A Perfect Blood

trouble.”
    His manner was his usual businessman facade, but that touch changed everything, and I squinted at him, wondering at the slant to his eyes, the hint of humor at his lips. Or was it just my imagination, and he simply didn’t want me to fall down and sue him?
    “Sir,” Quen said, pained by the sound of it, and Jenks laughed.
    “Lookie there, Rache!” the pixy said as he landed on my shoulder. “Someone’s going to let you in before the vacuum guys.”
    “Actually, we’ve been through it thoroughly already,” Trent said as he let go of me and sifted through his own wad of keys. “But I do want Rachel’s opinion. She finds what others miss: sticky silk, class-book photos, curse-hidden graves, HAPA hate knots.” He held up a key. “Or so I’ve heard. Ah. Here it is.”
    “Wayde found the knot,” I admitted, still feeling the warmth on my elbow where he’d gripped me. “Thanks, Trent,” I said as he got the door open and leaned over to push it wide for me.
    “After you,” he said, his smile holding real warmth, but it was Jenks who buzzed in first, my ever-vigilant vanguard.
    Hobbling in, I first noticed the stuffiness, as if the vents had been sealed off. Other than that, it looked like a normal lab, almost a mirror image of the one across the hall, with the exception of a few conspicuous blanks. I step-hopped to the empty lab bench, leaning against it while Jenks flitted over everything. Quen was watching him closely, and I spun in a slow circle, trying to get a feel for the room.
    “There were no prints, no sign of forced entry,” Trent said, and I stared at the ceiling, not knowing why. “We think they used a card, which is why we’ve gone to a physical key for the time being. Everything is as we found it except for some of the books. They’re across the hall.”
    “Along with the desks?” I asked, and his eyebrows went up. “There aren’t any here,” I added, and he nodded in understanding.
    Jenks finished his circuit and landed on the sink’s spigot. “You sure you don’t have a mole? It’s the easiest answer.”
    Quen shifted his feet, a move that wasn’t missed by Trent. “That’s always a possibility,” Quen said, sounding insulted.
    “We’re not actively pursuing that avenue of entry,” Trent added.
    I frowned and turned away. Though easy, a mole seemed unlikely to me, too. Trent paid everyone far too much to be easily bribed, but ignoring any prospect seemed risky. “I saw one of these over there, too,” I said, pointing at a titrator, and I shivered. It was scary knowing that HAPA had been an elevator ride away from the girls. Eloy had been here, taken what he’d wanted, and left. Illegal machines used for illegal genetic research.
    I shifted down the counter, moving slowly so my motions wouldn’t break my amulet-to-skin contact. Everything here had probably been used to save me from the Rosewood syndrome. It was weird that I’d once tried so diligently to bring Trent down. He hadn’t changed. I had.
    Had I sold out? I wondered. Or just gotten smarter? My dad had worked with Trent’s dad. But my dad was not the honest, upright man that I’d thought he was. Sighing, I ran a hand along a mundane dishwasher. Maybe I was wrong   . . .
    “Who am I dealing with?” Trent asked, the cold tone in his voice pulling my head up.
    “Besides HAPA?” Jenks asked.
    I hesitated, silent but not ignoring him while feeling my way down the counter as if trying to sense the people who had been here before me. Quen was wincing at my hands-on approach, but Trent wanted me to touch or he wouldn’t have let me in. I really needed to start cutting the guy some slack. He understood how I worked, and he let me get the job done.
    “Two human women,” I said as I lifted the door to the freezer chest and a wave of stale, room-temp air rose up. “Chris is the driving force behind the science. She can tap a line, so she’s got some elf in her somewhere. I think HAPA is going to ignore that until they don’t have to, and then she’s dead. In the meantime, she runs the science behind the plan,” I said idly as I closed the fridge. “She’s not much of a team player, more of a team yeller. Thinks she’s in charge, but she’s not. Did they take anything from the fridge?”
    Trent looked inquiringly at Quen, and the man muttered, “Several cases of tissue-growth media.”
    Nodding, I leaned heavily on the counter as I retraced my steps, not knowing why. My leg hurt,