This was actually the second elevator needed to get up here, the first stopping at the tenth floor, where Trent had moved his legal business affairs, and then this one, a private lift from his new downstairs office to what would eventually be his two-story flat under the Carew Tower restaurant. “Did you have this put in?” I asked, and Trent’s attention dropped from the instrumental eighties music whispering from the speakers.

  “Ah, no. But I did have the call buttons removed from the floors between my office and my new place.”

  New place. There’d been a hint of anticipation in his voice, and I realized it was his first place, the first time he had chosen where to live. College dorms didn’t count. Loving him all the more, I linked my arm in his.

  Now that the mystics were gone, I was feeling pretty good. From nowhere, the memory of the kiss that Kisten and I shared when I thought I was going to die at Piscary’s teeth rose through me, making me stifle a shiver.

  “Cold?” Trent’s arm slipped over my shoulders to pull me close.

  “Nah, she ain’t cold.” Jenks’s wings tickled my neck as he darted clear of Trent’s arm. “She’s randy as a goat. Rache has a thing about elevators.”

  “Jenks, will you shut up,” I said, but Trent grinned, tugging me tighter to him to make Bis shift his wings for balance. Thankfully the doors opened, and the light from the elevator spilled onto a plaster-spattered plywood floor. Immediately Jenks and Bis flew out.

  “You up for the tour?” Trent said as he drew me forward. “I have a spot where I’ve been catching my noon nap if you just want to eat.”

  “Tour first,” I said, and he beamed as he pulled me into the plaster-scented dark.

  “Lights full!” he said loudly, and I squinted as big, heavy lights in the ceiling thumped on, bathing the area in a noon glow and reflecting off black windows streaked with rain.

  “Ow,” Bis complained as he landed on a sawhorse, his eyes clamped shut.

  “Wow.” My gaze followed Jenks’s fading dust trail now spreading the length and breadth of the large space. “Better than a spell.”

  We’d come up about in the middle of a work zone, sixty by maybe a hundred and twenty feet, the ceilings stretching two stories up. The original art deco windows showed a slice of Cincinnati, the river, and the Hollows beyond. I’d seen the view before from the restaurant, but now it was as if it was for me alone, and I felt pulled to the windows.

  “The plywood floor is temporary to protect the original parquet,” Trent said as I went to the windows, boots thumping. “This area was actually four apartments, but most of the original flooring was intact, and we can replace the damaged portions and where the walls used to be with large sections where we don’t need it, like the kitchen.”

  “It’s beautiful.” I scuffed to a halt, a hand rising to touch the nicked, ornate molding.

  “The woodwork? It is.” Trent hovered beside me, clearly anxious to show me the rest. “I’ve got over seven thousand square feet on this level, with the private living quarters and a small pool and patio area upstairs. Or at least I will when it’s done.” He hesitated. “We tapped into the upstairs here to give us the higher ceiling.”

  “It’s going to be amazing.” My fingers slipped from the window. It wasn’t often that I felt the differences between us, but seeing him rightfully excited about things that I would never be able to afford . . . Yeah, it was a reminder that we came from two different worlds.

  “Hey, I can see the church!” Jenks sang out, and I took Trent’s hand in mine.

  “Show me,” I said, a feeling of foreboding taking root.

  “Well, this will be the new great room,” he said, gesturing. “Now that they have the walls out and the floor removed from some of the upstairs, it’s got that fabulous view and wow factor when you step out of the elevator. There’s plenty of space behind it for several conference rooms, and over there is where the prep kitchen goes. Just big enough to stage the food for parties and meetings. The restaurant will supply everything, but I will have to expand the existing dumbwaiters into something more efficient.”

  “Nice.”

  “I’m thinking the library and perhaps a study down here as well,” he said, leading me to an expansive cardboard-covered stairway going to a second floor. “The outside balcony needs better safety measures before we use it for parties, and I’m getting the permits to move the wall in about twenty feet to make the area out there less acrophobic.”

  “Wow.”

