Ever After (Rachel Morgan)

me in what had probably been self-defense, I pushed back, embarrassed. “They let you out? When?” I said, wincing when Ray grabbed my hair and pulled me in.
    The older man made a noise of admonishment, disentangling her fingers and then, unexpectedly, tugged me back to him with one arm, turning us both to the common living room visible through the wide archway. “They didn’t let me do anything. I left. It’s good to see you,” he said, his voice rumbling through me. “You’re the one who sent those damn demon-scented petits fours, aren’t you? They woke me up at midnight, and I left at two.”
    I grinned as I slipped out from under his arm. He looked tired but good, the injuries to his nervous system obviously repaired enough to function. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
    “No, but everything will eventually come back,” he said, and I gave him a light punch on his arm and wrinkled my nose at Ray.
    “Tomorrow morning, probably,” I guessed. Three days. That’s how long it took to renew an aura so it didn’t hurt when you tapped a line. What had Ku’Sox done to him?
    Trent was making his way to Ellasbeth. Having seen our reunion—and not being a part of it—the woman had retreated to the small kitchen behind the large sunken living room. Four doors led to four suites—Quen and Ceri’s, Trent’s, the girls’. The fourth had been Ellasbeth’s when she had been his fiancée, and by the sound of it, it might be again.
    My heart ached at the toys scattered in the living room, and a crayon-scribbled picture of horses was pasted to a door, a sad two feet from the floor. This was the closest that Trent would ever get to a normal family life, and I was angry that Ku’Sox had spoiled it.
    Suddenly unsure, I followed Quen and Ray to the sunken living room, having to wave Jenks’s dust out of my way. The last time I’d seen Ellasbeth was when I’d arrested Trent at their wedding. I hadn’t known she’d been pregnant with Lucy at the time, and I didn’t know if it would have made any difference. The well-dressed, sophisticated woman looked broken as she sat at the small kitchen table, her expensive cream-colored slacks and coordinating top and jacket rumpled. She was tired, jet lag and worry having taken their toll on her perfect makeup and upright posture. Even so, I balked as her eyes found mine.
    Her strawlike, straight hair looked fake next to Trent’s wispy strands, and her build was too strong to have only elf in her. She was not full blood, and it showed. Money had a way of erasing that, though, and her family was almost as influential as Trent.
    Jenks’s wings shivered against my neck as he took refuge, and a chill went through me. “Oh, there’s trouble with a high-end handbag,” he said, and I agreed.
    “Ah . . . hello,” I said, feeling awkward, as if she’d come home and found me naked in Trent’s tub. No, wait. She had once.
    Ellasbeth stood in a smooth, controlled motion of grace, and I jerked to a stop. Quen gave me a “good luck” look as he continued into the lower living room area with Ray, and Jenks abandoned me, wings clattering. Chicken. But all she did was extend her hand, a stiff expression on her face. “Thank you for agreeing to help Trent get Lucy and Ceri back.”
    That was not what I had expected, and I cautiously took her unworked hand in mine. Her voice wasn’t inviting, but it wasn’t cold, either. My thoughts returned to Trent’s words in the greenhouse. She wanted back into his life? Why? Power? Parental and social pressure? Lucy? I didn’t think it was to spend the rest of her life with Trent, but it wasn’t my business.
    “Ah, it’s the right thing to do,” I said, letting her hand go and forcing myself to not hide mine behind my back. Her touch had been cold, and I maintained my pleasant expression. No, it wasn’t my business, but Trent would tie himself to this woman if he thought it was what duty required of him. He’d do it for everything she represented despite her having nothing he wanted.
    Her smile widened, but didn’t get any warmer. “Still,” she said, her hands clasped before her to look like a proper 1940s wife in her monochromatic dress suit and matching purse. “It’s very noble of you to risk your life when you don’t have a personal stake in the outcome.”
    Lemon-yellow dust sifted from the light fixture. Ignoring Jenks’s silent comment, I smiled right back at her. “But I do. Lucy is my godchild, and Ceri is my