Chapter Twelve

The last time I'd been in the room outside of Trent's vault, I'd been stealing that elven threesome statue Jenks was so enamored of to gain Trent's undivided attention. The outer chamber hadn't changed, the air still flat and unmoving, the floors and walls bare with no furniture. I stared at the blank wall, Jenks on my shoulder and Trent beside me. Quen was down the hall turning on Trent's magnetic imaging device. It would shift the ley line running through Trent's compound down into the earth. More proof that the ley lines functioned as magnets on some level.

Once the line was out of its natural course, I could enter the ever-after not through the surface, which not only sucked dishwater but had no direct access to the demon realm, but right into their underground mall. From there I could buy a jump to Newt's rooms. If she was there, we'd have a chat and I'd borrow Pierce for a few hours. If she wasn't, then I'd save myself a few bucks and talk to Pierce with her none the wiser. I was hoping for the latter.

"There it goes," Trent said softly, staring at the wall as if it were a big-screen TV, and feeling a sudden hiccup in my balance, I unfocused my attention and brought my second sight up. Sure enough, the red smear of a ley line now ran through the room at chest height, right before and through the blank wall. It would be an easy matter to step into it, will myself across, and be safe underground. Trent's father, Kal, had used the ley line as a way to have a temporary door to a doorless vault, accessible when the magnetic resonator was on, and completely impossible to enter when the machine was switched off. It had been off for almost a year now, since Nick and I had burgled the vault behind the wall. I agreed with Trent that having a vault full of precious artifacts where any demon could see them using his second sight was a bad idea, but then again, Trent's dad might have been using the room for another reason.

Nervous, I wiped my hands on my pants and turned to Trent, startled at his aura. It wavered over him like a gold sheet, like he was on fire. The slash of red through it hadn't grown, but there was a new hint of black to it that I thought might be the first visible signs of smut. The room with the resonator was fairly close. We had a few minutes until Quen rejoined us.

"Is an hour enough?" Trent asked, calm as ever as he looked at his watch, but I could see by a flicker of darker gold aura that he was nervous. I wasn't leaving until Quen was here to keep him from following me.

"You want to make it two?" I countered, not sure how long this might take.

Jenks flew from my shoulder, his rainbowlike aura trailing him. "How about five minutes?" he said tightly, and I pleaded with my eyes for him not to make a stink. It was daylight, and pixies couldn't stay in the ever-after when the sun was up, same as demons couldn't stay in reality.

"I'll have a better chance of success if I go alone," I said, then craned my neck to look through the low ceiling at the banners and dappled light patterns that the demons decorated their mall with. It was early yet, and there wasn't a lot of traffic, just a few harried familiars and disgruntled demons who'd been pressed into service to clear a debt. I thought I could hear '80s music being piped in, echoing against the flat places. It was weird standing so far underground and feeling as if you were outside, but the demons had had thousands of years to build their pretend.

Trent eyed me askance-making me wonder if he was checking out my aura for smut-then fixed his gaze firmly ahead to the shop sign visible through the wall, THE COFFEE VAULT. Someone had a sense of humor.

"We can turn the magnet on at fifteen-minute intervals," Trent said; then we both turned at a scuff at the door.

"Sa'han," Quen protested, out of breath but clearly having heard him. "The risk . . ."

Trent's pleasant expression never changed. "We can turn the magnet on at fifteen-minute intervals," he said again, and Quen nodded reluctantly. Satisfied, Trent turned to the humming ley line.

The sour whine to the ley lines throughout Cincinnati was getting worse. Seeming to hear it as well, Jenks hovered before the line, hands on his hips and glaring at an oblivious man behind the coffeehouse windows. There was no reason for the familiar to be using his second sight, and unless he did, we would be invisible.

I stepped forward, dipping a hand through the line and deciding it felt okay even if it sounded bad, the flow even and smooth. Perhaps Trent's dad had had a deeper relationship with demonkind than Trent wanted to admit. Being able to step through a ley line and into the demon mall and coffee shop was a little too convenient-even if it was going to save both our asses.

Ready to go, I ran my hands down my linen blouse. It was going to stink to high heaven when I got back. "Quen, don't let him follow me," I said as I took a step forward into the line.

