Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            It must have been a trigger phrase, because they all fell into full mama-bear mode, two nurses making a living wall between us as a third soothed Parker, bathing her face with damp cloth. Oh, for sweet troll turds on a stick, I mused when Parker winked at me.

            “Honey, I haven’t even started killing you,” I said, and the nurses between us bristled.

            “We don’t do that here,” one said, and Doyle rubbed his temple.

            “Accidents happen,” I offered, but they had no humor, and one pointed at the door.

            “She’s right,” Doyle said as he took my elbow. “They don’t hurt people here.”

            Jenks snickered at where he’d put the emphasis. Parker, too, heard it, and her confidence faltered. A garbled conversation on a handheld told me her van had arrived. “Hey, can Jenks and I bum a ride to the I.S.?” I asked, and Doyle’s grin widened. “I can’t stay because I’m meeting Vivian, but I can do a lot on the way in.” The thought to stand Vivian up was fleeting. I wouldn’t give the coven the fuel to burn me at the stake.

            “What an intriguing idea.” Doyle’s chin lifted to acknowledge the I.S. crew coming in, bulky in their anti-charm gear. “I’d appreciate the chance to ask her a few questions in a more informal setting as well.” He hesitated. “I’ll drive you to your appointment with Ms. Smith myself.”

            “Don’t let them take me!” Parker shouted as new cuffs were attached and the gentle, padded bindings were taken off. “They’ll kill me! Please. No!”

            “Dumbass,” Jenks said, once again safely on my shoulder as a doctor came in.

            The woman was a living vampire, and she stood toe-to-toe with Doyle, her lips in a hard line. “I am not releasing her if you are going to hurt her.”

            “Asylum!” Parker shouted as if it was a real thing. It wasn’t. “I claim asylum!”

            “Doctor, the last thing you want is Parker in your care,” Doyle said as his men began to strap her into a wheelchair. “She is the probable cause of the misery upstairs, but as she is only a suspect, she will be treated with the utmost care. That’s why we brought her here—to make sure she was okay. Is she fit for travel?”

            Jenks’s wings tickled my neck as the doctor on call turned to Parker. The woman had finally shut up, her eyes holding hope.

            But the doctor was used to dealing with the undead, who lie, and cheat, and manipulate more than they need blood, and finally she reached for the tablet to sign Parker over. “She’s yours,” she said, and Parker began shouting again.

            “You think you could sedate her a little?” Doyle asked, and after a dismissive glance, the doctor nodded, pissing Parker off even more. “Not heavy. I need her to be able to talk.”

            Satisfied, I leaned against a wall as one of the nurses went to a drawer and filled a syringe. Stef came forward, her eyes wide. “Wow,” she said as too many people fought to get Parker locked into a wheelchair. “You had me scared. I half believed you’d really hurt her.”

            “Right,” I said, and Jenks made an odd snort from my shoulder, making me wonder if he had begun to rub off on me. Three years ago, I’d never think of hurting someone for information, but now? I’d found out it was far easier to live with the knowledge that I’d hurt someone than to live with the pain of someone dying because I hadn’t.

            Doyle took control of Parker and pushed her out into the hall. Her swearing began to go faint, and as the room emptied, I lingered, wanting to call Vivian.

            “I should get back to work,” Stef said as I found my phone at the bottom of my shoulder bag. “See you both at home?”

            “Absolutely,” I said, and she gave me a little grin before pacing to the front desk, her arms swinging confidently.

            Parker was already in the elevator, not the one that went up to the mundane emergency floor, but the other at the far end of the hall that serviced the undead’s emergency drop-off. It would be empty this time of the day, and they could whisk Parker to the I.S. before the news van even knew she was moving. The infuriated woman was still shouting through the sedative, and Doyle stuck a hand out and stopped the doors from closing. “Coming?”

            I waved for him to go ahead. “Have to make a call,” I said, and he let the doors shut.