Chapter Twenty-three
The twenty-four-piece band Ellasbeth had hired was taking a break, leaving the muted intensity of a single classical guitar as a pleasant background to the self-congratulatory conversation at the far end of the table. Having long since lost my upright posture, I had an elbow on the pristine linen tablecloth, my fingers rolling the stem of my wineglass back and forth, wondering if I could bill Trent for the forty thousand even if Al didn't do anything.
The rehearsal dinner had been way over the top. I could have lived for a week on what had been put in front of me, and the waste bothered me. But that paled in comparison to my discomfort during the dinner conversation. Ellasbeth had shoved me, Quen, and Al as far from herself as she could. I was sure if she could have gotten away with it, the prickly woman would have put us in a different room. Al had earned his spot because of fear, I out of spite, and Quen to keep an eye on both of us.
Everyone at our end of the table was long gone; the ring bearer and his parents, the three flower girls and their folks, the ushers, and the woman who was going to sing were all laughing in a fawning circle about Ellasbeth. Trent was sitting by her. He looked tired. Maybe he should have taken more interest in the wedding arrangements and made sure that some of his friends were invited to balance out Ellasbeth's. Maybe he didn't have any friends.
Right now Al's chair was vacant, he having excused himself to go to the little boys' room. Quen had gone with him, and I didn't have anything to do until they returned. I thought the idea of a demon using the facilities was odd, and I wondered if Al was a living being and used to it, or if going to the can was a new and exciting experience.
Jenks had spent the evening in the chandelier avoiding Mrs. Withon. I found myself hoping he might pix Ellasbeth so we could leave. Tired, I raised my glass and sipped my wine. I was going to pay for it tomorrow, but damn, it was one of the best red wines I'd ever tasted. I would've looked at the label, but I knew it was far out of my reach, even without the allergies.
My gaze slid to Ellasbeth, and I rolled the possibility around in my thoughts that she knew I was allergic to it and had served it intentionally. As if feeling my gaze, she turned to me, smug as she chatted with her friends. Her face shifted expression for an instant when I heard Al's voice in the hallway. The demon in Lee's body came in laughing with the band trailing behind him, and I worried until I saw Quen with him. From the chandelier came Jenks's soft wing chirp, letting me know he had seen them.
Quen met my eyes, and I relaxed, taking another sip of wine and setting it out of my reach. It had surprised me how easy it was to work with the elf. We complemented each other, seeming to have found a comfortable body language that usually took me several runs with a person to develop. I wasn't sure if that was good or not.
The band settled themselves - picking up seamlessly with soft forties jazz when the guitar ended - and I clapped with the rest when a woman in a sequined gown started singing "What's New?" I slumped back, then started when I felt someone's hand on my chair.
Heart in my throat, I spun, my alarm falling into self-disgust. It was Lee, or Al rather, and his normal-looking brown eyes glittered in amusement. Pulse still fast, I sent my gaze to Quen. The older man smiled, seemingly enjoying that I had been surprised.
"What do you want?" I said, shoving Al's gloved hand off the back of my chair.
His gaze lifted to touch upon the small dance floor as Trent and Ellasbeth moved to it. Great. They were dancing. I'd be here all night.
Smiling like... well, the devil, Al gestured as if inviting me to dance. My breath puffed out of me and I crossed my knees. "Right." No way was I going to dance with Al.
Lee's striking Asian features melted into a smile. "You have something better to do? I have a proposition concerning that nasty mark of mine you're wearing."
My heart gave a pound, then settled. I felt every muscle tighten. Getting rid of my demon marks was high on my to-do list. But I was sure whatever he had in mind wouldn't do me any favors. Still, talking to Al here was better than doing this on the bus ride home, or my kitchen, or my bedroom if he decided to follow me. I glanced up to Jenks in the chandelier, and the pixy shrugged, his wings a dull orange. "Why the hell not," I muttered, standing up.
"That's the spirit!" Al dropped back a step to elegantly offer his arm.
I thought about my splat gun, then left it in my bag under the table. No need to put it in Al's reach. "Jenks is up there," I said, edging past Al to reach the dance floor without his help. "You do anything funny and he'll pix you."
"Oh, I'm shivering in my little silk boxers," Al scoffed.
"You've never been pixed," I said, and a frown crossed his brow, making my guess that he couldn't go misty to avoid pain and discomfort seem likely. My feet were on the parquet floor, and he put out his hand, waiting for me to take it.
Suddenly I realized I was standing face-to-face with a demon - and he wanted to dance. O-o-okay, I thought, thinking my life couldn't get any more chancy. Al huffed impatiently, and I slid my hand onto his. The white cotton of his glove was soft, and I stifled a shudder when his free hand went to my waist. If he tried to get rid of the air between us, I was going to slug him.
