfast nook, looking meek in the way a tiger looks when it realizes it can't eat the man with the whip. Trent was seated, wearing a green robe edged in maroon. There was a professional-looking bandage on his forehead. He looked bothered - as he should with his fiancȦe accusing him of cheating.



"That's the closest to an apology I'm going to get, isn't it?" Trent said.



Ellasbeth dropped the department store bag and put a hand on her hip. "I want her out of my rooms. I don't care who she is."



Trent's eyes fell on mine as if drawn to them, and I winced apologetically. "Quen is taking her home after a light dinner," he said to her. "You're welcome to join us. As I said, I thought you had left."



"I changed to a vamp flight so I could shop longer."



Trent glanced back at me again to tell Ellasbeth that they weren't alone. "You spent six hours in the stores and have only one bag?" he said, the faintest accusation in his voice.



Ellasbeth followed his gaze to me, quickly masking her anger with a pleasant expression. But I could see her frustration. It remained to be seen how it would show itself. I was betting on hidden barbs and slights disguised as compliments. But I would be nice as long as she was.



Smiling, I came out in my jeans and Howlers sweatshirt. "Hey, uh, thanks for the pain amulet and letting me get cleaned up, Mr. Kalamack." I stopped beside the table, the awkwardness as thick and choking as bad cheesecake. "No need to bother Quen. I'll call my partner to come and get me. She's probably banging on your gatehouse already."



Trent made a visible effort to purge the anger from his posture. Elbows on the table so the sleeves of his robe fell to show the fair hair upon his arms, he said, "I'd rather have Quen take you home, Ms. Morgan. I don't particularly want to talk to Ms. Tamwood." He glanced at Ellasbeth. "Do you want me to call the airport for you, or are you staying another night?"



It was entirely devoid of any invitation. "I'll be staying," she said tightly. Bending at the waist, she picked up her bag and walked to her door. I watched her quick stilted steps, seeing in them a dangerous combination of callous disregard and ego.



"She's an only child, isn't she?" I said as the sound of her heels was lost on the carpet.



Trent blinked, his lips parting. "Yes, she is." Then he gestured for me to sit. "Please."



Not really sure I wanted to eat with the two of them, I gingerly sat on the chair opposite Trent. My gaze went to the fake window spanning the entirety of the wall that the small, nearby sunken living room took up. It was just after eleven according to the clocks I had seen, and it was dark with no moon. "Sorry," I said, my gaze flicking to the archway to Ellasbeth's rooms.



His jaw tightened for an instant, then relaxed. "Can I get you some coffee?"



"Sure. That would be great." I was almost faint from hunger, and the heat of my bath had drained me. I looked up with wide eyes as a matronly woman in an apron made her unhurried way out of the small kitchen tucked in at the back of the room. It was partially open to the seating arrangement, but I hadn't noticed her until now.



Giving me a smile that encompassed all her face, the woman set a mug of that heavenly scented coffee in front of me before topping off Trent's smaller teacup with an amber brew. I thought I could smell gardenias, but I wasn't sure. "Bless you," I said as I wrapped my hands around it and breathed in the steam.



"You're welcome," she said with the professional warmth of a good waitress. Smiling, she turned to Trent. "What will it be tonight, Mr. Kalamack? It's almost too late for a proper dinner."



As I blew on the surface of my coffee, my thoughts went to the different schedules of witches and elves, thinking it interesting that one of our species was awake at all times and that dinner happened about the same time for both of us.



"Oh, let's make it light," Trent said, clearly trying to ease the mood. "I have about three pounds of Ohio River sitting in me somewhere. How about a breakfast instead? The usual, Maggie."



The woman nodded, the white hair clipped close to her head not moving at all. "And how about you, dear?" she asked me.



I glanced between Trent and the woman. "What's the usual?"



"Four eggs over easy and three slices of rye toast done on one side."



I felt myself blanch. "That's eating light?" I said before I could stop my mouth.



Trent arranged his jammies' collar, peeking from behind his robe. "High metabolism."



My thoughts went back to how he and Ceri never seemed to get cold. The temperature of the river, too, hadn't affected him. "Um," I said as I realized she was still waiting. "The toast sounds good, but I'll pass on the eggs."



Eyebrows high, Trent took a sip of his tea, eyeing me over the rim. "That's right," he said, his voice unaccusing. "You don't tolerate them well. Maggie, let's go with waffles."



