Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            “Not exactly,” I said as Stef slid to a halt in the hall, her cheeks red in embarrassment.

            “There you are,” she said as she grabbed my arm and pulled me into the corridor. “I am so sorry, Dr. Ophees. She’s not down here to donate. Rachel, here’s your ID.”

            I took the more substantial card and looped the lanyard over my neck. Dr. Ophees put the bottle away, then used a huge knife to scrape the wax from the mirror. She looked peeved.

            “Jeez, Rachel. I turned my back for five minutes,” Stef said as we walked off.

            I glanced over my shoulder at a sudden crash. A little upset, are we? “Is that legal?”

            Stef’s hold on me vanished. “Yes. Technically. Because it’s voluntary. I’m so sorry. Ophees is kind of a jerk. More of a vampire than some vampires. But she’s good at what she does. She was part of the group who pioneered the process to distill auras from blood. The blood goes upstairs for general use, the auras stay here for the undead, seeing as that’s what they are really taking in when they drain a person. Ophees’s spell is just about ready to go into clinical trials. If it clears the Federal Charm and Spell Association, we will have an amazing new tool to avoid unwanted early transitions to an undead existence, but we’re looking at years right now.”

            In a hospital setting? Does Vivian know about this? “The only way I know how to take someone’s aura is with illicit magic.”

            Stef winced. “Which is why it’s experimental? She makes the spell, stores the auras, administers them. If not for her, Cincinnati would probably lose its A1 status of preventing accidental, unwanted transitions. She’s saved countless lives.”

            Unwanted transitions, I thought sourly, peeking into an empty room being cleaned as we went past. That was polite speak for when a master vampire decided the law didn’t pertain to him or her and drained someone. But I couldn’t help but wonder if I could have saved Kisten if I had gotten him here fast enough.

            “Get your bloody hell paws off me!” Parker shouted, and Stef stopped at a door. The color-coded placard to indicate the level of danger inside the room was green, but considering what they typically dealt with, green was probably appropriate.

            “I’ll stay with you,” Stef said as she knocked and pushed open the door.

            “Sure.” I jerked to a halt, surprised when I nearly ran into a huge barrel of a man just inside the room. He glanced at my ID and lost interest. Stef barely got a sniff.

            “You have no cause. I’m the victim!” Parker shouted, and I closed the door behind me as I took in the dim lighting, soothing colors, and the enormous soft chair they’d put her in. The straps were heavily padded to not leave any marks, but the Were was trying her damnedest to get free, her hair in her face and her hospital gown spotted with spittle.

            “Hey, Doyle,” I said, and the man’s attention rose to me. “Thanks for bringing her in.”

            “Shut up! I want to talk to Morgan!” Doyle shouted at Parker, and the woman glowered, her bruised and road-rashed face ugly as she went silent.

            Doyle smirked, his black eyes finding a rim of brown as he approached me. “It’s easier subduing the badasses after they fall three stories onto a bus.” His attention went to Stef, then me. “I’m surprised you’re down here. Aren’t you wanted for something?”

            Nodding ruefully, I inched closer, hissing in sympathy as I looked Parker over. Her right arm was in a breakaway cast, and the tight wrapping peeping past her robe said her ribs had taken damage. The road rash went from her jawbone to her shoulder and beyond. In short, she was a mess. But she was not only alive but fighting, and that said a lot.

            “I need to ask her a couple of things,” I said, and Doyle’s brow furrowed.

            “So about that stunt of yours yesterday in the coma ward . . .”

            I focused on Parker, pulse quickening. “Here I am. Ask me.”

            Doyle’s arms went over his chest to make his biceps bulge. “It doesn’t work like that.”

            I chuckled, thankful he wasn’t trying to drag me into the I.S. I still had my late lunch appointment with Vivian. “I appreciate your discretion. Do you mind . . .”

            I gestured at Parker, and the woman jerked against her bonds. “You are dead, Morgan!” she raged, and I sighed. “Dead! They can’t hold me for assault, and when I get out of here, I’m going to shred you. Then I’m going to shred everyone you care about, starting with that elf!”