I shrugged, staring past him at the door and unfolding myself so I didn't look so miserable. "Where do you think Ceri came from?"
His expression empty, Trent glanced at Quen. The dark elf blinked once with meaning. "I'm listening," Trent said warily.
This was where it would get sticky. "I'm going to try to swing a deal with Piscary—"
"Careful," he mocked. "Someone might think your black-and-white outlook is going gray."
"Shut up!" I shouted at the billionaire, feeling the sting. "I'm not breaking the law. I have something he might want, and once he has it, I ought to be able to get rid of Al safely and in such a way that will free Lee. But I want your word that you'll leave me and the people I care about alone. And…" I took a deep breath, feeling like I was becoming one of them. "… I'll leave you and your business dealings alone."
I wanted to survive. I wanted to live. I had been playing in a sandbox with murders and casual killers, with the arrogant innocence of a snowflake in hell. The FIB couldn't protect me. The I.S. wouldn't. Trent could kill me, and I had to respect that even if I didn't respect him. God, who am I becoming?
"You'd stop trying to tag me?" Trent said softly, and then went still in unvoiced thought. His lips parted, and he looked at Quen in wonder. "She has the focus," he said to him, then turned to me, amused. "That's what you're going to give Piscary. You have the focus," he said around his laugh. "I should have known it was you!"
My face went cold, and I felt my stomach drop. Oh, shit.
I stood upright when Quen shifted to stand between us—maneuvering.
"Stop!" I said, my hand outstretched, and he did. Heart pounding, I held him off with my fingers splayed, trying to figure it out. Trent was the one killing the Weres?
"You killed Brett?" I said, seeing him flush. "It was you!" I exclaimed, dropping my hand and flushing in anger. Damn it, what had I almost done? What in hell was wrong with me? This couldn't be happening!
"I didn't kill him. He killed himself," Trent said, his jaw clenched. "Before he could tell me you had it," he finished, hands behind his back.
Quen was balanced with his weight on his toes, his arms loose at his side. As if in a dream, I said to him, "You killed Brett. And Mr. Ray's secretary. And Mrs. Sarong's aide."
Quen's face darkened with guilt, and his muscles tensed.
"You sons of bitches," I whispered, not wanting to believe it, cursing myself for wanting Trent to be better than he was, wanting both of them to be better than murderers and assassins. "I thought you had more honor than this, Quen."
The older elf's jaw clenched.
"We didn't kill them," Trent said, defending himself, and I snorted with derision. "They committed suicide," he insisted, the devil in his perfect suit and perfect hair. "Every last one of them. None of them had to die. They could have told me."
As if it made a difference. "They didn't know I had it!"
Trent took a step forward, finger pointing, and Quen pulled him back. "This is a war, Rachel," the younger man said tightly, shaking off Quen's grip. "There will be casualties."
I stared at him in disbelief. "This is not a war. This is you angling for more power. God, Trent, how much more do you need! Are you so insecure that you have to be king of the freaking world to feel safe?"
I thought of my church and my friends, and I lifted my chin. Yeah, they had killed people, but Ivy was trying to get out, and Jenks had to in order to ensure his and his children's survival. And seeing as I had pretty much sacrificed Lee in order to survive, I couldn't claim I was pristine and pure either. But I'd never killed for money or power—and neither had my friends.
My words hit Trent, and he reddened in shame or guilt. "How much do you want for it?" he said softly.
Shocked, I gaped at him. "You want… to buy it?" I stammered.
Trent licked his lips. "I'm a businessman."
"And a murderer by hobby?" I accused. "Or do you think the tenuous state of your species gives you the right to murder?"
Face showing his guilt and anger, Trent tugged his coat straight. If he had brought out a checkbook, I would have screamed. "Anything, Rachel. Enough to make you safe. You, your mother, Jenks, even Ivy. Enough to have anything you want."
It sounded so easy. But I didn't want to deal with him anymore. Piscary killed people, but he didn't have the concept of pity or remorse. It would be like telling a shark he was a bad fish and to stop eating people. But Trent? He knew he was doing wrong, and he did it anyway.
Trent never dropped my eyes, waiting. I hated him. I hated him to the bottom of my soul. He was attractive and powerful, and I had almost let that cloud my sense of right and wrong. So he could kill me. So what? Did that make it right to cut deals with him to keep myself safe? Why in hell should I trust him to honor to his word? It was like making a deal with a demon or using a demon curse. Both were the easy way out, the lazy way.
I wasn't going to use demon curses. I wasn't going to make deals with demons. I wasn't going to trust Trent to honor his word. He was a casual murderer who put his species above all others. Screw him.
Quen knew what I was thinking, and I saw him tense. Trent, though, wasn't so perceptive. He was a business man, not a warrior. A slimy little businessman. "I'll give you a quarter million for it," Trent said, disgusting me.
My face twisted. "You don't get it, pixy dust," I said. "It would start a war if it got out. I'm giving it to Piscary so he can put it back into hiding."
"He'll kill you once he has it," Trent said quickly, his beautiful voice thick with truth. "Don't be a fool this time. Give it to me. I'll keep you safe. I'm not going to start a war. Just bringing everything into balance."
"Balance?" I stepped forward, stopping when Quen mirrored me.
"Maybe the rest of Inderland likes how things are balanced right now. Maybe it's time for the elves to die out. If they're all like you and Ellasbeth, scrabbling for money and power, maybe you've gone so far from your roots, so far from grace and moral standing, that you're already dead as a species. Dead and gone and good riddance," I mocked while Trent reddened. "If you're the model of what you're going to build your species with, then we don't want you back."
"We were not the ones who abandoned the ever-after to the demons!" Trent shouted, anger pouring from him honest and raw, the source of his drive flowing from him in a wave of frustration. "You left! You left us to fight alone! We made sacrifices while you turned tail and ran! If I'm ruthless, it's because you made me that way!"
Son of a bitch… "You can't blame me for something my ancestors did!"
Trent grimaced. "Ten percent of my portfolio," he said, seething.
Sick bastard. "It's not for sale. Get out."
"Fifteen percent. That's a third of a billion."
"Get the hell out of my church!"
Trent gathered himself as if to speak, then looked at his watch. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he said, his steps loud as he quickly retreated to the piano. Pocketing his gift for Ceri, he asked, "Is it on the premises?"— pretending it was just an idle question.
Damn. I went wire-tight. "Jenks!" I shouted, finding my balance. "Jhan, get your dad!" But he was watching for blue jays, like I'd told him to. Double damn.
Quen was waiting for direction, and sweat broke out over me. Trent brought his head up with what I hoped was regret in his eyes. "Quen," he said softly, "secure Ms. Morgan. We'll talk to Ceri at a later date. Apparently she's not coming today. Do you have a memory potion?"
Oh, God.
"In the car, Sa'han."
It was not a happy voice, and I glanced at Quen, knowing what was going to happen.