Trent himself begged off from the third guest, promising to come back as soon as he could. But the slight pause had been his downfall, and the surrounding people in costume closed in like banshees over a wailing infant.

The professional politician hid his annoyance with a grace I had a hard time seeing through. An eight-year-old boy pushed his way through the knees, clamoring for Uncle Kalamack. And at that, Trent seemed to give up. “Gerald,” he said to the security escort who had gotten to us too late. “If you would escort Ms. Morgan upstairs?”

I looked up at Gerald, desperate for a way out of the swirling, excited mass of people.

“This way, ma’am,” he said, and I gratefully sidled closer, wanting to take his sleeve but afraid to look foolish. Gerald looked nervous, too, and I wondered if it was because of the people he had to politely find a way through or because he’d been told I dealt in demons and one might be crashing the party looking for me.

The music ended, and the first floor exploded into cheers. Takata’s gravelly voice echoed over it all with the expected “Thank you,” which only made them yell louder. My ears hurt, and when Gerald fell into step behind an hors d’oeuvres lady, I gave up and put my hand on his back. So I looked foolish. Gerald was hotfooting it to the stairs, and if I got separated, I might not get there by myself.

We reached the stairs as the band began a new piece. The amps shook the air, and from the bottom step, I finally caught sight of the band. Takata bounced over the stage as he played his five-string bass, long blond hair caught back in dreadlocks. Expending energy faster than a chipmunk on Brimstone, he pounded the music out, sporting an old-rocker/punk look that only someone very cool could pull off in their midfifties.

My gaze shifted to Trent. He was smiling warmly, his arm around that kid, who was now standing on the arm of a chair so he wouldn’t get trampled. Trent was trying to move forward, doing a good job of covering his sorrow and frustration. I could see it, though, in his stance. He wanted to be somewhere else, and a glimmer of his impatience showed when he lifted the child and set him in someone’s arms, moving forward all of three steps before he was caught again.

“What a pain in the ass,” I whispered, my voice lost in the thundering music. No wonder Trent hid in his forest most of the time.

“Ma’am?” It was Gerald, and he held the velveteen rope aside for me.