  “The girls and I and Quen will be staying on the second floor.” Still holding my hand, he drew me up the stairs. “We retained the integrity of one of the original flats for Quen and Ray, but the remainder of the upper floors and patio areas will be combined into one space. Well-appointed kitchen, private study, spelling lab, a walk-in book vault. The upper patio area is quite large once you combine them. There are a few trees from the previous tenants that I’m keeping.”

  “Sounds amazing,” I said, feeling awkward as we reached the top of the stairs to find a blank wall with a big X on it.

  “We’re removing that once we decide how to work it. It’s structural,” Trent said, leading me around it. “The views from up here are even better. Come see the private patio.”

  The ceilings here were lower, more homey, and he took me through the proposed kitchen, where I oohed at the dumbwaiters and marveled at the view where the breakfast nook was going to be. The room he’d been napping in had a fireplace and would eventually be a casual office, and his eager pleasure was charming as he lit the gas logs before taking me to the upper patio. The construction crew had been focused on buttoning the flat up, and the new sliders leading outside still had their protective film.

  “You have to see the view,” Trent said as he eagerly pulled me into the wind.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered, my wave of vertigo vanishing as fast as it had come. It had finally stopped raining, and the damp scent of the city was heady. We were up so high, and yet there were small trees and a generous plot of grass. A fountain tinkled to drown out the sound of traffic. Raised redwood beds lined one railing—no soil yet but full of promise. A clearly new trio of tiered beds was set to catch the sun on the other side, and an empty lap pool waited to be filled. I could almost smell the hot dogs cooking.

  “Trent, this is fabulous,” I said as I pulled my jacket tighter against the damp wind.

  “I’m glad you like it. Next year, the girls can grow their own pumpkins. I don’t know why I didn’t set aside a plot for them this year out by the stables.”

  “You’ve been busy.” But I wondered if this was what he wanted, or if he was trying to outcompete Ellasbeth’s flat across the river in the Hollows. If he was, he’d gone above and beyond. It was more than nice up here, but even so, my unsettled feeling began to grow. I felt as if I wasn’t just standing nearly fifty stories up on a plot of grass but was perhaps at a crossroads.

  I knew part of this move was Trent making space for me, finding my needs and making adjustments to his. He was setting aside his beloved gardens and stables because I could not work from there. It was obvious with the raised beds and dwarf trees that he was trying to meet me halfway. The secluded, window-rich spelling lab downstairs was twice as big as it needed to be, and a walk-in book vault? They spoke to and lured me.

  Still . . . it wasn’t my home in the church with its secluded graveyard, surrounded by everything I loved and needed. And it made me feel selfish.

  “It’s beautiful, Trent . . .” I began, then hesitated at the sound of pixy wings.

  “Hey, Rach,” Jenks said, and Trent’s hand fell from mine. “Can I use your phone? I want to check on Getty.”

  “Sure.” I swung my bag around, head down as I pushed past my books to find it. “You want it inside?”

  “Yup,” he said, clearly struggling with the wind, and Trent reached for the sliders.

  “I should probably get an order in,” Trent said. “Jenks, you want something?”

  “Honey?” The pixy darted inside. “Hey, Bis! Trent’s buying. You want a quail?”

  “Oh, please don’t,” I said, and Trent chuckled as the wind cut out. “But he might appreciate a chicken sandwich. Uncooked if they’ll do it.”

  “Chicken sandwich, raw,” Trent said. “Honey for Jenks. And for you?”

  I shrugged as Trent shut the door. “Something starchy, or maybe some cheese.”

  “Flight of cheese and artisan bread.” Nodding sharply, Trent strode into the sporadically lit darkness. “Back in a second. Jenks, you want to use my phone? It gets better reception in the kitchen. Something about the skylights.”

  “Of course it does,” I whispered as I put my phone away. I felt alone as I listened to Trent’s and Jenks’s voices become indistinct, and my boots ground the plaster-spotted floor as I made my way to the orange-lit future study. The fire had already warmed the space, and I set my bag beside the dusty leather recliner. There was only the one chair, but a small table sat nearby with a TV remote and a copy of Orchid Digest. Trent was on the cover with his latest development, and my eyebrows rose. Clearly he’d been spending more time here than I thought. The delivery address on the front was for Carew Tower.

