Chapter Twenty-two

Slumped in the back of the cab, I watched the passing buildings and imagined Ellasbeth's distain for the clearly lower-class shops. Though the Hollows' cathedral was world-renowned, it was in a somewhat depressed area of town. Unease trickled through me, and I straightened, pulling my bag with its charms and splat gun onto my lap. I should have worn something else. I was going to look like a slob in jeans.

Jenks was on my shoulder, rapping my hoop earring in time with the calypso beat on the cabbie's radio. It was way past annoying, and though I knew it would likely only encourage him, I murmured, "Stop it."

My neck went cold as he lifted off to land on my knee. "Relax, Rache," he said, standing with his legs spread wide for balance and his wings a blur. "This is a cakewalk. How many people? Five, counting her parents? And Quen will be there, so it's not like you're alone. It's the wedding you're going to have to worry about."

I took a deep breath, cracking the window to set my hair drifting. Looking down, I picked at the engineered hole in my knee. "Maybe I should have worn a dress suit."

"It's a wedding rehearsal, for Tink's panties!" Jenks burst out. "Don't you watch the soaps? The richer you are, the more you dress down. Trent will probably be in a swimsuit."

My eyebrows rose, picturing his trim physique wrapped in spandex. Mmmm...

Wings stilling, Jenks adopted a bored expression. "You look great. Now, if you had worn that little thang you picked out..."

I shifted my knee, and he took to the air. We were only a block away, and early.

"Excuse me," I said, leaning forward and into the cabbie's enthusiastic rendition of Madonna's "Material Girl." I'd never heard it done calypso before. "Could you circle the block?"

He met my gaze through the rearview mirror, and, though clearly thinking I was crazy, lunched into the left-turn lane and waited for the light. I rolled the window down all the way, and Jenks landed on the sill. "Why don't you check it out?" I said softly.

"Already ahead of you, babe," he said, reaching to see that his red bandanna was in place. "By the time you get around the block, I'll have met the locals and get the sitch."

"Babe?" I said tartly, but he had darted out and was among the gargoyles. I rolled up the window before the street breeze could make a mess of the intricate French braid his kids had put my hair in. I didn't let them go at my hair very often. Their work was fantastic, but they chatted like fifteen-year-olds at a concert - all at once and a hundred decibels louder than necessary.

The light changed, and the driver made the turn carefully, probably thinking I was a tourist getting an eyeful. The sharp-cornered, tidily mortared stones rose up as high as perhaps an eight-story building, to look massive and permanent compared to the low shops that surrounded it. The cathedral sat tight to the curb on two sides, shading the street. There were shade-loving plants tucked into the moist shelter of the flying buttresses. Expansive stained-glass windows were everywhere, shadowed and dull from the outside.

I squinted as I took it all in, surprised at the lack of welcome that I found in my church. It was like visiting your great-aunt who disapproved of dogs, loud music, and cookies before dinner; she was still family, but you had to be on your best behavior and you never felt at ease.

After a quick scan of the side of the cathedral, I dug in my bag for my cell phone and tried to call Ivy again. Still no answer. Kisten wasn't answering either, and there had been no response when I called Piscary's earlier today. I'd be worried, but that it wasn't unusual. They didn't open until five, and no one manned the phone when they were closed.

The back of the cathedral was narrow walled garden and cracked parking lot. At the corner I set my phone to vibrate and tucked it into my front jeans pocket, where I would know if it rang. More parking was on the third side, empty but for a dusty late-model black Saturn in the shade and a basketball court, the hoop bolted onto a light pole at NBA regulation height. Across the way was another, much taller one. Mixing species on the court wasn't a good idea.

I braced myself when the cabbie pulled up, running his left wheel over the low curb of the one-way street. Shoving the car into park, he started messing with a clipboard. "You want me to wait?" he asked, glancing at the dingy storefront across the street.

I dug a twenty out of my purse and handed it to him. "No. There's going to be a dinner afterward, and I'll bum a ride from someone. Can I have a receipt?"

At that, he looked at me over his paperwork, his deeply tanned face showing surprise. "You know someone who's getting married here?"

Jenks was hovering impatiently outside, but I hesitated, beaming. "Yes. I'm in the Kalamack wedding."

