Ever After (Rachel Morgan)

I found him silent and pale. He was so perfect, but no longer really here. I looked up, feeling nauseated as I tried to take in more air than I possibly could. We were in Trent’s office, and I stumbled out of the line, staggering to fall into one of the chairs before the desk.
    From behind his desk, Trent watched me as he dodged the cotton ball of antiseptic Quen was trying to dab on a scrape across Trent’s forehead. An office girl I didn’t recognize went from baby to baby, assessing and giving instructions to a few people, clearly office personnel, drafted into nursemaid duty. One by one, the babies were being taken out.
    “Thank you, Bis,” I said when he hopped to perch on the back of the chair behind me. “Your dad will be so proud of you.”
    So thin a line between alive and not. How could I have just left Etude there?
    The wood creaked as Bis shifted his grip. “I’m sorry,” he said, meaning the baby still in my arms, and I closed my eyes, feeling the tears begin to slip down.
    It was Quen who came forward, kneeling beside me as he took in the little boy’s silence and pallor. “Rachel . . .”
    I blinked fast, eyes opening at his light touch on my arm. “He threw him to the ground,” I said, the room suddenly silent as the last of the babies were taken out and the door shut. “I tried to get there, but I was too far away, and . . .” I couldn’t say the rest, my head pounding as I held someone else’s child and grieved, rocking back and forth.
    Quen’s touch on my shoulder was light, almost not there. “Give him to me.”
    “Why!” I raged suddenly, and his expression shifted to one of pity.
    “Let me take him,” he said, reaching carefully to make sure his head wouldn’t loll. “Give him to me. Please, Rachel.”
    Crying, I let Quen take him. Moving painfully, he got to his feet and carefully passed the baby to another secretary. Someone handed me a box of tissues, and I snatched it, feeling like a wimp. I should be stronger. I didn’t know that little boy, but he had been important, and now he was gone—someone’s child who had been lost, found, and lost again.
    Quen stood beside me as I sat in that chair and cried as the room slowly became quiet. “I know you’re hurting, but thank you for bringing Trent home.”
    Wiping my eyes, I looked up, sealing the pain away for later if I survived this. I couldn’t tell what Trent was thinking. That I should be stronger, maybe. I hated it when he was right. “How long until he finds us?” I asked Bis, and he shrugged, wingtips touching above his head.
    “Soon.” Quen glanced at Trent as if he needed his permission. “Bis fixed the line, and when Ku’Sox finishes his tantrum and realizes it, he will come investigate.”
    “Sorry,” Bis grumbled, and I reached to touch his foot in reassurance, getting a flash of the jangle of lines. “The line hurt, and now it doesn’t.”
    “Bis tells me that his family kept Ku’Sox from damaging the church, but the spell I put on it is gone,” Quen added. “And Nick. Ivy and Jenks are fine.”
    I shrugged, not caring—about Nick, not Ivy and Jenks. The fact that the gargoyles had fought to protect those I loved was more than I could ever repay.
    “We should leave,” Trent said, standing up behind his desk and taking his lab coat off.
    “Where to, Sa’han?” Quen said, and I did nothing, staring at nothing as Trent began to pace. Behind him, his fish swam in a smaller tank, and I watched them listlessly. I wasn’t sure who had the master ring, but I knew they wouldn’t volunteer to take mine off until they felt safe, and every time I asked and they said no, I felt another part of me die. There was no such thing as safe. When Ku’Sox was dead? When the demons were gone? When the vampire threat was nulled?
    “Not you, just Bis and I need to leave,” I said, and Trent spun on a heel to give me an incredulous look. “Now,” I said, lurching to my feet and sourly waving off Quen when he tried to steady me. His finger was bare. “If Bis and I can fix another line, it will give Ku’Sox somewhere else to look.”
    “I’m coming with you.” Trent was at his desk, his motions quick as he jotted notes.
    “No, you’re not.” If I wasn’t so angry about being tricked into reinvoking the slavers, I would have laughed at the stupidity of the situation. Couldn’t you be wrong at least once, Al? “You’ll curse me every time Ku’Sox shows up.”
    “I can’t stay here.”