"Is that what this is about?" I said, both ticked and relieved. "Is this how you get your clients? Stalking them?" I frowned and turned away. "That's pathetic. Even for a Were."
"Wait up," he said, lurching out onto the path after me in a snapping of twigs. "No. Actually, I'm here about the fish."
I jerked to a stop, my feet again in the sun. My thoughts zinged back to the fish I had stolen from Mr. Ray's office last September. Shit.
"Um," I stammered, my knees suddenly weak from more than the run. "What fish?" Fingers fumbling, I snapped my sunglasses open. Putting them on, I started walking for the exit.
David felt his middle for damage as he followed me, meeting my fast pace with his own. "See," he said almost to himself. "This is exactly why I've been following you. Now I'll never get a straight answer, I'll never settle the claim."
My stomach hurt, and I forced myself into a faster pace. "It was a mistake," I said, my face warming. "I thought it was the Howlers' fish."
David took off his sweatband, slicked his hair back, and replaced it. "Word is that the fish has been destroyed. I find that extremely unlikely. If you could verify that, I can write my report, send a check to the party Mr. Ray stole the fish from, and you'll never see me again."
I gave him a sidelong glance, my relief that he wasn't going to serve me with a writ or something very real. I had surmised that Mr. Ray had stolen it from someone when no one came after me for it. But this was unexpected. "Someone insured their fish?" I scoffed, not believing it, then realized he was serious. "You're kidding."
The man shook his head. "I've been following you trying to decide if you have it or not."
We had reached the entrance and I stopped, not wanting him to follow me to my car. Not that he didn't already know which one it was. "Why not just ask me, Mr. Insurance Agent?"
Looking bothered, he planted his feet widely with an aggressive stance. He was my height exactlymaking him somewhat short for a manbut most Weres weren't big people on the outside. "You really expect me to believe you don't know?"
I gave him a blank look. "Know what?"
Running a hand across his thick bristles, he looked at the sky. "Most people will lie like the devil when they get ahold of a wishing fish. If you have it, just tell me. I don't care. All I want is to get this claim off my desk."
My jaw dropped. "AA wishing"
He nodded. "A wishing fish, yes." His thick eyebrows rose. "You really didn't know? Do you still have it?"
I sat down on one of the cold benches. "Jenks ate it."
The Were started. "Excuse me?"
I couldn't look up. My thoughts went back to last fall and my gaze drifted past the gate to my shiny red convertible waiting for me in the parking lot. I had wished for a car. Damn, I had wished for a car and gotten it. Jenks ate a wishing fish?
His shadow fell over me and I looked up, squinting at David's silhouette, black against the faultless blue of noon. "My partner and his family ate it."
David stared. "You're joking."
Feeling ill, I dropped my gaze. "We didn't know. He cooked it over an open fire and his family ate it."
His small feet moved in a quick motion. Shifting, he pulled a folded piece of paper and a pen from his backpack. As I sat with my elbows on my knees and stared at nothing, David crouched beside me and scribbled, using the smooth concrete bench as a desk. "If you would sign here, Ms. Morgan," he said as he extended the pen to me.
A deep breath sifted through me. I took the pen, then the paper. His handwriting had a stiff preciseness that told me he was meticulous and well-organized. Ivy would love him. Scanning it, I realized it was a legal document, David's handwritten addition stating that I had witnessed the destruction of the fish, unaware of its abilities. Frowning, I scrawled my name and pushed it back.
His eyes were full of an amused disbelief as he took the pen from me and signed it as well. I bit back a snort when he brought out a notarizing kit from his backpack and made it legal. He didn't ask for my identification, but hell, he'd been following me for three months. "You're a notary, too?" I said, and he nodded, returning everything to his backpack and zipping it up.
"It's a necessity in my line of work." Standing, he smiled. "Thank you, Ms. Morgan."
"No sweat." My thoughts were jumbled. I couldn't decide if I was going to tell Jenks or not. My gaze returned to David as I realized he was holding out his card. I took it, wondering.
"Since I've got you here," he said, moving so I wasn't looking into the sun to see him, "if you're interested in getting a better rate on your insurance"
I sighed and let the card fall. What a weenie.
He chuckled, gracefully swooping to pick it up. "I get my health and hospitalization insurance for two fifty a month through my union."