"You kidding me?" His brown eyes widened to show that the whites were almost yellow. The faint scent of musk tickled my nose. He was a Were. Most cabbies were. I had no idea why. "Hey." He fumbled for a card, handing it to me along with my blank receipt. "I have my limo license. If they need anyone, I'm available."

I took it, admiring his moxie. "You bet. Thanks for the ride."

"Anytime," he said as I got out. He leaned out after me through the window. "I've got access to a car and everything. This is only my day job until I finish getting my pilot's license."

Smiling, I nodded and turned to the multiple doors. Pilot's license? That's a new one.

The cab merged into the light traffic, and Jenks dropped down from wherever he had been. "I leave you alone for five minutes," he complained, "and you get hit on."

"He just wanted a job," I said, admiring the four strands of sculptured vines arching over the twin set of wooden doors. Absolutely-gorgeous...

"That's what I'm saying," he grumbled. "Why are we here this early anyway?"

"Because it's a demon." I eyed the gargoyles and wished I could talk to them, but trying to wake a gargoyle before the sun was down was like trying to talk to a pet rock. There were a lot of them, though, so the cathedral was probably secure. I winced at the potted flowers on the sidewalk, wondering if I could get them moved. It would be too easy for fairy assassins to hide in them. Bringing my attention to Jenks, I added, "And as much as I'd like to see Trent taken down by a past jealous lover or a disgruntled demon, I want my forty thousand for babysitting."

He bobbed his head before landing on my shoulder. "Speak of the devil..."

I followed his attention to the street. Crap, they were early, too, and now, doubly glad for having gotten here when I had, I tucked in my new shirt and waited as two shiny cars approached, looking out of place among the flatbed trucks and salt-rusted Fords.

I had to jerk myself up and onto the shallow steps when the first one pulled out of traffic and up entirely onto the wide sidewalk. A gray Jaguar was behind it, also parking on the walk.

"You've got to be crapping in my daisies," Jenks said from my earring, and I took my sunglasses off to get a better look.

Ellasbeth was in the first car in the front seat, and while she collected herself, the uniformed driver opened the door for a pair of older people in the back. Mr. and Mrs. Withon, I assumed, since they were tall and elegant, darkly tanned and having the "trendy" look of the West Coast. They were in their sixties, I'd guess, but well-preserved sixties. Hell, they were elves - they could be three hundred for all I knew. Although they were dressed in casual slacks and tops, one could still tell that their shoes cost more than most people's car payments. They stood and smiled in the sun as if looking into the past and seeing the land without the buildings, cars, or urban apathy.

Ellasbeth stoically waited for the driver to open her door. Swooping out, she tugged the short jacket covering her white shirt straight and draped a matching purse over her shoulder. Sandals clicking, she rounded the back of the car, her ankles bare below trim capri pants. She was in hues of peach and cream, her yellow hair back in a braid similar to mine with green ribbons woven in. With red lips and shades firmly in place, she never looked at the church, clearly not pleased to be here.

Seeing her class, I was embarrassingly thankful that Jenks and Ceri had stepped in and bought me a clue.

Putting on my happy face, I came down the steps.

"Isn't this such a sweet little church, Mother?" the tall woman said, twining her arm in her mom's and gesturing at the basilica. "Trenton was right. This is the perfect place for an understated wedding."

"Understated?" Jenks muttered from my earring. "It's a friggin' cathedral."

"Hush," I said, liking her parents for some reason. They looked content together, and I found myself wanting to keep them that way, so when I woke at night alone, I'd know that somewhere there was someone who had found love and made it last. No wonder Ellasbeth was ticked at being asked to marry someone she didn't love when she had grownup seeing her parents' contentment. I'd be mad, too.

The hair on my arms prickled, and I turned to see Quen already out of the gleaming Jaguar. He was dressed in his usual black pants and shirt, a pair of soft shoes on his feet. A leather belt with a silver buckle was his only decoration. I wondered if it was charmed. The pox-scarred man raised his eyebrows at me in greeting, and I decided it probably was.

Quen was headed for Trent's door, but before he could get there, Trent had opened it himself. Blinking in the strong afternoon sun, he gazed at the sky, his eyes moving as he traced the lines of the front tower outlined against it. His jeans fit him nicely, properly faded and hitting his boots just right. A silk shirt of a deep green that matched Ellasbeth's ribbons gave him some flash, going well with his tan and fair hair. He looked good, but not happy.

