A Perfect Blood (The Hollows #10)(86)
Author: Kim Harrison

Once again at the far end of the counter, I opened a drawer to see a plethora of plastic-wrapped instruments. I frowned, not knowing what they were for, then shut the drawer, looking up in exasperation at the large fluorescent lights. "Then there’s Jennifer," I said, and Jenks laughed.

"Jennifer?" he scoffed, and I curled my fingers under so he wouldn’t see them shaking. "HAPA takes in Jennifers?"

"Don’t stereotype, Jenks. HAPA is an equal-opportunity hate group," I said. "She’s the pretty face they use to catch their takes and procure their lab supplies. I think she’s a nurse when she’s not mutilating witches. She keeps the data books." Frowning, I rubbed my fingers over the counter, wondering if I could feel a faint tingle of magic in my memory. "Jennifer doesn’t like the magic, but she’s not as military as Eloy."

My pulse quickened, and I looked at the floor and an unusual pair of scuff marks – as if from a ladder. Again I looked at the light fixture. By the door, Quen shifted his weight, probably concerned that he’d missed something.

"Then there’s Gerald," I said, shuffling to the counter against the wall to look at the scratches from a different angle. "Up until I tried to take his head off with a pipe, he didn’t seem to be a bad egg – for a hypocritical, bigoted card-carrying HAPA member with a squirrel rifle under his bed. He’s the muscle and security. Guns and cameras. Good old boy with a degree."

My leg hurt, and I straightened. "Last is Eloy. He’s not there much, either working as a distant sentry or just making himself scarce. He’s old-school HAPA. Military background. Planner. Finds and stocks their next location. He doesn’t like magic. At all. I think he was the one who killed the vampires when they took me." I dropped my head and rubbed my brow, thinking I might need a new pain amulet. Everything was hurting. "He’s in charge, but is letting Chris have enough latitude that she thinks she’s running it, and there is clearly some question in her mind. He has the purse strings, but the real question is where HAPA is getting their funds."

"I agree," Trent said slowly, and I noticed that he hadn’t moved from where he’d first come in. "What are the chances that HAPA has teamed up with another group whose aim is simply a return to old science?"

I quit rubbing my forehead. "I thought of that, too. Chris was adamant that she’s HAPA."

Looking from Trent’s concerned expression, my wandering eyes landed on the ceiling again. Jenks cleared his throat, his hands on his hips as he waited for me to tell him what was going on in my head. "Jenks, tell me what you think of that light," I finally said, and his wings hummed into invisibility as he rose. Quen was frowning, but something had been right under the light and in the traffic flow, and I was guessing it had been a ladder.

Sure enough, the pixy whistled. "It’s clean!" he exclaimed, still out of sight between the ceiling and the top of the fixture. "Really clean. Someone wiped it. No dust at all."

Trent turned to Quen, and the man had the decency to look embarrassed. "I’ll find a ladder," Quen said, looking awkward as he shifted past Trent to get to the door.

Jenks dropped from the ceiling, his dust a bright gold. "I’ll come with you," he said, and after Trent’s initial cringe, he nodded his agreement. Not that Trent could stop Jenks from doing whatever the hell he wanted without downing him with sticky silk.

Quen almost slunk out the door, clearly upset that we’d found something he’d missed, but I wasn’t going to lie to save face for him. Jenks had put himself on the chagrined elf’s shoulder, and just as the door shut, I heard him say, "Hey, don’t sweat it. I didn’t think to look up there, either. She’s good like that."

The heavy door shut behind them, and the silence took hold. Trent’s suit made a soft sound as he levered himself up onto a counter, looking at odds with the lab setting, more like the man I remembered from our cross-country trip, even if he was wearing dress shoes instead of stable boots.

Remembering the conversation in the elevator, I ran my hand across the top of the counter, leaning against it, the space of the room between us. My chair was across the hall, and I was too macho to ask him to get it for me. Propping my crutch up beside me, I covered my middle and met his eyes, refusing to let the silence get to me. We were alone again, and this time, I swore I wasn’t going to yell at him.

"Why did you come out to find me?" I asked, and he rubbed his nose, ducking his head to avoid my gaze as he slowly slid from the counter.

"I was afraid you might try taking your charmed silver off without breaking the spell first," he said, his gaze going to it. "And kill yourself in the process." His eyes met mine. "I rescued you. Mmm. I’ve never done that before."

"You didn’t rescue me," I said. "Winona and I got out on our own! She even stomped on the bad guy!"

"You got shot," he said, his voice suddenly bland as he looked at the ceiling. "You had no phone, no magic, no car. Your only mode of transportation was a scared woman who looked like a demon." His attention fell on me, and I felt stupid. "Still mad at me, I see . . ."

Damn it, I was doing it again. Frustrated, I forced myself to exhale slowly. "You’re right," I said, swallowing hard. "You rescued me. Us. Thank you." My eyes narrowed. "You’re not my Sa’han, though."

He blinked, arms falling from his middle as he stood upright. "Ah, you heard that?" he said, face crimson.

I’d never seen Trent blush, and I hesitated in my anger. "Oh yeah."

He winced. "See, there’s more than one meaning to that honorific. It’s not always a term of respect from a subordinate to a superior."

I nodded. "Uh-huh. You’re not my Mal Sa’han, either." I’d heard him try to call Ceri that, and she wouldn’t let him. I had a feeling it had a romantic overtone.

"God, no," he said, his flush making me even more sure of it. "I only meant that your safety was my responsibility." I cocked my head, and he added, "My responsibility not like a jailer or a parent, but as an equal. It was your idea."

Mine? My confusion must have shown, because he said, "The curse that emancipated me? ‘I will come to your aid in a time of war’? Your idea, not mine, but an agreement is an agreement."

My head flopped to the other side of my shoulders as I eyed him from a different perspective, but he still looked like the same irritating man, his ankles crossed and his stance confident. "So you were out there perched in that tree looking for me because of some stupid Latin phrase?"