Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            Though it could be me, I mused, glancing at my low boots still sporting grass and dirt. Even better, my jeans were streaked from the truck bed. I didn’t want to think about my hair, wild now that the charm to tame it had spent itself. The red curls were troublesome in the best of times, but in the dry air smelling of antiseptic and spells, my hair was almost a halo.

            Sighing, I pushed myself deeper into the chair until the back of my head hit the wall. It was well after midnight, and I was getting antsy. I hadn’t beaten Walter Vincent the last time we had met; I had survived him. Now he had someone spelling for him, probably an elf. That was why I had used the phone at the nurses’ desk to call Trent. My worry that Walter’s pack of alphas might continue to cause trouble on the street had been why I’d called Ivy and Pike. I’d called Jenks because Bis was fond of embellishing the truth and I hadn’t wanted the pixy to worry. Jenks had been understandably ticked, swearing that I couldn’t go out alone for a cup of sugar without coming back with a broken foot.

            The elevator dinged and I glanced up, wondering who had made it here first. “Trent,” I whispered in relief. I rose as he stepped out, looking more than good in his woolen, calf-length coat, a cashmere scarf about his neck and an unexpected drift of pixy dust on his shoulder. He had two cups of takeout coffee, and a pang of emotion struck through me as he raised them in greeting, his smile both loving and sympathetic. Jenks took to the air, the rasp of his dragonfly-like wings catching the attention of the nurses at their desk where the elevator hadn’t.

            Suddenly I was fighting unexpected tears, and I blinked fast, forcing myself to smile. It had been a very stressful evening, and Trent had somehow become my rock, the one person other than Jenks that I could be vulnerable around.

            “Hi,” he said as he set the coffee down and pulled me into a hug.

            Exhaling, I sent my arms around his spare but strong form, the tingle of our internal energies balancing a sudden, not unwelcome spark. His birthday was tomorrow—or today, rather—and as we shared a quick kiss, I wondered why the universe saw fit to crowd the day with impossibilities.

            “I’m glad you’re here,” I said as I breathed him in. I could smell coffee and the snap of invoked charms. A whiff of Cincinnati’s river-scented air clung to him, a bare hint under his aftershave.

            “Aw, you two make me want to puke sugar sprinkles,” Jenks said, and I rocked away, smiling at the four-inch pixy hovering beside us. His wings made an unusually heavy thrum as he was working hard to stay in the air. Late October was often too cold for pixies, but Jenks had been shunning hibernation for five years now, wintering in the church and experimenting with pixy winter wear. Tonight he had wrapped himself in scarves and was head to toe in colorful bands of woven cloth. Come December, he and Getty might be the only pixies aboveground.

            “Temps okay?” I said, and his sharply angular, tan face frowned.

            “You sound like my mother, Rache,” he muttered, but he was clearly uncomfortable as he landed on the rim of my cup and angled his wings to catch the rising steam.

            Trent was still holding my hand as he sat, pulling me into to the chair beside him. “How is David?” he asked, but his gaze was on my wild hair.

            I stared at the closed door, wishing I was brave enough to confront the two spellologists who had kicked me out. “Stable,” I said. “Being examined,” I added, reaching as I noticed Trent’s ear. The sharply pointed arch was gone, and whereas he had spent most of his life with nicely rounded, pedestrian ear arches, he had regained his pointed elven ears after using a transformation curse. At least, he had until today. “What . . .” I started, and Trent’s confused expression turned to understanding.

            “Oh!” He patted his coat, then awkwardly ran a finger behind his collar to find a wooden charm. “I was at Other Earthlings,” he said as he took it off. “Sylvia is fitting my Halloween costume.” Smiling, he dropped the amulet into his pocket, and his ears became their pointed selves. “How is Cassie?” he asked as Jenks scraped a wad of caffeine-laced foam from my coffee with a pair of pixy-size chopsticks.

            “Okay?” Again I looked at the door. “She’s in with David. Thanks for picking up Jenks.”

            “Like I had a choice?” Trent’s lips quirked as Jenks lifted into the air and went to sit on the wall sconce.

            “You had a choice.” Foam-laced chopsticks held clear, Jenks began to wiggle out of the body-length scarf. “Pick me up, or Jumoke shorts out your garden cameras.” A length of fabric fluttered to the table, and Jenks shuddered, clearly glad to be free of it. “How come you’re in the hall?” he asked as he one-handedly tugged his faded but elaborately embroidered sweater straight.