Seeing the five elves together, I wondered at the differences. Ellasbeth's mother had Trent's same wispy hair, but her father's was closer to Ellasbeth's - rougher, almost looking like a poor attempt to match it. Beside them, Quen's dark features and ebony hair looked like the other side of the coin, but no less elven.

Ellasbeth brought her gaze from the scrollwork above the big doors when Trent and Quen approached. Her gaze lit upon me, and her expression froze. I smiled as she realized we had our hair up in the same way. Her face under her perfect makeup went stiff.

"Hello, Ellasbeth," I said, having been introduced to her by her first name the night she'd walked in on me soaking in her tub. Long story, but innocent enough.

"Ms. Morgan," she said, extending a pale hand. "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you." I took her hand in mine, surprised that it was warm. "I'm honored to be in the wedding party. Have you decided which dress yet?"

The woman's expression went even stiffer behind her shades. "Mother? Father?" she said, not answering me. "This is the woman Trenton arranged to work additional security."

As if they can't tell I'm not one of her friends? I thought, taking their hands as they were offered. "Pleasure to meet you," I said to each of them in turn. "This is Jenks, my partner. He'll be working the perimeter and communication."

Jenks's wings clattered to life, but before he could charm them with his sparkling personality, Ellasbeth's mother gasped. "He's real!" she stammered. "I thought he was a decoration on your earring."

Ellasbeth's father tensed. "A pixy?" he said, taking a wary step back. "Trent-"

A burst of dust spilled from Jenks to light my shoulder, and I all but snapped, "This is my team. I may be bringing on a vamp if I think it necessary. If you have a complaint, take it up with Trent. My backup can keep his mouth shut about your precious secret identities, but if you show up for the wedding dressed like extras for some ridiculous movie, it won't be my fault if someone figures it out."

Ellasbeth's mother was staring at Jenks in fascination, and the pixy had noticed. Red-faced, he zipped from one side of me to the next in agitation, finally landing on a shoulder. Clearly the pixy paranoia went from coast to coast, and she hadn't seen one in a while.

"I can't keep your butts above the grass without him," I continued, darting increasingly nervous glances at Ellasbeth's mom, whose green eyes were bright and captivated. "And this overdone media circus is likely going to bring the weirdos out of the woodwork."

I stopped, seeing as no one was listening. Mrs. Withon had blushed to look ten years younger, one hand on her husband's shoulder as she failed to hide her desire to talk to Jenks.

"Oh, the hell with it," I muttered under my breath. Then, louder, "Jenks, why don't you escort the ladies into the church where it's safer."

"Rache," he whined.

Mr. Withon pulled himself straighter. "Ellie," he warned, and I reddened.

Trent cleared his throat. Stepping forward, he took my elbow in restraint, disguising it as a companionable motion. "Ms. Morgan's commitment to her job is as obvious and up-front as her opinions," he said dryly. "I've used her in the past, and I trust her and her partners implicitly in sensitive matters."

Used me. That's about right.

"I can keep a secret," Jenks muttered, his fitfully moving wings shifting my hair.

Mrs. Elf beamed at him, and again I wondered at the possible species relationship elves and pixies might have had, broken when the elves went underground. Jenks's kids loved Ceri. Course, they loved Glenn, too, and I knew he was a human.

Ellasbeth caught her father's wary look, her red lips compressing at her mother's charmed smile. "Trenton, dear," the nasty woman said, looping her arm back into her mother's. "I'm going to show my parents the interior of the cathedral while you instruct the help on their duties. It's such a quaint little church. I honestly didn't know they made cathedrals this size."

I bit back my ire, proud of the Hollows' basilica. And I wasn't the "help." I was the person who was going to keep the rabble from taking potshots at them as they paraded their rich elf asses down main street.

"That sounds equitable, love," Trent said from beside me. "I'll meet you inside."

Ellasbeth leaned to give him a peck on the cheek, and though he trailed a hand along her cheek as she moved away, he didn't kiss her back.

Heels clacking on the sidewalk, she led her parents to the side door, since the front was clearly locked. "Send Caroline in when she arrives?" she said over her shoulder, effectively telling us to stay outside until the maid of honor got here. That was fine with me.

"I'll do that," Trent called after them, and the three elves turned the corner, Ellasbeth loudly telling her mother about the lovely little baptism pool. Her father was bent in conversation with her mother, clearly berating her for her interest in Jenks. She wasn't listening, almost walking sideways in her attempt to get a last look at Jenks.

