Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            That took too long. Dali’s annoyance slid into me as if it was my own. I am not your personal lackey.

            Thank you, I managed, and Trent shuddered as if getting a glimpse of the demon’s mind.

            And then I stumbled, practically thrown out of the ley line to land before Al’s smoldering fire pit. Gasping, I slid to a soggy halt: wet, cold, and dripping. “Hey!” I exclaimed as I shook the clinging dirt from my hands, then ducked to avoid my entire library of books falling from nothing. “Trent?” I spun to a muffled groan. He was on the ground, soaking wet and cold.

            The sun had set, and with it the wind had eased. Twilight reflected down from the clear skies. It made Trent’s smile hard to see as he shivered, his hair flat to his head as he got to his feet, staggered to the fire pit, and muttered a word of Elvish.

            Flames leapt up, and Trent sat on one of the flat stones arranged before the fire and held his hands out, inches from the new flames. “The Goddess take me. I don’t recall ever being that cold before.”

            “I do,” I said, remembering dragging him out of the icy Ohio River, and he nodded ruefully. “Are you okay?” I asked, shivering as I stacked my books, trying not to get them wet. They were all present, but Dali had kept my shoulder bag and everything in it. I hadn’t stipulated its return, and he was always eager to be petty. Son of a moss wipe demon . . .

            “Getting there,” Trent said, and I tossed a few more logs onto the flames before I sat my soggy rear beside him on the rock and pressed against his cold body, giving him a sideways hug. There was probably a blanket in Al’s wagon, but I wasn’t going to rummage around to find it, especially if he wasn’t here. It wasn’t as if we were being especially quiet. His gargoyle, Treble, was not on the roof, and I guessed that Al was at Dalliance. Either that, or he didn’t want to come out and admit that he couldn’t spell us dry.

            “Lee went too far this time,” Trent said, hunched and blowing on his damp, shaking hands. “He knows it’s the rainy season. At least it was dry when we put him in there.”

            Trent was okay, and the overwhelming relief of that was shifting to anger. “Trent. I’m sorry. It wasn’t a joke,” I said, my hands shaking as I held them to the flames. “Lee is the mage. He’s behind the warrants. He wants you dead or broke. I can’t tell anymore and I don’t think he cares at this point.”

            Trent jerked stiff, clearly horrified. “No,” he said, clearly not wanting to believe.

            “The only reason I was able to beat your location out of him was because I had a knife at his throat.” That, and Vivian.

            “The Goddess take him,” Trent swore. “No wonder he wasn’t surprised when Quen told me to go into hiding.” A muffled groan slipped from him as he peeled one sock off to show his foot, pale and wrinkled. “All this because I want him to up his purity?”

            “Taking you out of the market will bankrupt you. He’s looking to pay you back for his daughter.”

            Trent was silent as he took off his second sock. “I told him the cure was free.”

            “Clearly that’s not how he saw it.” The fire wasn’t making any inroads into warming me, and I pulled my socks off, inside out. “It gets better,” I said as I dropped them into a sodden pile. “He tricked someone into making a new chakra ring in my church.” My eyes filled, and my throat tightened. “I thought he forced you to make it,” I added, my voice going high.

            “Oh, Rachel.” He gave my hand a squeeze as he tugged me into a sideways, frog-smelling hug. But someone had died there, leaving nothing but a fatty ash stain, and my gut hurt at their probable pain and anger. Please let it be no one I know.

            “He was going to blame me for it,” I said as Trent’s grip eased. “It might have stuck if Vivian hadn’t intervened. Did you know he was the coven’s new plumber? That’s why he is in Cincinnati.” Not some dumb Halloween party.

            Trent leaned away, but his hand never let go of mine. “No,” he muttered flatly.

            I watched our twined fingers, our pearl rings glowing orange in the flames. “No wonder he jumped at the chance to get into Hodin’s room. He wasn’t only looking for evidence to frame me as a dark practitioner”—which I am—“and you as a drug lord”—which you are—“but the recipe for the chakra ring.”