“What happened to the ward?” he questioned.

“Ms. Morgan touched it.” Jonathan had the smug glee of a six-year-old tattling on his older sibling. “I’d advise against Quen’s plans. Morgan is unpredictable and dangerous.”

Quen shot him a dark look that Trent missed since the man was buttoning the top of his shirt. “Lights full,” Trent said, and I squinted when huge lights in the ceiling flickered on one by one to make it bright as day. My stomach clenched as I looked at the window. Crap. I had broken it but good. Even my streaks of red were in it, and I didn’t like that the three of them would know I had that much tragedy in my past. But at least Al’s black was gone. Thank God.

Trent came closer, his smooth face unreadable. The clean smell of aftershave drifted from him as he stopped. “It did this when you touched it?” he asked, his gaze going from my new haircut to the window.

“I, uh, yeah. Quen said it was a sheet of ever-after. I thought it was a modified protection circle.”

Quen ducked his head and stepped closer. “It’s not a protection circle, it’s a ward. Your aura and the aura of the person who set it up must resonate to a similar frequency.”

His young features creased in worry, Trent squinted at it. An unshared thought passed through him, and his fingers twitched. I eyed the tell, knowing he thought it more than odd, and significant. It was a notion that solidified when Trent glanced at Quen and something of a security nature passed between them. Quen made a small shrug, and Trent took a slow breath.

“Have someone from maintenance look at it,” Trent said. Tugging at his collar, he added loudly, “Lights revert.” I froze when the glare vanished and my eyes tried to adjust.

“I don’t agree with this,” Trent said in the soothing dimness, and Jonathan smiled.

“Yes, Sa’han,” Quen said softly. “But you will take Morgan or you will not be going.”

Well, well, well, I thought, as the rims of Trent’s ears went red. I hadn’t known Quen had the authority to tell Trent what to do. Clearly, though, it was a right seldom invoked, and never without consequences. Beside me, Jonathan looked positively ill.

“Quen …” Trent started.

The security officer took a firm stance, looking over Trent’s shoulder at nothing with his hands laced behind his back. “My vampire bite makes me unreliable, Sa’han,” he said, and I winced at his obvious pain of openly admitting it. “I’m no longer sure of my effectiveness.”

“Damn it, Quen,” Trent exclaimed. “Morgan has been bitten, too. What makes her any more sure than you?”

“Ms. Morgan has been living with a vampire for seven months and hasn’t succumbed,” Quen said stiffly. “She has developed a series of defensive strategies for combating a vamp trying to bespell her. I haven’t, yet, and so I’m no longer reliable in questionable situations.”