Jenks was silent, clearly embarrassed. I though it odd, since he charmed humans all the time. Why was it different when an elf liked him?

"Hey, uh, Rachel," he said, the hum of his wings loud as he lifted to hover before my eyes, "I'm going to take a look around. Back in five."

"Thanks, Jenks." But he was already gone, his tiny body a speck darting over the spires.

I brought my eyes back to find Quen waiting for me. "You expect me to believe a pixy is an effective backup?" he asked, eyebrows high. "Why do you have him out here? Are you trying to make the situation difficult?"

Somehow Quen's attitude didn't surprise me. Stifling my pique, I headed to the side parking lot. "He'll have the lowdown on the entire block in thirty seconds. I told you you're doing yourself a disservice by keeping pixies out of your garden. You should be begging for a clan to move in, not lacing sticky web in your canopy. They're better sentries than geese."

The older elf's wrinkles slid into each other as he frowned. He had come up on my left, and with Trent on my right I felt surrounded. "And you trust Jenks?" Quen asked.

I think it was the first time Quen had called Jenks by his name, and I glanced at him as we rounded the corner and the traffic noise dulled. "Implicitly."

No one said anything, and, embarrassed, I blurted, "I can't protect you if you aren't together. Or is this just a way to have someone pretty on your arm when you walk into a room?"

"No, Ms. Morgan," Trent said softly, his bangs drifting in the slight breeze. "But seeing as the sun is up, how much danger can we be in from a demon? I don't expect Lee to show, and if he does, it won't be until after dark." He hesitated. "With a demon pulling his strings."

We couldn't very well go in after Ellasbeth had told us to stay out, and I wasn't eager to spend more time than I had to with her. It seemed Trent wasn't either, so we drifted to a stop by the side stairs and the less-imposing secondary entrance off the parking lot. My sandals scuffed against the white lines of the painted-on basketball court, but Quen was silent in his soft shoes. I wanted a pair despite that they would leave me that much shorter.

"You... ah, trust me in sensitive matters?" I said to Trent. "What does that mean?"

Trent tracked a flock of pigeons, blinking as they crossed the sun. "It means I trust you to keep your mouth shut but not to keep your fingers out of my desk."

Quen shifted to stand almost out of my sight. I turned to keep him in it. "That bothered you, didn't it? That I could sneak into your office?" I asked.

Ears reddening, Trent glanced at me. "Yes."

Pleased, I shifted my shoulders. Casual looked good on him, and I wondered what he'd look like in a burger joint with his elbows on the table and his hands wrapped around a half pound of beef. He wasn't much older than me, forced to grow up fast when his parents died. I wanted to ask him if his kids would have pointed ears when they were born, but I didn't. "I won't do it again," I said suddenly, not knowing why.

At that, Trent turned to face me. "Break into my home? Is that a promise?"

"No. But I won't."

Quen cleared his throat to cover a chuckle. Green eyes fixed on mine, Trent nodded. He didn't look happy, and I was feeling sorry for him. "That," he said, "I'll believe."

Quen stiffened, but his attention was on the sky, not me. I put my hand up when I recognized Jenks's wings. "Rache," he panted, landing on my hand and grasping my thumb when he nearly fell off. "We got a problem... coming down the road... in a '67 Chevy."

"Better than a trip wire," I said dryly to Quen, wondering if I should move my new cuffs from my shoulder bag to my hip. Then I asked Jenks, "Who is it? Denon?"

The car in question came around the corner: a powder blue convertible with the top open. Engine racing, it pulled into the far end of the lot. Quen shifted from casual to protective. Pulse pounding, I tapped a line. The rush of power took me by surprise, and I staggered. "I'm fine," I said, pushing Trent's arm off me. "Stay behind me."

"It's Lee!" Trent said, his face alight. "My God, Lee!"

My mouth dropped open. The car lurched to a halt, parked ten feet away and cantwise to the lines. Trent stepped forward, and I yanked him back. Lee escaped Al?

The man turned off the car and pulled his head up, smiling at the three of us and squinting from the sun. Leaving the keys in the ignition, he opened the door and got out.

