Rachel Morgan fanfic Chapter 3
“These cookies are disgusting,” I announced snottily, putting down a gingerbread man and pantomiming sticking my finger down my throat.
“I like them,” Quen said calmly from his chair. I frowned sulkily at him and he smiled at me, amused.
“Demons must have different tastes than elves,” Trent muttered, biting the head off a cookie and sliding further away from me on the sofa.
Mrs. Greenway blinked then looked away, trying to pretend she hadn’t heard a thing. She was a well-preserved middle-aged woman with light blond hair, fashionably tanned skin, and a husky voice very different from the one that had called Vampiric Charms. More importantly, she was an elf.
“So, Mrs. Greenway,” I said loudly, drawing her attention back to the sofa. “You didn’t call us, did you?”
“No,” she said shortly, making it clear that calling us was the last thing she would condescend to do.
“Well, thanks. You’ve wasted an hour of our time. We’ll put our bill in the mail.” I motioned to Ivy that we were leaving. She stood, eyes warily darting around the room. Quen stared right back at her when her gaze fell on him but when her attention was elsewhere I saw him lift a hand to his neck. I guess he had some bad memories of Ivy playing on his vampire bite. Ivy’s lips quirked upwards in a small smile.
“Wait, Ms. Morgan,” Trent said, his melodic voice cutting through the tension in the room.
“No,” I said tersely, moving to the door. Quen stood and Ivy tensed, ready for a fight.
“All we want to do is talk, Ms. Morgan.”
“Go Turn yourself, Trent. You are scum. You are worse than scum.” My hands were shaking slightly from repressed anger and I crossed my arms to hide them.
His lips tightened but he recovered quickly, smiling a professional smile and leaning back on the sofa. “I may be scum but I have something you want.”
“You don’t have a thing I want, Trent. Everything you have you buy with blood money. My blood, specifically.”
His brow tensed in irritation and before he could prevent himself he retorted “I forgot how annoying you are.”
“I’d rather be annoying than a murderer.”
“How lucky that you get to be both.” He stood, facing me with an ugly expression on his face. Ivy moved to hold Quen back.
“I am not a murderer, Trent, you freaking elf!” I took a deep breath to calm myself then put a hand on his chest, pushing him back down into the sofa. He had shot a man in his office and had the nerve to call me a murderer?
“Come on, Ivy, let’s go,” I said, grabbing my purse.
Trent seemed to recollect what we were doing here. “Wait, Rachel-“
“Shut up, Trent.”
“Rachel, Ivy, please stay,” Quen intoned, a hint of desperation in his voice. I met his eyes and stopped. He looked scared.
“I’m not here to help your boss.”
“We’re not asking you to,” he replied softly. I averted my eyes to Ivy, standing at the door looking questioningly at me.
“Is this about Ceri?” I asked, locking eyes with Quen.
“Not yet,” he replied evenly. My eyes closed. Not yet? So he thought Ceri would be in trouble?
I opened my eyes and met Quen’s gaze with a steel glare. “We’ll hear you out. No promises,” I said flatly, taking a seat on the side table. Mrs. Greenway opened her mouth to protest but Trent shot her a look and she closed it.
“We’ll pay you generously, of c-“ Trent started, leaning forward.
“Shut up, Trent,” I said furiously. “Quen can tell me what this is all about.”
Trent seemed ready to argue. Ivy stepped in front of me, leaning in to Trent and showing a little fang.
“Please argue with her. I’ve never had a taste of elf. Rachel tells me you taste like cinnamon,” she said seductively, reaching out a finger to stroke his face. Quen tensed but seemed to recognize that it wouldn’t go any further. Trent, though, curled back into the corner of the couch, white-faced. Ivy smiled a full-fanged smile at him then moved back behind me.
I motioned for Quen to continue. He glanced at Trent and when Trent nodded he spoke.
“There have been several disturbing…disappearances recently.”
I frowned slightly. “Disappearances?”
“Of healthy elf children.”
I sucked in my breath. Somebody was stealing elf babies?
“The first one was two weeks ago in Texas. The parents thought it was just a kidnapping and reported it to the I.S. There was another one a week ago in California. We didn’t make the connection in time to put the other children in protective custody.” Quen grimaced. “Cherrie Greenway was taken three days ago.”
My eyes darted to Mrs. Greenway. I had been so bothered by Trent when I came in that I hadn’t noticed the redness around her eyes and how she clutched her hands together in her lap. Maybe she wasn’t arrogant so much as scared. She lifted her head to meet my eyes and I saw that there were tears in hers.
“Somebody’s targeting elf children?” I asked softly.
“You think it’s coincidence?” Trent replied acidly. His voice cut in to my thoughts, making me remember why I hated dealing with him. I ignored him entirely and spoke to Mrs. Greenway.
“We don’t have the resources for a nationwide manhunt. You need to contact the I.S.”
“They won’t help,” Trent said.
“You’re the wealthiest man in Cincinnati. They’ll help,” I retorted dryly.
“We’re elves. You know what the I.S. is like,” he said sardonically, looking me in the eye. “All werewolves, vampires, and witches too busy with power plays to provide any real help. And if they did if would just be to try to destroy my lab so that no more healthy elf children could be born. Nobody wants the elves to regain their power.”
I shifted guilty, remembering Rynn Cormel blaming me for the elf turn-around.
“Then why ask us? In case you hadn’t noticed, Ivy’s a vampire and I’m a witch,” I asked, daring him to contradict my witch-status.
Trent leaned back, suddenly looking tired and several years older. “You’re honest.” His voice was small, vulnerable. It was a concession.
I looked down and twisted my hands. I couldn’t just sit back and let the elves be decimated. Trent may be a bastard but when I’d thought I wanted to destroy him, I didn’t mean this.
I opened my mouth to tell him I would take the case when Ivy put a hand on my shoulder.
“We need to talk about this,” she said, pulling me up and steering me to the door. I frowned at her and she frowned back.
“Okay, we need to talk,” I said slowly. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” I met Quen’s eyes in apology before we left, Ivy slamming the door on the way out.
I spun to face her. “What was that about?” I hissed.
She glared at me and I realized she was angry. She pulled me towards the motorcycle. “We’ll talk about it when we get home,” she said under her breath. I opened my mouth to argue, then looked over to where she had quirked her eyebrow. Quen and Trent were watching us from the window.
“Fine. At home. Without the audience,” I grumbled, climbing on the bike.