For a Few Demons More(57)

“I need that unpredictability,” he continued, as if I hadn’t said anything.

Agitated, I focused on him. “Forty thousand for a night of unpredictability is expensive.”

His face shifted, and with sly delight he echoed, “Forty thousand?”

I cringed inside as I told him my price, then decided to go with it. “Or whatever it takes to get my church resanctified,” I countered.

Trent took his eyes from me for the first time, sending his gaze up the length of the steeple, squinting at it. “Your church lost its sanctification? What happened?”

I took a breath, backing up on the landing. “We had an incident,” I said sharply. “I gave you my terms. Take it and leave, or just leave.”

Eyes gleaming, Trent countered, “I’ll pay five thousand if all three functions are incident-free, and forty thousand if you’re required to intervene.”

“Fine, I’ll do it,” I muttered, glancing across the street. “Just get your elf ass off my walk before I change my mind.”

Then I froze, shocked when Trent lightly ascended the steps between us, the relief and genuine appreciation turning him from a successful, confident businessman into a normal, everyday guy, a little worried and unsure of his future. “Thank you, Rachel,” he said while handing me the garment bags. “Jonathan will call when she finally chooses a dress.”

The garment bags settled over my arm with the scent of perfume. Crap, they were made from silk, and I wondered what the dresses looked like. I felt odd having Trent thank me. He wasn’t moving, though, and I prompted, “Well, good-bye.”

He hesitated, eyeing me as he found the sidewalk. He went to say something, then turned away. Quen had the door for him, and, his steps quick despite the heat, Trent headed for the limo and slid in with a practiced grace. Quen gently shut the door. Watching me, he went to the front of the car and got in. Guilt pricked at me. Was I doing Ceri an injustice by not introducing her to Trent? I didn’t want him using her, but she could take care of herself, and, if nothing more, she could find others of her kind. Trent probably had a Christmas card list.

I exhaled in relief when they pulled from the curb and accelerated down the street. “Thank God,” I muttered, then frowned. I was going to be in Trent’s wedding. Swell.

I turned to the door, and Ivy’s voice echoed out. “That’s not what your ad says!” she exclaimed, shortly followed by Jenks’s voice, too faint to understand.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” an unfamiliar masculine voice protested, becoming louder. “I don’t have the equipment or skill to fix it.”

I hesitated, hand on the latch. The man had sounded embarrassed. The door swung open, and I jumped back, stumbling to catch my balance. A young man almost walked right into me, jerking to a halt at the last moment. His clean-shaven face reddened, and the purple sash of his faith draped around his neck and flowing down his front looked funny with his jeans and the casual polo shirt embroidered with his business name. An expensive-looking cell phone was clipped to his belt, and he carried a locked toolbox.

“Excuse me,” he said in annoyance. Jiggling on his feet, he tried to get around me. I took a step to get into his way, and his eyes rose to meet mine.

Ivy was glowering behind him, Jenks hovering at head height with his wings clattering in anger. Her eyebrows went up when she saw the silk garment bags, then, catching her thought, she said dryly, “Rachel, this is Dr. Williams. He says he can’t resanctify the church. Dr. Williams, this is my partner, Rachel Morgan.”

Almost hiding his irritation, the man moved his toolbox to his left hand and extended his right. I shifted my garment bags and shook it. I felt a rise of stored ley line energy try to slip between us to equal out our balances, and I snatched the force back before it could make the jump. God, how embarrassing.

“Hi,” I said, thinking he looked cute and had a nice grip. The heady scent of redwood flowed from him, stronger than I’d winded in a long time. He was a witch, and an educated one, and when his brown eyes widened, I knew he knew I was the same. “What’s the problem?” I said, letting go of his hand. “If it’s the financing, I just took care of it. I can have cash for you by Monday next.”

It felt damn good saying that, but Jenks dropped three inches and groaned, and Ivy glanced at the garment bags in understanding. “Rachel, you didn’t…” she said, and I flushed.

“I’m working a wedding and a reception,” I said tightly. “How bad could it be?” Really bad. Really, really bad.