Where Demons Dare. Kim Harrison

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СКАЧАТЬ I should be nice. At least until the doors open.

      His complexion was marred by the scars a few Inderlanders had come away with from the Turn, and his roughened, dark skin only added to his presence. A vampire bite marked his neck, most of the white scar tissue hidden by his high black collar. Piscary had given the scar to him in anger, and I wondered how Quen was handling the new problem of having an unclaimed vampire bite, now that Piscary was truly dead. I had one, too, but Ivy would kill any vampire who broke my skin, and all of Cincy knew it. Quen didn’t have any such protection. Perhaps the bite was why he wanted to talk to me—if this wasn’t about a run for Trent.

      Quen was Trent Kalamack’s eminently skilled security officer, one hundred percent deadly, though I’d trust him with my life if he said he’d watch my back. Trent was just as dangerous without having earned my trust, but he did his damage with words, not actions—a stinking politician at his best, a murderer at his worst. The financially successful, attractive, charismatic hunk of man flesh efficiently ran most of Cincinnati’s underworld and the northern hemisphere’s illegal Brimstone trade. But what Trent could go to jail for besides being a murdering bastard—for which I’d gotten him incarcerated for all of three hours a few months ago—was his worldwide trade in illegal biodrugs. What really stuck in my craw was that I was alive because of them.

      I’d been born with a fairly common genetic defect among witches, Rosewood syndrome, where my mitochondria kicked out an enzyme my body determined was an invader, the result being that I should have died before the age of two. Because my dad had secretly been working closely with Trent’s dad trying to save his species at the time, Trent’s dad had tinkered with the genetic makeup of my mitochondria, modifying something just enough that the enzyme would be ignored. I truly believe that he hadn’t known the enzyme was what allowed my blood to kindle demon magic, and I thanked God the only people who knew it were me and my friends. And Trent. And a few demons. And whatever demons they told. And whomever Trent told. And Lee, of course, the only other witch Trent’s dad had fixed.

      Okay, so maybe it wasn’t that good a secret anymore.

      Trent and I were currently at an impasse, with me trying to put him in jail and him trying to buy my services or kill me—depending on his mood—and while I could bring the house down on him if I went public about his illegal biodrugs, I’d probably end up in medical confinement in Siberia—or, worse yet, surrounded by salt water like Alcatraz—and he’d be back on the streets and campaigning for reelection in less time than it takes a pixy to sneeze. That’s just the kind of personal power the man had.

      And it is really irritating, I thought, shifting my weight to my other foot as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.

      Immediately I got out and jabbed at the “down” button. No way was I going to go through the halls to the closet-size secondary elevator and up to the roof with Quen. I was impulsive, not stupid. Quen ghosted out as well, looking like a bodyguard as he stood in front of the elevator doors until they closed again.

      My eyes went to the camera in the corner, its friendly red light blinking. I’d stay there until another car arrived. “Don’t touch me,” I muttered. “There isn’t enough money in the world for me to work for Trent again. He’s a manipulative, power-hungry, spoiled only-child who thinks he’s above the law. And he kills people like a homeless man opens a can of beans.”

      Quen shrugged. “He’s also loyal to those who have earned his trust, intelligent, and generous to those he cares about.”

      “And those he doesn’t care about don’t matter.” Hip cocked, I silently waited, getting more annoyed. Where in hell is the elevator?

      “I wish you’d reconsider,” Quen said, and I jerked back when he pulled an amulet from his sleeve. After giving me a high-eyebrow look, he turned a slow circuit, attention lightly fixed on the redwood disk glowing a faint green. It was probably a detection amulet of some kind. I had one that would tell me if there were any deadly spells in my vicinity, but I’d quit wearing it when it kept triggering the anti-theft wards in the mall.

      Apparently satisfied, Quen slid the amulet away. “I need you to go into the ever-after to retrieve an elven sample.”

      I laughed at that, and anger flickered over the older man. “Trent just got Ceri’s sample,” I said, pulling my shoulder bag tight to me. “I’d think that would keep him busy for a while. Besides, you couldn’t pay me enough to go into the ever-after. Especially not for a chunk of two-thousand-yearold dead elf.”

      One of the elevators behind me dinged, and I backed up to it, ready to make my escape.

      “We know where a tissue sample is. We just need to get it,” Quen said, his gaze flicking behind me as the doors opened.

      I backed into it, standing so he couldn’t follow me. “How?” I said, feeling secure.

      “Ceri,” he said simply, fear flashing in the back of his eyes.

      The doors started to close, and I hit the “open” button. “Ceri?” I questioned, wondering if this was why I hadn’t seen much of her lately. She knew I hated Trent, but she was an elf and he was an elf—and seeing as she had been born into royalty and he was a zillionaire, it would be foolish to think that they hadn’t had some contact the last few months, whether they liked each other or not.

      Seeing my interest, Quen took a more confident stance. “She and Trent have been having tea every Thursday,” he said softly, sneaking a guilty glance at the hallway. “You should thank her. He’s absolutely obsessed with her even as her demon smut terrifies him. I think that’s part of the attraction, actually. But he’s starting to consider that demon smut might not equal a bad person. She saved my relationship with him. She is a very wise woman.”

      She ought to be, seeing as she had over a thousand years of servitude to a demon. The doors started closing again, and I hit the button for a few more seconds. “Everything went to hell when Trent found out you use black magic to protect him, eh?”

      Quen didn’t shift, even maintaining his sedate breathing, but his very stillness told me I was right.

      “So?” I said belligerently.

      “So he’s starting to entertain the thought that you might be trustworthy, too. Will you at least consider it? We need the sample.”

      The reminder of my own demon-smut-laced soul bothered me, and I jabbed at the “close” button. No freaking way. “Get back to me later, Quen. Like a hundred years later.”

      “We don’t have a hundred years,” Quen said, desperation entering his voice. “We have eight months.”

      Oh, shit.

      I pushed myself into motion, my shoulder bag catching on the doors as I shoved my way past them. Quen had moved back. His lips were tightly pressed, as if he wished he hadn’t had to say that to get me to listen. “What do you mean, eight months? As in one less than nine?”

      Quen said nothing. Didn’t even look at me. And I didn’t dare touch him.

      “He got her pregnant?” I exclaimed, not caring who heard me. “The son of a bitch! The stinking son of a bitch!”

      I was so angry, I was almost laughing. Quen’s jaw had clenched so tight his pox scars stood out white and stark. “Will you do it?” he said stiffly.

      “I want to talk to Trent,” I said. No wonder Ceri СКАЧАТЬ