American Demon - Kim Harrison Page 0,182

next weekend.”

But Lucy and Ray did nothing, quietly panicking.

Ellasbeth didn’t rise, her foot bobbing under the table. She clearly didn’t want me hearing this, but I wasn’t leaving, and I clenched my hands, willing the sparkles to fade. “Trenton, your life choices are putting Lucy and Ray in danger. Go save the world. I just want to save the girls.”

“The girls are not in danger.” Neck red, Trent put a fist on the table and leaned over it.

“Um,” I blurted, wanting the rising energy to cease. “I have an idea. You don’t have any classes until after Thanksgiving, right?” I said, not liking that my voice sounded high in my head. “Why don’t you, Zack, and Quen blow off the girls’ regular schedule and take them to the zoo? Trent and I can take care of what we need to do and meet you there for lunch or dinner, depending on what you call it.”

For three heartbeats, Trent stared at me, his thoughts unknown. And then he shifted, shoulders easing as he took a slow breath. “What a marvelous idea,” he said as he found his phone, but the lingering sparkles said he was still angry. Ellasbeth wasn’t much better, but at least they weren’t quietly yelling at each other. The girls, too, looked relieved, the normally vocal Lucy utterly silent. I hid behind a sip of coffee, knowing I hadn’t made any points with Ellasbeth. She would follow them to the zoo, fully aware that she wouldn’t be allowed back into the compound. And with Quen with her, Ellasbeth wouldn’t dare try to leave until Trent joined them.

Trent signaled “Thank you” to me with a small finger twitch as he finished his text to Quen and closed his phone.

“You’re welcome,” I mouthed back, the expanse of the kitchen between us, and from beside Trent, Ray sighed and began to eat.

False smile in place, Trent looked up. “Okay, Ellasbeth?”

“Fine,” she said shortly.

But it didn’t feel fine, and I excused myself to find something more conducive to spell prep than a robe. Manipulating Ellasbeth felt risky, more risky than breaking into Landon’s office so we could tie him up and perform a curse to extract a murdering energy source bent on making me kill Trent.

CHAPTER

30

The sun was bright. I pushed deep into the car’s seat to get out of it, and the soft sounds of Trent on his phone seemed to become louder. We were parked at a sub shop across from the dewar’s new Cincinnati offices, waiting for Jenks to come back from his recon. Two cups of straight black were cooling in the cup holders. It was warm in Trent’s gray sports car, but the outside temp was too close to Jenks’s lower limits for my liking. November, I thought sourly. Jenks should be at the church manning the phones and keeping my spelling herbs drying evenly, not out on a run.

Worried, I ran my hands down my black slacks and fisted them at the knees. My matching jacket was cut long and my blouse was a stark white. The low heels, flashy jewelry, and small purse holding the soul bottle and my splat gun made me into any office worker, especially with my hair pulled back and minimal makeup. Trent was in a suit. I’d told him to put on one that hadn’t been tailored yet, and the bad fit brought him down a peg from his usual CEO sharpness. He still looked good, though, albeit a tad uncomfortable at the poor tailoring—alert, graceful, and in control. You could add yummy to the list and not be wrong, I thought as I sipped my coffee.

The Monastery, where the dewar was now headquartered, looked busy with cars and foot traffic. The Cincinnati observatory had sat there in the early 1800s, but had long since moved due to light pollution. For a time, the denuded hill had hosted grapes to help make Cincinnati the American capital of wine making. Now the hill was covered in trees and parking lots, sandwiched between I-71 and 50.

The dewar had bought it to bolster their Cincinnati presence from a single Hollows-based office in a strip mall to the sprawling three-story multiuse building—the twelve-thousand-square-foot chapel included. Wedding receptions were still taking place in the huge repurposed sanctuary with its Roman frescoes and elaborate chandeliers, but no more were being booked, and by this time next year, the elven religious faction would have the place to themselves.

“If you don’t hear from one of us in an

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