  “Food is on the way,” Trent said, and I turned, surprised to see a thick fleece draped over his arm. “Ah, we can eat on the balcony if you want, but I thought the fire . . .”

  “Would be perfect,” I finished, then helped him arrange the fleece before the table and chair. “This is nice,” I said as I took off my boots and settled in. “You bring all your ladies up here?”

  Trent chuckled, his balance perfect as he wedged his dress shoes off and stepped onto the fleece. “Only the ones who have the guts to throw me into a tree.”

  “Then I’m the only one.” Beaming, I pulled him down and gave him a kiss, the length of which promised more. “How long until the food gets here?”

  Trent took his phone from his pocket and set it on the table. “Ten minutes?”

  “Wow. Fast. Thanks for getting rid of Jenks,” I mused lightly, but my reach for him faltered when the sound of Jenks’s wings intruded.

  “Hey, guys? Whoa! Can’t you even wait until after you eat?” he said, and I rocked back with a sigh.

  “If the church isn’t on fire, it can wait,” I said, and Jenks bobbed up and down.

  “How about an I.S. car out in front? Getty says they’re talking about you.”

  “Swell.” Mood souring, I dug my phone out and saw that Vivian had finally returned my text. Apparently she’d been waiting for us at the front lobby. Oops.

  “You should call her,” Trent said, and I reluctantly tapped the icon. Trent turned on the TV over the fireplace, flipping through the channels until he found the local news. Sure enough, it was an outside shot of the hospital, a newscaster with one hand holding the mic, the other trying to keep her hair from flipping wildly in the misty gusts. No wonder there was a car at my curb. Trent had the captions on, sound off, and their conversation wasn’t only about the mystics in the hospital, but also the magic misfires that had plagued the city more than a year ago.

  Summon an elven goddess, and they never forget, I thought, unhappy as the hospital room flashed onto the screen. Fortunately the footage only showed Trent and me pulling everyone to a corner, and then the screen going white when I invoked the ring. The part where Trent and I had downed everyone was probably being withheld and studied for possible prosecution.

  “Rachel? I am so pissed at you!” Vivian said as she answered her phone, and I felt myself warm. God help me, was my hair really that wild? Damn mystics.

  “Ah, hi?” I said, and Trent touched my shoulder as he set the remote down and quietly left, hopefully to check on our dinner. Or maybe he just didn’t want to listen to me getting reamed out by a hundred-and-twenty-pound, five-foot-two blonde with the backing of an entire demographic of people. “I suppose I should have been more specific about where I was.”

  “You think?” Her voice was tense, full of anger. “I waited twenty minutes. I should have known it was you when the All-Call alarm went out.”

  “I’m really sorry,” I said, eyes on the TV, praying that the news focused only on those last five seconds. “I was going to wait, but Kylie flatlined, and seriously, Vivian, they wouldn’t listen. I wasn’t going to let him die.”

  “Rachel, I don’t know what I can do now,” she said as if Kylie’s life didn’t mean goose slip. “I have no idea what you did to revive them.”

  I gestured to the TV, the footage now on an ugly loop in the background as two reporters talked about it. “I found the countercurse in Hodin’s old room. Tap a line, aim the ring, say the words. Not a big deal. Vivian, I brought the book to show you. You have to believe me.”

  “No, I don’t,” she said coldly, and my pulse quickened. “But I do. It’s ring based? I want to see it.”

  I glanced worriedly at my shoulder bag beside Trent’s recliner. “Ah, yes. Sure. Is tomorrow still okay?” I’d thought uncursing Cassie’s people would help, not make things worse. The coven was apparently interested in process, not results.

  “Tomorrow,” she said, and I exhaled, glad I had that much. The news coverage had shifted, showing the same room, but now it had all four of Cassie’s employees sitting up in bed, trays of soup and pudding before them. Vivian was there, too, her brow furrowed as she talked to the security guy holding a towel to his bleeding nose. She was clearly angry but capable in her white coat and perfect hair.

