I shifted her weight, not wanting to put her down and risk her trying to touch one. “That’s right,” I said as I headed for the church. “Bis is napping. Let’s go call your abba.” Oh God. Quen. Trent had been fond of Ceri, but Quen had loved her with the depth reserved for one who thought he’d never love at all. For once, I was glad he was injured and unable to do magic. If he had been otherwise, he’d likely be dead by now, too, having pitted himself against Ku’Sox.

“Abba!” Lucy crowed, wiggling in delight before she went still in thought. “Cookie?” she added hopefully, and my eyes filled as Lucy patted the dandelion fluff tattoo on my neck.

The sun was shining and I was home, but the reality of what had happened was falling on me anew. Ceri had died protecting Lucy. I’d make sure that Lucy knew that when she was older. “And a cookie,” I said miserably as Jenks’s kids found us, distracting the little girl and making her stretch for their clattering wings and bright voices.

I slowly trudged to the church through the pixy dust, wondering if the kitchen, at least, was baby proofed. I’d have to move my splat gun, bare minimum.

What had I been thinking? Ku’Sox was free. Ceri and Pierce were dead, Trent was a demon slave, again, and the son of a bitch was free.

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

The late afternoon sun was gone from the kitchen as I sat at the table, depressed as I stared at the defunct disguise amulet perched in my fingertips. I wasn’t in the best of moods to be trying something so difficult as breathing life into a ley line charm that had been dead for more than ten years, but I wanted some practice before I tried this again with some rich elf’s one-of-a-kind family heirloom.

I’d already found the charm I wanted from the brochure, checking the description and the owner’s claims of powers against an account found in one of the books Trent had gotten from the library. Quen was going to bring it over when he came to pick up Lucy. He was overdue, and I hoped everything was okay.

“Rings,” I said sourly, looking at the charm balanced on my hand. Why couldn’t it be a sword or whip or something pointy? But no, elves apparently had a thing for rings, and the set I’d chosen seemed perfect, allowing a strong connection that would allow me to join my strength to Quen’s or Trent’s. It wasn’t made for war, and I hoped that meant elves and demons could use it. That Al would be healed up enough to help me was nothing I wanted to count on.