Suddenly, I was interested. "Runners are almost uninsurable."
"True." He pulled a black nylon jacket out of his backpack and put it on. "So are field insurance adjusters. But since there are so few of us compared to the pencil pushers that make up the bulk of the company, we get a good rate. Union dues are one fifty a year. It gets you a discount on your insurance needs, car rentals, and all the steak you can eat at the yearly picnic."
That was too good to believe. "Why?" I asked, taking the card back.
He lifted his shoulder in a shrug. "My partner retired last year. I need someone."
My mouth opened in understanding. He thought I wanted to be an insurance adjuster? Oh, ple-e-e-e-ease. "Sorry. I've already got a job," I said, snickering.
David made an exasperated noise. "No. You misunderstand. I don't want a partner. I've driven off all the interns they've saddled me with, and everyone else knows better than to try. I've got two months to find someone, or they're going to shave my tail. I like my job, and I'm good at it, but I don't want a partner." He hesitated, his sharp gaze scanning the area behind me with professional intentness. "I work alone. You sign the paper, you belong to the union, you get a discount on your insurance, you never see me but for the yearly picnic, where we act chummy and do the three-legged race. I help you; you help me."
I couldn't stop my eyebrows from rising, and I shifted my attention from him to the card in my grip. Four hundred dollars less a month sounded great. And I'd be willing to bet they could beat what I was paying for my car insurance, too. Tempted, I asked, "What kind of hospitalization do you have?"
His thin lips curled up in a smile to show a hint of small teeth. "Silver Cross."
My head bobbed. It was designed for Weres, but it was flexible enough to work. A broken bone is a broken bone. "So," I drawled, leaning back, "what's the catch?"
His grin widened. "Your salary is deferred to me, as I'm the one doing all the work."
Ahhhh, I thought. He would get two salaries. This was a scam if I ever heard one. Smirking, I handed him his card back. "Thanks, but no thanks."
David made a disappointed sound, backing up with his card. "You can't blame me for trying. It was my old partner's suggestion, actually. I should have known you wouldn't go for it." He hesitated. "Your backup really ate that fish?"
I nodded, going depressed thinking about it. 'Least I got a car out of it first.
"Well" He set the card down beside me, snapping it into the concrete. "Give me a call if you change your mind. The extension on the card will get you past my secretary. When I'm not in the field, I'm in the office from three to midnight. I might consider taking you on as an apprentice for real. My last partner was a witch, and you look like you have some chutzpah."
"Thanks," I said snidely.
"It's not as boring as it looks. And safer than what you're doing now. Maybe after you get beat up a few more times you'll change your mind."
I wondered if this guy was for real. "I don't work for people. I work for myself."
Nodding, he casually touched his head in a loose salute before he turned and walked away. I pulled myself straight as his trim figure slipped past the gate. He got in a gray twoseater across the lot from my little red car and drove off. I cringed, recognizing it and realizing he had watched Nick and me yesterday.
My butt was frozen from sitting on the concrete when I stood. I picked up his card, tearing it in half and going to a trash can, but as I held the ripped pieces over the hole, I hesitated. Slowly, I put them in my pocket.
An insurance adjuster? a small voice in my head mocked. Grimacing, I took the pieces out and dropped them in the can. Work for someone else again? No. Never.
Nine
Peace sat warm in me as I sprinkled the yellow sugar on the iced cookie shaped like the sun. Okay, so it was a circle, but with the sparkling sugar it could be the sun. I was tired of the long nights, and the physical affirmation of the turning seasons had always filled me with a quiet strength. Especially the winter solstice.
I set the finished cookie aside on the paper towel and took another. It was quiet but for music filtering in from the living room. Takata had released "Red Ribbons" to WVMP, and the station was playing it into the ground. I didn't care. The refrain was the one I had told him fitted with the theme of the song, and it pleased me I had played some small part in its creation.
All the pixies were sleeping in my desk for at least two more hours. Ivy probably wouldn't be up stumbling about in search of coffee for even longer. She had come in before sunrise looking calm and relaxed, self-consciously seeking my approval for having slacked her blood lust on some poor sap before falling into bed like a Brimstone addict. I had the church to myself, and I was going to squeeze every drop of solitude out of it that I could.
Swaying to the heavy beat of drums in a way I wouldn't if anyone were watching, I smiled. It was nice to be alone once in a while.