"Lee... ?" I stammered, not believing it. A rush of guilt swept me. Though I had tried to prevent it, I had been there when Al took Lee as his familiar instead of me. That he had escaped was impossible, but here he was, angling his trim, surfer-boy body out of the car with an unconscious grace. His small nose and thin lips gave him casual good looks, and his Asian heritage was obvious in the straight, severely black hair cut short above his ears. Looking confident and cocky in a faintly frumpy black suit, he strode forward with hands outstretched.

"It's not Lee," Jenks said, having moved himself to my shoulder. "He doesn't smell right, and that's not a witch's aura. Rache, that isn't Lee!"

Shock became mistrust. "Stay back!" I said, jerking Trent behind me when he moved.

He stumbled, then caught his balance. Scowling, he tugged his shirt straight. "The sun is up, Morgan. I know a few rules about demons, and that one you can't break. Lee escaped. What did you expect? He's an expert at ley line magic. Deal with the jealousy."

"Jealous!" I barked, not believing this. "You want to bet your life on it?" Lee was still coming forward, and, putting out a hand, I shouted, "Stop right there! I'm telling you to stop!"

Lee obediently halted ten feet away, his black hair gleaming in the light. He drew a pair of round sunglasses from a pocket and perched them on his small nose, hiding his brown eyes. Hands spread wide in innocence wronged, he almost bowed. "Good afternoon, Rachel Mariana Morgan. You look eminently ravishable with the sun in your hair, love."

The blood drained from my face, and I took a faltering step backward. It wasn't Lee. It was Al. The voice had been Lee's, but the cadence and pronunciation were Algaliarept's. How?

"Holy crap! It's Al!" Jenks squeaked, and his grip on my ear tightened.

"Get him in the church," I hissed at Quen Feeling betrayed, I almost panicked. The sun was up! This wasn't fair! There was scuffling behind me and Trent's indignant complaint. Damn it, I thought. This isn't a committee decision. "Get him out of here!" I yelled.

Al's smile widened. He stepped toward us.

There wasn't time. I lunged forward, my forearms hitting the pavement, my fingers brushing the white marking of the basketball court, and my toes taking the rest of my body weight. "Rhombus!" I shouted. Tears sprang up at the gravel cutting the soft part of my arms, but with a welcoming drop of power through me, the amber wash of ever-after flowed up from the earth, arching to a close over our heads.

Hurt, I let my knees touch the pavement, and I slowly got up, brushing my arms and palms free of grit. Damn it, I had ruined Ceri's present. I glanced first at Al - who looked mildly insulted - then Trent and Quen, safe inside my circle with me.

The older elf was stiff, clearly not liking being in my bubble - large as it was. Face tight, he eyed the black smears of demon smut crawling over my amber-tinted enclosure. It looked particularly ugly in the sun, and since Quen was skilled in ley line magic, he knew that the black was a reflection of what I had done to my soul - and the only way I could have gotten it that fast was by playing with demon magic.

Angry, I backed up, still rubbing my arms. "I got it twisting a demon curse to save my boyfriend's life," I said in explanation. "I didn't kill anything. I didn't hurt anyone."

Quen's face was empty of emotion. "You hurt yourself," he said.

"Yeah. I guess I did."

Trent scuffed his feet. "That's not Lee," he whispered, his face ashen.

Jenks landed on my shoulder - having flown off when I hit the ground. "Good God, the man is dumber than Tink's dildo. Didn't I say it wasn't him? Did my lips not move and say it wasn't him? I'm small, not blind!"

Recovering his earlier aplomb, Al smiled. Trent retreated into Quen's protection, away from me and Al both. Al had mauled Trent the same night the demon had first attacked me; Trent had a right to be afraid. But the sun was up. This could not be happening.

We all jumped when Al poked a finger at my bubble, and the black seemed to pool in the ripple he made. "No, not Lee," the demon said. "Yet it is him. One hundred percent."

"How?" I stammered. Had we been spelled into thinking it was daylight when it was really after sunset?

"The sun?" Al looked up, taking off his glasses and basking in it. "It is splendidly pretty without the red sheen. I quite like it." His gaze fell to me, and I shivered. "Think about it."

One hundred percent Lee, but not Lee? That left only one possibility. And whereas if someone had asked me Monday, I would have said it was impossible, I now found it remarkably easy to believe, after having shoved a demon out of my thoughts just three days ago.

"You're possessing him," I said, feeling my stomach clench.

Lee clapped his hands. He was wearing white gloves, and it looked wrong, so very wrong.

