I felt a touch on my hand and I jerked away. I could smell burnt coffee, and I wished Edden would quit doing that. “Who the devil is she talking to?” the FIB captain asked softly.

“I don’t know,” Jenks said. “But I’m not going into that line to see.”

“Leave?” the demon said, its grin widening. “No, no, no. Don’t be silly. I want to see how much ever-after you can manipulate. Go on, love. Finish your little charm,” it encouraged.

In the background I could hear Trent and Quen having an intense argument. I wasn’t willing to open my eyes and risk losing sight of the demon, but I thought Trent was winning. Nervous, I licked my lips, hating myself when the vision of Kisten did the same with a mocking slowness. “I forgot the last word,” I admitted, then stiffened as I remembered. “Favilla,” I blurted in relief, and the demon clapped his hands in delight.

I jumped as a second wave of ever-after jolted through me. Clutching my arms about myself as if to keep my aura intact, I watched the flat pulse of yellow dart away, following the path of the first. Algaliarept moaned, staggering as if in pleasure as it passed through it. I watched its reaction in near horror. The demon obviously liked it, but if it could have taken my aura, it would have by now. I think.

“Spun candy,” it said, closing its eyes. “Flay me and slay me. Spun candy and nectar.”

Swell. I had to get out of there.

While Algaliarept ran its hand over the grass and licked from its fingers the yellow smear of ley line power my charm had left on it, I scanned the surrounding countryside. My shoulders tightened in worry. Every glittering blur marking death was gone. Algaliarept seemed content seining the grass for remnants of my spell, so I snuck a quick look behind me, my fast spin jerking to a stop.

One of the horse graves glowed a bright red. It wasn’t a horse, it was a person.

Trent had killed her, I thought, my attention darting to a new shape materializing within the ley line.

It was Trent, having stepped into it to see what I was seeing. His gaze went to the flash of red, widening, but his shock was nothing compared to when the demon shifted into a mirror copy of me, sleek and dangerous in a black silk body stocking.

“Trenton Aloysius Kalamack,” it said, making my voice sexier than I ever could. It suggestively licked the last of my spell off its finger, and I wondered if the demon was making me look better than I actually did. “What a dangerous direction your thoughts have taken,” the demon said. “You should be more careful whom you invite to play in your ley line.” It hesitated, its hip cocked as it squinted over its glasses and compared our auras. “Such a pretty pair you make, like matched horses in my stables.”