Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            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.