Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            “Stop! You can’t fight this! Jenks, tell them to stand down,” I called, and Jenks made a swooping arch over to Doyle hiding behind an overturned gurney.

            Parker was still laughing hysterically, whatever sedative they had given her making her more erratic than she already was. Shaken, I gazed across the nearly empty drop-off garage to Doyle. The man was clearly pissed, but he was listening to Jenks. His head swiveled to me, and I frantically waved him to stay put.

            “I need backup in here. Now!” he bellowed, and frustration filled me as more I.S. agents began darting in from all sides, organizing as Parker was dragged to her feet by two Weres.

            “I want Morgan dead,” Parker snarled as more Weres converged on her, all of them trying to get her to the van at the top of the ramp. “The one who kills her becomes my second.”

            Great. I gave Doyle a disgusted look. So much for I.S. efficiency. I had my splat gun, but she had a chakra curse and clearly knew how to use it.

            “Now!” Doyle exclaimed as he launched himself from behind the crash cart.

            “No, wait. Doyle!” I watched in horror as eight agents rushed Parker. But their vampiric speed and outright cheek stunned the Weres struggling with her, and she only got one curse off before the rest slammed into the tight knot about her.

            Like a Titan among lesser men, Doyle waded into the fray, flinging the Weres aside as if they were rugs to be shaken. A cry of success left him as he snagged Parker’s heel and dragged the woman out from under two other agents. His face alight, he practically sat on her, holding her fisted hand in his so she couldn’t use the ring.

            Jenks’s wings rasped as he hovered beside me. “I told him you had the cure. She can’t curse them all at once, and he thought the risk was good.”

            “That doesn’t mean the coven will allow me to use it,” I said, and his satisfaction dulled. “Doyle?” I came out from behind the ambulance, figuring it was probably over.

            But Parker’s loud shouts hadn’t gone unheard, and more Weres were coming in from the parking lot, their silhouettes sharp in the bright patch of sun at the top of the ramp. Doyle might have her, but he was badly outnumbered. You are not slipping me again, I thought as I jogged forward, jerking at the pop of a conventional gun.

            Oh, come on! I thought as I slipped and went down. Again a gun fired, and I rolled under a second ambulance, squinting when the chipped pavement peppered me. “Doyle?” I shouted, hearing him yelling. “Jenks, stay clear!”

            “Like hell I will,” the pixy said, and my hand went to my mouth. The incoming Weres had Doyle down, but he was still fighting. Eyes narrowed, I rolled out from under the ambulance and strode forward, shooting my spell pistol at anything that moved.

            “She’s got a splat gun!” someone yelled, and I took him out. Arms stiff, I continued to pick them off as I advanced. I was vulnerable without the ley line, but I was so pissed I didn’t care. The scruffy Weres predictably scattered, dragging Parker away amid her demands they turn and fight.

            “Get her,” Doyle groaned from the pavement as the Weres ran for the entrance.

            There was nothing left to shoot at but vanishing heels, and I dropped to Doyle as the van’s engine turned over, sounding like thunder in the low-ceilinged garage.

            “Three o’clock!” Jenks shrilled, and I spun, still crouched, picking off two more Weres before they could reach the van. Parker, though, was already in it, and I knelt beside Doyle as the van raced for the street, tires squeaking on the wet crosswalk paint as it bounced free.

            I.S. agents were picking themselves up, assessing their failure. “You okay?” I said as Doyle groaned and rolled to his hands and knees, his hands in a fisted frustration.

            “Rache, he don’t look so good,” Jenks said.

            “Detective?” I said, hand extended as Doyle collapsed to roll over onto his back, one hand tight about his middle. His eyes were closed and blood was leaking past his fingers.

            “You’ve been knifed!” I said, and his eyes opened, utterly black and glazed with pain.

            “Put that circle up, Morgan!” he demanded, clearly in agony.

            Pulse fast, I swung my bag around and searched for an amulet. His ability to change pain to pleasure had been overwhelmed. He was in trouble. “She’s gone, and I can’t,” I said as I looped the amulet’s lanyard around his neck. “Hospital security shut me down. How bad is it?”