“Maybe the rest of Inderland likes how things are balanced right now. Maybe it’s time for the elves to die out. If they’re all like you and Ellasbeth, scrabbling for money and power, maybe you’ve gone so far from your roots, so far from grace and moral standing, that you’re already dead as a species. Dead and gone and good riddance,” I mocked while Trent reddened. “If you’re the model of what you’re going to build your species with, then we don’t want you back.”

“We were not the ones who abandoned the ever-after to the demons!” Trent shouted, anger pouring from him honest and raw, the source of his drive flowing from him in a wave of frustration. “You left! You left us to fight alone! We made sacrifices while you turned tail and ran! If I’m ruthless, it’s because you made me that way!”

Son of a bitch… “You can’t blame me for something my ancestors did!”

Trent grimaced. “Ten percent of my portfolio,” he said, seething.

Sick bastard. “It’s not for sale. Get out.”

“Fifteen percent. That’s a third of a billion.”

“Get the hell out of my church!”

Trent gathered himself as if to speak, then looked at his watch. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said, his steps loud as he quickly retreated to the piano. Pocketing his gift for Ceri, he asked, “Is it on the premises?”—pretending it was just an idle question.

Damn. I went wire-tight. “Jenks!” I shouted, finding my balance. “Jhan, get your dad!” But he was watching for blue jays, like I’d told him to. Double damn.

Quen was waiting for direction, and sweat broke out over me. Trent brought his head up with what I hoped was regret in his eyes. “Quen,” he said softly, “secure Ms. Morgan. We’ll talk to Ceri at a later date. Apparently she’s not coming today. Do you have a memory potion?”

Oh, God.

“In the car, Sa’han.”

It was not a happy voice, and I glanced at Quen, knowing what was going to happen.

“Good.” Trent looked as unyielding as iron. “No memories means no loose ends. We’ll leave her sleeping, and she’ll wake when someone picks her up for her trip to the morgue.”

“Son of a bitch,” I whispered, then looked to the empty rafters. Damn it, why had I told them to leave? “Jenks!” I shouted, but there was no clatter of wings. Quen pulled a splat gun from the small of his back, and I swore under my breath.

“What is it?” I asked, thinking of mine in the bucket by the back door. If I moved, he’d shoot.

“A little different being on the other end of the weapon, isn’t it?” Trent mocked, and it was all I could do to keep from screaming at him.