Ever After (Rachel Morgan)

Trent said, a few steps ahead of me, looking comfortable in his black pants and gray shirt, his tie loose about his neck and no coat on against the slight chill. “I have a clear schedule, but showing up at your church after midnight isn’t prudent.”
    I thought of the news vans and nodded. “It’s not like I have anything on my plate,” I said, staring up at the dark branches as my steps slowed. No, it had been very quiet the last week. Most days it was just Jenks and me knocking about in the church—Ivy was spending a lot of time with Nina, trying to bring her back from the brink. I’d gotten a lot done in the garden, but I was bored to tears. When Trent had asked me to come over when I’d called to tell him I had the curse to mend his hand ready, I’d jumped at the chance. But I was more than a little curious as to why we hadn’t done it in his office or private apartments. Maybe he wanted to make s’mores? I could smell a wood fire somewhere.
    “Business still slow?” he asked, holding a dogwood branch heavy with last night’s rain out of the way.
    “Nonexistent, but Al is keeping me busy.” I had to force myself to move forward to duck under the branch, and I didn’t know why. It wasn’t Trent. He had been professional if somewhat quiet when he’d met me at the kitchen entrance at the underground garage. I’d never even seen the upstairs apartments, having gone immediately to Trent’s secondary office on the ground floor, and out into the gardens from there. It was nearing midnight and the public offices were deserted.
    Water spotted my shoulder when Trent let the branch go. A flower drifted down, and I kept it, feeling as if it had been a gift. Trent led the way. The lamp in his hand swung, sending beams of light into the wet leaves. I shivered, then stopped dead in my tracks when the path forked. To the right was a narrow nothing, to the left, well-manicured sawdust. Trent continued on down the right path, and I wavered, feeling the need to keep moving.
    “Trent,” I said, actually two steps down the wrong path. Confusion and nausea rose up, and I stopped, unable to go back. What in hell?
    “Oh. Sorry.” Motions sharp, Trent came back and took my hand, pulling me back to the smaller path. “There’s a ward.”
    His fingers in mine were warm, and my head came up. The nausea vanished, and I took a deep breath. “To keep people out?” I guessed, feeling funny as he led me up the narrow, crooked path as if I were a reluctant child. My breath came in a quick heave, and panic took me. Almost laughing, Trent gave a quick yank, jerking me forward another step.
    I stumbled, gasping as a wave of energy passed over my aura. Wild magic sang in my veins, setting my heart to thumping, and then I was through. Halting, I turned to look over my shoulder. The main house was surprisingly close. Jenks and I had probably been within a stone’s throw of the ward when we had burgled Trent’s office, and we’d never known.
    “The ward only hits you when you try to force your way in,” Trent said. “Otherwise, you’d never notice it. At all.”
    Breathless, I pulled my hand from his. “You made it?” I said, and he turned away.
    “My mother did.” His pace slower, Trent wove a path through the tall bushes. I could see a little roof up ahead, but little else. “She made the ward, the spelling hut, and pretty much everything in it.”
    The path opened up, and I stopped beside him as he lifted the lantern high. There in the soft glow of a candle was a small house made of stone and shingled with cedar. Moss grew on the roof, and the door was painted red. It felt abandoned, but the glow of firelight flickered on the inside of the windows, and smoke drifted up from the chimney. Clearly he’d been out here earlier tonight.
    “I found it shortly after she died,” he said, a faint smile quirking his lips. “Made it into my own place to avoid Jonathan. It’s only been recently that I’ve been using it to spell in. It’s remarkably secure. I thought you might like to see it.” He lowered the lamp and I followed him to the wide slate stone that served as a threshold.
    There was no lock, and Trent simply pushed the door open. “Come on in,” he said as he went in before me and set the lamp on the small table beside the door. His back was to me as I hiked my shoulder bag up and sent my gaze over everything to find it neat and tidy. It was one room, the walls covered in shelves holding ley line