Pale Demon (27 page)

“Inside already,” I said, and Trent ran his card and held the door open for me.

Jenks darted in, and I followed, eager to see what a penthouse suite looked like. Nice. I think the word would be “nice.” Or really nice. I’d go as far as friggin’ nice.

“Wow,” I whispered, stopping somewhere in the middle of what I’d probably call a living room, arranged with two couches facing each other, a coffee table in between decorated with stuff to make it homey and inviting. To my right was a small kitchen, a bar with three stools making a pleasant place to eat if the small table in it wasn’t enough. There were fruit and cold cuts laid out, and bread—fresh, by the smell of it. I think the maid had baked it in the oven while she tidied the place.

Looking past the living room, I could see a second living room with a bank of windows. It was on a platform and looked more plush and comfortable. There was a huge TV between the two rooms that seemed to rotate on a swivel. A wet bar took up one side of the upper living room, and it all looked out on a spectacular view of the bay. I hadn’t realized we were up so high in the hills, and though it was still foggy, I could see the tops of the bridge poking through. A room with a view—of Alcatraz.

Trent dropped his small satchel on the coffee table. “This is pleasant,” he said, gaze darting to the closed doors off the raised living room, which had to be the bedrooms, not closets. “Better than roadside hotels, anyway.”

I would have gotten angry with him, but he was smiling, probably remembering that nasty shower I’d dragged him out of, and I couldn’t help but wonder what the bathroom here was like. I was betting nice.

Trailing a silver dust, Jenks buzzed out of one room and tucked under the door of another. Ivy’s faint shout to leave filtered in, and Jenks darted back into the living room. In an instant, he was at the windows, checking things out. At least we knew where Ivy was.

“I’d just about kill for a shower,” I said as the trolley rattled in, Pierce holding the door for it. His eyes widened upon seeing the room, and he stumbled out of the bellhop’s way.

In a burst of noise, Ivy’s door was flung open. The bellhop’s spiel faltered as she strode forward, grabbed her bag, and then vanished behind her door again. I flopped onto the couch with my back to the window, my gaze going to the second bedroom. I’d be willing to bet Trent would claim it even if he wasn’t going to be here tonight—off doing his little elf-quest…thing.

“She’s a little cranky,” Jenks said, distracting the bellhop, who looked more than a bit startled as he turned from hanging my garment bag in the front closet.

“Dialing zero will get you the front desk,” the bellhop started again, glancing from Trent to Pierce and then to me, clearly trying to match us up before attempting to move any more luggage. Trent’s bag was headed in with Ivy until Trent cleared his throat and—sure enough—claimed the second room with little more than a nod.

“I guess I’ve got a couch,” I said, and the bellhop simply emptied the trolley and left the luggage in the entryway. Jenks was still checking the place out, and Pierce had joined him, whistling when he found the bathroom, next to the kitchen.

“Will there be anything else, Mr. Kalamack?” the bellhop was asking when Trent bodily took him by the elbow and delicately propelled him to the door.

“Privacy,” Trent said, leaving him at the door and going back for the trolley. “No deliveries. Leave them at the desk. No turn-down service. No incoming calls, except from me. A table for dinner would be pleasant, say about ten. Family style if at all convenient. Chef’s choice. Heavy on the vegetables. No deep-fried anything. It’s been a long trip.”

“Yes, sir,” the man was saying, now in the hall with the trolley. “Thank you, sir!” he added when Trent handed him a folded bill. “Welcome home, Mr. Kalamack.”

Smiling and nodding, Trent shut the door in his face. He waited until the faint sound of the trolley creaking away came through the door, and then he sighed, his shoulders slumping for all of three seconds before he pulled them back up.

I could hear Pierce trying out the faucets in the bathroom, and I smiled as I draped my arms across the top of the couch. “This is nice.”

Trent flashed me a look. Picking up his smaller bag, he headed for his room. “Excuse me,” he said, and I would have been hurt but for the reminder that though I could relax for a while, his
quest
was just starting. He’d given himself three seconds to relax. That was it. Three.

From the bathroom, Pierce said, “You could wash a cow in here.”

“Look, Rache,” Jenks said from the windows behind me. “You can see that bridge they’re always yammering about. Huh, it’s not that big. The one Nick drove off is way bigger. Hey! Look! There’s an island.”

