Ever After (Rachel Morgan)

self-conscious. I wondered how long it had been since he’d eaten. “Al and I went out to look at the line,” I said hesitantly. “He got burned pretty bad, but it did give us a better idea of what Ku’Sox did.”
    Trent didn’t acknowledge me, making me feel more awkward as I edged back to sit in Ivy’s chair. My eyes went to Trent’s ring, and I remembered how it had felt to wear Al’s. “I think I saved his life. Again.”
    “I bet that was a surprise,” he said dryly.
    Chuckling, I dropped my eyes. “It was. He won’t be able to tap a line until Thursday. And since I don’t trust anyone else over there, I’m stuck here until he heals. I know I can fix the leak in the line with Bis’s help,” I added, and the gargoyle bobbed his head, his tail whipping about to wrap around his feet. “If I can fix it, I can prove Ku’Sox is trying to destroy the ever-after. Ceri and Lucy will be the last thing on his mind if the entire collective is after him. None of them like him, anyway.”
    Trent said nothing, staring at the table. I wasn’t even sure he had heard me.
    My thoughts went to the demons and what Dali had said about them fearing Ku’Sox. Together, they could overpower Ku’Sox, but fear had made slaves of them. They were expecting me to take care of him, hiding behind semantics that it was a personal vendetta between us. Were they really afraid, or was apathy easier than survival? Maybe they just didn’t care if they lived or died.
    Trent still hadn’t moved, and at Jenks’s exasperated motions, I reached out across the table, putting my hand atop his. “We’ll get them back.”
    Trent blinked as our hands met, not in shock, but as if bringing himself back from a deep thought. His expression was empty when his eyes touched my hand, and I gave him a smile and a slight squeeze before I pulled away. I could smell hospital on him, and I realized that’s probably why my head hurt. I hated hospitals.
    “How’s Quen?” I said.
    Trent eased back into the chair, his hand sliding from the table to fall into his lap. “He’s not conscious yet, but his brain activity is good.”
    His relief made me smile again. “Good.” I stood up, but I didn’t know why other than I felt uncomfortable sitting across from Trent. “If there is anything I can do . . .”
    He looked up as he reached for his hat on the table. “They tell me there’s nothing anyone can do but wait. He’s strong, and his chances are good.”
    I wanted to touch his shoulder in support, but I hesitated at the last moment, going to throw the petits fours away instead. “You believe he’s going to make it,” I said. Trent, too, had learned to believe in the eleven percent.
    “Yes, I do.” His voice was soft but determined.
    “Give me a day or two before you start being noble, okay?”
    He chuckled, and I hesitated, my thoughts spinning. I needed more stuff. He who has the most stuff in his toolbox wins. “Hey, you have a library, right?” I said as I turned back around. I’d moved too fast, and Jenks darted forward to catch one of the cakes as it slid off the plate. “Do you have any books about line energy?” I asked as I set the dish on the center counter, ignoring Jenks swearing at me as he brushed the frosting off his clothes.
    Trent pushed forward, his hand reaching to touch a pocket. “I don’t have anything in my library about the lines, no, but I know someone who does,” he said, his hand reluctantly falling from his jacket. “Rachel, would you like to come to tea tomorrow?”
    Jenks looked up from his soiled silk jacket, surprise in his angular face. Trent had stood, and I started at how fast it had been. He had a direction, and it changed everything. It was back, the power and certainty was back, and something in me shivered.
    “Tea?” Jenks was standing next to the plate of petits fours. “You want to have tea? Are you nerking futs?”
    The light caught the tips of his hair as Trent came up to the center counter, the fair strands beginning to float in his excitement. “I know of something you might want to read.”
    My pulse leaped. “Why not now?” I said, and Bis sniffed his agreement. If it was about the lines, he’d want to see, too.
    But Trent was shaking his head. “Ellasbeth has it,” he said, and I remember his aborted reach for a phone. “It was my mother’s book, but I know she’ll let us look at it. If she doesn’t bring it, I won’t let her on the grounds, and she’s dying to