For a Few Demons More(203)

The ringing of the doorbell cut through my mournful musings, and I started. “I’ll get it,” I said, pushing from the pool table and heading for the door. I had to do something, or I was going to make myself cry.

“It’s probably Ceri,” Jenks said from my shoulder. “You’d better hurry. Cake and rain don’t go together very well.”

I couldn’t help my smile, but it froze and broke to nothing when I yanked open the door and found Quen standing there, his Beemer running at the curb. Anger rose at the reminder of the murdered Weres. I knew too many people in the morgue. I didn’t want to live my life like that. Trent was a slimy, murdering bastard. Quen should be ashamed to work for him.

“Hi, Quen,” I said, putting an arm up to block his entrance. “Who invited you?”

Quen took a step back, clearly shocked at seeing me. His gaze went behind me to the party, then returned. He cleared his throat, tapping the legal-size envelope he had against his hand. The rain seemed to glisten on his shoulders, but he was completely unaffected by it. “I didn’t know you were having a get-together. If I can talk to Jenks a moment, I’ll go,” he said. His gaze lingered on my head, and when he smiled, I snatched Ceri’s hat off.

“What, not going to hang around for cake?” I snapped, snatching at the envelope. I’d take his money. Then buy a lawyer to put him in jail with Trent, currently out on bail.

Quen jerked the envelope out of my reach, his face creasing in bother. “This isn’t yours.”

Pixy kids were starting to gather around the doorframe, and Jenks made an ear-piercing chirp. “Hi, Quen, is that mine?” he said as his kids scattered, laughing.

The elf nodded, and I cocked my hip, not believing this. “You’re going to stiff me again?” I exclaimed.

“Mr. Kalamack isn’t paying you for arresting him,” Quen said stiffly.

“I kept him breathing, didn’t I?”

At that, Quen lost his ire, chuckling as he touched his chin and rocked back on his heels. “You have a lot of nerve, Morgan.”

“It’s what keeps me alive,” I said sourly, starting when I found Rex at the foot of the belfry stairway, staring at me. God! Creepy little cat.

“Do tell.” He hesitated, looking past me before he brought his attention back. “Jenks, I’ve got your paperwork.” He went to hand the envelope to him, then hesitated again. I could see why. The envelope was three times Jenks’s weight if it was an ounce.

“Just give it to Rache,” Jenks said, landing on my shoulder, and I smugly held out my hand for it. “Ivy’s got a safe we can put it into.”

Quen sourly handed it over, and, curious, I opened it up. It wasn’t money. It was a deed. It had our address on it. And Jenks’s name.

“You bought the church?” I stammered, and the pixy darted off my shoulder, literally glowing. “Jenks, you bought the church?”

Jenks grinned, the dust slipping from him a clear silver. “Yup,” he said proudly. “After Piscary tried to evict us, I couldn’t risk you two lunkers losing it in a poker game or something.”

I stared at the paper. Jenks owned the church? “Where did you get the money?”

In a flash of vampire incense, Ivy was beside me. She pulled the paper from my slack fingers, eyes wide.

Quen shifted his weight, his shoes gently scuffing. “Good evening, Jenks,” he said, his voice carrying a new respect. “Working with you was enlightening.”

“Whoa, wait up,” I demanded. “Where did you get the money for this?”

Jenks grinned. “Rent is due on the first, Rache. Not the second, or the third, or the first Friday of the month. And I expect you to pay to get it resanctified.”

Quen slipped down the steps with hardly a sound. Ceri was coming up the walk, and the two passed with wary, cautious words. She had a covered plate in her hands: the cake, presumably. She glanced back once as she rose up the stairs, and I moved so she could come in. Ivy, though, was too struck to move.

“You outbid me?” Ivy shouted, and Ceri slipped between us and into the sanctuary, Rex twining around her feet. “That was you I was bidding against? I thought it was my mother!”

The click of Quen’s car door opening was lost in the hush of rain, and Jenks still hadn’t answered me. Quen glanced at me across the top of his car before he got in and drove away. “Damn it, pixy!” I shouted. “You’d better start talking! Where did you get the money?”

“I…uh, pulled a job with Quen,” he said hesitantly.

The masculine murmur of Keasley and David rose, and I shut the door against the damp night. Jenks had said “job,” not “run.” There was a difference. “What kind of job?” I asked warily.