"Rachel, wait!"

Trent's voice stopped me cold, and I turned, still in reality even if I was in the ley line. He was digging in his pocket, and I warmed when I realized I'd almost left without the rings. He held them out, and a spark of magic jumped between us as the rings fell into my hand. It was the ley line, not him, but I still shivered. "Thanks," I said sheepishly. Nodding, he stepped back with a quick, sharp motion, gesturing for me to go. Jenks's wings clattered, and with a final thin smile, I willed myself into the ever-after.

Nose wrinkling, I took three steps within the line, walking through the wall in reality and into the demon coffeehouse. I jerked as the muggy stink of ever-after and the echoing sound of a European band singing about red balloons hit me. What is it with demons and the '80s? I wondered, not for the first time.

The familiar looked up from behind the counter. "By the two worlds colliding, don't jump into reality in here!" he berated me, perhaps not even knowing about the door and thinking I'd jumped in. He looked oddly familiar with his green apron and cap. "I don't care how much of a hurry your demon is in for his coffee, if you mesh with the wall, I'm not paying for it."

I gave the guy a quick smile, backpedaling for the door. "Sorry, wrong store."

"Use the circles at the fountain," he said, eyes narrowed. "Stupid-ass newbie."

He looked like a Scottish lord from a romance novel, the bushy sideburns and thick blocky muscles not doing a thing for me, but as my scrabbling hand found the doorknob, he muttered an oath. "Hey, wait. You're Rachel Morgan, right?" he said, dropping his rag. "Hold on. I got something for you."

My hand slipped from the knob, and I turned. "Me?"

His head was down and he was rummaging in a bin behind the counter. "Yeah. My boss has a proposition you might be interested in."

Shoulders slumping, I sighed. Trent, Quen, and Jenks were probably watching with their second sight, and I did have a timetable. "Sorry," I said as I yanked the door open and the music got louder. "I'm not making tulpas right now. Saving the world, you know." Again.

"No, wait! Just take it. I'll give you a coffee on the house!"

I couldn't care less about the nasty coffee, but the guy at the fountain's jump-spot might, and I reluctantly took the envelope he was eagerly extending. It was thick, contract thick, and I shoved it in a back pocket to look at later. An ever-after job might be advantageous if Al and I ended up being strapped for cash. Again . . . Was my life truly this predictable, or did I just keep making the same mistakes over and over?

"Straight up black, right?" the guy was saying, hustling behind the counter for a to-go cup and filling it with something black and bitter. It wasn't coffee, but it was the best they had, and I took it just to get out of the place.

"Great. Thanks," I said, hoisting it. "Mmmm, good!"

"On the house," he affirmed, backing up and looking both nervous and pleased with himself. "Let me know about the contract!"

There was no bell to jingle as I went out into the mall, and after a quick look up and down the wide avenue, I headed to the central fountain and the jump-demons. Though demons could jump lines at will, familiars needed to buy them, and to facilitate ease of passage, demons convicted of minor crimes such as uncommon stupidity paid their debts by providing jumps. On the weekend there might be as many as ten jump-demons clustered around the center fountain moving people out, but this early on a Tuesday morning and with the impending line trouble, there was only one. Head down, I angled to him. He might have just been a demon waiting for someone, but the hat he was wearing said differently.

"Jump me to Newt's for a coffee?" I said as I got close, and he opened one eye. It was really weird. I knew I was deep underground, but between the shifting lighting, shadow, fitful breeze, and wide space, it felt as if we were outside on a cloudy day. A really hot, cloudy day.

"Newt's?" he said around a lazy yawn, then did a double take, pulling himself upright when he actually looked at me. A panicked expression raced across his face until it was replaced by mistrust. My eyes narrowed when he poked my shoulder as if trying to decide if I was real. "By the two worlds colliding, you really are Rachel. I thought you were Newt. Damn, girl! Wait until I tell my familiar!"

"Touch me again, and you'll really be in pain," I said, shoving the cup at him. "Newt's kitchen? You know it?"

He took the coffee and looked at the ceiling. "Costs more this week."