Oh, great. The fog had lifted. “Alcatraz?” I said, turning to see, but he’d darted to my bag, landing on it with his hands on his hips, wings moving so fast I couldn’t see them. My shoulder hurt from yesterday, and I gingerly felt it. I had a pain amulet in my luggage, but it wouldn’t work here. Maybe they had aspirin in the lobby.

“I gotta get changed,” Jenks said as he slipped into the pocket that had been designated as his. “Trent wanted to leave, like, five minutes ago.”

Pierce came out of the bathroom, immediately going into the kitchen and opening the cupboards to see what there was. In a burst of silver dust, Jenks popped from my bag. “You going to be okay here with Mr. Adventure?”

My gaze slid to Pierce, then back to Jenks. “Go have fun. Don’t let him kill you, ’kay?”

Jenks nodded, then tossed his head to get his long, curly hair out of his eyes. In a flash of dust, he had darted into Trent’s bedroom with a wad of clothes. I hadn’t seen him this excited about a run since Matalina died, and it was depressing in a happy way.

I wasn’t too keen on Jenks leaving. Every time he did, I got into trouble. That everyone would think Trent was still in the room might buy me some time—as long as I didn’t leave, either. But there were worse places to be a prisoner. The hair on the back of my neck prickled, and I stood, my gaze drawn to the window and the newly exposed bay.

Yep, there it was. I stood for a moment, twenty feet back from the window, and just looked at the dark blob that was Alcatraz.

The small clink of Pierce at the wet bar caught my attention, and I moseyed over to the kitchen. A little sandwich of overpriced crackers and cheese would wake up my appetite, and I made four of them. “Oh, this is ’ood,” I said around my full mouth, salivating as the salt and bite of the cheese hit the sides. “Pierce, you’ve got to try the white cheese. It’s sharp.”

Pierce gave me a noncommittal
mmm,
and I headed for Trent’s room with my napkin of goodies. I didn’t know where Trent wanted to be dropped. If I left it up to Al, he might leave them on top of the needle—the outside of the needle.

Trent’s door wasn’t shut, and I tapped on it with my knuckle. “Trent?”

I heard a buzz of pixy wings, and then Trent’s distant “Come in.”

It had come from somewhere deeper in the room, and after brushing the cracker crumbs off, I pushed open the door. “Hey, Trent. Where do you…Wow, this is nice.”

If the living room and kitchen were well appointed, the bedroom was opulent, with more pillows on the bed than we had in the entire church. Wallpaper and metal appliqués disguised the retrofit for the earthquakes, and I’d be willing to bet the canopy over the bed was sturdy enough to handle more than dust. I ate another cracker sandwich, wondering where Trent was until I heard him talking to Jenks from a room off this one.

“Trent?” I called, not wanting to walk in on him in his skivvies.

“In here.”

Having that as an invitation, I crossed the room, feeling the deeper carpet and noticing the lack of even a hint of an echo. It felt nice in here. The first room I peeked into was an office, but the second was clearly a bathroom. “You decent?” I asked, hesitating at the door.

“Depends on who you ask.”

Rolling my eyes, I stepped over the threshold, my toes edging the tile work. Trent didn’t look up from where he was standing over a sink, leaning toward the mirror to apply something to his face. He’d changed out of his jeans, and I hesitated, drinking him in with my eyes.
Damn.

He was in a skintight black two-piece of spandex and cotton. Not only that, but he was wearing it extremely well, and I stood for a moment and just appreciated what he usually hid behind his suit and tie, all lean muscle and long lines. His fair hair was slicked back, and the slightly darker color and flat look changed his entire appearance, making him look less professional boardroom and more professional bad boy. A utility belt rested on the counter, holding what were probably thief tools.

Hovering at his eye level and rubbing a dark smear under his eyes was Jenks. The two of them looked remarkably alike—once you dismissed the wings and size difference. Seeing him unaware, I could appreciate how slim Trent was, athletic, with just enough muscle in all the right places. A runner’s body. I tried to keep my eyes where they belonged—then gave up, letting my eyes linger where they would—then warmed when my eyes rose to find Trent watching me in amusement in the mirror.

His smile shifted as he recognized my appreciation, the slight movement of his body an invitation to look more. God, he was teasing me, and flushing, I took my eyes off him.
Ellasbeth, your name is fool.

