Slowly I straightened from my crouch. Ceri came forward, smelling of soap, in a fresh dress of purple and gold that hid her bare feet when she stopped beside me. Her crucifix rested easy against her, and her confidence was absolute. As was her anger.

“Uh, Ceri,” I said, not knowing what else to do, “that man in the suit is Trenton Aloysius Kalamack, drug lord, murderer, and Fortune 20 member. That’s Quen before him, his security officer. Trent, Quen, this is Cerdiwen Merriam Dulciate, originally from the Dark Ages of Europe.” Let’s get this party started!

Trent’s face was white. “How long were you listening…?”

Ceri’s narrow chin lifted. “Long enough.”

I blanched when I realized that the humming noise was coming from Ceri and the black haze edging her fingers with their little butterfly bandages was magic waiting for direction. Oh, crap.

“Uh, Rachel…” Jenks said, his voice high.

A shiver took me at her proud anger. “Let’s hang back, Jenks. This might get nasty.”

The warning slant to Trent’s eyebrows told me he wanted to pretend nothing had happened so he could make Ceri’s acquaintance without the ugly reality of his life intruding. Ri-i-i-i-ight…

Multicolored sun coming in through the stained-glass windows added a surreal look to the standoff. Quen was by the piano, and when the older elf stepped to join Trent, Ceri calmly turned her gaze to him. Quen stopped. Seeing his acquiescence, the black surrounding her hands vanished.

My shoulders eased when I felt her drop the ley line. I knew she probably had enough ever-after spindled in her head to blow the roof off the church, but Trent and Quen didn’t.

“Now that I’ve found you, I see that Rachel is right,” Ceri said as she gracefully took the middle of the room, her dress moving gently. “You’re a demon.”

“I beg your pardon?” Trent’s beautiful voice held more ire than confusion.

I didn’t have a clue how this was going to end, but I was glad to be out of the line of fire. Ceri noticed Quen moving to mirror my position, and she stiffened, pale hair shifting as she cocked her head regally. “Did Rachel tell you I was a demon’s familiar before she rescued me?” she said to Trent. Seeing his understanding, she continued, “I know demons very well. And that’s what they do. They offer you something that looks out of your reach in exchange for something they want that is out of theirs. They’re called businessmen here. You’re very good.”

His face reddened. “This is not how I wanted to make your acquaintance.”

“I’ll bet,” Ceri said. The modern phrase and the sarcasm with which she said it were shocking.