“Get out of here yourself,” he said, and I stifled a jerk when he flicked a strand of my hair. “You are disgusting,” he said with a sneer. “Slimy with elf shit. Covered in them. How do you stand yourself?”

It wasn’t really a question, but at least he wasn’t throttling me anymore.

“And you should be glad of it,” Trent said.

Al spun to him, and I took a grateful breath of air when his eyes left me. “Glad?” the demon spat, and I swear the hem of his trousers shook with his anger.

“Yes, glad,” Trent said. “Landon is trying to shove the lot of you back into the ever-after and break the lines.”

A low growl of disbelief and dismissal came from Al. “Never happen.”

Trent eased forward to come between me and Al. “What if it did? The only magic will be Goddess based. You’d have to learn wild magic or stay helpless.”

Al’s eyes flicked to me, and I shrank back. Yep, I could do elven magic. So could they, but they’d have to admit that it was stronger than theirs, or at least more versatile. The chances of that were on a par with, say ... us making it out of here alive. That is, possible, but only after a lot of hurt and effort. “You’ve made me late,” he said darkly.

“Hey! Al!” I shouted as he grabbed both of us by the shoulder, but he was only jumping us out, and I felt nothing from the mystics even as the shadowed darkness of the room seemed to fold in on itself, replaced with the brighter warm glow of Trent’s upstairs living room.

“Thank you,” I breathed, and then my jaw dropped. “What did you let them do?” I said as I looked over the mess the living room now was.

“Ah ... ,” the demon said, clearly surprised as well.

Trent shoved Al’s grip off him. “Lucy? Ray!” he shouted as he darted into the nursery.

“Three seconds?” I said tightly, striding after Trent.

“Well, ah ... ,” Al stammered.

“Rachel!” Trent shouted from the nursery, chilling me. “Call the switchboard. Tell them we need a med team.”

Shit. I shoved past Al to look into the once-cheerful room. Fear made my pulse fast, but the room looked normal apart from Trent kneeling beside Quen, prone on the floor beside one of the toddler beds. Memories of seeing Quen dying in a field after trying to protect the woman he loved flashed through me.

But Quen was still conscious, and a hand reached up to grip Trent’s shoulder. “We found them alone,” he said, pain-filled eyes touching on Al briefly. “Ellasbeth had a court order and eight magic users. Jon ... followed them. He wasn’t hurt. Better than me, I suppose.”

Better? No. But he was more savage.

“Where?” Trent demanded as he helped Quen sit.