The soft sound of a linen envelope against silk caught my attention, and I sat up as he extended an envelope he'd taken from an inner pocket of his suit. I looked at it like the snake it was. I'd gotten envelopes from him before. Slowly I leaned forward. My fingers didn't shake at all as I pulled the unsealed flap open and removed a heavyweight trifolded paper. Silently I scanned it, finding a casually worded, but probably more-serious-than-a-heart-attack contract that said I would work for Kalamack Industries and only Kalamack Industries. Forever. God, what was wrong with the man? Did he think everyone put money before morals like he did?

I dropped my hand to dangle the paper inches from the dirty tile. "I just said I wasn't going to work a job for you," I said softly, too tired of his games to be mad. "What makes you think I'll sign this? Be your witch? What happened to Dr. Anders? I've seen your retirement plan, Trent. Is she pushing up rare orchids in your gardens?"

Irritation furrowed his brow as he stooped to take the paper. Immediately I let go of it, and the sheet slid under my chair and out of his easy reach. Trent pulled back, peeved. "Dr. Anders is busy in the labs," he said.

"You mean she's too old to kick ass."

A smile showed, real and unexpected. "I prefer to say she is sedentary."

My focus blurred, my expression slipping into disgust and anger, not at Trent, but at myself for having mishandled the last year or so to the point where I was shunned and broke, living through the grace of my friends. "Trent..."

He leaned back against the desk, but I couldn't tell if his worry was real or contrived. "You're in trouble, and you don't even know it."

My thoughts went to the pin in my bag. Uncomfortable, I glanced out the open door, not wanting the office to hear this, but not wanting to be shut in a room with him either. If you only knew the half of it... "I'm sitting in an FIB office while my partner posts my bail," I said tightly. "I think I know I'm in trouble."

"I'm talking about the coven of moral and ethical standards," he said, and I couldn't help my start. "We had lunch. Rachel, I swear I didn't tell them what you are. They already knew."

The fear turned into a solid lump and fell to my gut. What I am? "You slimy little toad!" I whispered as I stood. Trent was on his feet in an instant, but he didn't back up. "You told them!" I exclaimed softly, hands in fists. "You told the coven I could invoke demon magic!" No wonder they were trying to snag me! Snag me, hell, they were going to freaking kill me!

The noise from the nearby offices filtered in. His eyes fixed on mine, chilling me. "I wasn't about to lie to them," he said stiffly. "They already knew. And yes, I confirmed that you were a witch-born demon and that your children will be demons able to exist on this side of the ley lines. They knew my father made you, too. I don't understand it." He frowned, clearly more worried about himself than me.

"You little bastard," I growled. "I never told anyone what you are."

"Because if you do, you die," he said, his chin raised and his color high. I could smell the scent of cinnamon and wine as his temperature rose. It wasn't as if Trent's being an elf was that great a secret anyway, but still he clung to it. Sort of like I clung to being just a witch when logic told me I wasn't.

"They're going to take you, Rachel," Trent said. "Dissect you to find out what makes you different. Unless... "

His eyes flicked to the paper under my chair. "I become your slave?" I said bitterly.

"Sign the paper, Rachel," he said dryly. "I lied for you. I told them I could control you, destroy you if necessary. It's the only reason they didn't murder you outright."

Oh. My. God. "Excuse me?" I said, furious. "You told them you can control me?"

Trent shrugged. "They're understandably uncomfortable with a demon running around this side of the ley lines."

"I am not a demon, you little cookie maker," I nearly hissed. "I'm a witch. And your dad didn't create me. He only made it possible for me to survive what I'd been born with."

His eyes narrowed. "A mistake that I'm honor bound to do my utmost to contain."

"Oh really!" My boot heels clunked as I moved until only feet separated us, my hands on my hips. "You want to contain me? Is that a threat, Kalamack?"

Trent arched his eyebrows and backed up a step. "I'm trying to help you, though now I can't see why. You have a way out of this. Sign the paper. Become my legal responsibility. The coven will stop trying to give you a lobotomy. I might even get your shunning revoked."

I was shaking, overwhelmed. I didn't believe him—I couldn't. He had turned my own people on me because he knew they were the only ones who had the finesse to bring me down.

"You planned this, didn't you?" I accused softly, very aware that a room full of FIB officers was just out of earshot. "You told them what I'm capable of so they'd come after me; then you hold out your little safety net thinking I'd fall right into it. Playing both of us against each other so you can't lose. God, Trent, Ceri was right. You are a demon."

Jaw clenched, Trent went to push the door shut. I leapt into motion and got in front of it, and Trent pulled back, stymied. "I didn't tell them," he said, so close I could smell his aftershave. "But if you own me in the ever-after, I'm going to own you here."

My mouth dropped open. "Those are words on a paper! I made you my familiar to get your ass out of there, that's it! Have I ever once even hinted at using you? Have I done the charm to forge a link between us? No! And I'm not going to!"

"But you could," he said, and for an instant, I saw fear flicker under his anger.

Disgusted, I crossed my arms over my chest. "I should have let you rot there, that's what I should have done, you ungrateful snot. Do you have any idea what I put up with from Big Al every week so you can sit at home and watch TV instead of playing blow-up doll to a demon?"

Stone faced, Trent looked at me, his tan pale and the hem of his slacks shaking. "I will not be owned, Rachel," he said softly. "Not even on paper. And never by a demon!"

I took a breath, exhaling when the sound of pixy wings broke the tense silence. Trent retreated, his head down as he calmed himself. The familiar cadence of Ivy's boots sounded over the ringing of a single phone, and I retreated deeper into Glenn's office.

"Rache!" Jenks shouted, his high voice coming clearly as he rounded the door ahead of Ivy. The pixy stopped short, hovering at head height, his wings flashing red with anger as he saw Trent tugging his cuffs down. "Holy crap, Rache," he exclaimed, coming in to buzz irritating circles around me. "What did you get greenie weenie for this time? Bowling in black socks?"

Trent gave us a dry look, eyes going to Ivy when she halted in the doorway. Glenn was behind her, and the man had to push to get past her, anxious to be back in his office and head off the coming interspecies incident. His jaw was clenched, but what had he really expected? Trent and I didn't like each other and we argued. A lot.

Even as angry as I was, I watched the swift exchange between Ivy and Glenn, wondering if the tension in the room was solely because of me, or if there was an undercurrent of a secret not shared. Ivy's irritation could easily be a cloak to hide guilt, and Glenn was equally hard to read when he was in his hard-assed FIB detective mode.

I wouldn't hold out my hand for Jenks to land, so the pixy alighted on my shoulder instead, coating my sticky jacket in a fading glitter of dust. He was dressed for the chill spring weather, his wife, Matalina, finally having perfected pixy winter wear that gave him both freedom of movement and protection against the cold that might send him into hibernation and possible death. The tight black silk, red bandanna, and wooden-handled sword about his middle made the four-inch man look like a mix of theater and inner-city gang member.