Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            “That’s why he tried to steal the lens.” Trent slowly shook his head, little drips from his hair spotting the dry earth. “He’s been playing us since he got here.” Disgusted, he tossed another split log onto the fire to send sparks up into the clearing sky. “I have to call Quen,” he added as he took his cell from his pocket, shoulders slumping as he set the ruined phone down.

            “Quen knows about Lee,” I said, quickly adding, “The girls are fine. We’re going to be okay. Vivian heard him admit that he twisted that curse.”

            Jaw tight, Trent frowned. “I hate to see him in Alcatraz. They won’t let him run his Brimstone from there, and I’m not eager to deal with his replacement. I spent a lifetime getting to know him, and now it doesn’t mean squat.”

            “Good God, Trent. He tried to kill you!” I exclaimed, and he shrugged, gaze distant on the fire. “Um, I really wanted to talk to Al, but I suppose we should get back,” I said, not relishing the coming walk loaded down with my books and in soggy underwear. I wasn’t looking forward to putting my socks back on, either. “You’ve got a change of clothes at the church.” I stood, glancing at Al’s dark wagon.

            “Sure.” Pride softened his features as he rose as well and tugged me closer. “You learned how to line jump. I knew you could do it.”

            “Ah, actually, no,” I said, head down in a pinch of guilt. “I bought the jumps from Dali. And I repaid the one you bought from him, too, so don’t let him try to double-dip on you.”

            “Oh, Rachel.” He took both my hands, turning them over to see if I had a demon mark. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

            “What, and let you die?” I said, jerking my hands from him. “You might think it’s a joke, but Lee wants you dead or penniless! To him, they are the same thing.”

            “Okay.” He steeled his expression. “What did you give Dali if not a future favor?”

            “Al’s dagger. The one from the vault.”

            The door to Al’s wagon crashed open, thumping into the wall of his van to make us both spin. “You gave Quaere to Dali?” Al bellowed, half-dressed in a billowing red nightshirt as he stumbled down the narrow, ladderlike steps. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to make?!”

            “Al! Uh, hi,” I said, shocked. “Just who I wanted to see,” I added, cursing myself for the guilt in my voice. “I was going to—”

            “Six months!” Al tugged his nightshirt straight as he paced forward. “It can only be twisted during an absolute full moon on the summer equinox. Do you know how rare those are? It was worth more than four line jumps!” He jerked to a halt, red eyes narrowing as he saw Trent. “But it might have been worth your elf’s life.” Slumping, he sat on the stone closest to the fire, his nightshirt up about his knees. “He renamed it, didn’t he.”

            I still felt guilty. “Yes. I’m sorry. He called it Revenge. I’ll make you another one.”

            “Pffft, all gone,” Al said, gesturing to the darkening sky. “Like you will ever have six uninterrupted months in a row.” He turned to me, his lip curled. “You brought books instead of shoes and sequined dresses. Perhaps you will survive after all.”

            I motioned for Trent to stay back, then cautiously sat on the flat rock beside Al. “Ah, I was hoping I could stay here for a few days?”

            Al frowned at Trent as the elf sat down as well and tried to get his phone to work. “Yeah?” the demon said flatly, the word holding an entire conversation of “no.”

            “Until Vivian clears my name,” I said. “She’s totally ticked that Lee used the coven to further himself. Everything will be fine by Monday.” I hesitated. “Probably.”

            “Monday?” Al mocked, and then he stiffened, his gaze going to the woods. “Ahhh, excuse me,” he said, springing to his feet. Fumbling in a pocket, he threw a charm on the fire. Immediately it whooshed up higher, throwing back the shadows until I could see all the way to the encroaching woods.

            “What is it?” I asked, jumping when the door to his wagon slammed shut. He was gone.

            “That’s Lucy.” Trent set his phone down and stood to face the woods. “Lucy?” he called, and a little-girl shriek split the night.