“You kick your dog one too many times, someone’s going to call the animal protection agency,” I said, not liking the servile attitude Ceri had adopted in Minias’s presence. “Now that’s an organization you don’t want to piss off.”

Minias’s gaze went to my friends clustered together on holy ground, then Trent—who was trying to look calm—then finally back to me. “An audience?”

I shrugged again. “My friends.”

Trent cleared his throat. “This is nice, but we do have a deadline.”

My lips pressed. “Which you just blabbed to him, Trent. Way to go.”

Trent reddened, and Ceri made a telling face. Minias, though, tugged his yellow robe tightly closed and smiled wickedly at the elf.

“I want to bargain with you,” Trent said, casually clasping his hands behind his back to hide their trembling. “I don’t want to know your name; I’ve asked for your presence, not summoned you; and I’m never going to call you again.”

Minias reached behind himself for the ornate wire-and-cushion chair that had appeared, tugging it closer until he could sit. “I’ll believe that when I see it.” His goat-slitted eyes shifted to me, and I forgot to breathe. “Curiosity brought me here. I thought it might have been someone else.” His attention landed on Ceri, then slid away. “What could you possibly want, and why in heaven and hell do you think I will help you? A putrid little elf?”

Without hesitation, Trent said, “I want passage in and out of the ever-after for two people, and asylum while we’re there. You don’t touch us or tell anyone we’re there.”

Minias’s eyebrows rose, and he blinked slowly. “You’re going to try to kill Al?” he said softly, and I refused to look away or change my expression. There were ways to solve problems other than killing someone, but if that’s what he thought we were doing, then no one would be watching the archive. Right?

In a smooth motion, the demon leaned forward. “I can get you there, but nothing will buy my silence. Two trips in and out,” he said speculatively. “You and Ceridwen Merriam Dulciate?”

Trent shook his head, then did a double take to look at Ceri. “You’re a Dulciate?” he stammered, and she flushed.

“It means little now,” she murmured, her attention down. Minias cleared his throat, and Trent dragged his gaze from her.

“Me and the witch,” Trent said, still glancing at Ceri.

“I suppose asking for your soul is out of the question?” the demon said, and I looked at the first of the stars starting to show. We could be here all night. But Trent seemed to have found a cavalier attitude and he turned sideways, as if not really caring whether Minias went along with this or not.