Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            “I won’t let them put you in jail,” I whispered, then stiffened. “There they are.”

            So faint it could have been my imagination, I heard excited voices chanting in unison. The traffic ceased, and hazy, ghostlike images of angry people wavered before us, marching as if in a forgotten war. Weres couldn’t see ley lines, but it was obvious they could sense them. Straight as an arrow, they paced down the street, an open area in the middle waiting for us.

            “Okay, let’s go.” I took David’s arm and stepped forward, shivering as I walked through the protesters to find the center open area. David shuddered, the man positively gray, and I wondered if it was the people we’d just passed through like ghosts, or me shifting his aura to match the lines so we could use it as a conduit.

            “Ready?” I said, and, much as Trent and I had been training the horses to walk down a ley line as we translocated them to another realm, I sent David and me to reality.

            That fast, we were home. Noise and color slammed into us. David shook on his exhale, his furrowed brow easing. The Weres around us started as well, more than a few swearing under their breath as the rest continued to shove their hand-lettered signs into the air, shouting, “Con-stance! Lo-cal rule! Con-stance. Lo-cal rule!” A few pedestrians watched and took videos, but mostly we were ignored. Car alarms were going off on the next street over, and I jumped, eyes going to the sky when a firework exploded into hard-to-see sparkles.

            “That was as freaky as all hell,” David muttered, but Trent’s grin faded fast as we walked past the parked I.S. cruiser. Head bowed, I risked a glance. The two officers inside were gesturing at the protesters, but they were clearly too interested in their sub sandwiches and supersize Mountain Dews to interfere. Uneasy, I pulled Trent into a half-hunched slump. Weres tended to be small, and a redhead next to a paper-white blond would stand out.

            “David, this worked amazingly well,” Trent said, and the Were nodded.

            “It was Jenks’s idea.”

            “It was a good one,” I said, still scanning for Jenks. “Where are we going?”

            “Down,” David said, and my gaze went to the sound of metal on pavement. The protest had halted at an intersection, waiting for the light to change.

            “Into the sewer?” I squeaked at the open manhole, and Trent’s expression went empty.

            “Yup,” David said as I stared at the ugly black hole. Three Weres held the heavy manhole cover up, but I balked. “Now. The light is going to change,” he added.

            “I thought we’d take a car,” Trent said, and Jenks darted close, his wings rasping.

            “I tried to pix the light,” he said, scowling at me. “But the traffic fail-safes are insulated. You got fifteen seconds to get your lily-white asses down that hole.”

            “Jenks!” I exclaimed, then staggered when David shoved me forward. “I’m so sorry,” I babbled as I sat on the filthy pavement and dangled my legs. “You were trying to tell me about Vivian, and I didn’t listen.”

            “Go!” David said, and I pushed forward, teeth clenched as I hit the bottom of the tunnel. It was warmer down here, and it stank. Breath shallow, I moved aside as Trent eclipsed the light.

            “Don’t try to butter me up, witch.” Jenks’s dust was an angry red as he hovered before me, lighting the narrow tube. “You left!”

            Trent dropped in, his slight stumble graceful compared to my fall.

            “I know. I’m sorry,” I babbled, hating Jenks’s angry expression. “I was so worried about Trent. Is Getty okay? That must have been horrible to watch. I’m so glad she didn’t interfere. She did the right thing by hiding. Lee would have killed her.”

            The light dimmed again as David entered, and then Quen, the elf landing with hardly a whisper. The man was dressed in security black, scowling as if ready to slit someone’s throat. I stifled a shudder as the manhole cover scraped back into place, and then it was just Jenks’s sparkles lighting the curving walls.

            “Getty is fine,” Jenks muttered, wings rasping when Trent whispered a word of Latin and a globe of light blossomed. “Why by Tink’s little pink dildo can’t I stay mad at you?”

            “Because you love me,” I said, and the pixy’s dust brightened.