Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            My lips quirked, and with a small thought, I lit the candle with a whispered word. We were right next to the window, and it was drafty.

            “Thanks,” he said, dragging the napkin over to it and sitting with his back to the warming glass. He looked like a gang member in his working black silk and red bandana, his focus distant on the view to make me wonder if he had something on his mind. Getty, maybe?

            “It’s not like Vivian to be late,” I said as I found my phone and texted her that I was at the restaurant and asked her if she wanted me to order for them. Setting my phone on the table, I bowed my head over my bag, pushing past the demon books for the zippy bag I’d gotten out of the trash at Trent’s apartment. Parker’s bloody hair was in it, rinsed but not spell-worthy clean. I’d been in a hurry, and the only salt in his apartment had been in tiny takeout envelopes.

            I had everything I needed to make a second finding charm, and I found the package of unprimed amulets, glad now that I’d left them in there. Glows green when near subject. For use with blood, hair, sputum, or urine, I read, satisfied the DNA-based charm would work with what I had. I’d have to remove every evidence of Doyle’s blood from it first, though.

            “Would you like cream or milk with your coffee?” the host asked, startling me.

            My attention snapped up, and Jenks snickered when I drew my bag shut, hiding everything. “Ah, no thank you.” The clatter of porcelain and the scent of rich coffee were soothing. She’d brought the entire carafe and a tiny espresso cup for Jenks. It was a nice gesture, even if it was still too heavy for him to lift. But my smile fell when I realized my mug had the same emblem as the one I’d drank hot cider out of last night. Trent was safe. I had to believe it.

            The woman set down an unopened bottle of water. “Can I get you anything else?”

            My phone dinged, and I glanced at it before setting it facedown on the table. “Ah, the rest of our party is on their way. Can I put in an order for two BLTs, a large Cobb salad, and a plate of fries?” I asked, and she nodded.

            “I’ll let your server know,” she said, and then she was gone, her pace fast as she made a beeline to the bartender prepping for tonight.

            “Jenks?” I hesitated as I poured myself a cup of dark brew. “I want you to stay home tonight when I go out to find Parker.”

            The pixy looked up from his honey stick. He’d already stabbed it with his garden sword, and the chopsticks he’d taken from his back pocket were unmoving. “It’s not that cold.”

            I hid behind the cup, taking a quick sip. “Did you see the forecasted lows?”

            Angular face tight, Jenks pulled a strand of honey from the punctured stick, spinning it madly until he had a wad. “I know how to take care of myself.”

            “Obviously.” I flipped my phone over, checked the time, and then flipped it back. I had so much to do today, and here I was, cooling my heels waiting for Vivian. “I don’t want to put you in a place where you have to choose between safety and your job,” I added, and he seemed to lose some of his annoyance.

            “I’ll be fine,” he said, giving me a grimace before licking the honey off the sticks. “Tink’s titties, dis is good stuff,” he slurred. That quick, he was halfway to being honey drunk, but it would vanish as fast as it hit him, and my fingers drummed on the table. Vivian was at least ten minutes out. I could do a lot in ten minutes.

            Eyebrows high, I took the package of unprimed amulets from my bag and smoothed out the printed instructions. It was pretty basic stuff. “Yeah, I have time,” I whispered, and, deciding to have at it, I cracked the bottle of water and poured it all into my extra water glass. The top to the saltshaker ground as I took it off, and I heard a gasp from the bar as I dumped it into the water.

            Wings high, Jenks slumped against the candle, giggling at the shadows his feet made on his tiny cup. “Whatcha doing?” he slurred.

            “Using my day to its best advantage,” I said, glad now that Doyle had agreed to time and materials. I wouldn’t be able to get lunch past him, but with a post-use warrant, the finding charm would be legal now. I dipped my pinky in to taste my makeshift bath, then snagged the shaker from the nearest table and emptied that one, too. A third shaker I kept, warming at the buzz of muffled outrage from the bar as convention warred with the-customer-is-always-right.

            It’s not as if you’re busy, I thought as I stirred it with a spoon, bringing the salinity up to that of the ocean and taking the anti-tarnish spell off the silver flatware at the same time. It was perfect, or perfect enough, and I warmed in embarrassment as I teased a wad of black, tap-rinsed hair out of the zippy bag and dropped it into the makeshift salt bath. A tiny rill of red spilled down to stain the water, and I gave the ugly mass a quick swirl to speed things up.