"You can't do that," Trent said from my elbow. "It's a - "

"Fairy tale?" Al brushed a piece of nonexistent dust from himself. "No, just very expensive and normally impossible. It's not supposed to last past sunup either. But your father?" Al looked from Trent, to me, and back to Trent. "He made Lee special."

It had been mockingly sincere, and I went cold. Lee's blood could kindle demon magic. So could mine. Ah, swell. Just peachy damn keen. But Lee was smarter than this. He knew that Al couldn't hurt me and get away with it. There was more. We hadn't heard it all.

I could smell the clean scent of crushed green leaves, and I realized Trent was sweating. "You tricked him," Trent said, the distress clear in his voice. I didn't think it was fear for himself. I think he was truly distressed that his childhood friend was alive and trapped in his own head by a demon.

Al put his shades on. "I got the better end of the deal, yes. But I'm following it to the letter. He wanted out. I gave him his freedom. In a manner of speaking."

"Lee," Trent said, moving forward, "fight it," he encouraged.

Al laughed, and I drew Trent back. "Lee's gone," I said, feeling ill. "Forget him."

"Yes, listen to the witch." Al wiped his eye with an elegant hankie drawn from a pocket. He wasn't using the ever-after. His sunglasses had been in a pocket, too. His abilities were diminished to Lee's. It went along with what Ceri had said about demons being no more powerful than a witch, apart from several thousand years of storing charms and curses inside themselves. If he was truly in Lee's body, then he was limited to what Lee could do until he brewed himself back to omnipotence.

Very expensive. Normally impossible. It added up to one person. One crazy person. "Newt did this, didn't she?"

Jenks swore softly, and Al spun, his anger looking wrong on Lee's face. "You are getting annoyingly perceptive," he said. "I could have figured it out on my own."

"Then why didn't you?" I said, fear tightening all my muscles. "You can't twist a curse complex enough to best the sun. You're a hack," I prodded, and Jenks's wings hummed.

"Rachel, shut up," he pleaded when Al reddened. But I forged ahead, wanting to know why he was here. My life might depend upon it.

"You had to buy a curse from her," I goaded. "How much did it cost, Al? What do you want that you're too dumb to get on your own? "

He stared at me through the shifting bands of color of my bubble, and I stifled a shudder. "You," the demon said, chilling me. "If it gives me a shot at you, then it's worth my everlasting soul," he intoned, his voice sliding through me to leave the taste of lightning on my tongue.

I refused to back up, almost numb. My breath came and went, and Quen's presence seemed to grow stronger. "You can't," I said, voice quavering. "You made a deal. You or your agents can't hurt me this side of the lines. Lee knows that. He'd never agree."

Al's smile widened, and when he tapped his dress shoes against the pavement in delight, I saw he had lace on his socks. "Which is why I will free him the instant before you expire, so he is the one actually doing it. He has reason enough on his own to want you dead, so the agent clause won't come into play. But killing you is the last thing I want to do." Gazing past me to where the sky met the basilica's towers, he breathed deeply. "The moment I leave Lee, I am susceptible to summonings and such. And much as I hate to miss the fall parties, this is so-o-o-o much more fun. Don't think that makes you safe, though." He brought his gaze down, and I shivered at the alienness hidden behind the normal brown orbs. "I can keep you alive through a tremendous amount of pain."

I swallowed. "Yeah, and you can't go misty to avoid my foot hitting your crotch either."

Tilting his head, Al stepped back. "There is that."

"Who is Newt?" Trent said, reminding me I wasn't alone, and I jumped when he touched my elbow. "Morgan. I want to know right now if you practice demonology!"

Jenks darted from my shoulder, anger hard on his tiny features. "Rachel is not a practitioner!" he said hotly, easily dodging Quen's attempts to get him away from Trent. Quen dropped his hand, probably only now realizing how dangerous a small flying thing with a sword could be.

Trent's eyes had never left mine, trusting that Jenks wouldn't hurt him. His question had been laced with an iron demand for an answer. Fear lay under it, but stronger than that was anger at me for dabbling in demons. My eyes returned to Al. "Newt is a very old, crazy demon. I bought a trip home from her when your friend dumped me there."

"Her?" Trent stammered, panic sliding behind his green eyes. "There are no more female demons. We killed the last few before leaving the ever-after."