Shocked, I leaned back in my chair. "How did you..."



Trent shrugged, looking good in his bathrobe and bare feet. He had nice feet. "You don't think I know your medical history?"



My wonder died as I recalled Faris dead on his office floor. What in hell was I doing here eating dinner with him? "Waffles would be great."



"Unless you'd like something more traditional for dinner. Chinese doesn't take long. Would you rather have that? Maggie makes fabulous wontons."



I shook my head. "Waffles sound good."



Maggie smiled, turning to putter back into the kitchen. "Won't be but a moment."



I put my napkin in my lap, wondering how much of this let's-be-nice-to-Rachel scene was because Ellasbeth was in the next room listening and Trent wanted to hurt her for accusing him of cheating. Deciding I didn't care, I put my elbows on the table and took a sip of the best coffee I'd ever tasted. Eyes closing in the rising steam, I moaned in delight. "Oh God, Trent," I breathed. "This is good."



The sudden thump of heels on carpet pulled my eyes open. It was back.



I straightened in my chair as Ellasbeth came in, her dress coat open to show a starched white shirt and a peach-colored scarf. My gaze went to her ring finger and I blanched. You could run a city on the sparkle that thing put out.



Ellasbeth sat beside me, a shade too close for my liking. "Maggie?" she said lightly. "I'll have tea and biscuits, please. I ate while out."



"Yes, ma'am," Maggie said as she leaned through the open archway. Her tone lacked utterly in any warmth. Clearly Maggie didn't like Ellasbeth, either.



Ellasbeth fixed a smile to her face, setting her long, fragile-looking fingers on the table to best show off her engagement ring. Bitch. "Seems we got off the horse on the wrong side, Ms. Morgan," she said cheerfully. "Have you and Trenton known each other long?"



I didn't like Ellasbeth. I think I'd be pretty upset myself if I came home and found a girl in Nick's bathtub, but after seeing her shouting at Trent, I couldn't find any sympathy for her. Accusing someone of cheating is harsh. My smile faltered as I realized I had almost done the same thing to Nick. I had accused him of dumping me, asking if there was someone else. There was a difference, but not much. Shit. I had to apologize. That he hadn't told me where he'd been going the last three months while avoiding me didn't seem like enough reason anymore. At least I hadn't called him any names. Jerking myself from my thoughts, I smiled at Ellasbeth.



"Oh, Trent and I go back a long way," I said lightly, twirling a curl of my hair about my finger and remembering its new shortness. "We met at camp as children. Sort of romantic when you think about it." I smiled at Trent's suddenly blank look.



"Really?" She turned to Trent, the hint of a tiger growling in her voice's soft cadence.



Sitting up, I tucked my legs under me to sit cross-legged, running my finger across the rim of the mug suggestively. "He was such a cub when he was younger, full of fire and spirit. I had to fight him off, the dear boy. That's where he got that scar on his lower arm."



I looked at Trent. "I can't believe you haven't told Ellasbeth! Trent, you aren't still embarrassed about that, are you?"



Ellasbeth's eye twitched, but her smile never faltered. Maggie set a delicate looking cup full of an amber liquid by her elbow and quietly walked away. Her carefully shaped eyebrows high, Ellasbeth took in Trent's silent posture and his lack of denial. Her fingertips made one rolling cadence against the table in agitation. "I see," she said, then stood. "Trenton, I do believe I will catch a flight out tonight after all."



Trent met her gaze. He looked tired and a bit relieved. "If that is what you want, love."



She leaned close to him, her eyes on me. "It's to give you the chance to settle your affairs - sweetness," she said, her lips shifting the air about his ear. Still watching me, she lightly kissed his cheek. There was no feeling in her eyes beyond a vindictive glint. "Call me tomorrow."



Not a flicker of emotion crossed Trent. Nothing. And its very absence chilled me. "I'll count the hours," he said, his voice giving no clue either. Both of their eyes were on me as his hand rose to touch her cheek, but he didn't kiss her back. "Should Maggie pack up your tea?"



"No." Still watching me, she straightened, her hand lingering possessively on his shoulder. The picture they made was both beautiful and strong. And united. I remembered the reflection of Trent and me at Saladan's boat. Here was the bond that had been lacking between us. It wasn't love, though. It wasmoreof...Mybrowfurrowed.... abusiness merger?



