Ever After (Rachel Morgan)

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.”
    That was catty for him, and I slipped my arm into Quen’s, startling both men for different reasons. “He bought me sparkling wine. It doesn’t give me a headache like most wines do.”
    Trent’s attention lingered on my arm in Quen’s, then rose to Quen’s eyes. Slowly Quen pulled away, stiff and uncomfortable.
    “Quen,” Nina said as she looked at the reporters now asking the staff for their views. “Since you’re here, could you give me your professional opinion on something?”
    Quen blinked in surprise, his hands behind his back. “Me?”
    Nina was bobbing her head. “Yes. That is, if Trent will let me steal you away for a few moments. You’re well versed in a variety of security techniques both mundane and magic,” she said, one hand reaching out to touch his shoulder, the other extended to escort him deeper into the building to the bedrooms.
    “Personal security, yes. I don’t see how I can help.”
    Drawn by the living/dead vampire, Quen brushed by me, leaving the scent of wool and cinnamon. “I’d be most appreciative if you would look at the security system here and tell me what would be needed to circumvent it,” Nina said.
    The man glanced back at Trent, and when Trent shrugged, Quen said, “It would be my pleasure. Ah, I don’t want to give testimony in court.” He continued, “This is strictly my casual opinion,” his voice going faint behind the noise in the front room as they walked away.
    I couldn’t help but smile. It was quickly followed by the sour emotion of envy. “Always a bridesmaid,” I muttered as I shifted to stand shoulder to shoulder with Trent. No one ever asked my opinion of a crime scene. Reconsidering, I glanced at Trent. At least not before the vacuuming guys were done.
    If I didn’t know better, Felix had taken Quen away intentionally so Trent and I could talk. The feeling strengthened when Trent glanced at me and turned away, making me feel as if we were two wallflowers at a dance, left by our respective dates so we could “get to know each other,” Trent in his three-piece suit that cost more than my car, and me in a slinky tawny number I’d probably never wear again ever.
    Then the woman on the couch began sobbing again, and the feeling died.
    “This is ugly,” Trent said. The mask was gone.
    He hadn’t asked what Quen and I had been doing, and my shoulders eased. “How serious is the I.S. treating this?”
    Trent’s breath came out a shade too forceful, the small tell ringing through me. He was worried—a lot. “Not seriously enough.”
    That I could tell already, but Trent wouldn’t be out here for just this. “How many babies are missing?” I said, wincing as the mother balled up her tissue in a tight, white-knuckled grip, her eyes