"May I ask you something?" Ceri asked, her eyes on her empty cup.

I didn't have anything to do until about six, when I would start getting ready for my run, so after putting the top back on Jenks's honey, I pulled a foot up onto my chair and clasped an arm around a knee. "Sure. What?"

A faint hint of pink on her cheeks, she asked, "Did it hurt when Ivy bit you?"

I stiffened, and Jenks—his eyes closed—started mumbling, "No, no, no. Damn vampire made it feel good. Ah, crap, I'm tired."

Swallowing, I met her eyes. "No. Why?"

Her lower lip turned in, and, biting it to look charming, Ceri grew solemn. "You should never be ashamed of loving someone."

My blood pressure spiked. "I'm not," I said defensively.

I was belligerent because I was afraid, but instead of responding with an equal amount of ire, she unexpectedly dropped her eyes. "I'm not finding fault with you," she said softly. "I… envy you. And you need to know that."

My fingers laced about my knee tightened. Me? She envies my screwed-up life?

"You say you don't trust people," Ceri rushed to explain, her vivid green eyes pleading for understanding. "But you do trust. You trust too much. You give everything even when you're afraid. And I envy that. I don't think I could ever love anyone without fear… now."

Jenks hiccupped. "Aw, Ceri. It's okay. I love you."

"Thank you, Jenks," Ceri said, sitting primly in her chair. "But it would never work. Your body is not as big as your heart, and much as I'd like to think I am a soul and mind, I have a body that needs to be satisfied as well."

"The hell I'm not big enough!" he protested, lurching up. Only one wing was working, and it almost knocked him over. "You just ask Matalina." The pixy went pale. "Never mind."

Ceri poured out some tea, the amber liquid gurgling with the sound of contentment to stand at contrast with my unease. I slowly pulled my second knee up to my first. "Jenks, sit down," I murmured when his staggering path toward the honey went off track and he angled for the table's edge. Glad for the distraction, my thoughts drifted to Trent and Ellasbeth's marriage. I was reaching for Jenks when he collapsed into the napkins and pulled one over his head.

Why hadn't I told Trent about Ceri? Or Ceri about Trent? I was a lousy judge of character, but even I could tell that the two seemed made for each other. Trent wasn't that bad. Though he had kept me caged as a mink. And put me in the fights. And tricked me into trying to take Piscary down by myself, though some of that stupidity was my fault.

I pulled another ribbon of pastry from a roll. Trent had treated me with respect the night I'd been his paid bodyguard, then kept me alive during the aftermath. He'd trusted me to take care of Lee on my own instead of killing him like he wanted to. Though if I had let Trent kill his friend, I wouldn't be playing bodyguard at his wedding… probably.

This is a mess, I thought, washing the pastry down with a swallow of cold coffee. Ceri could decide what she wanted to do. And if Trent used her, I'd freaking kill him. And because I was gaining his trust, I could probably get close enough to do it. Which was a terrifying thought.

My heart beat faster, and I wiped my fingers on a napkin. "Ceri?" I said, and she looked up expectantly. Rex was still on her lap, and her fingers were gentling the animal. Taking a steadying breath, I said, "I've got someone I want you to meet."

Her green eyes met mine, and a smile grew. "Who?"

I looked at Jenks, but he was out of it, sleeping under the napkins. "Uh, Trent." My chest clenched, and I prayed I was doing the right thing. "See, he's an elf."

Beaming, Ceri pushed Rex to the floor so she could lean across the table. The cat stalked out of the room, and the scent of wine and cinnamon filled me when Ceri gave me a quick hug. "I know," she said as she leaned back and smiled at me. "Thank you, Rachel."

"You knew?" I said, warm from embarrassment. God, she must think me an insensitive boob, but she settled herself in her chair and smiled as if I had just given her a pony. And a puppy. And then the freaking moon. "Kalamack, right?" I stammered. "We're talking about the same Trent? Why didn't you say anything? "

"You gave me back my soul," she said, her hair drifting. "And with it the chance to redeem my sins. I look to you for guidance. Until you approved of him, it would have caused problems. You made no attempt to hide that you don't like him."

She smiled shyly, and I stared. "You knew he was an elf?" I asked, still not believing it. "How? He doesn't know about you!" At least I don't think he does.

Embarrassed, she pulled her feet up under her to sit cross-legged, looking both wise and innocent. "I saw him in a magazine last winter, but you didn't like him." Her eyes flicked to mine and then back down. "I knew he had hurt you. Keasley told me he controls the Brimstone trade, and, like anything in excess, it's damaging. But, Rachel, how can you condemn all the good for a little bad?" she said, not a hint of pleading in her voice. "It's been illegal for thirty-two years out of five thousand and is a blatant way for humans to try to control Inderland."

When you put it like that, Trent almost sounded respectable. Bothered, I leaned back. "Did Keasley tell you he blackmails people using illegal genetic research? That his Make-A-Wish camps are underground genetic labs where he helps children in order to blackmail their parents?"

"Yes. He also told me that Trent's father cured your blood disease because your father was his friend. Don't you think you owe him a debt of gratitude?"

Whoa. My breath caught, and I felt cold, not about the debt-of-gratitude thing, but that Keasley knew something I hadn't until last solstice. "Keasley told you that? "

Ceri watched me over her teacup. Her head went up and down, nodding sharply.

My worried gaze went to the blue-curtained window above the sink and the sunlit garden beyond. I was going to have to have a talk with Keasley. "Trent's father saved my life," I admitted, bringing my attention back to her. "My dad and his were friends and work partners. And they both died because of it, so I think that rubs out any gratitude I might have." Stupid-ass elf thinks the world owes him everything.

But Ceri only sipped at her tea. "Maybe Trent put you in the rat fights because he blames your father for his father's death."

I took a breath to protest, then slowly let it out. Crap. Is Trent as insecure as the rest of us? Smug, Ceri topped off her cup.

"Didn't you blame him for the loss of your father?" she asked, unnecessarily, I might add.

"Yes," I said, realizing that her putting it in past tense worked. I didn't blame him anymore. Piscary had killed him—in a roundabout way. Somehow. Maybe. And if I was a good little witch and kept Trent's little elf ass above the green, green grass during his wedding, he just might tell me the details. Giving myself a mental shake, I filed that away to think about later. "Do you want to meet him?" I asked tiredly, sounding oh so thrilled at the prospect.

Her remaining ire vanished, and she smiled from across the table. "Yes, please."

Yes, please. As if she needed my okay. "You don't need my permission."

My tone was almost sullen, but she dropped her eyes demurely. "I want it." She set her cup on the saucer with a clink. "I was raised with the expectation that someone would guide me in matters of the heart: a guardian and confidant. My mother and father are deceased. My kin has been diluted by time. You rescued my body, freed my soul. You are my Sa'han."

I straightened in my chair as if ice had washed over me. "Whoa! Wait up, Ceri. I'm not your guardian. You don't need one. You're your own person!" Is she nuts?