Trent thought for all of three seconds. "Sylvia, if we might have the room?"

I stood, smug, as the room emptied with soft murmurs of apologies given and reassurances offered.

"Jon," he added as Sylvia headed out, "see that we are not disturbed."

Sylvia hesitated by the open door, then vanished into the hallway to leave the door open. The older man's craggy face went pale. He was being gotten rid of, and he knew it.

"Sa'han," he started, cutting it short when Trent's eyes narrowed. What a sissy-pants.

Jon's thin, long hands clenched as he shot me a look and left. The door shut softly behind him, and I turned to Trent, ready to blast him. I wasn't about to air Ceri's dirty laundry where it might get into the tabloids, but now, I could really say what I thought.

"I can't believe you knocked Ceri up. God, Trent! You are unbelievable!" I said, gesturing. "She is just starting to rebuild herself. She doesn't need this emotional crap!"

Trent glanced at Quen. The security officer had taken a wide-footed stance before the closed door, his arms loose at his sides and his face lacking emotion. Seeing his nonchalance, Trent stepped back onto the stage and began sifting through the charms. "None of this is your business, Morgan."

"It became my business when you romanced information from my friend, knocked her up, then asked me to do something you're afraid to," I said, taking offense at his cavalier attitude.

Trent bent over the metallic ley line charms as he watched me through the mirror. "And what have I asked you to do?" he said, his voice rising and falling like a gust of rain.

My blood pressure spiked, and I stepped forward, halting when Quen cleared his throat. "You are despicable," I said. "You know the chances that I'd go into the ever-after to help Ceri are a hundred times better than me going to help you. I'd hate you for that if nothing else. How cowardly is that? Manipulating someone into doing something you're afraid to do yourself. A stinking coward, not willing to help your kin except for when you're safe and secure in your little underground labs. You're a mouse burger."

Trent straightened, surprised. "Mouse burger?"

"Mouse burger," I stated again, arms crossed and hip cocked. "A weenie little man with the courage of a mouse."

A faint smile quirked the corner of his lips. "That sounds funny coming from a woman who dated a rat."

"He wasn't a rat when we dated," I shot back, face flaming.

Trent's attention went to his image in the mirror, and he pulled the pin on the ley line charm to invoke it. A shimmer flared through his aura, making it visible for an instant as the illusion took over. I snorted; Trent now looked like he had gained twenty pounds of muscle, his coat seeming to bulge with the illusion. "I didn't ask for your help with retrieving a sample of elven tissue," he said, turning sideways to see himself and frowning at the result.

Behind me, Quen shifted uneasily. It was a small motion, but it rang through me like a gunshot. The request for help could have been Quen acting on his own. He'd done so before.

"Well, Quen did, then," I said, knowing I was right when Trent's attention flicked to the security officer through the mirror.

"Apparently," Trent said dryly. "But I didn't." Grimacing, he felt his face. It looked like he'd been pumping iron, bulgy and ugly. "I don't need your help. I will go into the ever-after myself and retrieve the sample. Ceri's child will be healthy."

I couldn't stop my laugh at the mental image of Trent standing in the ever-after, and the man reddened. Relaxing, I slumped into one of the cushy chairs by the wine and cheese and sat with my feet spread wide. "I can see why you came to me," I said to Quen. "You think you can handle the ever-after?" This was directed at Trent. "You wouldn't last a minute. Not a freaking minute." I eyed the cheese. I hadn't eaten anything since this morning, and my mouth started to water at the sharp scent. "The wind might muss up your hair," I said lightly.

Quen stepped from the door. "So you'll go in his stead?"

Reaching for a cracker, I hesitated until Trent grimaced. But he hadn't said I couldn't have it, so I snapped the cracker in two and ate half. "No."

Looking like a steroid poster boy, Trent frowned at Quen. "Morgan doesn't need to be involved in this." His gaze went to me. "Rachel. Leave."

As if I ever do anything he tells me to do?

Trent's fingers sifted through a display of amulets, choosing one that added eight inches to his height. The fake bulk thinned a little, but not much. I could feel the tension rise as I stayed where I was. Quen would have to work to get me out of here, and I knew he'd rather wait until I was ready. "Lowlife Romeo," I said, taking another cracker and adding a piece of cheese. "Slime of the earth. I knew you were a murderer, but knocking up Ceri and abandoning her? That's pathetic, Trent. Even for you."

At that, Trent turned. "I did nothing of the kind," he said, his voice rising. "She is getting the finest care. Her child will have every opportunity."

I smiled. It wasn't often I could get him to lose his professional edge and act his age. He wasn't much older than me, but he got precious little chance to enjoy his wealthy youth.

"I'll bet," I said, egging him on. "Who are you trying to be here?" I asked, gesturing to the charms. "Frankenstein's monster?"

His neck went red, and Trent took off the height and weight charms. "You're embarrassing yourself, not me," he said, once again his usual size and shape. "I offered to move her into my compound. I offered to put her anywhere she liked from the Alps to Zimbabwe. She chose to stay with Mr. Bairn, and whereas I might object—"

"Bairn?" I gasped, jerking upright, my fake indolence vanishing. "You mean Keasley?" I stared into Trent's mocking green eyes. "Leon Bairn? But he's dead!"

Trent was positively smug. Showing me his back, he rifled through a rack of earth charms and watched his hair shift color. "And whereas I might otherwise object—"

"Bairn did the investigation on your parents' deaths," I interrupted, thoughts scrambling. "And my dad's." Bairn is supposed to be dead. Why is he across the road pretending to be a kind old man named Keasley? And how did Trent know who he was?

His hair now an authoritative gray, Trent frowned. "And whereas I might otherwise object," he tried again, "Quen assures me that between Bairn and two pixies—"

"Two!" I blurted. "Jih took a husband?"

"Damn it, Rachel, will you shut up?"

My attention fixed on him, and I hesitated. Trent's face was longer, kind of creepy. He had the bulking-up charm on again, but with the extra height, the roundness had been lost. I blinked at him, then closed my mouth. Trent was giving me information. That didn't happen very often. Maybe I should shut up.

I forced myself to recline in the chair, pantomiming zipping my mouth shut. But my foot was jiggling. Trent watched it for a moment, then turned to the mirror.

"Quen assures me that Ceridwen is as safe in that nasty little hole of a house as she would be with me. She's agreed to receive medical attention at my expense, and if she's lacking anything, it's because she has stubbornly refused to accept it."

The last was said rather dryly, and I couldn't help my rueful smile as Trent studied his reflection, clearly not pleased with what he saw. I understood completely. Though mild mannered most times, when Ceri set her mind to something, she was quietly adamant, then aggressively so if she didn't get her way. She had been born into royalty, and I had a feeling that apart from having to be submissive to Al when she was his familiar, she had pretty much ruled the rest of his household. Until her mind had broken and she lost the will to do anything at all.

Trent was watching me when I met his gaze, clearly bewildered at my fond smile. Shrugging, I ate another cracker. "What are her chances for a healthy baby?" I asked, wondering how guilty I was going to have to feel about my refusal to go into the ever-after.