“Hot damn!” I whispered, too excited to be disgusted that I had more than Trent’s admission that he had abducted, tortured, and killed another person in the name of…whatever holy mission he thought he was on. “I’ve got to get dressed. I have to go to work.” I put a hand to my snarled hair and hesitated. “Uh, Glenn’s going to let me bring him in, right?”
“Yup.” Jenks hovered an inch from the cool porcelain, wings faintly humming. “He said he’s turning this over to you, seeing as you’re…Just a minute, I want to get this right. He said you’re not a detective person but a smack-them-up-and-bring-them-in person. All he wants is for you to wait until he has the paperwork in his hands. That’s why he’s going up there to get it himself. He’s afraid it will get lost in the fax machine or something.”
I didn’t blame him. Not for one glorious moment. Ecstatic, I headed to the kitchen to see if I needed to make anything. “I’ve got a warrant for Trent for murder,” I said, sliding the last yard or so in my socks to land in the threshold. “I’m going to tag him! I’m going to get him off my back for good! And I don’t have to rescue a demon familiar to do it!”
Jenks was smiling at me. “You are so funny,” he said. “It’s like Christmas for you.”
“Okay,” I said, feeling the blood thrum in me as I found the sun-bright kitchen. The window was open, but still, the faint scent of yew from the forget potion I’d been planning on making for Newt lingered. “Let me think. You going to be around this afternoon, Jenks? I’m going to need your help.”
“Like I would miss this?” He was grinning, looking happy and relaxed.
Beaming, I threw my charm cupboard open and ran my hands through my amulets. I had enough of everything except disguise amulets, but I wouldn’t need them to bring in Cincy’s favorite bad boy. “I have to take a shower,” I said, excited as I limped across the kitchen. “Are you sure Kisten’s okay?”
Jenks landed on the spigot, his fitfully moving wings sending flashes of morning light everywhere. “I expect he’s exactly the way he was when you left him.”
I had to trust that. And he’d be okay now until the sun went down. As Jenks had said, the I.S. was probably watching me and would relay my movements to whoever was looking for Kisten. Actually, that might make tagging Trent more difficult, unless…“Get yourself cleaned up,” I said to Jenks as I headed for the shower. “We have a wedding to go to.”
“What?” Jenks yelped as he followed. “You’re going to arrest Trent at his wedding?”
“Why not?” I halted in the threshold to the bathroom. My hand was on the doorframe, but I didn’t want to shut the door on him. “It’s the only place I’ll be able to tag him without him siccing Quen on me. Not to mention the I.S. bothering me. I am invited.” I felt my expression grow hard. “And Piscary, probably. I’d rather talk to him there than on his own turf.” This was going to work in so many ways. It was perfect.
Jenks’s sigh was loud. “Rachel, you’re cruel.”
“Right,” I said, eyebrows rising. “Like Trent really wants to marry Ellasbeth?”
Shrugging, he darted out of the kitchen, shouting to Matalina if she knew where his good bow was. I got the shower going and stripped, my motions slowing as I found that my hip was sore from Ivy’s chair—and my foot? I prodded the swollen, tender tissue as I waited for the water to warm, thinking I was way too young to get sore from sleeping in a chair. But the water was hot, and when I got into it, it soothed all the aches away. Kist was in hiding, and I could barter for his safety—our safety—once dusk fell. But before that, I would get to pick up Trent at last.
Damn, this was going to be a good day.
THIRTY-THREE
I put a hand out to brace myself against the seat ahead of me as the bus bounced forward through the heavy fog, gears slipping. Taking my car to Trent’s wedding would have been easier, but this was safer when it came to getting pulled over by the I.S. and hauled in for driving with a suspended license. Then there was the little question of the ugly dent someone had put into my front fender, along with breaking the left turn light. It had happened somewhere between yesterday and today, and it ticked me off that it might have been the I.S. trying to up the citations.
I eyed my red nails peeping past the long lace sleeve, thinking the black weave looked nice against my pale skin. My shoulder bag sat beside me, and Jenks was swinging from a ceiling strap, the silver dust sifting from him making a bright spot on the otherwise dim bus. It was crowded, but everyone was giving me loads of room. Smirking, I glanced at my black butt-kicking boots showing past the hem of the delicate silk dress and wondered why.