One of the men arguing with him was obnoxiously tall, his silhouette, clear against the bright, late-afternoon sky, visible past the glass doors. The other one was shorter but held himself with a stiff formality. My amusement that they were trying to bully Chad faded as I recognized the tall one. Damn it, there couldn’t be two such vile, tall people in the world, even on Halloween. That was Jonathan, which would make the other guy Trent Kalamack.

I glanced at Marshal, and seeing that the line hadn’t moved, I got up and shifted closer.

Yup, it was Trent, dressed in a suit and tie that looked way out of place with the threadbare carpet and linoleum counters. The thought of a Pandora charm came to me, and I dismissed it. I wouldn’t owe him anything.

“I don’t care if you’re the prime minister of my girlfriend’s ass,” Chad said, pointing a Brimstone-stained fingernail at Jon. “You’re not getting past the gate unless you have skates. See the sign?”

I couldn’t see the sign from where I sat, but I’d seen it in the past. The thing was three feet by five and took up the entire wall behind him, lettered in red and outlined in black.

“This is outrageous,” Jon said, his voice dripping disgust. “We simply want to talk to someone for five minutes.”

Chad leaned back and took a swig of his beer. “Like I haven’t heard that before.”

Trent’s jaw clenched. “Two pairs of nines,” he said, clearly avoiding touching anything.

Jon turned, surprise on his angular, hawklike features. “Sir?”

“Just pay him,” Trent said as Chad gave Jon a shit-eating grin and dropped two ugly pairs of skates on the counter.

Looking like he’d rather lick asphalt, the tall man pulled a long wallet from an inner coat pocket. Jonathan’s feet were way bigger than a size nine, but the point was to get past the gate, not go skating. Trent’s fair hair was floating in the breeze kicked up by the skaters when he left Jonathan to pay Chad. His pace faltered as he saw me watching him, and I gave him a little wave. Eyes never leaving me, Trent jerked forward, struggling to get through the turnstile without touching it.

My sarcastic smile went annoyed. What does he want, anyway? I thought, wondering if this was about his little vacation into the ever-after; if so, he was going to be sorely disappointed. I wasn’t going to work for him, but irritating him was right up on my list of favorite things.

Smirking, I glanced at Marshal. He was going to be there awhile, so when Trent came forward with an intent pace, I simply pushed off the carpet and back onto the boards.