Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            I looked up at the sound of pixy wings, recognizing Jenks’s heavier thrum.

            “She said hell,” Jenks said. “I didn’t know you could say hell on national TV.”

            “It’s a local channel,” I said as they went to commercial and I turned it down. “Sometimes you have to use the right word, fines or not.”

            “Mmmm.” Jenks landed on the lampshade, fidgeting as he adjusted the new shirt that Getty had made him. It was purple and gold, like pansies in the sun, and I didn’t know if I should say something or not. “Is Doyle still out there?”

            “Yep.” Stretching, I reached for another chocolate pumpkin. Chocolate for dinner. Adulting at its finest.

            Jenks swung his feet, wings softly moving. “If you want to go to the party and spend some time with your mom, I’ve got this. Leave the candy on the front steps. I’ll make sure no one trolls the bowl.”

            “Thanks, but we had lunch together. Besides, seeing my mom dressed up as Madonna might scar me for life.”

            He snickered, the dust spilling from him shifting a brilliant gold. “So . . . Trent still camped out in the ever-after?”

            “Mmmm.” I nodded, the chocolate mirroring my thoughts of the night perfectly: sweet, bitter, fleeting. The usual bribes weren’t working, hence the warrants on Trent still being active. It could have been Lee, but I was betting it was Finnis. Or Constance maybe, just to irritate me.

            It had only been a week, and Constance had already begun to test her influence, making forays to deplete a few high-end jewelry stores, and of course to Piscary’s to cull a few blood donors from its namesake’s orphaned and willing children. I’d sent her a bouquet of roses three days ago to remind her of her end of the deal, but it seemed that she was being as good as her word. I’d gotten news this morning that the soul curse was again in active FCAS consideration, and apart from Doyle camped out on my curb, the I.S. seemed to be off my case.

            Ivy, though, was struggling to keep Constance within reasonable bounds. I think she enjoyed the challenge, if the truth be told. I’d never be able to trust the undead vampire, obviously, but at least the ex-mouse was not actively trying to take me out. At the moment.

            All in all, it had been a quiet week. The demons were smug in having turned the exile curse back on the witches, and their restored pride meant they were less likely to do anything disruptive anytime soon. Most witches didn’t care that the ever-after was now denied them, wrongfully thinking it made them less likely to be abducted by a demon, and those who did mind kept their mouth shut lest someone claim they were dark practitioners. Parker had been captured outside the zoo and was currently in quarantine, scheduled to be relocated to that island off Mackinaw City, which I thought criminally ironic. David and Cassie had eloped and were on their honeymoon. Stef had gotten a promotion at the hospital and was currently looking at new apartments. And Trent?

            I sighed, reaching for another chocolate. Trent was hiding in the ever-after, evading that stupid warrant.

            “Relax, Rache,” Jenks said, wing in hand as he smoothed out a small rip. “If the coven wanted to see that curse you used on Pike’s brother, they would have asked already.”

            My head snapped up at a sudden knock. There was no following “Trick or treat.”

            “But I could be mistaken,” the pixy added, rising up on a column of silver dust.

            “That was the back door,” I mused aloud, wondering if it might be Trent. Yes, he was in the ever-after, but the ley line in my backyard was hard to watch and easy to use. And unlike the witches, elves could still stand in a ley line and move from reality to reality.

            I got to my feet even as Bis swooped in from the foyer, the gargoyle clearly having slipped in through a belfry window. “It’s the girls!” he said, his skin a pebbly black in excitement. “Can I hold the bowl?”

            I nodded, worried as my gaze went to the front door. Doyle was at my curb, but unless he had a winged backup—which was highly unlikely—he wouldn’t know Trent was here. Eager to see what the girls were for Halloween, I started for the porch. Bis grabbed the bowl and flew out before me, Jenks in hot pursuit.

            “Trick or treat!” Lucy yelled from the porch as I came into the kitchen, and my smile widened.

            Bis and Jenks were already there, and the girls were silently staring into the bowl as if it was the most important decision in the world. Behind them, Trent stood with two little pumpkin baskets in hand, pleasure softening his face. The blond beard and mustache he now had were new, making him look like a rangy Viking.