“My partner has a spell right over your head,” I bluffed.

The shadow that was Trent shifted as he glanced up. “Lights, forty-eight percent,” he said, his voice harsh. The room brightened, but not enough to ruin my night vision. Knees turning to water, I rose from my crouch, trying to look as if I had planned this as I leaned against his desk in my silk and spandex bodysuit and crossed my ankles.

Gun tight in his grip, Trent ran his gaze over me, looking disgustingly refined and smart in his green riding outfit. I forced myself to not look at the weapon pointing at me as my gut tightened. “Your gun?” I questioned, sending my gaze to the ceiling where Jenks waited.

“Drop it, Kalamack!” Jenks shrilled from the light fixture, his wings clattering in an aggressive noise.

Trent’s stance eased to match my own tension-laced, casual poise. Motions sharp and abrupt, he took the bullets from the gun and tossed the heavy metal to my feet. I didn’t touch it, feeling my breath come easier. The bullets clattered dully into a pocket of his riding jacket. In the stronger light, I could see evidence of his healing demon attack. A yellowing bruise decorated his cheekbone. The end of a blue cast poked beyond the cuff of his jacket. A healing scrape showed on his chin. I found myself thinking that despite it all, he looked good. It wasn’t right that he should look so confident when he thought he had a lethal spell hanging over him.

“I only need to say one word, and Quen will be here in three minutes,” he said lightly.

“How long do you take to die?” I bluffed.

His jaw clenched in anger, making him seem younger. “Is that what you are here for?”

“If it was, you’d already be dead.”

He nodded, accepting that as truth. Standing wire-tight across the room, his gaze flicked to his open briefcase. “Which disc do you have?”

Feigning confidence, I brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes. “Huntington. If anything happens to me, it will go to six papers and three news studios along with the missing page of your planner.” I pushed myself off from his desk. “Leave me alone,” I threatened flatly.

His arms hung unmoving at his sides, his broken one at an angle. My skin pricked, though he made no move, and my veneer of confidence slipped. “Black magic?” he mocked. “Demons killed your father. Shame to see the daughter go the same way.”

My breath hissed in. “What do you know of my dad?” I said, shocked.

His eyes slid to my wrist—the one with the demon scar—and my face went cold. My stomach knotted as I remembered the demon killing me slowly. “I hope it hurt you,” I said, not caring that my voice quavered. Maybe he’d think it was in anger. “I don’t know how you survived it. I almost didn’t.”

Trent’s face went red and he pointed a finger at me. It was nice to see him act like a real person. “Sending a demon to attack me was a mistake,” he said, his words sharp. “I don’t deal in black magic, nor do I allow my employees to do so.”