Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            Grinning, I wound up and punched Doyle in the arm, slowly so he knew it was coming. “Thanks, Doyle. You’re not bad for a living vamp.”

            Doyle flicked his arm as if brushing off an insect, showing his teeth to make a drop of remembered vampiric heat fall through me. “Excuse me,” he said, smirking as he sensed it, and then he strode to the I.S. van, yelling at his people to get the cars moved so the ambulances could get in here.

            “I need to sit down,” I whispered, one arm around Trent, the other holding my ribs.

            “Room service is half a block down the street,” Trent offered, and I slumped deeper against him. Half a block, yes, but between reporters and the crush of emergency vehicles, it was going to take at least five minutes. Elyse was looking at me, and I gave her a respectful nod before shuffling into motion. One of the younger members protested, and she told him to back off, making me smile. Looked like the coven had their new leader.

            Eventually we would talk, and until we did, I probably didn’t have to worry about the coven. Lee had vanished but the world was onto him now, and the warrant for Vivian’s death had his name on it, not mine. David and Cassie clearly had the Weres under control, and though Constance was again a potential threat, we had an agreement.

            All that was left was getting my bag from Dali.

            “Jenks, thank you,” I whispered as we turned to Carew Tower. “You are seriously the difference between me walking away from this and having to hide in the ever-after.” I hesitated. “And Trent,” I said, my head thumping onto his shoulder. “And Quen. David. Ivy, Pike . . .” I added. “But mostly you,” I finished.

            “Yeah, I know,” the pixy said smugly. “Hey! Your plan worked!”

            I chuckled, leaning deeper into Trent as we angled to find Quen and hopefully a quiet ride up to Trent’s penthouse. “First time for everything,” I whispered as I closed my eyes, trusting that between Jenks, Bis, and Trent, I’d get there okay.





CHAPTER


            31

            “Thank you!” the kids on the stoop chorused, the preoccupied lilt to their high voices telling me they were already thinking of the next door.

            “Be safe out there,” I said as they ran for the sidewalk, costumes fluttering. “Don’t take any black tomatoes!”

            That got a wave from their waiting parents, and in a flurry of commotion, the pack of superheroes and anime characters trundled to the next house. The small gesture went right to my gut, making me feel as if I belonged. I’d thought I’d lost that.

            The sounds of the night were wonderful, and I lingered on the cold stoop with my bowl of candy, soaking in the excited calls of “Trick or treat” and the thumping of running feet. Cars prowled, their headlights cutting the darkness into angles of black and white. And above it all was the moon, just shy of full, as the night moved and lived.

            I turned to go in, my gaze lingering on Doyle parked across the street. He’d been there since sundown. He’d been there every night for the past week, waiting for Trent, I think.

            “Hey!” I shouted, and he looked up from his phone. “You want to come in? I have hot cider.”

            Brow furrowed, the I.S. detective actually considered it before shaking his head.

            “If you change your mind, come on up,” I said, smiling as I felt behind me for the open door and went inside.

            The TV was a soft murmur, and I took a foil-wrapped pumpkin from the bowl as I went into the sanctuary. There was a distinct possibility that Jenks and I had overestimated our candy needs. It was hard to know from any given year to the next if I would have people driving from across town to knock on the demon’s door, or if even my neighbors would be avoiding my porch light. But it was early yet. The real action never started until after midnight.

            Sighing, I fell onto the couch before the TV and dropped the wad of orange foil on the little pyramid already there. The TV was tuned to the news, and I reached for the remote to toggle up the sound when they went to a live shot outside of Trent’s estate.

            “As you can see,” the no-nonsense blonde in her Halloween-inspired snake dress was saying, “Trent Kalamack’s annual Halloween fundraiser is in full swing. The highly anticipated yearly event is one of Kalamack’s major community outreaches, bringing in high society to fill Cincinnati’s pantries as well as fund the city’s many programs designed to help the underprivileged rise to self-sufficiency. Mr. Kalamack has not yet made an appearance, and questions to Cincinnati’s I.S. branch have gone unanswered. It is still unknown if Mr. Kalamack is in custody on charges of manufacturing genetic medicines, or if the former councilman is in hiding evading justice. Either way, he knows how to throw one hell of a party.”