Worn out, I hung up the phone. I could smell coffee, and I headed for the kitchen and Ivy’s ideas. I wouldn’t go after Tom without a warrant—the man would have me in the I.S. lockup for harassment—but maybe I could lean on him a little harder. He obviously wasn’t convinced I was a threat. Perhaps if I set fire to his lawn—by accident—he might wait a few days to summon Al again.

I jerked to a stop in the threshold of the kitchen, shocked to find Trent standing between the center island counter and the table, trying to look like he wasn’t bothered by the angry living vampire staring at him. The shoes I had left by Quen’s bed were cleaned and on the table, and Jenks was on the counter. My face reddened. Crap, I’d forgotten all about him.

“Hey!” the pixy snarled, red sparks dropping from him as he got in my face. “Where the hell have you been? I was stuck in Trent’s security office all night!”

“Jenks!” I exclaimed, dropping back. “God, I’m sorry. I sort of drove right by.”

“You didn’t drive by, you broke the moss-wipe gate!” His tiny features twisted with anger, he hovered before me, the scent of ozone dripping off him like the sparkles he was letting slip. “Thanks a hell of a lot. I had to bum a ride home with greenie-weenie here.”

Trent, obviously. Before the sink, Ivy uncrossed her arms, more comfortable now that I wasn’t waving my dirty laundry from the adjacent room for him to see. She might have warned me, but I’d been throwing off enough emotion to hit her like a bus.

“Relax, pixy,” Ivy said, shifting into motion to hand me my juice bottle with the lid twisted off. “Rachel had a lot on her mind.”

“Yeah?” he snapped, wings clattering harshly. “More important than her partner? You left me behind, Rachel. You left me behind!”

Guilt hit me, and I flicked a glance at Trent. Still waving my laundry.

Wings blurring, Jenks darted into the mended rack when Ivy’s eyes narrowed. “She found out her dad wasn’t her real dad,” Ivy said, “and she was on her way to talk to her mom. Give her a break, Jenks.”

Jenks’s held breath escaped him in a long, wondering sound, and then his pointing finger dropped. The dust slipping from him thinned to a whisper. “Really? Who’s your dad?”

Frowning, I sent my attention to Trent, who still hadn’t moved but for shifting his feet, grinding his dress shoes into the grit of salt left on the floor. He looked awkward, soft almost, having changed into a pair of jeans and a green shirt. Like I’m going to open that topic up with him in the room?