I forced my jaw to unclench. "Look, I'm trying to save your asses. You really think it's a good idea to try to skin me for a sliver of smut?"

The demon's gaze came back to me. "No. Look up there. The ceiling is down by about a foot from yesterday. Space is shrinking, and unless you want to end up in a wall, I need a gargoyle assist."

Shit, it is happening already. No wonder it is so warm.

"Well?" he said. "How bad you want in?"

If I didn't get these rings fixed, nothing was going to happen. I really didn't give a flying flip about the ever-after, but I wanted Ceri and Lucy back. "I'll take the smut," I said, and he grandly took his cap off to dust the nearest circle.

Two demons across the plaza had noticed me. Damn. One of them was Dali. I gave him a bunny-eared kiss-kiss, and he vanished, leaving his friend to eye me in speculation. Great, this was going just great. "Can we make this fast?" I said as I stepped into the circle. It was taking too long.

Grunting, he gestured and the line iced through me, dissolving me to a thought and back to substance again. The line felt sour, but it was still even in flow. The gargoyle assist made the materialization smooth without the barest hint of unequal air pressures or misstep. I misted back into existence . . . in my kitchen.

"Hey!" I shouted, turning to him, but the jump was complete and I was yelling at my old refrigerator. My eyes narrowed. It was my old refrigerator, the one you could put a goat into, not that Ivy and I ever had. I'd blown it up almost two years ago on the solstice.

"I vowed if you ever put her image on your twisted bones again, I would not stay my hand, you foul carrion!"

I spun. "Pierce!" I shrieked as he came at me from across the kitchen, grabbing a knife from the counter as he ran. "Pierce, it's me!" My breath exploded out of me as I hit the wall, his arm under my chin and a knife at my middle. This wasn't my kitchen. The fridge was old. The light was wrong. The copper pots were too tarnished. "It's me," I choked, blood pounding. "Get off!"

But he only snarled, the scent of coal dust and shoe polish filling my senses.

"Hey!" I yelped when the knife pricked me, and I kneed him, getting my arms up and between his when his grip eased. "Get off!"

Clutching himself, he fell back. Pissed, I tugged my clothes straight and kicked the knife away. A wave of ever-after coated him, and I touched my side, my fingers coming away wet with blood. Damn it, he'd cut right through my shirt.

Pierce knelt on the floor before me in wool trousers and a colorful vest, looking like an actor from an early movie. His expression pained, he leaned back on his heels, his arms spread wide and his neck bared to me. "Go ahead!" he screamed, eyes shut as if daring me to strike him with lightning. "Rip my heart out, you foul beast! I could use the time off to plan your demise!"

I stared. He looked okay, other than the total surrender thing he had going on. His dark curly hair was down to his shoulders again, but his beard was gone, making him look younger. If he was upright, he'd be almost my height exactly, well proportioned and looking like no stranger to hard work. He opened one eye, and when I didn't say anything, a hint of confusion made him all the more appealing. I thought I might have loved him once, but he was too quick to use the black magic and he kept trying to kill the very people I needed to survive.

"Ah, Pierce?" I said, thinking this might have been a mistake. "You okay?"

His breath came in a heave and he scrambled to his feet. His face became ashen, then red. "Rachel?" he said, echoing my same hesitancy.

I looked over the kitchen, so clearly a mockery of mine now that I had a moment to look at it. My God, it was hot in here. "Newt isn't here, is she?" If Newt was making duplicates of my kitchen, then she was probably taunting Pierce with images of me as well. Either that or the man was truly off his rocker; by the horrified expression he was now wearing, though, I thought he was stone-cold sane.

"By all creation. It's really you!" he exclaimed, and I fell back to the wall when he rushed me. My lips curled up in a smile when he gave me a quick hug, my arms going about him to find he felt both familiar and different. Almost immediately he dropped back, pumping my hand up and down. "I am powerfully sorry!" he gushed, eyes bright. "I thought you were her. The hag appears as you to get a rise out of me when she's bored. Are you hurt? Did I bruise you? I should have known it was you. Gods, I'm a toad!"

"I'm fine," I said, hoping he didn't see the tiny cut. "Sorry about, ah, hitting you. Are you okay?"