"It was a pleasure meeting you, Rachel," Ellasbeth said, pulling my thoughts back to the present. "And thank you for accompanying my fiancȦ tonight. Your services are undoubtedly well-practiced and appreciated. It's a shame he won't be calling upon them again."



I leaned across the table to shake her offered hand with a neutral pressure. I think she had just called me a whore - again. I suddenly didn't know what was going on. Did he like her, or didn't he? "Have a nice flight out," I said.



"I will. Thank you." Her hand slipped from mine and she drew a step back. "Walk me to the car?" she asked Trent, her voice smooth and satisfied.



I'm not dressed, love," he said softly, still touching her. "Jonathan can take your bags."



A flicker of annoyance crossed her, and I flashed her a catty smile. Turning, she walked out to the hallway overlooking the great room. "Jonathan?" she called, her heels clacking.



My God. The two played mind games with each other as if it was an Olympic sport.



Trent exhaled. Putting my feet on the floor, I made a wry face. "She's nice."



His expression went sour. "No she isn't, but she's going to be my wife. I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't imply anymore that we are sleeping together."



I smiled, a real one this time. "I just wanted her to leave."



Maggie bustled close, putting down table settings and taking away Ellasbeth's teacup and saucer. "Nasty, nasty woman," she muttered, her motions quick and sharp. "And you can sack me if you want, Mr. Kalamack, but I don't like her and I never will. You watch. She'll bring some woman with her who will take over my kitchen. Rearrange my cupboards. Push me out."



"Never, Maggie," Trent soothed, his posture shifting to a companionable ease. "We all have to make the best of it."



"Oh, worra, worra, worra," she mumbled as she made her way back into the kitchen.



Feeling more relaxed now that Ellasbeth was gone, I took another sip of that wonderful coffee. "She's nice," I said, looking at the kitchen.



His green eyes boyishly soft, he nodded. "Yes, she is."



"She's not an elf," I said, and his eyes jerked to mine. "Ellasbeth is," I added, and his look went closed again.



"You're getting uncomfortably adept, Ms. Morgan," he said, leaning away from me.



Putting my elbows to either side of the white plate, I rested my chin on the bridge my hands made. "That's Ellasbeth's problem, you know. She feels like she is a broodmare."



Trent shook out his napkin and put it on his lap. His robe was slowly coming undone to show a pair of executive-looking pajamas. It was somewhat of a disappointment - I'd been hoping for boxers. "Ellasbeth doesn't want to move to Cincinnati," he said, unaware that I was sneaking glances at his physique. "Her work and friends are in Seattle. You wouldn't be able to tell by looking at her, but she's one of the world's best nuclear transplant engineers."



My surprised silence brought his attention up, and I stared at him.



"She can take the nucleus of a damaged cell and transplant it into a healthy one," he said.



"Oh." Beautiful and smart. She could be Miss America if she learned how to lie better. But it sounded really close to illegal genetic manipulation to me.



"Ellasbeth can work from Cincinnati as easily as Seattle," Trent said, mistaking my silence for interest. "I've already financed the university's research department to update their facilities. She's going to put Cincinnati on the map for her developments, and she's angry that she's being forced to move instead of me." He met my questioning eyes. "It's not illegal."



"Tomato, tomatto," I said, leaning back when Maggie set a crock of butter and a pitcher of steaming syrup on the table and walked away.



Trent's green eyes met mine and he shrugged.



The scent of cooking batter drifted close, heady with promise, and my mouth watered as Maggie returned with two steaming plates of waffles. She set one before me, hesitating to make sure I was pleased. "This looks wonderful," I said, reaching for the butter.



Trent adjusted his plate while he waited for me. "Thanks, Maggie. I'll take care of the settings. It's getting late. Enjoy the rest of your evening."



"Thank you, Mr. Kalamack," Maggie said, clearly pleased as she rested a hand atop his shoulder. "I'll clean up the spills before I go. More tea or coffee?"



I looked up from pushing the butter to Trent. They were both waiting for me. "Um, no," I said as I glanced at my mug. "Thank you."



"This is fine," Trent echoed.



Maggie nodded as if we were doing something right before she returned to the kitchen humming. I smiled when I recognized the odd lullaby, "All the Pretty Little Horses."