Jenks had made his kids do more than apologize to me, and I had woken this afternoon to a hot pot of coffee in a sparkling clean kitchen. Everything shone, everything was polished. They had even scoured the accumulated dirt out of the circle I had etched into the linoleum around the center island counter. Not a breath of dust or cobweb marred the walls or ceiling, and as I dipped my knife into the green icing, I vowed to try to keep it this clean all the time.
Yeah, right, I thought as I layered frosting on the wreath. I'd put it off until I was back to the same level of chaos that the pixies had dragged me out of. I'd give it two weeks, tops.
Timing my movements with the beat of the music, I placed three little hot candies to look like berries. A sigh shifted my shoulders, and I set it aside and took up the candle cookie, trying to decide whether to make it purple for aged wisdom or green for change.
I was reaching for the purple when the phone rang from the living room. I froze for an instant, then set the butter tub of frosting down and hustled after it before it could wake the pixies. They were worse than having a baby in the house. Snatching the remote from the couch, I pointed it at the disc player to mute it. "Vampiric Charms," I said as I picked up the phone and hoped I wasn't breathing hard. "This is Rachel."
"How much for an escort on the twenty-third?" a young voice asked, cracking.
"That depends on the situation." I frantically looked for the calendar and a pen. They weren't where I'd left them, and I finally dug through my bag for my datebook. I thought the twenty-third was a Saturday. "Is there a death threat involved or is it general protection?"
"Death threat!" the voice exclaimed. "All I want is a good-looking girl so my friends won't think I'm a dweeb."
My eyes closed as I gathered my strength. Too late, I thought, clicking the pen closed. "This is an independent runner service," I said tiredly, "not a bloodhouse. And kid? Do yourself a favor and take the shy girl. She's cooler than you think, and she won't own your soul in the morning."
The phone clicked off, and I frowned. This was the third such call this month. Maybe I should take a look at the yellow pages ad that Ivy bought.
I wiped my hands free of the last sugar and shuffled in the narrow cabinet that the message machine sat on, pulling out the phone book and dropping it on the coffee table. The red message light was blinking, and I tapped it, leafing through the heavy book to Private Investigators. I froze when Nick's voice came rolling out, guilty and awkward, telling me he had stopped by about six this morning and picked up Jax and that he would call me in a few days.
"Coward," I breathed, thinking it was one more crucifix tied to the coffin. He knew no one but the pixies would be up then. I vowed to enjoy myself on my date with Kisten, whether Ivy would have to kill him afterward or not. I jabbed the button to clear his message, then went back to the phone book.
We were one of the last listings, and as I found Vampiric Charms in a friendly font, my eyebrows rose. It was a nice ad, more attractive than the full-page ads around it, with a line drawing of a mysterious-looking woman in a hat and duster ghosted into the background.
"'Fast. Discreet. No questions asked,'" I said, reading it. "'Sliding scale. Payment options. Insured. Week, day, and hourly rates.'" Under it all were our three names, address, and phone number. I didn't get it. There was nothing here that would lead anyone to think bloodhouse or even a dating service. Then I saw the tiny print at the bottom saying to see the secondary entries.
I flipped through the thin sheets to the first one listed, finding the same ad. Then I looked closer; not at our ad, but the ones around it. Holy crap, that woman was hardly clothed, having the perky body of an animé cartoon. My eyes flicked to the heading. "Escort Service?" I said, flushing at the steamy, suggestive ads.
My gaze jerked to our advertisement again, the words taking on an entirely new meaning. No questions asked? Week, day, or hourly rates? Payment options? Lips pressed together, I shut the book, leaving it out to talk to Ivy about. No wonder we were getting calls.
More than a little irate, I unmuted the stereo and headed back into the kitchen, Steppenwolf's "Magic Carpet Ride" trying its best to lighten my mood.
It was the hint of a draft, the barest scent of wet pavement, that made my step hesitate and the palm streaking out at me past the archway to the kitchen miss my jaw.
"God bless it!" I swore as I dove past it into the kitchen instead of falling back into the cramped hall. Remembering Jenks's kids, I tapped the ley line out back but did nothing else as I fell into a defensive crouch between the sink and the island counter. I almost choked when I saw whom it was standing by the archway.
