"Sure. I'll hitch with Glenn or the dogs. No problem."

"Good." I glanced at Captain Edden as he approached. "Tell me what happens, okay?"

"Gotcha. Hey, for what's it's worth, I'm sorry. You gotta learn to keep your mouth shut and your fingers to yourself. See you later."

This coming from a pixy? "I didn't touch anything," I said, peeved, but he had already flitted back to Glenn's temporary office, leaving a head-high trail of dust to slowly dissipate.

Edden spared me a single glance as he passed me. Frowning, I followed him, yanking my door open. The car started, and I got in and slammed the door shut. Belt latched, I draped my arm on the open window and stared at the empty pasture.

"What's the matter?" I said nastily. "Glenn kick you out, too?"

"No." Edden shifted the car into reverse. "I need to talk to you."

"Sure," I said, for lack of anything better. A frustrated sigh slipped from me, catching as my gaze fell upon Quen. He stood unmoving in the shade of the old oak. There was no expression on his face. He must had heard my entire conversation with Glenn concerning Trent. A chill went through me, and I wondered if I had just put myself on Quen's "special people" list.

Green eyes fixed to me with a shocking intensity, Quen reached up to a low branch and swung himself up with the ease of picking a flower, disappearing into the old oak as if he had never existed.

Twenty-Two

Edden swung the car into the church's tiny weed-choked parking lot. He hadn't said much on the way back, his white knuckles and red neck telling me what he thought of the free-flow stream of consciousness that I had been spewing forth ever since he confessed the reason why he was playing chauffeur for me.

Shortly after finding the body, word had come over the radio that I was to be "removed from the FIB payroll." Seems it got out that a witch was helping them and the I.S. called foul. I might have been able to swing it if Glenn had cared to explain that I was merely a consultant, but he hadn't said a word, apparently still sulking over me contaminating his precious crime scene. That there wouldn't even be a crime scene if it hadn't been for me didn't seem to mean anything.

Slamming the car into park, Edden stared out the front window and waited for me to get out. I had to give him credit. It's not easy to sit and listen while someone compares your son to squid suckers and bat guano in the same breath.

Shoulders slumping, I didn't move. If I got out, it would mean it was over, and I didn't want it to be. Besides, keeping up a tirade for twenty minutes is tiring, and I probably owed him an apology if nothing else. My arm hung out the car's open window, and I could hear a piano playing some elaborate complicated thing that composers made up to show off their dexterity rather than any artistic expression. I took a breath. "If I could just talk to Trent—"

"No."

"Can I at least listen to the tape of his interview?"

"No."

I rubbed my temples, an escaped curl tickling my cheek. "How does anyone expect me to do my job if they won't let me do it?"

"It's not your job anymore," Edden said. The hint of anger pulled my head up. I followed his gaze to the pixy children sliding down the steeple on the tiny squares of wax paper I had cut for them yesterday. Neck stiff, Edden shifted in his seat to take his wallet from a back pocket. Flipping it open, he handed me some bills. "I was told to pay you in cash. Don't claim it on your taxes," he said flatly.

My lips pressed together and I snatched it, counting the money. Pay me in cash? Out of the captain's pocket? Someone had fallen deep into "cover your ass" mode. My stomach tightened as I realized it was far less than what we had agreed upon. I'd been almost a week on this. "And you'll get me the rest later, right?" I asked as I shoved it into my bag.

"Management won't pay for Dr. Anders's canceled class," he said, not looking at me.

Stiffed again. Not looking forward to telling Ivy I was short with my rent, I opened the door and got out. If I didn't know better, I'd say the piano was coming from the church. "Tell you what, Edden." I slammed the door shut. "Don't call me again."

"Grow up, Rachel," he said, jerking me back around. His round face was tight as he leaned across the seat to talk to me through the window. "If it had been me, I would have arrested you and given you to the I.S. to play with. He told you to wait, and you stepped all over his authority."

Fingers pulling the strap of my bag higher up my shoulder, my scowl faltered. I hadn't thought about it like that.

"Look," he said, seeing my sudden understanding. "I don't want to break our working relationship. Maybe when things cool off, we can try this again. I'll get the rest of the money to you somehow."

"Yeah. Sure." I straightened, my beliefs in the asinine, knee-jerk reactions of upper management reinforced, but maybe I owed Glenn an apology.

"Rachel?"

Yup. I owed Glenn an apology. I turned to Edden, a depressed, frustrated sigh shifting through me. "Tell Glenn I'm sorry," I muttered. Before he could respond, I sent my heels clacking on the cracked sidewalk and up the wide stone steps. For a moment there was silence. Then the car's fan belt whined as Edden backed up and drove away. The music was coming from inside. Still upset about my missing rent, I yanked open the heavy door and went in.

Ivy must be home. My frustration with Edden died with the chance to finally talk to her. I wanted to tell her that nothing had changed and she was still my friend—if she'd have me for one. Turning down the offer to be her scion might be an insurmountable insult in the vamp world. I didn't think so, though. What little I had seen of her showed guilt, not anger.

"Ivy?" I called cautiously.

The piano cut off in mid-chord. "Rachel?" Ivy responded from the sanctuary. There was a worrisome hint of alarm in her voice. Damn, she was going to run. Then my eyebrows rose. That wasn't a recording. We had a piano?

Shrugging out of my coat, I hung it up and went into the sanctuary, blinking at the sudden light. We had a piano. We had a beautiful, black, baby grand piano sitting in an amber and green sunbeam coming in through the stain-glassed windows. Its top was propped up to show its insides, the wires gleaming and the stops all velvety smooth.

"When did you get the piano?" I asked, seeing her poised and ready to run. Double damn. If she would just slow down enough to listen.

My shoulders eased as she took up a chamois cloth and started rubbing the gleaming wood. She was wearing jeans and a casual top, and I felt terribly overdressed in my dress suit. "Today," she said as she dusted wood that needed no dusting. Maybe if I didn't say anything about what had happened, we could get back to the way things were. Ignoring a problem was a perfectly acceptable way to deal with it, as long as both people agree to never bring it up again.

"You didn't have to stop because of me," I said, scrambling to say something before she found a reason to leave.

She edged around to polish the back as I went to hit middle C.

Ivy straightened, her eyes slipping shut and her dust cloth stopping. "Middle C," she said as peace slackened her pale oval face.

I chose another, holding the key down to listen to it echo among the rafters. It sounded wonderful in the open, hard-walled space. Especially since the exercise mats were gone.

"F-sharp," she whispered, and I hit two at a time. "C and D-sharp," she said, opening her eyes. "That's an awful combination."

I smiled, relieved when she met my gaze. "I didn't know you could play," I said, hitching my bag up higher on my shoulder.

"My mother made me take lessons."