Lifting a lid to a covered container, I found it full of crushed strawberries. My eyes widened. Tiny whole ones the size of my pinky nail made a ring around the rim as if it was June, not December, and I wondered where he had gotten them. I eagerly ladled berries on top of my waffle, looking up when I realized Trent was watching me. "You want some of these?"



"When you're done with them."



I went to take another scoop, then hesitated. Dropping the spoon back in, I pushed them across the table. The small noise of clinking silverware seemed loud as I poured the syrup. "You do know the last man I saw in a robe, I beat into unconsciousness with a chair leg," I quipped, desperate to break the silence.



Trent almost smiled. "I'll be careful."



The waffle was crisp on the outside and fluffy on the inside, easily cut with a fork. Trent used a knife. I carefully put the perfect square into my mouth so I wouldn't dribble. "Oh God," I said around my full mouth and giving up on manners. "Is it because we almost died that this tastes so good, or is she the best cook on earth?"



It was real butter, and the maple syrup had the dusky flavor that said it was a hundred percent real. Not two percent, not seven percent; it was real maple syrup. Remembering the stash of maple candy I once found while searching Trent's office, I wasn't surprised.



Trent put an elbow on the table, his eyes on his plate. "Maggie puts mayonnaise in them. It gives them an interesting texture."



I hesitated, staring at my plate, then deciding if I couldn't taste it, there wasn't enough egg to worry about. "Mayonnaise?"



A faint sound of dismay came from the kitchen. "Mr. Kalamack..." Maggie came out, wiping her hands on her apron. "Don't be giving my secrets away, or you'll find tea leaves in your brew tomorrow," she scolded.



Leaning to look over his shoulder, he widened his smile to become an entirely different person. "Then I'll be able to read my fortune. Have a good night, Maggie."



Harrumphing, she walked out, passing the sunken living room and making a left turn at the walkway overlooking the great hall. Her steps were almost soundless, and the closing of the main door was loud. Hearing running water in the new silence, I ate another bite.



Drug lord, murderer, bad man, I reminded myself. But he wasn't talking, and I was starting to feel uncomfortable. "Hey, I'm sorry about the water in your limo," I offered.



Trent wiped his mouth. "I think I can handle a little dry cleaning after what you did."



"Still," I said as my gaze slid to the crock of strawberries. "I'm sorry."



Seeing my eyes flick from the fruit to him, Trent made a questioning face. He wasn't going to offer them to me, so I reached out and took them. "Takata's car isn't nicer than yours," I said, upending the container over the remains of my waffle. "I was just jerking you around."



"I figured that out," he said wryly. He wasn't eating, and I looked up to see him with knife and fork in hand, watching me scrape the last of the strawberries out with my butter knife.



"What?" I said as I put the crock down. "You weren't going to have any more."



He carefully cut another square of waffle. "You've been in contact with Takata, then?"



I shrugged. "Ivy and I are working security at his concert next Friday." I wedged a small bite into my mouth and closed my eyes as I chewed. "This is really good." He didn't say anything, and my eyes opened. "Are you - ah - going?"



"No."



Turning back to my plate, I glanced at him from around my hair. "Good." I ate another bite. "The man is something else; when we talked, he was wearing orange pants. And he's got his hair out to here." I gestured, showing Trent. "But you probably know him. Personally."



Trent was still working on his waffle with the steady pace of a snail. "We met once."



Content, I slid all the strawberries off the remnants of my waffle and concentrated on them. "He picked me up off the street, gave me a ride, dumped me off on the expressway." I smiled. "At least he had someone bring my car along. Have you heard his early release?" Music. I could always keep the conversation going if it was about music. And Trent liked Takata. I knew that much about him.



" 'Red Ribbons'?" Trent asked, an odd intentness to his voice.



Nodding, I swallowed and pushed my plate away. There were no more strawberries, and I was full. "Have you heard it?" I asked, settling back in my chair with my coffee.



"I've heard it." Leaving a shallow wedge of waffle uneaten, Trent set his fork down and pushed it symbolically away. His hands went to his tea and he leaned back in his chair. I went to take a sip of coffee, freezing as I realized Trent had mirrored both my posture and my motion.



Oh, crap. He likes me. Mirroring motions was classic in the body language of attraction. Feeling as if I'd stumbled into somewhere I didn't want to go, I intentionally leaned forward and put the flat of my arm on the table, my fingers encircling my warm mug of coffee. I wouldn't play this game. I wouldn't!



