in the lightweight but expensive finishes in approval. “I can see why you want to stay here. This is nice,” he said, but all I heard was Why don’t you move in with me?
“It is, isn’t it?” I paused in the low-ceilinged, multi-windowed living room so he could take in the plush furniture and expansive but outdated TV and sound system. It was nice, but it was cold, especially in the morning, and I was glad Jenks was leaving.
“The kitchen is up here,” I said, my boots loud on the teak floorboards. My eyes slid from the framed chart that Kisten had on the wall, the heavy black line tracing down the Ohio River to the Mississippi, and finally out into the Gulf, where it continued all the way to the Caribbean. My gut hurt, and I turned away. Dreams Kisten knew were never possible kept him alive . . . until they didn’t.
It was funny. I hadn’t thought about Kisten in weeks, but bringing Trent here made me feel as if I was betraying his memory. Kisten, though, would have told me to get over it and live my life.
Jenks was fussing over his pill-bottle-size jar of pollen as I went into the small kitchen. It had a tiny oven that didn’t work well enough to use and a two-burner stove. The fridge was residential size, but the counter space was confining after living in the church’s expansive savanna. Jeez, it’s going to be quiet with Jenks gone.
“This it?” Trent said as he picked the jar up, and Jenks’s wings dusted an affirmative silver.
“Yep. Rache, you mind if I take some coffee since I’m here?”
“I’ve got coffee,” Trent offered, but Jenks ignored him. Toting his groceries was one thing, adding to them was another.
“Help yourself,” I said, but Jenks was already folding a forgotten receipt into a container. The curling tape had just the right give and strength to make a pixy-size origami box.
“Great, thanks.” The scent of coffee rose in the small kitchen as Jenks took a teaspoon. It would last him a month. “Hey, watch it, shoemaker!” the pixy shrilled when Trent shook the jar of pollen in interest. “That’s two months in the garden there. It’s going to clump if you shake it.”
Trent stopped, the tips of his pointy ears reddening to make him look boyishly charming. “Sorry. Um, will it be okay in the car?”
“Sure. Put it in the cup holder so it doesn’t roll around,” Jenks said, and Trent held it as if it was a tube of C-4.
“You want anything else?” I asked, and Jenks rose up, hands on his hips.
“Three more months of summer,” he muttered.
“So we drop you at the church,” I said. “Then pick you up in a few hours. What’s it going to be, Trent?” I said as I twined my fingers in his and we headed up to the door. “Coffee at Carew Tower? A paddle down the Ohio River? Golf? There’re a couple of movies I’ve been wanting to see, or we could go for a drive out to Loveland Castle. The leaves are gone and you can see the creek.”
“Mmmm.” Trent’s fingers slipped from mine as we went back outside; I needed both hands to get my keys from my bag and lock up. “You know what I’d really like to do?”
I brought my eyes back from Jenks’s fading dust trail headed straight across the lot past Trent’s car and into Piscary’s. “What?”
He pulled me close, and my breath caught. “I want to take a private tour of the elven heritage exhibit.” He hesitated. “If you want to.”
My eyebrows rose. “Really?” I knew it had bothered him that they had postponed the opening after Ivy, Jenks, and I had stolen one of the artifacts. I’d feel bad about it, except I had needed the elven slaver rings to keep magic from dying out. Destroying them afterward had been a real pleasure. The tools the elves and demons had used in their war were ugly: no pity, no remorse, no mercy. I didn’t like that we still had to deal with them like unexploded mines in a farm field.
“They’ll let you do that?” I asked as we went to the railing. True, Trent was sponsoring the exhibit, but that might not mean much anymore.
He smiled, the sun catching his hair to turn it white as he made the long step to the quay. “With enough warning, sure.” He extended his hand, and he helped me up with