"Well, you missed one," I said, but Trent wasn't listening, having been pulled aside by Quen. The older elf was very distressed and I wondered what was bothering him. Al? Being trapped in my circle? The threat of Jenks? Ellasbeth's wedding being crashed by a demon? All of the above?

But then my own fear started to tighten about my spine. I had shoved Newt out of my thoughts a few days ago. She'd been looking for the focus. Shit. What if Al wants it to pay off his new debt to her? He had said the curse to do this was expensive. Was he the one killing the Weres trying to find out who had it?

"Why are you really here?" I breathed. If he was after the focus, there wasn't much I could do to stop him once he realized I had it.

My question seemed to delight Al, and he simpered, adjusting the cuffs of his gloves. "I'm here for my best friend's wedding. I would have thought that was obvious."

Damn it. It was the focus. I had to call Minias. I'd rather get a mark removed for it, not hang on to it until the school bully took it from me and I got nothing. But if Al got it, it would hit the streets as soon as the sun went down, sold to the highest bidder, and there we would be with an Inderland power struggle, courtesy of me.

My pulse was fast, but standing in this circle wasn't doing anyone any good. "Ready, Jenks?" I said, and the pixy dropped to hover beside me. He nodded, features tight as he shifted his grip upon his sword. Eyes narrowing, I reached my hand out and broke the circle.

Quen exploded into motion, jerking Trent behind him. "Morgan!" he shouted, and I rounded on him.

"Relax!" I snapped, releasing some tension. "He isn't going to do anything. He's here for a wedding." I glanced at Al, seeming eminently controlled and still standing right where he had been. "If Al wanted us dead, we'd be in the ground a week ago. He's been here since the invitation hit Lee's mailbox." Pulse hammering, I turned to Al. "Am I right?"

Eyes hidden behind his glasses, the demon nodded.

"He's harmless," I continued, as much to convince myself as Trent and Quen. "Well, not as lethal, maybe. If he's in Lee's body, he doesn't have access to all the curses he's stored in himself over the past millennia. He's only as good as Lee is - was. Until he spends some time in the kitchen anyway. And he's going to follow the rules of our society, or he's going to end up in jail, which won't be any fun." Forcing my jaw to relax, I arched my eyebrows, wishing I could do the one-eyebrow thingy. "Will it?" I said.

Al inclined his head, and Quen almost jumped him, catching his movement in a sharp motion. "How fast you learn," the demon said, scowling at Quen's mistrust. "We must sit together at dinner. We have so much to chat about."

"Go to hell," I said softly. This was a crappy birthday, forty thousand notwithstanding.

"Not until I kill you, and though I will, it's not going to happen today. I like your yellow sun." Tugging up the sleeve to his jacket, he glanced at his watch. "I'll see you inside. I do so want to meet your darling little-woman-to-be, Trenton. Congratulations. It is an honor to stand up with you." His smile widened to show perfect, simply dazzling teeth. "Fitting," he drawled.

I felt a chill as I remembered Ceri. Oh, man... I had to call her. Al was loose.

Steps jaunty, Al headed up the stairs to the door, oohing and aahing at the architecture and detail work. His body language looked wrong on Lee's body, and with the strength of the ley line running through me, I felt like I was going to throw up.

"Quen," Trent said, clearly alarmed. "He can't go in there, can he?"

I pulled out my phone, then put it away, since Keasley didn't have a phone and Ivy wasn't home to relay a message to them. "He can," I said, remembering how Newt had controlled me while I was on holy ground. "Besides, only the stage and altar are sanctified, remember?" The basilica hadn't been fully sanctified since the Turn to allow Cincy's more important denizens to partake of life's little ceremonies. The altars were still blessed, just not the entryway and the pews.

We all watched Al open the door. Turning, he waved to us, then passed the threshold. The door shut behind them. I waited for something to happen. Nothing did.

"This isn't good," Quen said.

I choked back my burst of laughter, knowing it would come out sounding hysterical. "We... ah, had better get in there before he does something to Ellasbeth," I said, wondering if we might all go out for a beer first. Or a six-pack. In the Bahamas.

Trent rocked into motion an instant before Quen, and with Jenks on my shoulder again, I fell into step beside him. Trent dropped his head for an instant, then pulled it up to me. "You aren't a demon practitioner?" he asked as we took the first steps up.

I put a hand to my stomach, wondering if this day could get any worse. "No, but they seem to practice me."