Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            “No. I’m not as fast as everyone else with casting spells, but I can hold tons more line energy than them, and management thinks I’ll pick up what I need.” A faint smile quirked her lips. “They call me baby witch.”

            Not exactly a nickname I would have appreciated, but she seemed happy as the big sliders opened and she strode confidently into a low-ceilinged walkway that smelled faintly of vampire and redwood.

            Someone was shouting in the distance. Parker, probably. Other than that, it was calm down here, relaxed, and a little chilly. The walls were a warm taupe instead of white, and there was no scent of antiseptic. The hum of the fans exchanging the air was obvious, and everyone we met wore the same red scrubs that Stef had on. The better to hide the blood, my dear. . . .

            It was clearly their slow time, as most undead accidents happened just after sunset. Still, I was impressed by the competency everyone showed as they prepped for the coming night.

            “I need to clear you,” she said as she angled us to a small counter, visibly shuddering as she stared at the classically handsome man behind it. He was an undead, and if he was working daylight hours, he had died young without the enormous fortune needed to “retire” comfortably.

            “You okay?” I asked as her breath quickened.

            Stef grinned. “There’s not a word for what I am. That ID only works upstairs. Hang on a sec.”

            Clearly she wanted to talk to the man alone, and I went to sit at one of the indulgent waiting chairs. Stef greeted the man familiarly, the flat of her arms on the counter as she flirted. Yeah, I’d put up with a lot of hazing to work here, too.

            “Hello,” a soft voice said, and I whipped my head around to see a pleasant-looking woman in red scrubs standing before me. “Are you ready to go back?”

            “Ah, sure,” I said, standing up, my bag held tight to my middle. Stef was still busy with her conversation, but I could hear Parker screaming in the background. “Don’t I need an ID?”

            The woman glanced at her tablet. “Not for this.”

            She’s a witch, I decided. And a damn fine one by the scent of redwood lifting from her. My aura was thickening as if in protection, and I stifled a shudder as our balances tried to equalize and I yanked my chi’s energy where it belonged. Not only a witch, but a ley line specialist.

            She must have felt it, because she sort of stiffened. “This way,” she said warily, and I frowned at Stef, reluctant. But, deciding she might be a while, I took a large step to come even with the woman.

            “Thanks,” I said, feeling our energies rub each other wrong. “I appreciate you bending the rules like this.”

            “No, it’s me who should be thanking you,” she said, relaxing now that we were moving. “Speaking for the hospital, we really appreciate you coming in.” The nurse made an abrupt left turn into a small room, and I slid to a halt, surprised. Parker was clearly a few doors down. “Have a seat,” the nurse encouraged, her back to me as she rummaged in a drawer.

            I cautiously went in, scanning what seemed to be a remote nurses’ station. “Ah . . . I think there’s been a mistake,” I said as I saw the rows of bottles. They held auras. Not souls, but auras. I didn’t even know you could do that.

            “Your first time down here?” she said casually, and I stayed where I was, eyeing the comfortable chair with its ankle and wrist straps. As I watched, she lit a candle and spilled wax in an enviable smooth pentagram atop a small scrying mirror.

            “Yes. Are those auras?”

            Her head came up from her spell prep, and she nodded. “Pretty, aren’t they. Go ahead and have a seat. It takes about five minutes. But we’d like you to stay for an additional fifteen to make sure your body reacts positively. Most people experience a slight dizziness is all. Is there someone who you’d like to credit your donation to?”

            My lips parted. “Donation? You mean my aura?” I said as she took an empty bottle from a cabinet. “I’m not here to donate my aura. I didn’t even know you could do that. I’m here to talk to Parker. That nutjob of a Were yelling at the end of the hall.”

            The woman—I wasn’t going to call her a nurse anymore—seemed to hesitate. “You’re with the I.S.?” she said, making me wonder if what she was doing was even legal.