Dragging my fingers through the bubbles, I adjusted Trent’s borrowed pain amulet hanging about my neck. I didn’t know who had invoked it; maybe his secretary? All my charms were at the bottom of the Ohio River. My smile faltered as I remembered the people I hadn’t been able to save. I would not feel guilty that I breathed and they didn’t. Their deaths were laid at Saladan’s feet, not mine. Or maybe Kisten’s. Damn it. What was I going to do about that?

I closed my eyes and said a prayer for them, but they jerked open when a faint cadence of brisk steps grew louder. They quickly grew closer, and I froze as a thin woman dressed smartly in a cream-colored suit clacked and clicked in over the bathroom tile unannounced. There was a department store bag over her arm. Her steely gaze was fixed on the doorway to the changing room, and she never saw me as she vanished into it.

It had to be Ellasbeth. Crap. What was I supposed to do? Wipe the bubbles from my hand and offer to shake hers? Frozen, I stared at the door. My coat was on one of the chairs and my garment bag was still hanging by the changing screen. Pulse quickening, I wondered if I could reach the green towel before she realized she wasn’t alone.

The faint rustling stopped, and I shrank down into the bubbles when she strode back in, house afire. Her dark eyes were narrowed in anger and her high cheekbones were red. Posture stiff, she halted, bag still over her arm and apparently forgotten. Her thick, waving blond hair was held back to give her narrow face a stark beauty. Lips tight, she held her head high, her eyes fixing vehemently upon me as soon as she cleared the archway.

So that’s what it looked like when hell froze over.

“Who are you?” she said, her strong voice domineering and cold.

I smiled, but I knew it looked rather sickly. “Ah, I’m Rachel Morgan. Of Vampiric Charms?” I started to sit up, then changed my mind. I hated the question that had crept into my tone, but there it was. ’Course it might have been there because I was naked except for bubbles, and she was standing in four-inch heels and a casually tasteful outfit that Kisten might pick out for me if he took me shopping in New York.

“What are you doing in my bathtub?” She gazed disparagingly at my healing black eye.

I reached for a towel and dragged it in with me, covering myself. “Trying to warm up.”

Her mouth twitched. “I don’t wonder why,” she said sharply. “He’s a cold bastard.”

I sat up in a rush of water as she walked out. “Trenton!” her voice rang out, harsh against the peace I had been wallowing in.