Trent took another step, and I stiffened, almost falling into a defensive stance. Quen twitched, and Trent rocked back. He glanced behind him, then rounded on me. “Damn it, Rachel, stop screwing with me,” he said, jaw clenched. “I want to meet this woman. Call her.”

My eyes widened. Ooooooh, pushed a button, did I? My gaze rose to Jenks sitting out of sight on the lintel inside, and he shrugged. “Jenks, you want to see if she can come over?”

He nodded, and surprise showed on both Trent and Quen when he dropped down. “You bet. She’ll probably want a minute to get her hair brushed.”

And her face washed, and put on a dress that doesn’t have graveyard dirt on it.

“Quen,” Trent ordered, and my warning flags went up.

“Just Jenks,” I said, and Quen’s soft-soled shoes scuffed to a halt on the damp sidewalk. The dark elf looked to Trent for direction, and I added, “Quen, park your little butt right here or nothing’s happening.” I didn’t want Quen over there. Keasley would never speak to me again.

Jenks hovered, waiting, and Trent’s eyebrows bunched, weighing his options.

“Oh, please, test me,” I mocked, and Trent grimaced.

“Do it her way,” he said softly, and Jenks darted off, gone in a flash of transparent wings.

“See?” I said, beaming. “That wasn’t so hard.” From behind me came a chorus of high-pitched giggles, and Trent blanched. Seeing him nervous, I stepped aside. “You want to come in? She might be a while. You know how those thousand-year-old princesses are.”

Trent glanced past the dark foyer, abruptly reluctant. Quen took the steps two at a time, brushing past me in a whiff of oak leaves and aftershave.

“Hey!” I snapped, following him in. Trent pushed into motion and came in on my heels. He didn’t shut the door, probably for a quick getaway, and as Trent drew to a halt in the middle of the sanctuary, I ducked back into the foyer and yanked the door shut.

Pixies squealed from the rafters, and Trent and Quen warily watched them. I plucked at my salt-stained shirt and tried to find an air of nonchalance as I prepared to introduce His Most Holy Pain in the Ass to Miss Elf Princess.

The hair on the back of my neck rose as I strolled past Quen and flopped into my rolling chair, parked beside my desk. “Have a seat,” I said, shifting back and forth and gesturing to Ivy’s furniture, still arranged in the inner corner of the church. “You’re in luck. We usually don’t have our living room out here, but we’re doing some remodeling.”

Trent looked at the gray suede couch and chairs and turned away, glancing at my desk before moving on to Ivy’s piano, where interest pulled his eyebrows high. “I’ll stand,” he said.