From behind us an industrial-size horn blew: the city bus trying to get into the pull-off. We were breaking the law by standing here, but who was going to give Trent Kalamack a ticket?

At Trent's gesture, Quen accelerated into the empty lane of traffic caused by the stopped bus. I felt like I'd won a few points, and I took off my glasses before settling into the plush leather to enjoy the cool air shifting the sweat-heavy curls hanging in my eyes. This is nice.

"The idea," Trent drawled, speaking louder than he clearly liked, "was that we'd talk."

"I want to talk to Quen." I turned to the heavily scarred man and smiled. He looked as old as my father would be if he were still alive, his dark skin marked by the damage with which the Turn had left even some Inderlanders. Quen was an elf, too, which made four that I'd ever met. Not bad for a species that was playing extinct. He must have a portion of human genes in him, or the T4 Angel virus that had offed a sizable portion of humanity wouldn't have affected him at all.

Though small, Quen was wiry and powerful, both in ley line magic and martial arts. I'd seen him use a black ley line charm once, though Trent probably didn't know he knew it. Sometimes it was better not to know how the people protecting you did their job.

He was wearing black, his outfit suggesting a uniform, but its design supple enough for ease of motion and comfort. He looked good, in a late-forties way, and if I ever needed a role model, Quen would do nicely. If he hadn't been working for Trent, that is.

"So how you doin'?" I asked Quen, and the usually stoic man let slip a glimmer of a smirk. Trent wouldn't be able to see it from his angle, and I wondered if Quen had a sense of humor I hadn't guessed at.

"I'm fine, Ms. Morgan," he said calmly, his voice as rough as his pockmarked skin. "You're looking…" He hesitated, taking a long glance at me as he slowed in bridge traffic. "What have you done to yourself? You look… glowing with health."

I flushed. He had noticed I'd lost my freckles along with every imperfection my soon-to-be-twenty-five years of living had bestowed on me, an unexpected benefit of shifting forms by way of a demon curse. "It's a long story," I said, not wanting to go into it.

"I'd be interested to hear," he prompted, his rough voice taking on a hint of accusation.

From the back came Trent's calculated sigh. Thinking I'd pushed him enough—and not wanting to continue this conversation with Quen—I pulled a dirt-stained knee up and twisted around so I could see Trent. "Look, Trent," I said dryly. "I know you want me to work security during your wedding, and the answer is no. I appreciate the ride home, but you're nuts if you think that's going to soften me up enough to get stupid. I'm not one of your fawning debutantes—"

"I never said you were," he interrupted. It was a soft protest, as if he liked the fact.

"And I'm not going to be a freaking bridesmaid in your wedding. You couldn't pay me enough." I hesitated, cursing my fate that he always seemed to show up when I needed large sums of money. Is it luck, or does he wait until I'm short? "Ah, it is a paying position, right? I mean, the dresses are generally god-awful, but you usually don't have to pay the bridesmaids to put them on."

Trent reclined in the back of the limo, relaxed and sure of himself, knees crossed and looking like he was at the top of his game. "It would be if you took it."

My jaw ached, and I worked to ease my tension as my thoughts returned to my church and the cost of resanctifying it. Trent had pock-ets so deep he wouldn't blink an eye. It wasn't fair to ask Ivy to shoulder so much of the financial burden when it had been my fault.

A smug smile, thoroughly irritating, came over Trent when he realized I wanted something badly enough to be tempted. This was one of the reasons I was in the front. The elf was a master at reading people, and we were enough alike that he had me down.

"I'm asking you to reconsider," he said, and then, his face losing all its smugness, he said, "Please. I could really use your help on this."

I blinked, scrambling to hide my shock. Please? Since when does Trent say please? Since I'd started treating him like a person? I mused, answering my own question. And why was that? Emotions sinking, I remembered not two months ago begging a suicidal vampire to consider drugs to ease his pain as an alternative to first-death, illegal drugs to which only Trent had access. God! It had been a mere twenty minutes ago that I'd asked Glenn to cover up how those women had died because it would make my life easier.

Ticked at myself, I started to see the reason behind Trent's murder and blackmail. I wasn't saying his methods were justified, just that I understood them. He was lazy like a wish, taking the easy way, not necessarily the lawful, harder way. But asking Glenn to hide information in order to prevent an Inderland power struggle wasn't on a par with killing your head geneticist to keep him from going to the authorities and turning you in. Was it?

Delaying my answer, I took off my T-shirt, the cool air hitting my flush hard as I shoved the soft cotton into my bag to help hide the focus. "Why?" I said flatly. "Quen's better than three of me."

Angular face showing a hint of strain, Trent handed me a returned invitation. I glanced at it, seeing the YES checked and a handwritten note under that saying whoever it was was looking forward to being his best man. "Yeah? So?" I said, handing it back.

"Look at who it's from," he said, extending it over the seats to me again.

Gut tightening, I gaped at the harmless, obscenely expensive linen paper between Trent's sun-darkened fingers. The rumble of going over a railroad track jarred me, and I took it, turning it over for an address. "Oh, crap," I whispered.

"That's nearly what I said," Trent muttered, his gaze on the small businesses and homes we were passing by.

Mouth dry, I looked from Trent to Quen, but they were silent, reading my reaction. Slowly I handed the invitation back. It was from Saladan, and it was dated four weeks ago.

"Lee can't be on this side of the ley lines," I said, then turned the air down.

Trent's fear of demons was well hidden, but clear to me. "Apparently he is," he said wryly.

My head moved back and forth. "He's Al's familiar. He can't be this side of the lines."

"It's his handwriting." Trent tossed the invitation. With a soft hush, it landed on the rich leather where I would have been sitting.

Things started to click, and I stiffened. Okay, now I knew why Trent wanted me not only at the wedding but working up front, standing next to him every single stinking moment. "Oh, hell no," I said loudly. "I'm not standing up at your wedding if there's the chance that Al is going to show up as Lee's guest. I do not deal with demons, I do not like demons, and I won't put myself in a position where I have to defend myself or anyone else against one. No. Absolutely not."

"The wedding and rehearsal dinner are after sunset," Trent was saying, his voice far too calm. "That's where the most risk is. But I'd like you to come to the rehearsal as well, seeing that you're posing as a bridesmaid. The rehearsal and dinner are on Friday."

"This Friday?" I said, scrambling for an excuse. "That's my birthday. No way."

Trent's expression shifted. "You are responsible for Lee's being abducted, Ms. Morgan," he said coldly. "I'm sure the demon has an ulterior motive for allowing Lee to cross the lines for something as frivolous as a wedding. The least you can do is try to get him back."

"A rescue!" I yelped, spinning to see him face-on. "Do you know how hard it is to survive a demon, much less trick one's familiar from him? "

"No," Trent said, his dislike for me coming through very clearly. "Do you?"