“Sha na tay, sha na tay,” he said, his voice becoming more sure as he chanted it, seeking the attention of the Goddess that he was reluctantly beginning to believe in. He’d seen too much not to. His pulse quickened, an awareness seemed to touch on him— one eye among thousands idly turning his way. The line was all around him, and dizzy with it, he let it fill his chi. And when he was sure he had the Goddess’s attention, he reached for Rachel’s chi.”

“He opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly struggling to find a way to touch his son without hurting him. “Jax…” he whispered, his eyes both young and old—pained and filled with joy.”

“Rachel,” came a raspy voice from the upper level, and both Trent and I turned. It was Quen, wrapped in a blanket as if it was a death shroud, the black-haired intern at his side, supporting him. His hair was plastered to his skull with sweat, and I could see him wavering as he stood there. “Don’t touch Trenton,” he said, his gravelly voice clear in the hush, “or I’m going to have to come down there…and smack you around.”

“The want for that kiss had shocked him more than the interruption, and he fell back into the chair, cool and nonchalant as Quen came in with his questions and demands. He wasn't sure if he believed he'd really helped, but one thing was very clear. He wanted that again, that feeling of standing with her against all odds and succeeding. He wanted it so bad, he was going to risk destroying everything he and his father had worked for. He should walk away. Right now. But as she was ushered out the door under David's arm, all he wanted to do was follow her. What the hell was he doing, falling in love with a demon?”

“His eyes met mine at the soft touch, and a chime seemed to shake the ley line, realigning the universe. He was mine.”

“He froze as the scent of her hair met him. It was touching his cheek,tickling him.I cant afford this, he thought, but he didnt move, watching her finger trace the new line. "He cracked my mirror,"she said, clearly angry.”

“You pompous little bitch!” the infuriated Were shouted, red-faced and with his thugs backing him. “What are you doing here?” Mrs. Sarong pushed past the men who had put themselves in front of her. “Arranging your removal,” she said, her voice sharp and her eyes glaring. Removal? As if he were an overgrown tree clogging the sewer line? The short businessman seemed to choke on his own breath, becoming choleric. Mouth gaping to look like one of his prize fish, he struggled to respond. “Like hell you are!” he finally managed. “That’s what I wanted to talk to her about!” From my shoulder came a small, “Holy crap, Rache. How did you become Cincy’s assassin of choice?”