"Quen?" I stammered, not getting out of my stance as the lightly wrinkled, athletic man stared at me with no expression. The head of Trent's security was dressed entirely in black, his tight-fitting body stocking looking vaguely like a uniform. "What in hell are you doing?" I said. "I ought to call the I.S., you know that? And have them haul your ass out of my kitchen for illegal entry! If Trent wants to see me, he can come down here just like anyone else. I'll tell him he can suck dishwater, but he ought to have the decency to let me do it in person!"
Quen shook his head. "I have a problem, but I don't think you can handle it."
I made an ugly face at him. "Don't test me, Quen," I all but snarled. "You'll fail."
"We'll see."
That was all the warning I got as the man pushed off the wall, headed right for me.
Gasping, I dove past him instead of backward the way I wanted. Quen lived and breathed security. Backing away would only get me caught. Heart pounding, I grabbed my dented copper spell pot with white frosting in it and swung.
Quen caught it, yanking me forward. Adrenaline hurt my head as I let it go, and he tossed it aside. It made a harsh bong and spun into the hallway.
I snatched the coffeemaker and threw it. The appliance jerked back at its cord, and the carafe fell to shatter on the floor. He dodged, his green eyes peeved when they met mine, as if wondering what in hell I was doing. But if he got a grip on me, I was a goner. I had a cupboard of charms in arm's reach, but no time to invoke even one.
He gathered himself to jump, and remembering how he had evaded Piscary with incredible leaps, I went for my dissolution vat. Teeth gritted in effort, I tipped it over.
Quen cried out in disgust as ten gallons of saltwater cascaded over the floor to mix with the coffee and glass shards. Arms pinwheeling, he slipped.
I levered myself onto the island counter, stepping on frosted cookies and knocking over vials of colored sugar. Crouched to avoid the hanging utensils, I jumped feet first as he rose.
My feet hit him squarely in the chest and we both went down.
Where was everyone? I thought as my hip took the fall and I grunted in pain. I was making enough noise to wake the un-dead. But as such commotion was more common than silence these days, Ivy and Jenks would probably ignore it and hope it went away.
Slipping, I skittered from Quen. Hands reaching unseeing, I scrabbled for my paint ball gun kept purposely at crawling height. I yanked it out. Nested copper pots rolled noisily.
"Enough!" I shouted, arms stiff as I sat on my butt in salt-water, aiming at him. It was loaded with water-filled splat balls for practice, but he didn't know that. "What do you want?"
Quen hesitated, water making darker smears on his black pants. His eye twitched.
Adrenaline surged. He was going to risk it.
Instinct and practice with Ivy made me squeeze the trigger as he leapt onto the table to land like a cat. I tracked him, squeezing out every last splat ball.
His expression went affronted as he pulled himself to a crouching halt, his attention jerking from me to the six new splatters on his skintight shirt. Crap. I'd missed him once. Jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed in anger. "Water?" he said. "You load your spell gun with water?"
"Ain't you just lucky for that?" I snapped. "What do you want?" He shook his head, and my breath hissed in as I felt a dropping sensation in me. He was tapping the line out back.
Panic jerked me to my feet, and I flung my hair out of my eyes. From his vantage point on the table, Quen straightened to his full height, his hands moving as he whispered Latin.
"Like hell you will!" I shouted, throwing my splat gun at him. He ducked, and I snatched up whatever I could to throw it at him, desperate to keep him from finishing the charm.
Quen dodged the butter tub of frosting. It thunked into the wall to make a green smear. Grabbing the cookie tin, I ran around the counter, swinging it like a board. He dove off the table to avoid it, cursing at me. Cookies and red-hot candies went everywhere.
I followed him, grabbing him about the knees to bring us both down in a sodden splat. He twisted in my grip until his livid green eyes met mine. Hands scrabbling, I shoved salt-water soggy cookies into his mouth so he couldn't verbally invoke a charm.
He spit them at me, his deeply tanned, pockmarked face vehement. "You little canicula" he managed, and I jammed some more into him.
His teeth closed on my finger, and I shrieked, jerking back. "You bit me!" I shouted, incensed. My fist swung, but he rolled to his feet, crashing into the chairs.
Panting, he stood. He was soaked, covered in water and sparkles of colored sugar. Growling an unheard word, he leapt.
