As I listened to the end, unable to take the headphones off, Trent took our plates to the kitchen. He came back with an insulated pot of tea, topping off his cup before sitting down. The track ended, leaving only silence. Numb, I slid the headphones off and set them by my coffee.

“I didn’t know,” I said again, thinking that my eyes must look haunted. “Ivy can hear all that? Why doesn’t Takata release them sounding like that?”

Trent adjusted his position in his chair. “He does. But only the undead can hear it.”

I touched the headphones. “But you—”

“I made them after finding out about the vamp track. I wasn’t sure they would work with witches. I gather by your expression that they did?”

My head bobbed loosely. “Ley line magic?” I questioned.

A smile, almost shy, flickered over him. “I specialize in misdirection. Quen thinks it a waste of time, but you’d be surprised what a person will do for a pair of those.”

I pulled my eyes from the headphones. “I can imagine.”

Trent sipped his tea, leaning back in speculation. “You don’t…want a pair, do you?”

I took a breath, frowning at the faint taunt in his voice. “Not for what you’re asking, no.” Setting my mug of coffee at arm’s length, I stood. His earlier behavior of mimicking my motions was suddenly abundantly clear. He was an expert in manipulation. He had to know what signals he was sending. Most people didn’t—at least consciously—and that he had tried to lay the groundwork to try to romance my help when money wouldn’t buy it was contemptible.

“Thanks for dinner,” I said. “It was fabulous.”

Surprise brought Trent straight. “I’ll tell Maggie you enjoyed it,” he said, his lips tightening. He’d made a mistake, and he knew it.

I wiped my hands off on my sweatshirt. “I’d appreciate that. I’ll get my things.”

“I’ll tell Quen you’re ready to go.” His voice was flat.

Leaving him sitting at the table, I walked away. I caught a glimpse of him as I turned and went into Ellasbeth’s rooms. He was touching the headphones, his posture unable to hide his annoyance. The bandage on his head and his bare feet made him look vulnerable and alone.

Stupid lonely man, I thought.

Stupid ignorant me for pitying him.

Twenty-eight