  “I’m watching you on TV,” I said, and Vivian made a small huff. “You look upset.”

  “I am,” she said. “You agreed to keep me in the loop and you cut me out. Again.”

  “I brought the book—” I started, eyes going to my bag.

  “The intent,” she interrupted, “was an exchange of information. The rest of the coven doesn’t give a spotted dog’s dick about results.”

  From the mantel, Jenks snickered.

  “They want to know what you are doing and how you’re doing it. Rachel. I can’t express how deep in the shitter you are. Give me a shovel to dig you out.”

  “I know,” I said as I turned from the TV. “I’ve got everything. You can see it all,” I added, feeling a flush of fear. “Tomorrow. My church. Two o’clock. I’d do it sooner, but I’m working Trent’s security at the coffee festival.”

  “Two o’clock,” she affirmed.

  “Okay,” I said faintly, glad Lee had gotten me into Hodin’s room. “But, Vivian, you have to believe me. I didn’t know what went into Brad’s curse when I performed it. Hodin lied to me.” Technically Stef had put the illegal ingredients in without my knowledge, but I wasn’t going to throw her under the bus. I had wanted the curse. I had used the curse. It was my curse.

  “Intent matters,” the woman said, making me feel better. “But if the rest of the coven doesn’t believe you, it won’t mean anything.” The woman sighed. “Shunning only needs a two-thirds vote, and that second nay is turning out to be hard to find. Where are you now?”

  “Hiding from the I.S.,” I said bluntly, and Jenks tittered.

  “Probably a good idea,” Vivian said. “Doyle wants to bring you in for questioning.”

  “Are you advocating I stay hidden?” I said, getting a neutral “mmmm” in return.

  The background noise grew muted, and the distinctive click, click, click of Vivian’s heels became obvious. “Stay where you are. You can’t show me anything if you’re in I.S. lockup. Maybe we should meet somewhere other than your church.”

  “You can meet here,” Trent said as he came in, a tray with silver-covered plates in his hand, and I quickly moved his Orchid Digest to the chair.

  “Um, how about Carew Tower restaurant?” I offered, and Vivian made a happy noise.

  “Done,” she said. “I’ll make the reservations.”

  The phone clicked with a startling suddenness, and I exhaled, my request that she add in a seat for Trent remaining unsaid. “This is going to be a sucky Halloween,” I muttered, and Trent glanced up from removing the silver covers.

  “You’re okay. Vivian likes you.” Rising up, Jenks rubbed his wings together to make a piercing whistle. “Bis! Chow is here!”

  Unhappy, I dug my fingers into the fleece. “She has a funny way of showing it.”

  Bis winged in with the sound of sliding leather, startling Trent when he landed on the man’s shoulder. “Thank you,” Bis said shyly, his handlike foot taking the sandwich that Trent extended to him. “Jenks, get your stuff. I’ve got a place out of the wind we can eat. I bet you a week’s worth of sentry duty that I can hit the roof across the street with my spit.”

  Jenks rose up with a packet of honey, dusting heavily. “You’re on,” he said, and the two flew out again, but not before Bis gave me a soft, knowing smile.

  “Thanks, Bis,” I whispered, depressed as I resettled myself and stared blankly at the fire.

  Trent’s sigh as he sat beside me was familiar. He set the cheese and a basket of bread before us, silent as he poured hot cider from a carafe into two oversize mugs sporting the Cincinnatian logo.

  “For you,” he said as he handed me the fuller one.

  “Thanks.” I took it, a soft groan of pleasure slipping from me at my first sip. It was warm and sweet, reminding me of fall evenings when my dad would drive us out to the cider mill to buy a dozen fried doughnuts and a gallon of cider. We’d take it up to Eden Park to watch the sunset, and my dad would tell us of the people he helped that week. “This isn’t that processed, thin stuff they serve in the Cincinnatian. This is real cider,” I said in appreciation.