I lurched upright to flee. Pain lanced through my scalp as he grabbed my hair and spun me around into an embrace, my back to his chest. One arm went chokingly around my neck. The other slipped between my legs, yanking me up onto one foot.
Furious, I elbowed him in the gut with my free arm. "Get your hands" I grunted, hopping backward on one foot, "off my hair!" I reached the wall, and smashed him into it. His breath exploded out as I jabbed his ribs, and his grip around my neck fell away.
I spun to stiff-arm his jaw, but he was gone. I was staring at the yellow wall. Shrieking, I went down, my legs pulled out from under me. His weight landed on me, pinning me to the wet floor with my arms over my head.
"I win," he panted as he straddled me, his green eyes from under his short hair wild.
I struggled to no effect, ticked that it was going to be something as stupid as body mass that decided this. "You forgot something, Quen," I snarled. "I have fifty-seven roommates."
His lightly wrinkled brow furrowed.
Taking a huge breath, I whistled. Quen's eyes widened. Grunting in effort, I jerked my right hand free and slammed the heel of my hand at his nose.
He jerked back out of the way and I pushed him off me, rolling. Still on my hands and knees, I flipped my wet stringy hair out of the way.
Quen had gained his feet, but he wasn't moving. He was standing stock-still, cookie-smeared palms raised above his head in a gesture of acquiescence. Jenks was hovering before him, the sword he kept to fight off encroaching fairies aimed at Quen's right eye. The pixy looked pissed, dust spilling from him to make a steady sunbeam from him to the floor.
"Breathe," Jenks threatened. "Blink. Just give me a reason, you bloody freak of nature."
I stumbled upright as Ivy dove into the room, moving faster than I would have believed possible. Robe loose and flowing, she grabbed Quen by the throat.
The lights flickered and the hanging utensils swung as she slammed him into the wall beside the doorway. "What are you doing here?" she snarled, her knuckles white with pressure. Jenks had moved with Quen, his sword still touching the man's eye.
"Wait!" I exclaimed, worried they might kill him. Not that I'd mind, but then there'd be I.S. personnel in my kitchen, and paperwork. Lots of paperwork. "Slow down," I soothed.
My eyes flicked to Ivy, still holding Quen. There was frosting on my hand, and I wiped it off on my damp jeans as I caught my breath. Saltwater marked me and I had cookie crumbs and sugar in my hair. The kitchen looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy had exploded. I squinted at the purple frosting on the ceiling. When had that happened?
"Ms. Morgan," Quen said, then gurgled as Ivy tightened her grip. The music from the living room softened to talk.
I felt my ribs, wincing. Angry, I paced to where he hung in Ivy's hold. "Ms. Morgan?" I shouted, six inches from his reddening face. "Ms. Morgan? I'm Ms. Morgan now? What in hell is wrong with you!" I yelled. "Coming into my house. Ruining my cookies. Do you know how long it's going to take to clean this up?"
He gurgled again, and my anger started to slow. Ivy was staring at him with a shocking intensity. The scent of his fear had tripped her past her limits. She was vamping out at noon. This wasn't good, and I took a step back, suddenly sobered. "Um, Ivy?" I said.
"I'm okay," she said huskily, her eyes saying different. "Want me to bleed him quiet?"
"No!" I exclaimed, and I felt another drop in me. Quen was tapping a line. I took an alarmed breath. Things were spiraling out of control. Someone was going to get hurt. I could set a circle, but it would be around me, not him. "Drop him!" I demanded. "Jenks, you too!" Neither of them moved. "Now!"
Shoving him up the wall, Ivy dropped him and stepped away. He hit the floor in a slump, his hand at his neck as he coughed violently. Slowly he moved his legs into a normal position. Flipping his very black hair from his eyes, he looked up, sitting cross-legged and barefoot. "Morgan," he said roughly, his hand hiding his throat, "I need your help."
I glanced at Ivy, who was tightening her black silk robe about herself again. He needed my help? Ri-i-i-i-ight. "You okay?" I asked Ivy, and she nodded. The ring of brown left to her eyes was too thin for my comfort, but the sun was high, and the tension in the room was easing. Seeing my concern, she pressed her lips together.
"I'm fine," she reiterated. "You want me to call the I.S. now or after I kill him?"
