“Turn around,” Trent said, and my eyes darted to his. “I’ll put it on you. It has to be snug for it to look right.”

I was not about to show Trent I was squeamish, and as protection charms were fairly reliable, I took the simple fake gold cord from around my neck and dropped it into my clutch bag with my earrings. I wondered if Trent knew what wearing this was saying, deciding he probably did and thought it was a big joke.

Tension tightened my shoulders as I gathered strands of hair that Randy had pulled for effect. The necklace settled about my neck in a heavy feeling of security, still warm from his pocket.

Trent’s fingers touched me, and I yelped in surprise as a surge of ley line energy rose through me and into him. The car swerved and Trent’s fingers jerked away. The necklace hit the carpeted floor with a tinkle of metal. Hand to my throat, I stared at him.

He had put himself into the corner. The amber light from the ceiling glinted to make shadows on him. Eyeing me with a look of annoyance, he scooted forward and scooped the necklace from the floor, jiggling it until it hung properly across one hand.

“Sorry,” I said, heart pounding and my hand still covering my neck.

Trent frowned, meeting Jonathan’s gaze in the rearview mirror before gesturing for me to turn back around. I did, very conscious of him behind me. “Quen said you’ve been working on your ley line skills,” Trent said while he draped the metal over me again. “It took me a week to learn how to keep my familiar’s energy from trying to equalize when I touched another practitioner. Of course I was three at the time, so I had an excuse.”

His hands fell from me, and I settled into the supple cushions. His expression was smug, his usual professionalism gone. It wasn’t any of his business that this was the first time I had tried to spindle line energy in me as a matter of convenience. I was ready to bag it. My feet hurt, and thanks to Quen, I wanted to go home, eat a carton of ice cream, and remember my dad.

“Quen knew my dad,” I said sullenly.

“So I hear.” He looked not at me but the passing view as we made our way into the city.

My breath came faster, and I shifted in my seat. “Piscary said he killed my dad. Quen implied there was more to it than that.”

Trent crossed his legs and unbuttoned his suit coat. “Quen talks too much.”

Tension pulled my stomach tight. “Our fathers were working together?” I prompted. “Doing what?”

His lip twitched, and he ran a hand across his hair to make sure it was lying flat. From the driver’s seat, Jonathan coughed in warning. Right. Like his threats meant anything to me?

Trent shifted in the seat to look at me, his face holding a shade of interest. “Ready to work with me?”