Ever After (Rachel Morgan)

reached for it. “A little spontaneity would be nice,” he said, touching my foot by accident when he set Al’s bottle next to ours. “I already miss her and her elegant demands and flashing indignity. You couldn’t tell the woman no.”
    “Not that . . .” Al mumbled in his sleep. “He’s going to need that later . . .”
    “I’m angry at her unnecessary death . It hurts seeing Quen grieve and know it’s partially my fault,” Trent added, his jaw tight and his gaze unfocused. The scent of cinnamon was rising, mixing with the scent of burnt amber and woodsmoke. It almost made the burnt amber smell nice. “I’m sorry for this,” Trent said softly. “I’m sorry for everything.”
    This wasn’t like Trent at all, but I wasn’t surprised to see it. I was upset about Ceri and Pierce, but I hadn’t been planning on a life with either of them as Trent had with Ceri—in some disjointed, separate fashion. Alone. He had always planned on being alone, but never this apart. Even with Ellasbeth, he would be alone. I felt bad for him. It wasn’t fair. None of it.
    “It wasn’t your fault,” I said, shifting to look at him. There wasn’t much space between us, but it seemed uncrossable.
    “Maybe someday I’ll believe you,” he said, his brow furrowed in the firelight. “Rachel, I asked you here tonight for more than getting my fingers back.”
    Panic slid through me. “What?”
    He grimaced, clearly annoyed that Al was snoring in the corner. “We could’ve done this anywhere, but I wanted you to see me, to see this,” he said, gesturing at the room. “I wanted you to know where I came from, what I am under the choices I make.”
    My heart pounded. “What did you do?” I asked, terrified, almost.
    Exhaling, he looked at his watch, the crystal catching the light to make time vanish. Then he scared me even more when he drank his glass dry and filled it again. “I made a big mistake by not telling you why I thought the slavers were the better choice.”
    “I know,” I interrupted, and his brow furrowed.
    “By the Goddess, will you shut up?” he said, and from behind the curtain, Al mumbled something. A little rocking horse with wings popped into existence, crashing into the ceiling before falling to the floor to quiver and go still.
    “Listen to me,” he said, and I swallowed my words. “The Rosewood babies are going to start dying next week,” he said, and my breath caught. “If nothing changes, by this time next month, you and Lee will again be the only survivors of the Rosewood syndrome.”
    “But you fixed them!” I said, appalled.
    “Yes and no,” Trent said after he topped his glass off again. “I had to fix their genome to ensure Ku’Sox would hold to his end of the bargain and not harm Lucy, but I worked in a small error that wouldn’t express itself until it was replicated sufficiently. I couldn’t risk that he would get his way if he killed me.”
    Horrified, I stared at him. He met my gaze levelly. “You killed them. The babies,” I whispered, and he shook his head.
    “Not yet.”
    “What do you mean, ‘not yet’?” Feeling betrayed, I stood. “Trent, they are all someone’s child!” I exclaimed, and Al snorted in his sleep, mumbling.
    Trent looked up, agitated. “I mean, not yet. Rachel, the world isn’t ready for them.”
    I cocked my hip, the fire warm behind me. “When is the world ever ready for change, Trent? When?”
    Setting his glass down, Trent eyed me, bitter resignation behind his frustration. “What will happen if they live? HAPA knows they exist. The only reason you survived was because you can defend yourself. You want me to give the children to the demons to raise?”
    He stood, and I dropped back as he began to pace. “Or perhaps you want me to hide them and their families? I could do it. But you know the demons will find them, and one by one, a demon wanting to see the sun and escape the ever-after will either steal them outright or take over their bodies.” Eyes flashing, he pointed at me, his hand wrapped around a wineglass. “I will not allow a parent to love a child who is murdering his pets and performing ghastly magic, not wanting to believe that their child died five years ago and they are raising a five-thousand-year-old sadistic demon until their child’s neural pathways are developed enough to work the lines. They are not meant to be. ” Frustrated, he turned to the window, taking an angry drink, the firelight