My eyebrows rose as he took the ring from me and put it on my pinky. “In a week?” I said dryly, and he chuckled as it fitted cool and perfect about my finger.
“Look. I’ve got one, too,” he said, showing me his hand and a ring twin to mine apart from his being made of bands of gold, not silver, the setting decidedly more masculine. “If anything bad happens to either of us, both pearls turn black.”
“Oh!” He took my hand, and I gazed at our fingers twined together, the rings catching the artificial light to almost glow. It was sort of a help-I’ve-fallen-and-can’t-get-up charm. “Thanks. I love it.” Then I hesitated. “When you say, if anything happens to either of us . . .”
Not looking at me, he shrugged. “It works by way of your aura.”
My lips pressed, and I looked down at our interlaced fingers. So it was jewelry, but it was bling with a bang. “Thanks, Trent,” I said, ignoring that it was a way to know if one of us was assassinated. “I love it.” And I did. It was delicate enough to look good on my slim fingers, so small that most people wouldn’t even notice it. Jenks would, though. The pixy saw everything.
Trent seemed to brighten, but that worry line still crinkled the edges of his eyes. “It only took me a day to make once I found the pearls. That took a good month.” His gaze went to the girls, his focus distant. “They’re from the same oyster. And as unique as you.” Attention returning, he lifted our joined hands and kissed my fingertips. A shiver raced through me, and I felt myself warm. The public show of affection was unusual, but maybe he was making some sort of statement to Ellasbeth, who was clearly not happy.
For a moment, it was just us, surrounded by the bustle of hundreds, but then his hand in mine tightened as their flight was announced over the loudspeaker. Pulling upright, he sent his gaze to Quen. Immediately the older, dark elf began to effortlessly prep the girls, wiping hands and faces, tidying shoelaces, and directing their attention without looking as if he was manipulating them. Crap on toast, he’s good.
“I have to go,” Trent said as he stood.
I rose as well, gut tightening. “It’s only a week,” I said, the sensation of his loss already hard on me as his family bustled to get organized. I felt left out, especially when the girls ran back to the window to look at the plane, their Aunt Rachel forgotten.
Trent set his coffee on the chair’s arm and pulled me close, his hand warm at the small of my back. “I’ve seen what can happen in a week,” he said with a smile, his lips inches from mine and the scent of wine and cinnamon a heady wave. “Call me?”
“You call me,” I said instead, and Trent took my cup and balanced it on the arm of the nearby chair as well before pulling me into a passionate hug that lit through me like fire. It was followed by a restrained but tender kiss that left me aching for more.
“Yes, Madam Demon,” he said playfully as his arms lowered. And then he was gone and I was watching him walk away. Ray held his one hand, Lucy the other. Quen followed behind with Ellasbeth, the woman’s head down as she fumbled in her purse for their tickets. They were the perfect family, and seeing them leave for a week to be surrounded by the over-the-top West Coast elves, I began to worry.
Leaving Cincy to Constance in order to follow Trent and keep Ellasbeth at bay might have been the better choice.
CHAPTER
2
“The wiring is up to code, Rache,” Jenks said as he hovered before me, a faint rasp coming from his dragonfly-like wings. The sun shining in the big, street-grimed front window glowed in his short blond hair and the silver dust spilling from him, making him look far more innocent than he was. Spiderweb coated the garden sword at his hip, and dust dulled his red bandana, worn to convince any pixy whose territory he might stumble into that he wasn’t there poaching. Considering that such an intrusion was grounds for death, it was an appropriate precaution. “Give me a sec, and I’ll check the plumbing.”
“Great,” I said, thinking that with their insatiable curiosity and ability to wiggle through walls, pixies could make a fortune in home inspections—if anyone cared to ask. “See if you can track down the source of that smell while you’re at it.”
“And if it can be removed,” David added, his hands on his hips and duster brushing the floor as he stood with his back to us to watch the light traffic passing outside. His shadow was short on the old oak flooring, but that the sun even made it into the downtown Hollows two-story was somewhat of a miracle.
Beside him, Sharron clasped her notebook like a fig leaf and smiled. “Remember that everything can be fixed except location. And, Rachel, this property has that in spades.”
I nodded as Jenks hummed down the short hall to do a more thorough inspection of the tiny ground-floor restroom. Sharron was the epitome of professionalism in her bright yellow suit dress and her Cincy Realty pin, standing in the middle of the empty thirty-by-forty front room. The real estate agent had been working with us for three months. Anyone else would’ve given up by now, but she was just as perky, just as upbeat as the day I’d called her about a flat on the riverfront. It had rented out before I could get down to see it, but Jenks had a good feeling about the big-haired brunette who’d treated him like a person from the instant she beamed that wide-toothed smile and asked what he was looking for in a new property.
David was actually the one who had tipped us off about the old shopfront. It wasn’t slated to be on the market for a few weeks, but that was exactly why Jenks and I had jumped on it. Everything was selling out from under us as Constance’s people came in.
The narrow, two-story building faced a moderately busy downtown Hollows street. Even better, the downstairs was already zoned for business with living quarters for one upstairs—two if one of them was a pixy. Cars drove slowly past the big plate-glass window, and metered parking kept things moving. The building had old floors and painted metal tile on the ceiling, but I liked how the thick walls cut the noise, and the ornate, heavily carved moldings gave Jenks lots of places to perch. I’d done a quick look at the residual magic of the place the instant we’d crossed the threshold, and it was surprisingly clean, with only a rudimentary circle etched into the kitchen counter. A ley line wasn’t too far away, either.
It was a “charmer,” in Sharron’s Realtor-ese, meaning small. It had “lots of character,” which meant the floor plan made little sense and the fixtures were old. It was also in an “up-and-coming” neighborhood, which Jenks said meant we’d be paying top dollar even though the shops to either side were kind of . . . well . . . dumpy.
“Sharron! Will you turn this on for me? I want to check the water pressure,” Jenks shouted from the second floor, and the woman immediately headed for the stairs. He hadn’t come out of the downstairs bathroom, meaning he’d followed the piping up through the walls.