Wild elven magic coursed through my mind, electricity tasting of wine and music sparkling to my fingertips. The usual welcoming hum was a screeching din, and my stomach gave a heave when a wave of dizziness hit me, evidence of an unbalanced line. I was in a freaking ley line! Bring Trent to me! I wailed, promising the goddess that Trent didn’t believe in everything and anything.

He needs you more than you need him tinkled through me, alien and wild, and I was shoved out of the line.

Arms flailing, I skidded on a white tiled floor. It shimmered under a cold electric light, and my nose wrinkled at the bitter bite of brimstone mixed with the acidic stench of burnt amber. I stood from my crouch, turning from the bank of electronic equipment and lab benches lining both the three sides and a short peninsula of the room to look behind me toward the muffled sound of crying babies. A glass wall stretched from waist height to the ceiling, showing what looked like a hospital nursery, complete with rolling bassinets and young women in uniforms tending them. There was no door. The women looked okay, and I wondered if they knew where they were or if they were borrowed familiars.

“Trent?” I whispered, glad that Ku’Sox hadn’t felt me arrive. He had to be here somewhere. Stupid rings. I hated wild magic. It wasn’t that there were no rules. I just didn’t understand them.

My heart pounded when the familiar sound of a pen hitting the floor and a chair rolling joined the humming of machinery and Trent rolled backward out from behind the peninsula of shoulder-high machines. Shocked, he stared at me.

He was haggard, wearing a lab coat over his expensive slacks and linen pinstripe shirt as if it was a uniform. His usual tie was absent. Red-rimmed and haunted, his eyes blinked numbly at me. His hair was mussed, and his posture as he sat in that chair gave the impression of his insides caving in. He looked as if he’d been gone a year, not four hours. “What are you doing here?” he rasped, the music entirely gone from his voice. “Are you crazy?”

He needs you more than you need him echoed in my memory. “Maybe.” I held up my hand with the pinkie ring on it. “I’m trying to get your ass back to reality. I thought we had some sort of understanding.” Understanding. That wasn’t like an agreement—which had definite expectations. Understanding was more nebulous, more dangerous. What was I doing, trusting Trent with an understanding?