Slowly my pulse eased. Before me, large racks held old clocks, locked metal boxes with faded index cards, and slatted crates. One side of the room held a huge chest freezer. Actually the entire room looked a lot like Nick’s basement in a much higher tax bracket. If I was lucky, there wasn’t a camera. I thought of the demons at their table, able to see me with their own second sight but unable to cross over, and I shivered. The Coffee Vault, indeed. At least I’d never be trapped in the ever-after again.

Spinning to the wall behind me, I found the thin lines of a door and the expected keypad. “Come on in, guys,” I whispered, and hit the green button.

There was the hum of machinery, and I backed up. The two panels slid apart like the doors in a science-fiction movie to show Ivy, Nick, and Jenks, hovering with brow furrowed. “Rache?” Jenks questioned.

“We’ll talk about it later,” I said, and Ivy bumped Nick when he bent to pick up his stuff. Scowling, he caught himself and followed her in, immediately plugging his card into the panel.

“Cameras?” Ivy asked, scanning the room, and when negative wing chirps came from both Jenks and Jax, she went to the canvas display. “So this is Trent’s basement,” Ivy said as she started leafing through the hanging canvases, arranged like posters in a pagelike display. Nick made a satisfied grunt and pulled the card from the reader.

“We’re good,” he said, his gaze fixing on the picture Ivy had turned to. “That’s it,” he said, eyes eager as Ivy paused at a really small painting. It was hardly a foot by a foot, showing a dark background of snowy mountains and a castle, the foreground taken up by a satisfied-looking young man in a red robe and funny hat, fur around his collar and three downy feathers in his lapel. That the man looked like Trent was almost anticlimactic.

“That’s it?” Jenks said, landing on my shoulder as we eyed it. “It’s not very big.”

“Kinda ugly, too,” I said, getting a funny feeling about this. I didn’t want to say this was too easy, seeing as I’d used a door neither a witch nor a demon could open, but everything was going too well.

Nick was spreading a black silk cloth on the coffin-size freezer. “It’s not the size, Jenks, it’s how you use it,” he said, smirking. “It doesn’t need to be big if it looks like Trent.”

Well, it did look like Trent. Jenks wasn’t laughing, his hands on his hips as he moved out of the way while Ivy took the picture to Nick. “It stinks. Almost as bad as you, Rache,” he accused.

“I smell?” I said, flushing.