American Demon - Kim Harrison Page 0,189

know what I’m doing,” the pixy said. “Be ready to move when you hear the crash.”

“Crash?” I questioned, but he was gone with an annoyed wing snap.

Trent was silent for a moment, and then he leaned close, expression worried. “If this all goes south, I want you to know that the last year with you has been the best of my life.”

My thoughts jerked from the potential fight, surprised, but not. “Me too,” I said, remembering how much I’d thought I hated him. “Let’s make sure nothing goes wrong.”

I held up my crooked pinkie, and smiling, he hooked it with his own. A vague memory threatened to spill through me as our energy balances equalized: a dusty stable, the fear of being caught, the thrill of what-if, of a shared goal and a belief that what we were doing was just, if not entirely within the rules. Jeez, how long had Trent and I been righting our personal wrongs together anyway?

Our fingers parted at the sound of a distant crash, and Trent peeked around the corner. His lips curled in a slow, faint smile. “We’re clear,” he said, and I followed him into the hall.

I was grimy and probably smelled like dust and grease, and I needlessly checked the propellant in my splat gun as Trent went to Landon’s door and casually punched in the code. My pulse quickened when nothing happened. “Did they change it?” I whispered as I leaned close.

“I don’t think so,” he said, eyes on the mechanism. “Quen told me about these. It takes a pulse of line energy to open it. You want the honors? You seem to have better control than me.”

“Uh, sure.” Careful to allow only the barest thread of energy to spill into my hand, I winced and touched the panel.

A soft click sounded, and Trent shot me a grin. His eagerness went right to my core, and I smiled back, relieved. “See, we can do this. It just takes a light touch,” he said as he turned the handle and one side of the double doors silently opened. “After you.”

That light touch is going out the window as soon as the spells start flying, I thought as I stepped into the natural light now pouring into the hall. Trent followed me in, and we hesitated on the raised-tile foyer, waiting for Jenks. A bank of closets stood to one side, but from there, it opened up to a warehouselike apartment. The ceiling stretched a good twenty feet, and the thick, narrow windows cut the fabulous view of the surrounding city into little slices. The air was warm, and it was silent apart from a ticking clock. Between us and the view was a living room done in creams and browns. The floor was either tile or polished wood. I couldn’t tell from here.

“Light touch, light touch,” I whispered as Jenks darted in through the cracked door, and Trent closed it. The security panel on this side of the door blinked green, and we all sighed in relief. Ten minutes, I thought, feeling the outline of the soul bottle in my bag.

“I’ll find him,” Jenks said as he hummed off, the sound of his wings lost in a heartbeat.

Trent and I inched forward, senses searching, but the room was empty. The wet bar was shiny, and the TV was so huge, it was ugly. “Cat,” I whispered, nudging Trent’s elbow, and he crouched to lure the feline closer. True to form, the white longhair sat where she was and stared. But then her ears pricked and her head swiveled to fixate on Jenks.

“Cat!” I whispered again, louder, and Jenks made a wide swoop up to avoid it.

“Three bedrooms that way,” Jenks said, pointing. “They look like Aladdin vomited up the decor, but Landon’s not there. Give me a sec, and I’ll check out the other side.”

I nodded, and he took off under the watchful eye of the cat. “Absidium fortum,” I whispered, pulling lightly on the ley line. Clearly feeling it, Trent flattened his hair as he waited for my charm to fade. But the cat was only a cat, not a person disguised or trapped as one, and I frowned when it padded off after Jenks.

“He should be back by now,” Trent whispered.

“Follow the cat,” I said, worried, and Trent nodded, graceful as he pushed into motion. His steps were silent in his office shoes as he wove between the cream cushions and modern art, but I paused to slip my

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