He went scarlet, glancing at the floor where he'd prostrated himself on my mercy. "I'm of a mind I deserved it and more." Looking shamed, he fell back a step. "I agree my situation isn't ideal and a far cry from the pomp and circumstance of a coven member, but I understand the world here, unlike the one you live in, and every time I try to kill her, I get a little closer."

I came out from against the wall, both curious and afraid to see the rest of Newt's apartments. "Oh."

"I almost had the harlot the last time, but she turned into you." He gestured weakly, his eyes pinching at the corners as he tried to explain the last five minutes. "I couldn't do it."

"Pierce . . ." I started, my hand on the table so alike but not the same as the one Ivy had. Perhaps I should have tried harder to get him back on the reality side of the lines.

"It's who I am," he said solemnly, taking my hand and making me look at him. "I think she enjoys my trying to kill her." He winced, looking worried. "You're on her mind. Be careful. That's not a healthy place to be."

"That's why I'm here," I said, pulling away. "She's out, right?"

"Oh, aye, she's out on the surface. The ever-after is shrinking, and she's trying to talk to sleeping gargoyles." He leaned back, arms over his chest. We could almost be in my kitchen, if you didn't look close. "There's talk of killing you. Ku'Sox is petitioning for it in soft whispers." He pushed forward, eyes eager. "We can kill him, you and I. Rachel, is that why you're here? It is, isn't it! Why else would you risk it, especially now!"

"No. Pierce, I can't kill Ku'Sox."

He turned away, opening cupboards to show tools and instruments my kitchen had never had. "Not alone, certainly," he said confidently. "With my help, it's possible. Let me gather my things, and we will be away, that monster dead in five minutes."

Distressed, I felt the rings in my pocket. "Not even with your help," I said, and he glanced up from a drawer, frowning. I remembered that frown, and I stifled a surge of tired anger. "Pierce, I've fought him before, and he's too strong. Too fast. I'm not that good."

"Mmm," he grumbled, then shocked me when he opened the gas oven and pulled out a heavy lockbox. "I have a curse I was going to inflict on her next time I found her sleeping."

The box hit the floor with a thud, and I jumped. He wasn't listening. "Pierce."

"Here is the wicked thing!" he said, having opened it up. "That's a demon killer if I ever saw one!"

"Pierce, stop." He had stood, and I took his hands, folding them about whatever ley line charm he'd made. Eye to eye, he squinted at me in mistrust, and I slowly let go. "I'm not going to confront Ku'Sox in a test of magic. I'm not afraid of him," I said when Pierce took a breath to protest, "but everyone else is and I know my limits."

"Rachel . . ."

"I know my limits," I said again, silent until he brought his sour expression back to me. "I don't have to kill him, just prove that he's the one who unbalanced my line."

Pierce frowned, looking capable and disappointed in the fake sunlight coming in the window. It was foggy past the blue curtains. It would always be foggy. "Then why are you here if you're not seeking my help to kill him?"

Heart pounding, I brought out the rings. "These," I said, and he picked up the largest one. "I need to reinvoke them. You said it was possible."

"They're deader than a three-day possum," he said dryly, handing it back. "What do they do?"

"Create a bond between two people. They're elven chastity rings."

Pierce started, his blue eyes jerking from me to the rings and back again. Shoving the "demon killer" ley line charm in a deep pocket, he slid the box back into the oven. Smooth muscles moved under his thin cotton shirt, and I remembered the feel of them under my fingertips. He was a beautiful man, but I didn't trust his decisions, especially when they impacted my life in a big way. "Chastity rings?" he questioned when the oven door shut.

The rings felt heavy in my palm. "I think I can fix the line, but I need a spotter to pull me out if I get lost. And since the rings make a connection between two magic users . . ."

"An all-fire close one, I'd think," he muttered, his manner closed as he wiped his fingerprints off the oven door with the towel drying on a cabinet knob.

"Can you do it?"

His eyes flicked up to mine. "I'd rather kill him."

My sigh was heavy, and I waited. I needed his help, and I knew he wouldn't let me leave without it. I hadn't been able to love him, but he had loved me.

