Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            Patricia ran one of the best stores within fifty miles. Ley line equipment was upstairs, perishables and the pricier items down. In the rear by the register was a coffee nook holding a couch, two chairs, and a long table to give the home spell caster a place to spread out and plan a big project. But that was something I’d never been encouraged to do here, and my good mood took a hit. I fit in where I fit in, and where I didn’t, it was obvious.

            “Unprimed finding amulets,” I said as two voices twined in a companionable conversation from the back. I was pretty sure I knew where the prepackaged amulets were. But I jerked to a halt when Jenks darted up, his dust an excited red and gold.

            “You are never going to believe who’s here.”

            “Be with you in a moment!” came loudly, and I froze. Patricia?

            “Crap on toast,” I whispered, heart sinking. “Tomalin was supposed to be working today.”

            “Yeah, but that’s not the half of it,” Jenks said as I paced to the end of the aisle and cautiously peeked around a stand of facial charms.

            It just keeps raining magic. . . . I flushed as Patricia’s expression shifted from welcome to animosity in half a second flat. Beside her at the couch going over an old spell book were two of the last people I’d expect to see.

            “Vivian? Lee?” I stammered as I inched out of hiding. “My gosh, what are you two doing here?” Together?

            “Rachel.” Vivian flipped her short, straight hair out of her eyes and closed the book with a decidedly proprietary snap. “Wow. Small world.”

            Clearly surprised, Lee smiled, his oval face and straight black hair from his Japanese heritage looking more pronounced next to Vivian’s blond and blue-eyed Midwestern vanilla. Trent’s best childhood friend was of average build, average height, and had everyday brown eyes. That was where average left Stanley Saladan. The sharply dressed man gracefully rose to his feet from out of the deep couch. Dress shoes clicking, he came forward to give me an awkward, very fast hug. I could feel a hint of dark smut lingering in his aura, but it was less than I remembered. Clearly he had cleaned up his act. Marriage tends to do that to a person.

            There was an uncomfortable tingle of ley line energy as our internal balances tried to equalize, and I flushed, embarrassed. “Wow, good to see you,” I said as the scent of sand and redwood rose from his black button-down shirt and tie. He had an enviable deep tan, and my gaze went to the tiny scar on his eyelid as his thin lips held his initial smile. Like me, he was sensitive to sulfur, making me wonder if it was an artifact of Trent’s dad’s tinkering. We had both survived the Rosewood syndrome, but unlike me, Lee couldn’t pass the cure on.

            “Hi, Rachel,” Lee said as Patricia gaped, clearly shocked I knew him. “Is, ah, Trent here?”

            I grinned at his slight unease. “No. He’s getting ready for his meeting with you, actually.” I nodded at Vivian, now sitting with her small hands clasped in her lap. Waiting. “Wow. It’s great to see you. How have you been? Family okay?”

            Jenks’s wings hummed as a flash of pain crossed Lee, quickly hidden.

            “Out. Now.” Patricia stood, her jeans and sweater rather pedestrian next to Vivian’s exquisite outfit and Lee’s loosened tie. “I can refuse service to anyone.”

            “Patricia,” Vivian coaxed. “Rachel doesn’t have to leave. I’d like to talk to her, actually.”

            I stifled a wince. Vivian had left a polite but stern request on my voice mail last week, wanting to see that curse I’d spelled Pike’s brother with.

            “That . . . person trashed my store!” Patricia exclaimed, arm shaking as she pointed at me, and Lee’s eyes widened, amusement easing his expression. “Get out!”

            “Rachel trashed your store?” Lee goaded, and Jenks snickered.

            “Technically, it wasn’t her,” the pixy said. “It was Minias and Al.”

            Embarrassed, I tugged my bag higher up my shoulder. “What is your problem, Patricia? I know for a fact that your insurance covered it despite the demon clause.”

            Patricia’s jaw tightened, her face becoming even more red. “My shop smelled like burnt amber for three weeks! I lost good customers because of you.”