My gaze ran over the kitchen. My cookies were ruined, sitting in soggy clumps. The globs of frosting on the walls were starting to run. Saltwater was venturing out of the kitchen, threatening to reach the living room rug. Letting Ivy kill him was looking really good.
"I want to hear what he has to say," I said as I slid open a drawer and put three dish towels in the threshold as a dike. Jenks's kids were peeking around the corner at us. The angry pixy rubbed his wings together to make a piercing whistle, and they vanished in a trill of sound.
Taking a fourth towel, I wiped the frosting off my elbow and went to stand before Quen. Feet spread wide and my fists on my hips, I waited. It must have been big if he was willing to risk Jenks figuring out he was an elf. My thoughts went to Ceri across the street, and my worry grew. I wasn't going to let Trent know she existed. He would use her some waysome very ugly way.
The elf felt his ribs through his black shirt. "I think you cracked them," he said.
"Did I pass?" I said snidely.
"No. But you're the best I've got."
Ivy made a sound of disbelief, and Jenks dropped down before him, staying carefully out of his reach. "You ass," the four-inch man swore. "We could have killed you three times over."
Quen frowned at him. "We. It was her I was interested in. Not we. She failed."
"So I guess that means you'll be leaving," I said, knowing I wouldn't be that lucky. I took in his subdued attire and sighed. It was just after noon. Elves slept when the sun was high and in the middle of the night, just like pixies. Quen was here without Trent's knowledge.
Feeling more sure of myself, I pulled out a chair and sat down before Quen could see my legs trembling. "Trent doesn't know you're here," I said, and he nodded solemnly.
"It's my problem, not his," Quen said. "I'm paying you, not him."
I blinked, trying to disguise my unease. Trent didn't know. Interesting. "You have a job for me that he doesn't know about," I said. "What is it?"
Quen's gaze went to Ivy and Jenks.
Peeved, I crossed my legs and shook my head. "We're a team. I'm not asking them to leave so you can tell me of whatever piss-poor problem you've landed yourself in."
The older elf's brow wrinkled. He took an angry breath.
"Look," I said, my finger jabbing out to point at him. "I don't like you. Jenks doesn't like you. And Ivy wants to eat you. Start talking."
He went motionless. It was then I saw his desperation, shimmering behind his eyes like light on water. "I have a problem," he said, fear the thinnest ribbon in his low, controlled voice.
I glanced at Ivy. Her breath had quickened and she stood with her arms wrapped about herself, holding her robe closed. She looked upset, her pale face even more white than usual.
"Mr. Kalamack is going to a social gathering and"
My lips pursed. "I already turned down one whoring offer today."
Quen's eyes flashed. "Shut up," he said coldly. "Someone is interfering in Mr. Kalamack's secondary business ventures. The meeting is to try to come to a mutual understanding. I want you to be there to be sure that's all it is."
Mutual understanding? It was an I'm-tougher-than-you-so-get-out-of-my-city party. "Saladan?" I guessed.
Genuine surprise washed over him. "You know him?"
Jenks was flitting over Quen, trying to figure out what he was. The pixy was getting more and more frustrated, his shifts of direction becoming jerky and accented with sharp snaps of his dragonfly wings. "I've heard of him," I said, thinking of Takata. My eyes narrowed. "Why should I care if he assumes Trent's secondary business ventures? This is about Brimstone, isn't it?" I said. "Well, you can take a leap of faith and burn in hell. Trent is killing people, not that he hasn't done it before, but now he's killing them for no reason." Outrage pulled me to my feet. "Your boss is moth crap. I ought to bring him in, not protect him. And you," I said, louder, pointing, "are lower than moth crap for doing nothing while he does it!"
Quen flushed, making me feel vastly better about myself. "Are you that stupid?" he said, and I stiffened. "The bad Brimstone isn't from Mr. Kalamack; it's from Saladan. That's what this meeting is about. Mr. Kalamack is trying to get it off the streets, and unless you want Saladan taking over the city, you'd better start trying to keep Mr. Kalamack alive like the rest of us. Are you going to take the run or not? It pays ten thousand."
From Jenks came an eyeball-hurting pulse of ultrasonic surprise.
"Cash up front," Quen added, pulling a narrow wad of bills from somewhere on his person and throwing it at my feet.
I looked at the money. It wasn't enough. A million dollars wouldn't be enough. I shifted my foot, and it slid across the wet floor to Quen. "No."