Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            Trent’s head bowed, and I stifled a shiver when his arm went behind me and we stepped forward. “I’m tired of VIPs,” he said, lips close to my ear so I could hear. “Of having to flirt with women wearing too much perfume and agree with men who don’t know what they are talking about. I simply want to hang with two of my best friends and try some new coffees.”

            “Well, you can do that here,” I said, wondering how long it would take to get to the front of one of the booths.

            “Besides.” Trent hesitated, his hand touching his pocket as he scanned the room. “Lee is less likely to try anything with this many people around.”

            I chuckled, remembering the practical jokes they used to plague each other with, then started when Trent made a beeline to the front corner. “Ooooh, a silent auction!” he enthused, dragging me along as he reached for his pen.

            The festival was more than coffee, and as Trent went from basket to basket jotting down the occasional bid, I read the pamphlet to find out that the festival’s purpose beyond coffee was to promote the fragility of the Ohio watershed, inform people about the wildlife that supported it and was in turn supported, and why it was important not to dump pollutants from oil to medicines that might end up in someone’s faucet. Trent, though, clearly already knew this, seeing as he dropped a big bill into the contributions basket.

            “Tax-deductible,” he said. “I want to check my bid on that coffee maker before we go.”

            I glanced at the twin-bulb, glass-and-copper contraption, immediately seeing how it worked. A Bunsen burner heated the water up in the lower bulb, forcing it through a tube into the higher bulb, where it soaked the beans like a percolator. That’s where any similarity ended, though, and once the heat was removed, the water that had been forced up all drained back, giving you a nicely brewed cup.

            “That’s not a coffee maker,” I said, envious. “That’s an earth-magic implement to make an infusion.” A really nice one, I thought, though I wouldn’t ever use it but maybe twice a year. There were easier ways to make an infusion other than a two-hundred-dollar toy that would take up cupboard space.

            Trent’s head cocked as he eyed it. “It looks like a coffee maker.”

            Looping my arm in his, I bumped my hip into him to get him moving again. “What do you think coffee is? It’s an infusion. So is tea.”

            “Mmmm.”

            We got all of five feet before he jerked to a halt, riveted to the next booth with its tiny cups of coffee arrayed for tasting in the front, bags of coffee for buying behind. “Do you mind?” he murmured, and I grinned, gesturing for him to have at it.

            Immediately Trent struck up a conversation, leaving me to watch the crowd as I felt my security hat go on. There were a lot of Weres here, but Weres had a tendency to be snobby about their morning brew.

            The rasp of pixy wings sounded as Jenks dropped down, his dust a warm yellow when he landed on the back rim of the hat in front of me. “Downstairs is good,” he said. “I’m heading for the attic.” His tiny features bunched. “There are a lot of Weres here.”

            “I noticed,” I said, and then Jenks rose, hovering as his unknowing perch walked off. “Have you seen Lee?”

            But Jenks was gone, and I frowned at his dust trail leading to the ornate light fixtures. “Trent?” I put a hand on his shoulder and inched closer. “Where are we supposed to meet Lee?”

            “Oh, I see what you mean,” Trent said to the vendor, nodding as he studied the bottom of his tasting cup. “Do you have a pound of this in a bag? Beans, not the ground.”

            “Trent?” I said as he reached for his wallet. “I know the space isn’t that big, but did you have a place to meet?”

            Trent tapped his card and tucked it away. “I assumed we’d meet at the bar,” he said dryly.

            I looked at the blond-wood bar against the wall, a feeling of concern rising at the number of people between us and it. “Jenks says we’re good, but I’d feel better if we were all together.”

            Trent sighed as he took his bag. “Lee doesn’t like to shop,” he muttered, and I smirked as his free arm went over my shoulder and we ambled forward. We got three steps before a stroller nearly ran over our toes and I jerked us to a halt.