My attention went to Al. He was a vision of upright elegance in his black tux, standing with his back to me before the two-way mirror. The demon was breathing heavily on the glass to mist it up, using a gloved finger to scribe ley line symbols I couldn't understand. I didn't want to imagine the fear of the men and women watching behind the glass.

Al turned, beaming over his round smoked glasses. "Rachel Mariana Morgan," he drawled, his accent proving that despite looking like Lee, he was all Algaliarept. "Watching you cuff Trenton was extre-e-e-emely entertaining. What will you do for your next trick?"

Glowering beside Mrs. Sarong, Mr. Ray grumbled, "Pull a flaming bunny out of her ass, maybe?"

Quen stifled a smirk, and I came forward, boots clunking and dress furling. Jenks left me for the overhead lights in a soft hum. Only Quen and Al watched him go, the rest clueless as to how much of a threat he was up there. The gown made me feel stupid, but everyone was overdressed. I tried to get Ivy's attention as I stood at the table a few chairs down, with Trent between me and Al. She never looked up, her gaze fixed on the nothing and her face peacefully blank. Skimmer let her hatred show, and I ignored the sophisticated, pretty, blond vamp.

I set the package and my shoulder bag on the table, pushing them together as I gathered my thoughts. "Thanks for meeting me here, Piscary," I said, forcing my hand off my aching upper arm. "You are the foulest thing I've ever seen, but I hope we can come to some agreement." God, I'm such a hypocrite.

Piscary smiled while petting Ivy's hand, and when Al took a breath to say something, I turned. "Shut up," I demanded, and he huffed, though I could tell he thought it all a big joke. "You're here as witnesses. All of you. That's it."

There was a nervous shifting of position from everyone but Quen, and, satisfied, I touched my stuff on the table and tried not to think about my full bladder. "Okay," I said, and Trent smiled mockingly at my nervousness. "As you all probably figured out, I still have the focus."

Mr. Ray stiffened, and Mrs. Sarong's grip on his wrist tightened.

"I've got the focus," I continued when he settled back. "And all of you want it." I sent my gaze to my right. "Trent, I imagine you want it for a power play, seeing as you offered me an insane amount of money for it." And killed three Weres, but why bring that up?

"We double his offer," Mrs. Sarong said crisply, and Trent laughed outright, bitter and mocking. It was a new side to him, and it wasn't attractive. The woman turned scarlet, and Mr. Ray hunched over, looking uncomfortable.

"It's not for sale," I said, before anyone else could interrupt, then turned to Piscary. "Piscary, you want me dead for obvious reasons," I added. "And so does Trent, probably, by now."

"Don't forget me, love," Al said, turning his back on the mirror. "I just want you for an hour. One hour and this would all go away."

Jenks clattered his wings in warning, and I steadied myself. "No," I said, though my stomach was starting to hurt. An hour with him would become an eternity.

Mr. Ray himself tugged out from under Mrs. Sarong's grip. "Give it to me or I'll hunt you down like an animal and take it." Then the man jumped, and Mrs. Sarong's smile made me speculate about what she had done to him under the table. Gold pixy dust sifted down to put the Were in a temporary sunbeam, and Mr. Ray looked up in surprise, clearly having forgotten about Jenks.

Wondering if he had just been pixed, I stifled a smirk. "Yes," I said dryly. "I know. Which is why I'm talking to Piscary, not you."

There was a heartbeat of silence, and Mr. Ray surged to his feet. "No!" he bellowed, his round face flashing red. "You sorry little whippet. You can't give it to that undead bast—"

His words cut off when Quen put a hand on his shoulder and shoved him down. "Close your mouth," Quen said. "Listen before you draw your battle lines, lest you alienate your allies."

Oh, that sounds just peachy damn keen. But at least it was quiet. Shifting my weight to my other foot, I glanced at Al—who was starting to match Mrs. Sarong in terms of pissed-off-ness, to Trent, who was clearly thinking furiously, and finally to Piscary. The undead vamp was smiling like the benevolent god he believed he was. A honey-hued hand sat atop the pale purity of Ivy's, and I imagined he thought I was going to barter the focus for her and Kisten. I wanted to, but Keasley was right. She had to escape him on her own, or she would never be free of him.

"I'll give it to Piscary," I said as sweat trickled down my spine. "But I want something."

All eyes were on me. Piscary's smile widened. He slipped an arm behind Ivy and pulled her gently close. There was barely a flicker behind her brown eyes. "Ivy is mine," he said.

My breath shook as I exhaled. "Ivy belongs to herself. I want you to rescind the blood gift you made of Kisten, take him back into your camarilla, and give me protection from yourself and those yahoos," I said as I tossed my head to indicate everyone else in the room. "I also want my church back, and the freedom to pursue my business interests without interference."

Trent stiffened. Quen uncrossed his arms and took a more balanced stance. Al turned completely around from where he'd been scribing more ley line symbols on the two-way mirror. Piscary blinked in surprise. "Kisten?" he murmured in question. "You want… Kisten?"

"Yes, I want Kisten back under your protection," I said belligerently. "Will you rescind his blood gift or not? "

Piscary made a small sound of surprised consideration. Then, as if shifting his thoughts, he said, "You would have to restrain from persecuting me, of course."

"That's not fair," Al protested indignantly. "I'm trying to get Cincinnati's gambling and protection, and that gives you an unfair advantage. I want a witch on my payroll, too."

I gritted my teeth. I will not put myself on Piscary's payroll. I will not. "I can work on that," I said to Piscary. "It depends upon how much you tick me off."

The small man in his traditional Egyptian robes steepled his fingers in consideration. "You want me to rescind my gift of Kisten, take him back into my graces, grant you protection from all of them," he said with an elegant gesture, "and have me still be subject to your unique sense of moral outrage?"

Al's shoes clicked smartly, and everyone tensed as he came to the table. Clearly enjoying everyone's unease at his approach, Al sat with a provocative motion at the head of the table. "I'll say it again, Rachel Mariana Morgan. You're not shy about asking for things."

I wished he'd stop using all my names. "Look," I said, seeing Edden relax now that the demon was sitting. "I know what the focus is, what it does, and that it works. I've got it, and I won't give it away for nothing." My gaze slid to Trent's. "And money doesn't keep me alive."

"I can keep you alive," he said, his gray voice confident, though Edden stood behind him to cart him off to a cell if he couldn't make bail. "You underestimate me if you think I can't."

I grimaced as I remembered him offering me an island to get me out of the city and under his thumb. I still didn't know why. Maybe because he'd known that my blood could kindle demon magic? But he was afraid of black magic. It didn't add up.

"Thanks, but no," I said tightly. "I'd rather deal with the undead." Mrs. Sarong was looking at my shoulder bag as if she might snatch it, and I pulled it closer. "The focus will cause more turmoil than the Turn. I can't destroy it without twisting demon magic, and despite what you all think, I avoid it when I can." I took a deep breath, turning to Piscary. "I'm assuming you will keep it hidden and on this side of the lines so the Weres don't overthrow vampire superiority?" I asked, and he nodded, the light glistening on his shaven scalp.