"There," he said, when my hand lightly touched him and he shifted us into motion. "Isn't this nice? Ceri danced very well. I miss that."
Nice? It was as nerve-racking as all hell. My pulse was pounding, and I was glad he had on the gloves, not only because I didn't want to touch him but because I was starting to sweat. He had said something about getting rid of my mark, though, so I'd listen. "What - " I croaked, then cleared my throat, embarrassed. "What do you want?"
"This is a rare opportunity," Al said, smiling at me with Lee's beautiful teeth. "How often does one have the chance to dance with her savior amid the glitter of elves?"
I sighed in impatience. At least I told myself it was impatience. The reality was, I was starting to get a little light-headed from not breathing. "I'm out here for one reason only," I said, moving stiffly with him in time with the music. "And if you don't start talking, I'm going back to arranging the sugar packets."
Al's hand tightened on mine, and he shifted my weight. I hobbled when he spiraled me out to a swoop of music. Tense and gasping, he yanked me back, and I hit him, a puff of burnt amber assailing me. I pushed, but he had me close. Eyes wide, I tensed to stomp on his foot, but my muscles went weak when he whispered, "I know you have the focus."
His breath moved my hair, and this time when I struggled, his grip loosened. Pulse hammering, I put air between us. His hand on mine pinched, and, conscious of people watching, I put my hand back atop his waist.
"I can smell it on you," he murmured. "Demon magic, older than you, older than me. It marked your hand where you grasped it. It stains everything you touch, a trail that the knowing can follow like the dusting of prints."
I swallowed, moving woodenly to the slow jazz. "I'm not giving it to you," I said, hardly breathing. If I did, it'd be on the streets by sunrise. "You kill me and you'll lose your lease on Lee's body and have to go back. You hurt me and Newt will put you in a bottle. Let go of me."
Charm flowed from Al, looking wrong coming from Lee's body. "Yes. Let's do that," he said, his voice wispy with distraction. "Let's call Newt. She will show up right here and put me in a bottle. You'd like that, wouldn't you? "
I fought to not twist my fingers from him, but I knew he wasn't going to call my bluff. He was scared of her, too. Besides, I didn't know how to call her. I'd have to go through Minias, and I knew he wouldn't agree to it, whether he owed me a favor or not.
"I want something," he whispered, his eyes finding mine. "And I'll pay you well for it, but it's not the focus. Wouldn't you like that? To be free of my mark? To be free of me?"
I stared at him as we danced. He wanted something from me? Not the focus? Feeling ill, I moved my hand to his shoulder. My unfocused gaze on Ellasbeth and Trent shifted as Al turned us. I felt disconnected, short of breath. Al leaned in, and I did nothing, numb.
"I don't want the focus," he breathed, his words ruffling my hair, "but since you brought it up, you are in a spot of trouble." He hesitated, coming even closer. "I can help you there."
Jerked out of my thoughts, I pulled back. His gloved fingers gripped harder, and his eyes were stern with the warning to stay where I was. "I don't think you can keep it a secret much longer," he cautioned, "And, you aren't strong enough to hold it on your own once the world knows you have it. What will you do, silly girl?"
"Don't call me that," I said, then went cold as I put it together. He didn't want anyone knowing I had it? Damn. He was the one killing the Weres.
Alarmed, my eyes widened and I twisted my hand, only to have his grip tighten until it hurt. "You're killing Weres to keep it quiet that I've got it?" I said, my dance movements going stiff. "You killed Mr. Ray's secretary and Mrs. Sarong's accountant to warn them off?"
Throwing back his head, Al laughed. Eyes were on us, but as in high school, where the football star gets away with whatever he wants, no one intervened, frightened.
"No," Al said, confidence flowing from him as he reveled in the power he had simply by what he was. "I'm not killing them to protect you. That is delightful. I know who is, though. If they should find it, they would have no qualms about killing you for it. And that would really piss me off."
My first impetus to get away from him faltered. "You know who's killing the Weres?"
As he moved us to the music, he nodded. His black bangs had fallen before his eyes, and I could tell it was bothering him, but he wouldn't let go of me. I didn't think he liked Lee's hair, and I wondered how long it would be until he invested some kitchen time in making a curse to change his looks.
"Do you want to know who?" he said, tossing his head to clear his vision. "I'll tell you. For an hour of your time."
First my mark, and now the name of the murderer? "An hour of my time," I said, imagining how that hour might go. "Thanks, but no," I said dryly. "I'll figure it out for myself."
"In time to do anything about the next death?" he mocked. "Is a life worth sixty minutes of your time? "
Tensing, I glared. "I won't feel guilty for that," I said. "And why do you care?"