Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            Ignoring the conversation at the bar, I dribbled the last of the salt into a pentagram and set the unprimed amulet into its center cave.

            Jenks had begun to snore as I drew the black hair out of the salt bath, coiling it into a thimble-size wad before drying it between the folds of a bleached linen napkin. This was a little loose for me, but prepackaged charms were known to be forgiving. Pulse fast, I set the cleaned hair on the de-spelled spoon and set it over the candle flame, then tipped it to let a strand catch fire.

            With a whoosh, the entire wad went up.

            “Rhombus,” I whispered to snare the foul smoke. The comments from the bar were getting louder, and I hoped that Vivian’s reputation would keep them back.

            The hair burned too slowly for my liking, and I finally had to use a napkin to insulate my fingers holding the spoon before the hair in my makeshift crucible sputtered and went out.

            “Ma’am.”

            I glanced up, beaming at the woman facing me. She had to be the manager, her black jacket and long pants decidedly more professional than the catch-a-mate outfits everyone else was wearing. “It’s for Vivian Smith,” I lied. “I was supposed to have this done before our meeting. You know, the coven of moral and ethical standards?”

            “I know who Ms. Smith is, and I know who you are,” the woman said, her gaze touching on Jenks as he rolled over into a tiny ball, snoring. “I’m not going to have a repeat of what happened last year. Put out the spell, or leave.”

            “Oh, God. Please don’t ban me,” I said as I tapped the ash onto the amulet. “Trent will never forgive me.”

            The woman pressed her lips together. “I’m well aware Mr. Kalamack bought the building, but he didn’t buy us. Put it out.”

            “Yes, ma’am.” Smiling, I snapped open a finger stick and jabbed myself.

            “Morgan,” the woman intoned as I quickly squeezed three drops of blood atop the ash.

            “Absolutely. Putting it out,” I said, tightening my grip on the ley lines.

            She felt it, and as she stupidly reached for the amulet, I finished the spell. “Inveniet quod quisque velit,” I whispered, and she jerked her hand away as the amulet flared a startling green, immediately fading to a steady, neutral red. It worked!

            “Morgan,” she protested, and I snatched the amulet up, feeling the magic grow and strengthen as it came within my aura.

            “I’m done,” I said as I stuffed it in my bag and out of sight. Each shall find what he desires, the invocation phrase promised, and I quickly dropped the spoon in the water glass. It was a sooty black, and the manager frowned. “I’ll pay for the damages,” I added, one hand brushing the salt from the pentagram into my other. “But really, it only needs a good polish, and maybe renew the anti-tarnish spell.”

            Her eyebrows high, the woman took the candle and water glass with the spoon. “This is a restaurant,” she said, lips tight as Jenks woke up, his protesting words an unrecognizable slurring. “Not a spell lab.”

            She clearly wanted to replace the setting, and I nodded, taking up first Jenks and then my phone as the woman behind her pulled up the corners of the tablecloth and, in a clattering of dishes, walked off as if she was Father Christmas in reverse. Huh, I mused as I saw the bare wood and the anti-spill hex engraved on the top. The things you learn. “Sorry,” I said with Jenks squirming in my hand. “I won’t do it again.”

            The manager’s up-and-down gaze over my casual clothes made me cringe. “Rush her order. I want them out ASAP,” she said as two of the staff descended on the table to cover the hex and quickly reset the plates and silverware. A third brought me new coffee, and as I sat and held a sleeping pixy in my hand, I snuck a peek at the finding amulet.

            It was a faint red, not a hint of green. I’d have to drive it around the city and hope it pinged on Parker before she did something stupid.

            “What am I doing in your hand?” Jenks said, his voice steady, and I shifted my hand to the table and opened it. The pixy eyed me, wings sifting an odd, almost clear dust as he jumped to the table. “Tink’s a Disney whore, did I throw up?” he added, noticing the candle was not the one he had fallen asleep against.

            “No, they caught me stirring a spell,” I admitted, and Jenks sat cross-legged by my warm mug. Together we silently looked out onto Cincinnati and the Hollows beyond.