Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            My eyes warmed as the scent of Old Spice and coffee puffed up between us. Edden patted my shoulder as if he was my dad. Some days, I felt as if he thought he was. “How’s David?” he said, and I let him go. His glasses had a new bifocal line, and a smile threatened.

            “Stable.” I waited for Trent to finish shaking Glenn’s hand, and then I drew the taller man close, giving him a hug, too. After a four-year stint in the military, Glenn had landed at the FIB. Disillusioned, he left to work with a clandestine, humans-only government task force. Now he was back at the FIB, having been disappointed yet again but eager to take on his dad’s old job and make the world the way he wanted to see it—one day, one case, at a time.

            “Are . . . you here in official capacity?” I asked, seeing his FIB badge front and center.

            “I am.” Glenn glanced at his dad. “He’s here for the ride.”

            Edden harrumphed and hoisted his belt. “I’m here because David is my friend.”

            “And that’s why you’re up at two a.m. using my laptop to print out a list of incoming alphas?” Glenn glanced over the seating area, then dragged a chair closer. The loud sound drew the attention of the nurses at the desk, but they didn’t say a word, dazzled by Glenn’s beguiling smile. “What happened?” he asked, his charm cutting off as he turned his back on them.

            Head down, I took my seat, and the three men did the same. I sipped my coffee, stifling a shudder of the memory of Cassie’s choked sobs. Trent had heard this when I’d called him, but it still made my gut tight. “Remember Walter Vincent? That militant Were from Mackinaw City?”

            Glenn glanced at his dad. “The Were you stole the focus from?”

            “I did not steal it,” I said, ruffled. “Nick found it in Detroit.”

            Trent chuckled, eyes on his phone as he eased deeper into his chair. “A search funded by Vincent, whereupon Nick refused to give it to him,” he said. “Leading to you pretending to destroy it and giving it to David.”

            My held breath slipped from me. His words hadn’t been in recrimination. Trent knew how dangerous the focus would be in Walter’s possession, and I shoved away the mental image of Nick tied to a sink, blood caked and bruised because he wouldn’t tell Walter he’d sent the focus to me. The militant Were wouldn’t stop with beatings and threats this time.

            Edden ran a hand over his face in worry. “He’s trying to gain the focus?” he said, and I nodded, understanding his confusion. Any alpha male could challenge David for leadership of the Black Dandelions, sure, but it wasn’t as if they got the focus if they won. The sentient curse wasn’t an amulet or charm. Not anymore. It was in David’s very bones, where it would remain even after his death. At least now, melded to David’s psyche instead of a hunk of bone, the curse had some say in how it was used. But perhaps killing David had been Walter’s aim. Whoever possessed David’s bones would possess the focus, able to wield and control it without opposition. Shit . . .

            “That’s my guess,” I said. “His pack of alphas are predictably not very cohesive, but he’s got a magic user this time to make up for it. A good one.” Smart. “His second is Parker. It was a targeted action. If I hadn’t been there . . .” But I had, and David had ended up cursed all the same.

            I bit my lip, throat tight, and Edden touched my knee. “Take your time.”

            But I didn’t have time, and I pushed the guilt down to deal with later. “I got a good look at him, but seeing as he was using a disguise charm right down to his voice, it won’t do much good. He was trying to be an elf and one of his curses invoked the Goddess, but I don’t know. His spelling robe was way over-the-top. Demonic, almost.”

            Trent’s green eyes found mine from over his phone. True, the magic user had invoked the Goddess, but more telling was the curse that had downed David. In articulo mortis. At the point of death. That it was Latin meant the curse could be elven, demon, or witch in origin. I’d given it to the doctors at emergency, but they didn’t know what it was. Al might. Maybe he’d left to go look it up.

            “This was my fault,” I said, guilt rising. “I accidentally knocked David free of everyone, and Walter’s magic user downed him. It was Cassie who held everyone together and drove them off.” Twenty pounds of will and snapping jaws—I’d never be that brave.

            “Elven magic . . .” Trent’s gaze became vacant as he mentally went through his Rolodex.