"And you didn't just spy on them?"
"You don't think I tried?" Jenks angled his sword until the cookie was at his face. His expression thoughtful, he nibbled a corner off the cookie, looking like Willy Wonka eating an umbrella. "The little turd kept spitting on me. All the way across the Tink-blasted garden. They have better hearing than even Jrixibell."
I squinted up at the glass ceiling, bored. "I'll ask him tonight when he wakes up." I hadn't wanted to interfere, but if he was still there . . .
"I think they're spying on us." Wiping his mouth, Jenks put the nibbled cookie back over his head, resting his sword on his shoulder.
"They have a right to be concerned." Where in hell are Trent and Ellasbeth? My foot began to bob. "Bis went ape when Al cut off his contact with the ley lines. Can you imagine what might happen if they collapse?" Foot slowing, I thought about that. Maybe I could ask for their help. They might know something the demons didn't, something that wasn't written down.
Spinning on a heel, Jenks took a breath to say something, then hesitated when the cookie sailed off the tip of his sword and smack-pattered into the surrounding greenery. There was a rustle and hiss of delight, and I wondered if he'd done it intentionally, tasting it first so they wouldn't think it was treachery.
"Piss on my daisies, we have to save the demons!" he said, his eyebrows high when my attention came back to him. "I'm not going to let Bis go crazy."
Ignoring his foul mouth, I set three cookies on the retaining wall. Seriously, how did my life get so screwed up that I was giving cookies to fairies and busting my ass to save the demons?
The faint tap-tap of shoes coming down the path caught my attention, and I sat up. "It's about bloody time," I whispered, moving back to my chair before they could round the corner. But it was only Trent, and I watched as his somber silhouette moved slowly through the greenery, his fingers reaching out but not touching the plants in passing like they were old friends. I don't think he even knew he was doing it. His stance was upright, and he managed a faint, worried smile. Something was different.
"Where's Ellasbeth?"
"Waiting for coffee," he said, his green eyes meeting mine for a bare instant. "She doesn't like Earl Grey." His fixed smile grew even more stiff. "I'd have rather looked at the book out here, but do you mind coming in?" He looked at Jenks. "Both of you?"
Immediately I stood. "Sure. No problem."
His smile was a shade forced, and he shook his head when I reached for the tray. "You can leave it." His focus came to me, and he took a cookie before he turned back up the path. "Is that a new outfit? It looks nice on you."
Startled, I looked down at my black slacks and linen top. I'd spent almost an hour in my closet, trying to find something professional and casual that Ellasbeth couldn't label "hooker."
"Ah, no, but thank you."
Still smiling, he gestured for me to go with him. "Ellasbeth woke up Ray when she came in, and now she won't go down. She's usually such a docile, biddable little girl, but she's been fussy since . . . her sister is away." He took a bite of cookie, mood introspective. "I never realized how she depended on Lucy to make her wishes known. She's had to speak up more. I suppose that's good."
The cookie I'd just eaten went tasteless. "Trent-"
His head dropped, and my words cut off at his sudden stillness. "Ellasbeth has been very cooperative. Dropped her petition for Lucy. I think she wants to try to make this work again."
I froze, almost choking. Why is he telling me this? "Ah, that's great!" I said, not looking at him as I spun to find my shoulder bag. "If you two get back together, then there won't be any issues with Lucy at all, right?"
Jenks took to the air, a sickening green dust sparkling from him. "What a little cat scrotum!" he said, and both Trent and I stared. From the bushes, three hissing laughs sounded and were shushed.
"Jenks!" I admonished him, and he hovered, his hands on his hips and a disgusted expression on his face. "What is your problem?"
"Nothin'." Wings clattering, he flew between Trent and me, headed for the door, a bright silver sparkle falling to show his path.
Okay, my first reaction had been not far from that of Jenks, but honestly, there was nothing between Trent and me, and never would be. If he could make it work with Ellasbeth, it wouldn't be simply the girls who benefited, but an entire demographic of politically motivated elves. "Sorry," I said as I fell into place beside Trent, our feet hitting the cobbles at the same time. "He just doesn't like her."
Trent was silent, and I looked at him questioningly. "Right," he said quickly, then ate that cookie he'd taken, but I wasn't sure what was going through his mind, and that bothered me. Jenks had told me little of what happened when he and Trent stole Lucy from Ellasbeth, saying it was privileged information, but Trent clearly hadn't appreciated having to steal his own child.
"This is good, isn't it?" I said, glancing back at the unappealing cold tea to see the fairies descending on it.
Trent looked sideways at me. "Yes, of course it is. It would make everyone's lives much easier."
Damn it, I couldn't read the smile he was giving me, and the nerves suddenly started. What if that book was useless? What if Ellasbeth had brought it all this way, and I couldn't figure it out? What if . . .
We paused at the door and Trent punched in a code on the pad. It was too fast for me, but I was sure Jenks caught it. There was a heavy thunk of a lock shifting, and Trent nodded, easily moving the huge, perfectly balanced door. "I'm anxious to see what you make of the book she brought," he said, and Jenks buzzed in ahead of us, ever curious. "I remember looking at the pictures when I was about ten. I don't know where my mother got it. Probably stole it from Ellasbeth's mom, seeing as she willed it back to her."
He chuckled, but I thought he might be serious as I followed him inside. The hallway was brightly lit and sported beautiful close-ups of orchids in the morning dew, but the air smelled stale after the rich scents of the garden.
"You're going to have to look at it in the girls' closet," he said as we started down the carpeted hallway, heading back to the great room.
"A closet?" I said, trying to keep up with him. "You keep your magic books in a closet?"
"You keep your splat gun in a mixing bowl."
True.
Jenks flew ahead as we entered the lower level of Trent's great room. To my right was the huge three-story window ward that Lee had made, letting in light and sound but little else. Beyond its faint shimmer was the highly landscaped outside living area with a grill/kitchen and swimming pool. At the far end of the gigantic room was a fireplace large enough to roast an entire elephant in. In between was the grand staircase up to Trent's apartments.
"Since learning my father's vault downstairs was not secure, we moved everything to the girls' closet," Trent was saying as he headed for the stairway. "Ceri put some kind of demon ward on all the upstairs rooms. They aren't holy, but it has the same effect. There's no way in or out but the door, which only Ceri, Quen, and I have access to. If you ask me, it's safer than my father's vault. But the reason Ellasbeth insists you look at it there is because it's temperature and humidity controlled and the book is ancient."
That Ceri had warded the girls' rooms sounded about right, and I touched the smooth finish of a couch as we passed. The ground floor here was basically a big party room. Past the stairway was a dark and silent bar area, and behind that the kitchen and underground parking. I knew, because I'd run through it more than once. Damn it, what was I doing having tea and cookies with Ellasbeth while Ceri suffered all that Ku'Sox was capable of?
Jenks dropped from the ceiling, an excited silver dust trailing from him. "Rache!" he exclaimed as he landed on my shoulder, his wings never slowing as they drafted my hair back. "You'll never guess who's here!"
"Who?" I asked, almost afraid.
From the third-story apartments, I heard Quen's distinctive gravelly voice say, "I'll speak to the chef immediately, Miss Withon."
"See that you do," said an imperialistic feminine voice, and I stopped short at the foot of the stairs.
Quen? He was okay? He was back!