More than a little irate, I unmuted the stereo and headed back into the kitchen, Steppenwolf's "Magic Carpet Ride" trying its best to lighten my mood.

It was the hint of a draft, the barest scent of wet pavement, that made my step hesitate and the palm streaking out at me past the archway to the kitchen miss my jaw.

"God bless it!" I swore as I dove past it into the kitchen instead of falling back into the cramped hall. Remembering Jenks's kids, I tapped the ley line out back but did nothing else as I fell into a defensive crouch between the sink and the island counter. I almost choked when I saw whom it was standing by the archway.

"Quen?" I stammered, not getting out of my stance as the lightly wrinkled, athletic man stared at me with no expression. The head of Trent's security was dressed entirely in black, his tight-fitting body stocking looking vaguely like a uniform. "What in hell are you doing?" I said. "I ought to call the I.S., you know that? And have them haul your ass out of my kitchen for illegal entry! If Trent wants to see me, he can come down here just like anyone else. I'll tell him he can suck dishwater, but he ought to have the decency to let me do it in person!"

Quen shook his head. "I have a problem, but I don't think you can handle it."

I made an ugly face at him. "Don't test me, Quen," I all but snarled. "You'll fail."

"We'll see."

That was all the warning I got as the man pushed off the wall, headed right for me.

Gasping, I dove past him instead of backward the way I wanted. Quen lived and breathed security. Backing away would only get me caught. Heart pounding, I grabbed my dented copper spell pot with white frosting in it and swung.

Quen caught it, yanking me forward. Adrenaline hurt my head as I let it go, and he tossed it aside. It made a harsh bong and spun into the hallway.

I snatched the coffeemaker and threw it. The appliance jerked back at its cord, and the carafe fell to shatter on the floor. He dodged, his green eyes peeved when they met mine, as if wondering what in hell I was doing. But if he got a grip on me, I was a goner. I had a cupboard of charms in arm's reach, but no time to invoke even one.

He gathered himself to jump, and remembering how he had evaded Piscary with incredible leaps, I went for my dissolution vat. Teeth gritted in effort, I tipped it over.

Quen cried out in disgust as ten gallons of saltwater cascaded over the floor to mix with the coffee and glass shards. Arms pinwheeling, he slipped.

I levered myself onto the island counter, stepping on frosted cookies and knocking over vials of colored sugar. Crouched to avoid the hanging utensils, I jumped feet first as he rose.

My feet hit him squarely in the chest and we both went down.

Where was everyone? I thought as my hip took the fall and I grunted in pain. I was making enough noise to wake the un-dead. But as such commotion was more common than silence these days, Ivy and Jenks would probably ignore it and hope it went away.

Slipping, I skittered from Quen. Hands reaching unseeing, I scrabbled for my paint ball gun kept purposely at crawling height. I yanked it out. Nested copper pots rolled noisily.

"Enough!" I shouted, arms stiff as I sat on my butt in salt-water, aiming at him. It was loaded with water-filled splat balls for practice, but he didn't know that. "What do you want?"

Quen hesitated, water making darker smears on his black pants. His eye twitched.

Adrenaline surged. He was going to risk it.

Instinct and practice with Ivy made me squeeze the trigger as he leapt onto the table to land like a cat. I tracked him, squeezing out every last splat ball.

His expression went affronted as he pulled himself to a crouching halt, his attention jerking from me to the six new splatters on his skintight shirt. Crap. I'd missed him once. Jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed in anger. "Water?" he said. "You load your spell gun with water?"

"Ain't you just lucky for that?" I snapped. "What do you want?" He shook his head, and my breath hissed in as I felt a dropping sensation in me. He was tapping the line out back.

Panic jerked me to my feet, and I flung my hair out of my eyes. From his vantage point on the table, Quen straightened to his full height, his hands moving as he whispered Latin.

"Like hell you will!" I shouted, throwing my splat gun at him. He ducked, and I snatched up whatever I could to throw it at him, desperate to keep him from finishing the charm.

Quen dodged the butter tub of frosting. It thunked into the wall to make a green smear. Grabbing the cookie tin, I ran around the counter, swinging it like a board. He dove off the table to avoid it, cursing at me. Cookies and red-hot candies went everywhere.

I followed him, grabbing him about the knees to bring us both down in a sodden splat. He twisted in my grip until his livid green eyes met mine. Hands scrabbling, I shoved salt-water soggy cookies into his mouth so he couldn't verbally invoke a charm.

He spit them at me, his deeply tanned, pockmarked face vehement. "You little canicula—" he managed, and I jammed some more into him.

His teeth closed on my finger, and I shrieked, jerking back. "You bit me!" I shouted, incensed. My fist swung, but he rolled to his feet, crashing into the chairs.

Panting, he stood. He was soaked, covered in water and sparkles of colored sugar. Growling an unheard word, he leapt.

I lurched upright to flee. Pain lanced through my scalp as he grabbed my hair and spun me around into an embrace, my back to his chest. One arm went chokingly around my neck. The other slipped between my legs, yanking me up onto one foot.

Furious, I elbowed him in the gut with my free arm. "Get your hands…" I grunted, hopping backward on one foot, "off my hair!" I reached the wall, and smashed him into it. His breath exploded out as I jabbed his ribs, and his grip around my neck fell away.

I spun to stiff-arm his jaw, but he was gone. I was staring at the yellow wall. Shrieking, I went down, my legs pulled out from under me. His weight landed on me, pinning me to the wet floor with my arms over my head.

"I win," he panted as he straddled me, his green eyes from under his short hair wild.

I struggled to no effect, ticked that it was going to be something as stupid as body mass that decided this. "You forgot something, Quen," I snarled. "I have fifty-seven roommates."

His lightly wrinkled brow furrowed.

Taking a huge breath, I whistled. Quen's eyes widened. Grunting in effort, I jerked my right hand free and slammed the heel of my hand at his nose.

He jerked back out of the way and I pushed him off me, rolling. Still on my hands and knees, I flipped my wet stringy hair out of the way.

Quen had gained his feet, but he wasn't moving. He was standing stock-still, cookie-smeared palms raised above his head in a gesture of acquiescence. Jenks was hovering before him, the sword he kept to fight off encroaching fairies aimed at Quen's right eye. The pixy looked pissed, dust spilling from him to make a steady sunbeam from him to the floor.

"Breathe," Jenks threatened. "Blink. Just give me a reason, you bloody freak of nature."

I stumbled upright as Ivy dove into the room, moving faster than I would have believed possible. Robe loose and flowing, she grabbed Quen by the throat.

The lights flickered and the hanging utensils swung as she slammed him into the wall beside the doorway. "What are you doing here?" she snarled, her knuckles white with pressure. Jenks had moved with Quen, his sword still touching the man's eye.

"Wait!" I exclaimed, worried they might kill him. Not that I'd mind, but then there'd be I.S. personnel in my kitchen, and paperwork. Lots of paperwork. "Slow down," I soothed.

My eyes flicked to Ivy, still holding Quen. There was frosting on my hand, and I wiped it off on my damp jeans as I caught my breath. Saltwater marked me and I had cookie crumbs and sugar in my hair. The kitchen looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy had exploded. I squinted at the purple frosting on the ceiling. When had that happened?