Standing at the counter, I opened the brochure. Colorful pictures and descriptions of ancient artifacts met me. Suddenly it looked like a shopping catalog.
Trent leaned closer, close enough that I could smell cinnamon and wine under his aftershave. "Tell me what you think will work the best, and I can have it loaned to you for a few days."
My eyes came up to find him deadly serious. "They will just give it to you? They might not get it back."
He nodded. "But if it does, it will be working. They'll risk it."
The microwave dinged, and needing a moment, I went to get it, eyeing the restricted library books in passing. Trent might be able to do that, yes. "You probably know better than I what these things can potentially do," I said as the scent of warm milk and chocolate hit me. My stomach rumbled when I reached for the two perfectly steaming mugs.
"Ah, I know what their owners say they're supposed to do," he said, and I hurriedly moved the hot mugs to the counter, shaking the heat from my burned and sensitive fingers. Seeing it, Trent seemed to go still. "You're burned?"
I hid my hand behind my back. "It's nothing."
"Nothing, fairy farts!" Jenks said, and I scowled at him. "She burned it trying to get through Ku'Sox's circle."
"It's fine," I said, but Trent was reaching for me. I stiffened, but he already had my wrist in his grip. "It's fine," I protested again, yanking away.
"Jeez, Rache. He's not going to bite you," Jenks griped, and Trent sourly held out his hand, head cocked and challenge screaming from his confident posture.
I wasn't going to show him, but as Jenks had said, he wasn't going to bite me. Feeling funny, I extended my hand. My demon scar was obvious, and I flushed when his eyes lingered briefly upon it before bringing my hand closer to him. I cringed a bit as his breath met my raw skin and he frowned. "It will be fine tomorrow," I said, and I exhaled in relief when he let go. "Here, drink your chocolate."
I pushed his mug to him, and he took it. His missing fingers showed; then he hid them again. Silent, we both took a drink, thinking our separate thoughts. I held the hot chocolate to my face, breathing it in before I tasted it, debating telling him that Quen had asked me to accompany him to the show. It seemed almost petty now.
"What the artifacts actually do is in the books. Somewhere," Trent said, and I met his eyes over my mug. Hot chocolate, sweet, rich, bitter, and warm, slipped down, warming me almost as much as Trent's sly smile. He was sticking me with the research, but I didn't care. For the first time since losing Bis, I thought we might be able to do this.
Nodding, Trent abruptly put his mug down and reached for his coat. "Just so. I'll leave the choosing to you then," he said as he gracefully put his coat on. "I need to get back. Thank you for the hot chocolate."
"You suck at research, too, huh?" Jenks said, perched on his mug and hazing the surface with his dust.
"Painfully horrible," Trent said, shrugging his coat over his shoulders and grabbing his hat and briefcase. His motion stopped, and he smiled faintly. "Let me know what piece you want."
"I will," I said, then started when Trent turned on a quick heel and headed for the hall. "Hey, what about your doughnuts?"
"You can have them," he said, already halfway to the sanctuary. "I'm not hungry."
At a loss, I glanced at Jenks, and he shrugged. Jolted into motion, I followed Trent, having to wave the pixy dust from Jenks's excited kids out of my way. "Trent, wait," I said, finally catching up with him at the door. "Thank you," I said, breathless when I almost ran into him when he turned at the old twin doors. "I think we can do this now."
Standing there in the dim glow of the light over the pool table, he hesitated. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
Hands in his pockets, Trent looked totally unlike himself. "What would you have done with Dr. Farin?"
My smile faded. "Your geneticist? The one you killed?"
He nodded, opening the door to let a chill spring night breeze eddy about my ankles. "Now that you know everything, what hung in the balance, what was at stake-how would you have stopped him from going to the press and bringing about the end of everything that you'd spent your life trying to save? Life imprisonment such as a demon demands? Bribe him with even greater wealth, knowing you'd forever be his slave? Or would you end it cleanly, kill one greedy man to save thousands, maybe millions, from suffering?"
My mouth was dry, and I didn't know what to do with my hands. "I don't know," I finally said, and he nodded, deep in thought.
"That's a fair answer," he said lightly. "I'd wondered if you'd given any thought to the decisions I make and the possible reasons why."
I stared at him, thoughts racing through me. I didn't . . . I didn't know what to think anymore.
His expression blanked, and my sadness began to creep back. I knew where his thoughts had gone. "I'm sorry about Bis," he said. "I know it hurts."
And yet I managed to smile. He did know. He knew the guilt, the panic, and the strength it took to focus that energy on finding a way out. "Thank you," I said, refusing to cry in front of him again. He smelled like rain and leather over the scent of his aftershave, and my throat tightened and my vision threatened to swim again. "I'm sorry about Ceri and Lucy. I don't know how you can keep moving forward."
His eyes rose from my burned hand, and he unexpectedly tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, shocking me. "You were the one who taught me any chance is viable. If I didn't believe that, I would be a total wreck. I know how it hurts. Forgive me for my choices, maybe?"
Was he going to try to kiss me? I didn't know how I felt about that anymore. "I did that a long time ago."
Eyes holding an unreadable emotion, he hesitated, his attention running over my snarly hair. "Down, I think," he whispered, and making a sharp nod, he turned away.
I backed up, shoulder knocking the door frame as I misjudged and stumbled inside. Embarrassed, I shut the door before he found the sidewalk, but I watched him get into his car from one of the sanctuary's windows, his form blurry and wavy. Jenks's wings were a familiar brush of sound as he landed on my shoulder, and together we watched Trent's car lights flicker to life.
"What did he mean by that?" I said, feeling alone even as I could still smell him in my church.
Jenks's wings shifted fitfully. "I don't know."
Trent drove away, and I tried to look at Jenks on my shoulder, failing. "You called him," I accused. "You asked him to come over."
Red dust pooled down my front. "He was coming in to Cincy to talk to his lawyer," the pixy hedged. "I called him, yeah. I thought he might be able to help. It worked, didn't it? You're thinking again, right?"
I turned back to the window, staring out at the night-emptied street. "Uh-huh."
"With Ivy gone, you needed someone to ground you, Rache, and I'm not big enough to slap you."
I thought back to my frantic, useless state. He was right. "Sorry."
"Don't worry about it. Feel better?"
I put my burned hand on the window, the cool blood-red glass soothing my fingertips. Slowly I nodded. Trent had grounded me. How about that?
"The hot chocolate and doughnuts were his idea, though," Jenks said, then darted off to tend his children.