“Absolutely,” I said as I rose into the sun. “I won’t be able to see any of it on opening night.” I let my shoulder fall into his as we headed for the car, loving that he was here with me and we had the entire two days to ourselves. “You want me to work it, right?”
“If you’re available. I never get to see the exhibits on opening night, either.” His focus went into the distance, seeing the past. Or maybe the future. “I could really use the positive PR boost this will give me when it’s finally open. I’ve been getting too much hate mail lately.”
I slumped, remembering Quen’s report, but he just shook his head and turned away when I searched his expression. Hate mail was the least of his worries. It was more like ongoing corporate-takeover attempts by elf-owned businesses, dragging, frivolous criminal-act lawsuits, and never-ending sabotage from small-minded employees bringing his legitimate farms and other endeavors to a slow grind.
There was good reason I accompanied him to public events, and it wasn’t because I looked good in heels. The exhibit itself was more than a collection of elven artifacts. It was even more than a joyous public announcement that elves existed and had a rich cultural past. It was Trent reminding his people that it was his family who had risked persecution and death to develop the illegal genetic procedures that kept them alive until Trent himself risked his life and freedom to find an ancient elven DNA sample to break the demons’ curse entirely. It had put him on the demons’ auction block to be bought and sold by the very same demons who had once been owned by elves themselves. And I, being “Rachel-ly” as Jenks would say, couldn’t stomach it, even though Trent and I had barely tolerated each other at that point.
He hadn’t thanked me for saving him for a long time, grappling with the knowledge that I was a demon, one who survived infancy because his father, Kalamack Sr., had broken the demons’ curse. We still didn’t know if it was an accident or perhaps long-term planning on Trent’s dad’s part. Trent would have never survived the ever-after without a “demon’s” help.
And if I thought the public outcry had been bad for admitting I was a demon, it was even worse when Trent openly acknowledged that he not only supported me, a demon, but that he loved me. And if he loved me, he could no longer blindly hate demons.
It was when he had asked the elven population to do the same that things got toxic. That was when they turned on him, and now he was down to lavish shows of charity he could no longer afford and new museum elven wings across the U.S. that he had no money to pay for—the intent being to remind them they survived and thrived because of him.
His downfall was 100 percent my fault. Without me, he’d again be the elven Sa’han, regaining all his old status and more as the savior of his species. I, too, would be accepted by my demon kin if I simply walked away. But to do so would break both of us. We were better together: Trent less ruthless and me less, well . . . Rachel-ly.
Seeing Trent’s head down in thought, the wind gently moving his wispy almost white hair, I slipped my fingers in his and tugged his attention to me. My heart seemed to nearly burst when he smiled and visibly shelved his worry for later. We did better together than apart, and I couldn’t bear to lose him.
“The museum sounds great,” I said, but I meant far more.
“Good,” he said, mood brighter. “Let’s grab something to eat while I set it up.”
Happy with the world, I leaned deeper into him, our steps striking the old pavement in perfect time. Eleven was early for me for breakfast, much less lunch, but I’d gotten up at six. God! No wonder elves have nearly gone extinct. “Where can we get a good hamburger with ketchup?”
“Ketchup?” Trent grinned, clearly enjoying the chance to flaunt his Inderland status. “Ah, the Cincinnatian is close.”
Everything was close in Cincinnati, but it would be nice to go downtown when the traffic was this light. “Sure,” I said, arm about his waist as we walked to the car. “They’ve got big, dripping hamburgers. And fries. Lots of fries.”
Trent hesitated at the car, his eyes on Piscary’s.