“What is that you’re putting on your face?” I asked to try to move the nonverbal communication away from how good Trent looked and how smug he was that I’d noticed. It smelled like cut grass in here—clean, refreshing, and carrying the bite of chlorophyll. I didn’t think it was the toilet-bowl cleaner.

Pulling back from the mirror, Trent capped a bottle and jauntily tossed it to me. I had to move fast, almost dropping my last two cracker sandwiches as I snagged it one-handed. My shoulder gave a twinge as I caught it. “It covers my scent,” he said, and I set my napkin down so I could open it. I gave the nondescript white stuff a good sniff to verify that this was where the cut-grass smell was coming from. My shoulders eased as the scent slipped into me, reminding me of summer.
All this, and he smells good, too.

“You don’t stink,” I said as I dabbed a bit of it on the back of my hand, and from nowhere, the question flitted through me of what he had wanted to be when he grew up.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” His voice was light, teasing, and I stayed where I was as he reached for the jeans he’d had on earlier, his motions becoming tauntingly slow as he put one foot in, then the other. “I suppose I should have said it will mask any smell I’ll pick up in the ever-after,” he added, turning to give me a sideways view as he zipped up his pants.

The familiar sound hit me, and I jerked my gaze away, pretending to be looking at the flat-screen TV they had in here. Okay, so he’d been wearing a lot less just a moment ago, and I’d seen him just about naked in the shower, but something about seeing a guy hike up a pair of jeans followed by that distinctive sound of a zipper was so…very intimate. And the worst part? It was obvious he knew he was pushing my buttons.

Knowing it as well, Jenks sighed at me and continued arranging his hair. His long blond ringlets were oiled back just like Trent’s, and I wondered if there was some kind of hero-worship thing going on. Frowning, I set the bottle down. Trent was putting on his casual shirt over his skintight top, and I didn’t dare look at him as he got dressed, but his reflection caught my eye as he stretched, showing every lanky inch of himself. Damn it, seeing him getting dressed was almost more tantalizing than seeing him getting undressed might be.

“You look great,” I said, unable to stop myself. “You should wear thief more often.”

“How do you know I don’t?” Trent teased as he sat on a bench that was in here and began to put his shoes on. No laces. Slip on, slip off. Easy. The casual clothes over a black outfit, the scent-disguising salve, shoes too soft for any real use…it added up to a break-and-take. Sure, Trent had the look and the talk, but could he walk the walk? “Ah, Trent…,” I started, arms crossed as I leaned into the wall.

Trent looked up from his shoes. “Don’t worry. I’ve practiced this.”

“Nothing in that belt pack is lethal, right?” I persisted, wanting to go look. “Not that I care,” I said when he eyed me. “But if you’re caught, lethal usually gets you put in jail.”

Smiling faintly, he stood up and looked at himself. “And if it looks like a harmless prank, they let you go. I got that part. Thanks.” He buttoned another button to hide the black shirt underneath. “If they catch me, I’ll be dead, not in jail.”

I pushed away from the door frame. “Whoa! Hold on a sec. I told Quen I’d watch you. Just what are the risks here?”

Jenks clattered his wings, but I couldn’t tell by his worried expression if this was something he’d known about before or not.

“Quen puts the odds of my being successful at eleven percent,” Trent said, not meeting my eyes. “But with Jenks, I think it’s much better than that.”

“Eleven percent?” I echoed. The same odds Quen had had of surviving that experimental treatment last year, the same odds that Trent didn’t believe were really possible.

“My risk, not yours,” Trent said as he draped the utility belt around his slim waist and fastened it. I could tell he was nervous somewhere under that facade of calm he had developed in the boardroom. “It’s an elf quest, right?” he said, forcing a chuckle. “You’re not responsible for me once I hit Seattle. Quen knows that. I’ve already notified him. What happens to me from here on out is not your problem.”

But I’d gotten him here, and I couldn’t help but feel responsible for…whatever he was doing.
What was he doing?
I licked my lips and lowered my arms, trying to play the “I don’t care” game. “You’re serious about the dead thing?” I couldn’t help but ask.

He didn’t answer, and Jenks remained silent as he sat on the TV’s remote, his knees almost to his ears. I grimaced, realizing that Jenks had already slipped into backup mode. He never said much when I was on a run with him, either. He wasn’t wearing a scrap of red, and it worried me. Damn it, if Trent came back and Jenks didn’t…I’d make him suffer. If I did nothing else in this world, I’d make him suffer bad.