Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            Bluebells? I wondered as I took up my coffee. “I asked too many questions,” I muttered, then added, louder, “Family only at the moment.” And whereas Cassie and David weren’t married, they were the alphas of the Black Dandelion pack. It was almost closer than a spouse. “An auraologist is in there right now,” I said, shoulders slumping as the coffee hit me and the nutty rich scent brought me awake. Thank you, Trent. This is exactly what I need.

            “Auraologist?” Jenks asked. “What’s wrong with his aura?”

            “Don’t know,” I said, remembering the nightmarish ride through Cincy’s midnight-busy streets to the hospital; Cassie’s whispered, begging threats; the blast of horns as we ran red lights. “I never thought to check.” My stomach began to knot. Auras sprang from the soul, and a soul curse was almost impossible to break.

            Jenks’s wings sounded better as he rose up, warm again. “I’ll go take a look.”

            “Good idea.” Pixies could see auras naturally. I’d have to use my second sight—something I wasn’t eager to do in a hospital. No telling what, or whom, you might see.

            “Back before you can say Tink’s a Disney whore,” Jenks said, then darted off, sparkles fading as he slipped under the door. He’d be okay. No one saw Jenks unless he wanted them to.

            “Thanks for coming down,” I said. “I know you’re busy with party prep this week.”

            “It’s David.” Trent settled in, an ankle going up on a knee. “Besides, Quen is handling most of it. All he left me was to okay the caterers and find a costume.”

            That last held a hint of annoyance, and eyebrows high, I took in his shiny shoes, wool suit, silk tie, and perfectly styled fair, almost white hair. He was slowly regaining his status after having been accused of trafficking in illegal genetic medicines. Parties were a big part of that. Besides, it really wasn’t a party so much as it was a twelve-hour charity event that brought in beaucoup bucks for Cincy’s underprivileged.

            “A thousand people?” I said, knowing he enjoyed putting it together more than he wanted to admit. “Three bands? How many caterers this year?”

            “Six,” he said with a sigh. “But it’s going to be the last event at the old estate, and I want it to be memorable. I don’t know how I’m going to pull this off at Carew Tower next year. Do you think the city might let me rent out Fountain Square?”

            His brow was furrowed in real concern, and I found I could still smile. “Probably.” I reached across the small space between us and touched his jawline. “But if you throw a party downtown, the entire city will crash it.”

            “Mmmm.” Trent’s vacant focus sharpened on me. “I talked to Takata this afternoon. Both he and your mother will be coming in for the week.”

            I stifled a wince. “She told me,” I said, my feelings mixed. I loved my mother, but everything that came into her head came out of her mouth, and putting off her pointed questions as she camped out in my church for an entire week would be a nightmare. How is your job going? When are you going to settle down and have me some grandkids? What’s that burn circle in the floor from? Why is there a hole in your counter? Is there Brimstone in these cookies?

            Trent leaned to put his forehead against mine. “I offered them a suite. They said yes.”

            “Thank you,” I said with a sigh, and he gave me a soft kiss, his gaze worried as he looked at David’s door.

            “I’d have been here sooner, but I had to put out a fire.”

            “I can see that,” I said, touching his previously spelled ear. “You stand Sylvia up once, and you don’t get an appointment ever again.”

            Trent’s focus returned. “Sylvia I can schmooze. It’s Lee. I send him an invitation every year, and every year he declines.”

            My eyebrows rose. “He’s coming?”

            Trent winced. “Yes, and I doubt it’s to wish me a happy birthday.”

            I nodded. Lee ran the entire West Coast Brimstone trade, and though the two of them had known each other their entire lives—the arranged friendship intended to ease tensions between the two families as they vied for an ever-larger slice of Brimstone pie—I knew firsthand they seldom saw eye to eye. I’d say some of that was my fault, but their “friendship” had been combative and rather one-sided even before I had entered the picture. “I thought you had settled your distribution issues,” I said.