Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            But the demon shook his head, hands going to his ample waist as he squinted into the rising wind scouring the utterly cloudless sky. “Actually, it was Trent who bought the jump,” he said, shocking me. “I’m sure he didn’t know that’s where he was going to end up. I’m astonished, actually, in the utterly foolish way your elf applies his trust. Blindly believing Lee when he told him he knew of a safe place, and then not even questioning where he was going. I suppose it was Lee’s promise that he’d send you along in due time that did it. I guess he was right, because here you are.” He hesitated. “Asking to buy a jump as well.”

            “Why . . .” I whispered, then realized that Trent hadn’t known. He had no clue that Lee was the mage and had plotted wheels within wheels to bring him down. The need to reach him doubled, and my gut cramped with fear. “Are we making a deal or not?”

            “Are we?” Dali mocked as he took in the beauty of the sun sinking in an angry sky.

            “I have books,” I said, words tumbling over themselves as I opened my shoulder bag. They were all I had of any worth, but I’d give them up for Trent’s life.

            Dali’s gaze flicked down. “Most of which are Newt’s and of questionable value, and one that I can’t touch, apparently. How is it you can? It is ancient elven.”

            I pulled the books closer, anxious and frustrated. “Trent handed it to me. Dali . . .”

            Dali’s lip curled. “As if you were his servant to fetch and carry.”

            “Hey!” I shouted, the word ripped from me by the wind. “I don’t care what the book thinks I am. I can touch it. Do you want them or not!”

            “That is a fine dagger,” he said, eyeing Quaere, and I froze.

            Ahhh . . . shit. He wants Al’s dagger? “It’s Al’s,” I said, but Trent might be drowning, and the need to move was almost a pain. “How about a favor?” To owe Dali might cost me my own life. I didn’t care.

            “What, and have you bankrupt me as you do everyone you have close ties with? No.” Dali’s head tilted as he scowled at the wind as if its presence was my fault. “I suppose I will never hear the end of it if you don’t get what you want. A jump, you say?”

            Hope lit through me. He was still looking at that dagger. “Four,” I said, reconsidering my first request. Al would get over it. “When I want them, immediately and with no delay. One to get me to Trent, and two to get Trent and me to Al’s clearing. I need to talk to him. Yes or no.”

            Al was going to be pissed, but I held Quaere out to Dali, my hand shaking. Yes or no, you uncaring spawn of hell.

            “That is three jumps,” Dali said, his fingers twitching. “What is the fourth? You want one on credit? No. I’ll not be at your beck and call.”

            Frustration clenched my jaw, and the dagger hissed and popped in the damp air. “The last is to pay for Trent’s original jump. Whatever it was he gave or promised you, it’s null and void.”

            “Mmmm.” Dali’s gaze went distant as he thought about it, the icy wind buffeting us both, almost knocking me down. And then he grinned, thick hand reaching for the dagger. “Done and done.”

            My breath exploded from me in relief as the dagger left me.

            “Al is going to wring the life out of you. This dagger is worth a lifetime of line jumps, and you sold it to me for four.” Holding it up to the fading light, Dali studied it in greed. “I rename you Revenge,” he said, and it vanished.

            Anxious, I held my books closer. “I didn’t sell it to you for four line jumps. I sold it to you for Trent’s life.” Dali’s glee faltered, and I shifted my weight from foot to foot, eager to be gone. “Could you hold these for me for a moment?” I shoved my bag with all my books at him, and he scrambled to find the straps as if fearful the elven book might sting him. “I want them back,” I added as he held my bag like a husband at the mall. “Don’t open them. They aren’t yours.”

            “If you survive.” Thick lips quirking, Dali tried to shift the cover of the elven tome, and it jolted him with a blue fire. “Putrid, filthy elves and their biolocks!” he shouted, and I pulled my jacket closer, anxious to leave.

            “Thank you,” I said, desperate to be gone. “Send me to him. Please.”