“Oh! Hi, Trent,” I said when the man said nothing, the half shadows of pixy wings making dappled patterns over both of us, their noise almost as loud as their chiming voices. “What the Turn are you doing here already? Avoiding Ivy, are we?”

He backed up, and the sun blinded me—just as he had planned. “Good afternoon, Rachel,” Trent said dryly. “You’re looking well.”

“Thanks.” I reached for my sunglasses and put them on as he moved to stand next to the chair with my robe draped over it, effectively stalling me from taking it. “It’s amazing what two months of not being on anyone’s hit list will do for a person.” I hesitated, realizing his hair was in a more trendy style than usual. “You’re not looking bad yourself, for a murdering drug lord.”

At that, Trent’s smile became real. I think he enjoyed our verbal banter—everyone else was too awed by his bank account to stand up to him. “I apologize for surprising you like this, but I have something I want to discuss with you.” He glanced up at Jenks. “Alone, if possible?”

He was avoiding Ivy then, I mused, thinking it was funny. Jenks snorted, his hands going to his hips. His fingers just brushed the hilt of his garden sword, giving him a mischievous, dangerous look, like Puck with an attitude and penchant for killing. Amused, I beamed at Trent, pulling up a knee so I didn’t feel so exposed.

“Actually, I am kind of busy right now,” I drawled as I settled back into the chair and closed my eyes. “You have to make melanin while the sun shines.” I opened my eyes, smiling at him with bland insincerity, but a small ache of warning furrowed my brow. He’s here alone.