Head down, he gestured, and I jumped when a circle tinged with his green aura rose up around us. It was a great deal stronger than I remembered-his time with Newt had done him good. Perhaps I'd misjudged him.

"Does she often make her kitchen look like mine?" I asked as I came closer, the corner of the center counter between us.

"Only when you're on her mind. I'm powerfully concerned for you, Rachel."

I wasn't embarrassed by asking for his help, but it was hard knowing that I meant more to him than he to me. "Thank you," I whispered as I put the rings on the counter.

"The trick is to not flood them," he said, ignoring my guilty look. "You can't use a ley line. That would break them for sure. Even your aura is too much when it's all together, but if you splinter it . . ." He picked up the rings, positioning the smaller inside the larger. "Fill them with one resonance before allowing the rest in, you can make a pie of it."

He set the rings in my palm, cupping his hands about it. A shiver went through me, and he smiled. "It's much like a rainbow is the sum of visible light. You first put in the red, then shift it to orange, then yellow, then green, and so on until you finally get all the colors singing together and they melt into a white light and the charm invokes."

He was standing close; his warmth and the scent of coal dust and shoe polish were bringing back memories, good but uncomfortable. "Show me?" I asked, and we both looked at the rings in my hand, his cupping mine.

"Push your aura off your hand," he said, and my head snapped up. "That's why the circle," he soothed. "Go on, do it."

My face puckered up, but I imagined my aura going thin at my fingertips, peeling back from my fingers, soaking into my skin and vanishing to leave a huge gaping hole in my first line of defense. Cold pinpricks stabbed my hand. My aura wanted to return, but I held it off.

"Good." It had been a hopeful grunt of approval, and I caught back my adrenaline before I lost control. Before me, Pierce shifted his shoulders, clearly uncomfortable as well as he removed his own aura. The rings felt unnaturally heavy in my palm, and Pierce's loose grip around my hand, intimate.

"Now, I'm of a mind that your gargoyle, Bis, has been leading you in the practice of shifting your aura," he said, and I nodded, nervous. "Then simply tune the entirety of it to the clearest red you can imagine."

I met his eyes, seeing an unknown emotion. I couldn't see my aura, but he could, and flustered, I shifted it, knowing I had it right when he nodded. "Just so," he said. "Let a thin ribbon of it spill down into your hand. Mind you keep it a trace!" he exclaimed, and I backed off. It was hardly a whisper, but as it touched the rings nestled in my palm, I swear I heard them chime, like the ringing of a glass when you run your finger along the top. I could feel my aura like warm silk, tracing down the soft part of my arm and making a warm pool in my palm.

"You have a knack," he prompted, clearly pleased. "But even so, there's too much. It is an art, and you have to plan ahead such that it just fills the memory and no more."

I licked my lips, eyeing the rings and my aura echoing from them. "How's this?" I asked as I backed off until there was almost no "sound" at all.

"Perfect. But be of a mind that it's harder to remove it once given. Err on the side of hunger."

Smiling, I looked up. There was a happy contentment in his eyes. My smile faded. "Pierce, I can't do this."

"You're halfway there," he cajoled, and I shook my head, pulling my hand from his.

"No, I mean you! You're standing there, looking at me as if we just came out of that hole in the ground in Trent's woods. I can't do this! I can't ask you to help me when you think there might be a chance that someday . . ."

My words cut off. I was helpless to continue. Head shaking ruefully, he took my hand back in his own. "I know when I've been given the shrug," he said, tilting his head to keep me quiet when I rushed to explain. "You did well by me, and we both turned our attentions elsewhere. I'd be a cad to expect you to think of me as anything other than fondly. But a man can't help but remember. Now, hold the aura as it is and shift it to orange. What is needed of the red will remain within the charm. Easy now. If you can do this, then you can do the rest."

"Thank you," I breathed, hanging my head and closing my eyes because I couldn't bear to look at him anymore. Orange, I thought, shifting my aura as Bis and I had been practicing. This was easier than the melding of colors that we usually did, sitting at an outside cafe and trying to mimic the auras of people passing by, and Pierce's grunt of approval was like a wash of hope through me.

"Now to yellow," he prompted. "More than before since yellow is so thin to begin with."

