Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            Jenks nodded, looking disgusted that he owned a room he couldn’t get into.

            Maybe the repellent spell works via auras, I mused as I stirred the remaining batter. The undead didn’t have much of one, and the aura they did have wasn’t even theirs. No soul, no aura.

            “Rachel, you want me to keep those going while you get dressed?” Stef offered as she slid from the barstool, and I felt my expression brighten.

            “Oh, man. Would you?” I tapped the microwave into motion and licked the stickiness from my fingers. “I’d really appreciate that. They shouldn’t be here for . . .” I looked at Jenks.

            “Five minutes?” he guessed, and I hustled to the hallway leading to the rest of the church.

            Stef tightened the tie on her robe. “I’ll make another pot of coffee. Put some wolfsbane in it.”

            I smiled, thinking Stef was more interested in the Weres than the coffee. “Thanks,” I said. “I’m going to miss you when you move out. You know that, right?” I added.

            “Me too. Weirdest seven months of my life,” the woman said softly, almost to herself.

            My thoughts were full of a light sadness as I started down the hallway, and I jumped when Jenks’s wings sounded in the tight confines. “Hey, ah, Rache,” the pixy said as he hovered backward before me, his dust an awkward blue and gold. “Could you, ah, pick me up something at Patricia’s since you’re going?”

            I eyed Hodin’s door as we passed it, the sudden cramping tingle in my gut warning me off. “Sure. What do you need?” The pixy-piss spell had slammed me into the wall the last time I’d tried the door, and I stifled a shudder as I continued into the sanctuary.

            “Getty used up my stash of milkweed fiber weaving some stupid blanket,” Jenks said. “Blew through it as if it was blueberry nectar. I should have stored more, but I haven’t needed any since . . . for a while.”

            His words had faltered, and I felt a surge of sympathy. He hadn’t needed any because it wasn’t a buck’s place to make clothes in the highly structured pixy society.

            “I, ah, thought maybe if I got her some, she might focus on that and stop trying to help me plan next year’s garden,” Jenks finished, eyes downcast and fidgety.

            “Sure,” I said, my tone carefully neutral. “Why don’t you come with me? Pick it out?”

            “You think I should?” he said, and I nodded, a good feeling welling up through me. He didn’t want the fiber to keep her out of the garden. He wanted it because she was a crackerjack ace at weaving and he thought it would make her feel productive and needed. And he was right.

            “The weather will be nice this afternoon. I could use the company,” I said, and his dust turned a contented gold.

            “Okay.” Jenks’s gaze went to the front door to the church. “They’re here,” he added as the twin oak doors slammed open and six rough-hewn but good-natured Weres rolled in. “All right, all right, all right! Who’s ready for some pancakes!”





CHAPTER


            5

            “Your wings are cold,” I said as Jenks parked himself on my shoulder and out of the wind. Patricia’s was right in downtown Cincinnati, and the tall buildings had a tendency to funnel even the smallest breeze from the waterfront into an eye-squinting gale. Not a problem in the summer, but in late October it could be deadly to a heat-loving pixy, and I quickened my pace as I headed for Patricia’s spell shop.

            “Why do you think I’m on your shoulder, witch?” Jenks grumbled. “I thought you and Patricia were still on the outs.”

            I glanced up at the modest storefront sandwiched between a phone outlet and a comic book shop. “Patricia doesn’t work on Thursday,” I said, and Jenks snickered. Tomalin would be behind the counter, and Tomalin and I had an understanding—as long as I paid cash.

            Smug, I opened the door and went inside. My slow, sedate breath pulled in the wonderful mix of redwood, musky herbs, and snap of ozone that all said magic. I’d always liked spell shops. They smelled so . . . delicious, a mix of power that went all the way to my bones. The chimes tinkled cheerfully, and the spell over the door flashed red from the lethal-magic detection amulet on my shoulder bag. Jenks’s wings tickled my neck as he vibrated them to warm them up, and then he was airborne, darting off to do a quick recon. Pleased, I loosened my scarf, eager to wander the aisles and touch everything.