“Not here, itchy witch. Safe at the train station as promised,” Al said, and I spun to see him in the robe I’d felt him put on, standing by the huge hearth with a bowl of marshmallows on the hearth beside him. “Come sit by the fire,” he said, patting the leather seat. “We need to talk.”

Seventeen

The intention was for me to say good-bye,” I said, almost setting my scrying mirror down, then changing my mind at the last moment. I wasn’t staying—if I had any say in the matter.

Al scooted his chair closer to the fire, sitting on the edge before he shook his robe sleeves to his elbows and carefully wedged a marshmallow on the end of one of his toasting forks. Leaning in, he held the puffed sugar close to the flames. His muscular arms looked almost tan in the firelight. Feet spread wide, he hunched toward the flame, his bare feet showing from under the hem of his brown robe. They were surprisingly normal looking. Behind me, shelves of books were silent witnesses in the dark.

“Your intention was to see that they got there safely,” Al said in a low voice, focusing on the marshmallow. “They are. Off to make mischief on an elven scale, which means worldwide and yet somehow…totally insignificant. You need a new hobby, Rachel. Something other than nasty little men with visions of world domination.”

The marshmallow caught fire, and he pulled it close, somehow looking suggestive as he ran his fingers down the length of the stick to take off the still-flaming puff. “I want to talk to you about magic and sweat,” he said, the light from the burning marshmallow glinting in his eyes. “Of good deeds born from stupid ideas. Of honest mistakes leading to dishonest graves.” His eyes met mine, and he pursed his lips, gently blowing the flaming sugar puff out.

Oh God. He’s talking funny, I thought, nervous as I looked over the dark room. Deciding to stay behind the chair, I let my scrying mirror slide down to rest on the soft leather. I wanted both hands free.

Al stood, and I froze. His movement had been graceful, a studied motion of power that I seldom saw in him. The marshmallow was gone, and he was licking his fingers, watching me from under his lowered brow. My pulse quickened as he went to the fire, taking a second marshmallow from the bowl. What in hell is he playing at?

“This trial of yours tomorrow,” he said. “Odds are three to one that Pierce will betray you.”

“I thought you said he was going to kill me,” I said, trying to be flip.

A smile lifted his lips. “Odds are eleven percent there. But the bookies don’t know that he lo-o-o-o-oves you,” he mocked as he put the puff on the end of the toasting fork. “Stay here. Forget it all, and stay here with me. Let me spare you that.”

I felt better with him eight feet away, and my eyes rolled. “Spare me the crap, will you? Al, I want to go back to the hotel.” Shit, he was a demon. Why did I keep forgetting that?