Ever After (The Hollows #11)(6)
Author: Kim Harrison

The cool night mist vanished, and I hesitated just inside the wide entryway, feeling Quen’s silent, solid presence behind me. A set of stairs led up, probably to the nurses’ quarters; the kitchen was behind the stairway, down a short hallway. There were two living rooms, one to either side of the door. Both of them were full of people standing around talking, but only one had the lights of the news crews. It was warm, even for me, and I didn’t like the excited tone of the newswoman asking the distraught mother how she felt now that her baby-thriving against all odds-had been stolen.

"What a slime," I whispered with a surge of anger, and Quen cleared his throat. Someone had pieced together that the Rosewood syndrome was actually an expression of too much demon enzyme and was "harvesting" demon blood while the babies still lived. I’d be dead, too, if Trent’s father hadn’t modified my mitochondria to supply the enzyme that blocked the lethal action of the first enzyme that actually invoked demon magic. It was a mouthful that basically meant he’d enabled me to survive being born a demon.

Quen’s hand cupped my elbow, and he gently pulled me out of someone’s way. Numb, I looked for a familiar face-somewhere to start. My evening dress was garnering odd looks, but it also kept people away. That stupid newscaster was still interviewing the parents, and I.S. agents stood at the outskirts hoping to get some airtime. No one recognized me, thank God, and I felt guilty for being surrounded by so much grief-grief that my parents had endured and triumphed over. Damn it, I would not feel guilty for having survived.

"There he is," Quen breathed in relief, and I followed his gaze to the back of the living room to the hallway running from the nurseries to the kitchen.

"And Felix," I said, surprised to find Trent talking to the undead vampire. Or rather, he was talking to Nina, the young vampire that Felix currently liked doing his aboveground talking through. The young woman was looking thinner than the last time I’d seen her, better dressed and confident, but decidedly peaked, as if she’d been on too many amphetamines for the last four months. It was hard to see her behind the suave, collected undead vamp controlling her body, living through her for a few hours at a time.

It was about what I had expected. Serving as an undead master’s mouthpiece wasn’t safe for either party-the old vampire was reminded too strongly of what it was like to be alive and began to pine for it, and the young was given more power running through his or her mind and body to handle alone. It was a knife’s edge that only the most experienced attempted at this level, and I was starting to think that the relationship had passed the point where it could be ended safely.

Concerned, I bit my lip, wondering if the I.S. was questioning Trent about the abductions. But as I watched, I decided that though Trent had proved he could be calm even while being arrested for murder at his own wedding, he didn’t have the guarded air of someone being grilled for kidnapping. He was probably getting the real story, not the canned tripe they were feeding the reporters.

Trent’s short, translucently blond hair next to Nina’s thick shoulder-length wash of Hispanic elegance was striking. The woman herself had no political sway, but Felix was shining through, making the woman unusually sophisticated and in control-and slightly masculine in her mannerisms as she stood with her knees too far apart for her professional skirt and suit coat.

"Running into Trent and Felix at a crime scene is starting to become a habit," I said as I rocked into motion, moving slowly to avoid the reporters as we crossed the room. Seeing Trent, I felt my entire perception of Quen shift. Oh, both men had grace, but Quen’s was born in the confidence that he could handle any situation. Trent’s was from a lifetime of being listened to and taken more than seriously. They were both dressed well, but Trent’s suit was tailored to every inch of his trim, sexy self, and it was growing obvious that Quen would rather be in his usual loose-fitting security uniform. Though I’d seen both men take down an attacker, Quen would always use the minimal amount of force, whereas Trent would be a conflict of visions-elegance coupled with savagery and a frightening grace, magic sung into existence.

Trent felt my gaze on him, his expression startled until he hid the emotion. Only after running his gaze up and down-appreciatively taking in my evening gown-did he touch Felix’s shoulder to point me out. The young/old I.S. operative turned, beaming, the young woman’s normal mannerisms gone as Felix took complete control.

"Rachel!" Nina said a shade too loudly and with an exaggerated slowness as Quen and I tucked into the marginally quieter hallway where we could still watch what happened. "I’m surprised to see you here. Is Ivy back yet?"

With a guarded air, I shook both my head and her hand. "Not until next Saturday," I said, pulling my hand from hers, not liking Felix’s interest in my roommate. "I was at dinner when I heard the news and came over because . . ." I hesitated, my grip tightening on my clutch bag. Because I wanted to know who was kidnapping babies who could invoke demon magic? Sure, that sounded good.

Trent cleared his throat as the silence became awkward. "Because I asked her to," he said, reaching to shake my hand. It was missing the last two digits, but he hid their absence well until our fingers met. The glint of a ring twin to my own was still on his index finger, and I hid my hand behind my back, not wanting Felix to notice and ask. "Hello, Rachel. I appreciate you . . . changing your plans." The hesitation had been slight, but it was there. Beside me, Quen cleared his throat, clearly not wanting to explain in front of Felix.

I don’t know if I want to lie to you anymore, I thought, warming at his touch and wondering if I had felt a faint tingle of spilling energy before our fingers had parted. "Who did this?" I said, trying to block out the woman sobbing on the couch. My God, didn’t newspeople have any soul at all?

Nina laughed lightly, Felix apparently immune to the human tragedy. "Let me consult my magic ball," she said, then sobered when both Trent and I stared at her. We weren’t the only ones. That laugh had traveled.

"Quen, thank you for bringing Ms. Morgan out," Trent said as he inclined his head.

"It wasn’t a problem. Sa’han . . ." Quen paused. "If I can have a second of your time?"

"In a moment." Trent beamed one of his professional smiles, and I slumped ever so slightly. As long as Felix was here, Trent would be the epitome of Teflon-knowing nothing, seeing nothing, accomplishing nothing-boring, boring, boring. He was also ticked. I could tell by the faint rim of red on his ears. He wouldn’t talk to Quen until they were alone, and until then, he was going to believe the worst. Three days in a car was having unforeseen benefits. "I hope you and Rachel had a pleasant dinner."