I knew what he meant, and like hearing a partial chord of a song and knowing what came next, I layered another complexity over the rings, seeing it soak in as the excess orange melted away. The rings were starting to hum, taking on a note all their own.

"The blues and purples," he whispered, excitement in his voice. "You are a caution, Rachel. The demon you will be!"

I almost lost it, but caught myself, concentrating on the feel of his hands around mine as I added the last. Sweat trickled down, and I cracked open an eye at the funny tickle of feeling in my chi. My aura wanted to flood the rings with power, and I held it tight.

"My God . . ." Pierce breathed. "Easy, Rachel. Hint at a shadow of black. It should have invoked. It needs a harmony of something else, something dark. I've never charmed elven silver; it needs something else."

I was holding my breath, and I let it out as I turned my aura to an ultraviolet hue. It was as if smut snaked down my arm, but when it hit the rings, it pooled around them, refusing to join.

And then tiny cracks appeared in the cold, dead metal. Shit.

"Easy . . ." Pierce whispered as he stared at them. "Let it soak in."

My head was starting to hurt, and my arm felt dead. Pinpricks coated it, and I began to shake. The cracks grew, sending spiderwebs of instability through the surface of the rings. Panicked, I froze. There wasn't enough energy in there yet to rekindle the charm, but any more, and it would break. "Pierce?" I warbled, and his fingers around mine grew warm.

"I can't do anything," he said. "Rachel, you have to finish it!"

"It's going to break!" I said. "I can't hold it!"

"It's that damned elven magic," he said, and I caught my breath when his hands left mine. "Your energy is not mixing with the original maker's. Can you . . . think elf thoughts?"

Think elf thoughts, I mocked in my head, but the cracks weren't going away. I couldn't stop, and I couldn't move forward. I knew it would blow them to hell if I just let it go. "Elf thoughts," I muttered, frowning as I thought of Trent, tricky, proud, arrogant.

The skin of the rings seemed to shimmer, and I took a quick breath. The cracks were still there, but it felt right. My teeth clenched, and the memory of Trent's music as he sung my soul to sleep slipped into me, hazy from my subconscious. It was his plea to his goddess that he didn't believe in to listen, the source of his wild magic. It circled around and around in my head until I felt a somnolent nothing seem to take notice, hesitating in its glorious song, turning one of a thousand eyes to me. Hear me, I thought, begging. See what I'm doing. Lend me your skill.

Wild magic smiled at me, and the skin of the rings warbled. My last shining of aura reached for the rings, and with a ping of sound that echoed in my soul, the magic vibrated through me and became one. That simple, the rings reinvoked themselves and sealed.

I gasped, staring at the rings glowing in my palm like glory itself.

"Well, I'll be!" Pierce beamed as his protective circle flickered and went out. "You did it! First time out of the box!"

Elated, I clutched the rings. I had a chance now. I had a chance to fix the line, to free Lucy and Ceri. I looked at the clock on the stove before I remembered where I was. I had to get back to Trent. We had to move on this, and now!

"Thank you, Pierce, thank you!" I said, pulling him into an expansive hug, my clenched hand with the rings tight to his back. "I couldn't have done it without you. I can do something now. Thank you!"

He was smiling when I dropped back, his curls at his forehead damp with the heat, and my expression froze when he touched my hair. "You did it, not me," he said. "All of it. I only told you how. You never needed me. Even when you were but a young woman."

I let go of him, the memory of what lay in his eyes rushing back. "I did," I said, needing to be honest. "I did need you. I was strong with you. You helped me find that." Eyes down, I shoved the rings away. "I'm sorry," I said, knowing it was over, but not remembering why.

Pierce took a step back to put more space between us. "I demanded too much," he said, his sadness at himself, not me. "I see in your heart you found someone who makes you strong who does not hold too tight, who has learned that the pain of losing you to fate is more than the pain of you dying in a cage. Who is he?"

I looked at the clock again. "No one."

"Ivy?" he guessed, immediately shaking his head. "No. Someone new? No, someone old," he said firmly, his eyes going to my pocket. "An elf?" he guessed, then became ashen. "Kalamack?" he blurted, taking my shoulders. "Rachel, no," he pleaded. "I know I have no right, but he lies. He deceives. It is their nature. This is his plan, isn't it? That you come here, risking yourself instead of him?"