" 'You're mine, yet wholly you,' " Trent said dryly, clearly oblivious to my thoughts. "The man has no sense of discretion. It's going to catch up with him someday."



Eyes distant and unaware, he put the flat of his arm on the table. My face went cold and I choked, but it wasn't because of what he had done. It was because of what he had said. "Holy crap!" I swore. "You're a vamp's scion!"



Trent's eyes jerked to mine. "Excuse me?"



"The lyrics!" I sputtered. "He didn't release those. It's on the vamp track only undead vampires and their scions can hear. Oh my God! You've been bitten!"



Lips pressed together, Trent picked up his fork and cut a triangle of waffle, using it to sop up the last of the syrup on his plate. "I'm not a vampire's scion. And I've never been bit."



My heart pounded and I stared. "Then how do you know them? I heard you. I heard you say them. Straight off the vamp track."



He arched his thin eyebrows at me. "How do you know about the vamp track?"



"Ivy."



Trent rose. Wiping his fingers clean, he tightened his robe and crossed the room to the casual living-room pit with the wall-sized TV and stereo. I watched him pluck a CD from atop a shelf and drop it into a player. While it spun up, he punched in a track and "Red Ribbons" came from hidden speakers. Though it was soft, I could feel the base line thumping into me.



Trent showed a tired acceptance as he turned with a set of wireless headphones. They were professional looking, the type that fit over your ears instead of resting on them. "Listen," he said, extending them to me. I drew back suspiciously, and he wedged them on my head.



My jaw dropped and my eyes flew to his. It was "Red Ribbons," but it wasn't the same song. It was incredibly rich, seeming to go right to my brain, skipping my ears. It echoed within me, swirling behind and through my thoughts. There were impossible highs, and rumbling lows that set my tongue tingling. It was the same song, but there was so much more.



I realized I was staring at my plate. What I had been missing was beautiful. Pulling in a breath of air, I drew my head up. Trent had sat again, watching. Stunned, I reached to touch the headphones, reassuring myself that they were really there. The vamp track was indescribable.



And then the woman started to sing. I looked at Trent, feeling panicked, it was so beautiful. He nodded with a Cheshire cat smile. Her voice was lyrical, both rough and tragic. It pulled emotion from me I wasn't aware I could feel. A deep painful regret. Unrequited need. "I didn't know," I whispered.



As I listened to the end, unable to take the headphones off, Trent took our plates to the kitchen. He came back with an insulated pot of tea, topping off his cup before sitting down. The track ended, leaving only silence. Numb, I slid the headphones off and set them by my coffee.



"I didn't know," I said again, thinking that my eyes must look haunted. "Ivy can hear all that? Why doesn't Takata release them sounding like that?"



Trent adjusted his position in his chair. "He does. But only the undead can hear it."



I touched the headphones. "But you - "



"I made them after finding out about the vamp track. I wasn't sure they would work with witches. I gather by your expression that they did?"



My head bobbed loosely. "Ley line magic?" I questioned.



A smile, almost shy, flickered over him. "I specialize in misdirection. Quen thinks it a waste of time, but you'd be surprised what a person will do for a pair of those."



I pulled my eyes from the headphones. "I can imagine."



Trent sipped his tea, leaning back in speculation. "You don't...want a pair, do you?"



I took a breath, frowning at the faint taunt in his voice. "Not for what you're asking, no." Setting my mug of coffee at arm's length, I stood. His earlier behavior of mimicking my motions was suddenly abundantly clear. He was an expert in manipulation. He had to know what signals he was sending. Most people didn't - at least consciously - and that he had tried to lay the groundwork to try to romance my help when money wouldn't buy it was contemptible.



"Thanks for dinner," I said. "It was fabulous."



Surprise brought Trent straight. "I'll tell Maggie you en joyed it," he said, his lips tightening. He'd made a mistake, and he knew it.



I wiped my hands off on my sweatshirt. "I'd appreciate that. I'll get my things."



"I'll tell Quen you're ready to go." His voice was flat.



Leaving him sitting at the table, I walked away. I caught a glimpse of him as I turned and went into Ellasbeth's rooms. He was touching the headphones, his posture unable to hide his annoyance. The bandage on his head and his bare feet made him look vulnerable and alone.



Stupid lonely man, I thought.



Stupid ignorant me for pitying him.