Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            “The intent,” she interrupted, “was an exchange of information. The rest of the coven doesn’t give a spotted dog’s dick about results.”

            From the mantel, Jenks snickered.

            “They want to know what you are doing and how you’re doing it. Rachel. I can’t express how deep in the shitter you are. Give me a shovel to dig you out.”

            “I know,” I said as I turned from the TV. “I’ve got everything. You can see it all,” I added, feeling a flush of fear. “Tomorrow. My church. Two o’clock. I’d do it sooner, but I’m working Trent’s security at the coffee festival.”

            “Two o’clock,” she affirmed.

            “Okay,” I said faintly, glad Lee had gotten me into Hodin’s room. “But, Vivian, you have to believe me. I didn’t know what went into Brad’s curse when I performed it. Hodin lied to me.” Technically Stef had put the illegal ingredients in without my knowledge, but I wasn’t going to throw her under the bus. I had wanted the curse. I had used the curse. It was my curse.

            “Intent matters,” the woman said, making me feel better. “But if the rest of the coven doesn’t believe you, it won’t mean anything.” The woman sighed. “Shunning only needs a two-thirds vote, and that second nay is turning out to be hard to find. Where are you now?”

            “Hiding from the I.S.,” I said bluntly, and Jenks tittered.

            “Probably a good idea,” Vivian said. “Doyle wants to bring you in for questioning.”

            “Are you advocating I stay hidden?” I said, getting a neutral “mmmm” in return.

            The background noise grew muted, and the distinctive click, click, click of Vivian’s heels became obvious. “Stay where you are. You can’t show me anything if you’re in I.S. lockup. Maybe we should meet somewhere other than your church.”

            “You can meet here,” Trent said as he came in, a tray with silver-covered plates in his hand, and I quickly moved his Orchid Digest to the chair.

            “Um, how about Carew Tower restaurant?” I offered, and Vivian made a happy noise.

            “Done,” she said. “I’ll make the reservations.”

            The phone clicked with a startling suddenness, and I exhaled, my request that she add in a seat for Trent remaining unsaid. “This is going to be a sucky Halloween,” I muttered, and Trent glanced up from removing the silver covers.

            “You’re okay. Vivian likes you.” Rising up, Jenks rubbed his wings together to make a piercing whistle. “Bis! Chow is here!”

            Unhappy, I dug my fingers into the fleece. “She has a funny way of showing it.”

            Bis winged in with the sound of sliding leather, startling Trent when he landed on the man’s shoulder. “Thank you,” Bis said shyly, his handlike foot taking the sandwich that Trent extended to him. “Jenks, get your stuff. I’ve got a place out of the wind we can eat. I bet you a week’s worth of sentry duty that I can hit the roof across the street with my spit.”

            Jenks rose up with a packet of honey, dusting heavily. “You’re on,” he said, and the two flew out again, but not before Bis gave me a soft, knowing smile.

            “Thanks, Bis,” I whispered, depressed as I resettled myself and stared blankly at the fire.

            Trent’s sigh as he sat beside me was familiar. He set the cheese and a basket of bread before us, silent as he poured hot cider from a carafe into two oversize mugs sporting the Cincinnatian logo.

            “For you,” he said as he handed me the fuller one.

            “Thanks.” I took it, a soft groan of pleasure slipping from me at my first sip. It was warm and sweet, reminding me of fall evenings when my dad would drive us out to the cider mill to buy a dozen fried doughnuts and a gallon of cider. We’d take it up to Eden Park to watch the sunset, and my dad would tell us of the people he helped that week. “This isn’t that processed, thin stuff they serve in the Cincinnatian. This is real cider,” I said in appreciation.

            “I had the mill drop some off at the kitchen this afternoon.”

            Of course you did, I thought, slumping at the reminder of how different we were.