"It was my plan," I said, pulling back in anger. Oh yes, now I remembered why it hadn't worked. "It was all I could do to make him stay and not follow me here. He would've been recognized. I have a right to be here." I glanced at Newt's kitchen. "Well, not here, here, but the ever-after. Besides, would you've taught him how to invoke the rings?"

Damn it, he'd made me mad at him again, and I didn't want to be.

"He made you think it was your idea." Pierce pleaded, "Don't trust him. He's a Kalamack!"

"He . . ." I started, not knowing where I was going with my argument. Pierce had said I'd found someone new to love, and Trent wasn't it, but to say so sounded like I was protesting my way into a bag of truth. "There's no reason I can't work with him," I said belligerently, making a fist to hide Trent's pinkie ring. "Ku'Sox stole Ceri and his daughter. I can trust his hate."

There was a small circle on the floor where I'd popped in, and I stood in it, waiting for his help to get out of here. Nothing like needing an ex-boyfriend to slam your door for you as you make your dramatic exit.

"But he will spoil you, Rachel," Pierce said, and I stared until I realized he meant ruin, not overindulge. "He'll turn your heart hard and you will become as him. A shallow, self-indulgent shell of what you are now. Don't trust him. Let me help you. I have an arsenal. We can destroy Ku'Sox together. Right now. This very hour. Your strength and my charms. Our magics blend so well. With those rings, we can make a fist of it for sure!"

I looked him up and down, not surprised. "The rings are not for attack, they're a safety net for fixing the line. You keep telling me that Trent is going to change me, but you're the one who keeps trying to get me to kill everyone!"

"But it needs to be done," he insisted, and I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Send me to the mall, please," I said tightly. "I appreciate your help more than you will ever know."

"Rachel."

It was stifling, and I brought my attention down from the ceiling. Pierce stood before me, looking capable and strong, with his curls about him and his eyes promising me success. I remembered how thick his circle had become and imagined the skills he'd been honing since becoming Newt's familiar. Had she been training him for this? "Can you leave Newt's rooms without being detected?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

His head dropped. "No."

My posture eased and my anger vanished. "I'm sorry, Pierce," I said, touching his arm. "You'll jingle like bells in the forest, and I have to move with stealth. You've given me a tool that I didn't have before. I can do this. Thank you."

Jaw tight, he looked up, hearing the truth in it.

"Do you need anything?" I asked, not wanting to leave like this.

"Only that which you can't give. And I will not ask for it."

Yep, that's about what I thought. Sick at heart, I shifted foot to foot. "I have to go."

A savage light lit through his eyes, and his chin lifted. "Wait, there is one thing." Moving close, his expression became almost taunting. "Let me kiss you good-bye, for if fate allows that I see you again, you will not be you anymore."

"Pierce . . ." I whispered, but he'd taken both my shoulders and pulled me close. My breath caught, and as our lips touched, he filled my soul with the memory of his love. Tears warmed my eyes, and I didn't pull away, wanting just for a moment this perfect spot of what we might have had. Our auras, already sensitized to each other, mixed with swirls of pinpricked energy, sparking over our skin as our lips moved against each other, and his hands pressed into me with the memory of what had been.

Slowly he let go, and I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, not ashamed for my tears. I could have loved him, but he demanded too much.

"I'm not going to change," I said, meaning several things at once.

Chin high, he let go and stepped back. "Elves are more evil than demons. They warp you to suit their needs and make you think it was your idea. You will always be in my heart, Rachel Morgan. Go, before my foul jailer comes back."

"Pierce."

He turned away and gestured. "Go."

I vanished, seeing him standing in a spot of sunlight that never moved, alone and apart, but wanting more.

I am not becoming Trent's tool, I thought as I misted back into existence at the fountain and the trite sound of synthesizers and cheerful lyrics beat on me. I was making my own decisions, not Trent's. Pierce was seeing the world through ancient glasses.

But as I pushed past the few meandering demons in search of the coffeehouse, I couldn't dispel a faint whisper of warning.