She dropped down into her chair, not caring that her knees were not pressed together as they should be. “Demon summoning is a dead art. Like Latin. Besides, demons give me the creeps.”

Quen sat on the edge of her interviewer chair, looking awkward and handsome all at the same time. “Security isn’t just guns, and knives, and stealth. It’s technology, and demons, and sneaking around. You’re good at that.”

Her eyes flicked to his, seeing him smile. Not to mention security is the only place someone like me is allowed to excel, she thought. “I want to help our entire species, not just one or two of us.” She hesitated, astounded at the overdone display across the aisle. “My God. His genetic code is so full of holes, I can smell the human spliced in from here.”

Quen ducked his head, hiding a grin. “I’m going to work for the Kalamack family,” he said suddenly, and shocked, Trist felt her face go white.

“What?”

“I took a position,” he said, still looking at the floor. “It wasn’t the money, though I’ll admit it’s more than I thought I’d ever be able to make this soon.”

She couldn’t breathe, imagining the horror of working for the Kalamack family. “Quen, you can’t. Kal is a prejudiced prick who learned at the knee of his prejudiced dick father. You’ll never get the credit you deserve. They’ll treat their horses better than you.”

He looked up, the anger in his brow surprising. “You don’t think I know that?”

“Quen,” she pleaded, taking his hands in hers.

“I don’t need the recognition like you do,” he interrupted as he pulled away. “Besides, there are long-reaching benefits to being forgotten and unseen among your betters.” His expression became crafty. “The chance to learn things is unparalleled. I’ll be fine.”

But I won’t be, she thought, knowing her hope of finding a job near enough to him to continue their friendship was now utterly gone. The Kalamacks lived in Portland, and all the good labs were on the East Coast or in Texas.

She took a breath, her reach for him jerking back when she realized Kal was standing before them. The smug smile on his beautiful face made it obvious he’d found out and wanted to rub her nose in it.

“What do you want?” she said as she rose. Quen stood as well, a warning hand on her shoulder.

“Hi, Felicia,” Kal mocked, and she bristled, hating her given name. It was why she went by her middle name, Eloytrisk, or Trisk for short.

“My name is Trisk,” she intoned, and Kal shrugged, knowing it bothered her.

“Felicia the flea. That’s what we called you, remember?” he said, curling the lowest contract up to see who had offered it.

She shoved him back, her face cold. “Keep out of my space. You stink like human.”

Kal’s cheeks reddened, stark against his fair, almost white hair. Everyone knew he’d been in and out of the hospital most of his early life, his parents spending a fortune tweaking his code to make him the picture of the perfect elf in the hopes that it would attract a successful house. No children meant no status, and the Kalamack name was ready to fall.

“Trisk,” Quen said in warning, and she shook off his restraining hand. She’d had enough of Kal, and after tonight, one way or the other, he’d be gone.

Kal drew himself up in the aisle, braver—or perhaps more foolish—with his parents gone, the two of them having escorted the NASA dignitary away for a drink. “I see Quen told you about his new job,” he said as he idly looked at his nails. “I asked my father if I could take him to NASA with me. I’ll need someone to make me breakfast, pick up my dry cleaning. I would have asked him to hire you, but everyone knows women can’t drive.”

“Go away,” she intoned, hands fisted. Damn it, he’d gotten that NASA job.

Kal rocked forward, daring her to protest. “Besides, pushing you around would get old. Much better to take away your only friend in the world. It’s not like you’ll make it to Florida.”

She clenched her teeth, green with jealousy. Everything was given to him. Everything. She stiffened when he moved closer, again lifting the contracts.

“I’m going to work at NASA developing new strains of carrier bacteria that can repair a child’s DNA as early as three days old with a simple inhalation. And you,” he said, head tilted as he chuckled at the small-firm letterheads. “The closest you will ever get will be in some research facility’s library, shelving books for old farts who can’t work a Punnett square. Have fun, Flea.”

Smiling that confident, hated smile, he turned to go.

Her anger boiled up, and she shook off Quen’s restraining hand again. “You are a hack, Kalamack,” she said loudly, and the nearby conversations went silent. “Your theory to use bacteria to fix DNA strands into a new host are seriously flawed. Good for a doctorate, but not application. You can’t stop bacteria from evolving as you can viruses, and you will end up killing the people you are trying to save.”

Kal looked her up and down. “Huh. A second-rate security grunt thinks she knows my job better than I do?”

“Trisk,” Quen warned as she pulled out of his grip and took two long steps into the aisle.

“Kal?” she said sweetly, and when he looked up, she punched him right in the nose.

Kal cried out, falling back to catch himself against his own booth. His hands covered his face, blood leaking out from between them, a stark, shocking red. “You hit me!” he cried as a handful of excited, flustered girls flocked to him, finding handkerchiefs in their little jeweled handbags.

“Damn right I hit you,” she said, shaking the pain from her hand. Busting his nose had hurt, but casting a spell would have been worse. Besides, the chandelier would have stopped it.

“You little canicula,” Kal exclaimed, shoving away the people who had gathered to help. Wiping the blood away, he stood stiffly before her, his hair almost floating as he reached past the wards on the room and drew on a ley line.

People fell back. Someone called for security. Trisk’s eyes widened, her attention going to the huge chandelier as it shifted to a dark purple color. A faint alarm began chiming.

“No one hits me!” Kal exclaimed, and as Trisk stared flat-jawed, he spread his clasped hands apart to show a glowing ball of unfocused energy. It was a lot for a lab rat, and Trisk wondered if he’d been tutored on the side.