Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            “That’s not a spell detector,” the pixy said as I scanned the open-floor area with its plastic orange chairs left over from the Turn and the long front counter. There was no line at the metal detector, and I headed that way. “Gotta love their innocence.”

            “They don’t need one,” I said as I put my bag on the conveyer belt, keys and phone on top. I gave the attendant a smile, knowing the efficiency, dedication, and pure guts the humans had who went toe-to-toe with their Inderlander counterparts. They couldn’t compete with the natural skills and heightened abilities that witches, vampires, and Weres took for granted, but humans made up for it in other ways, ways that weren’t apparent to most Inderlanders even when they were brought down by them. And they were brought down. Occasionally.

            I was still wearing my admittedly smirky smile as my wandering gaze landed on the orange chairs and the guy sitting there. Er, cuffed there. Thinking I was interested, he leered, going ashen when he saw Jenks and he realized I was an Inderlander. No one else would be coming in with a pixy.

            Somehow, that made my day better. Hips swaying, I halted before the woman behind the visitor placard. Behind me, people were coming and going, everyone intent on the task of putting foot-into-gut of the bad guy. It was comforting.

            Finally the woman looked up, her almost-there smile freezing when she saw Jenks. That’s right, sunshine. I’m not human. “Hi,” I said brightly, and Jenks mockingly saluted her. “We’re here to see Detective Glenn. He’s expecting us. Rachel Morgan, Jenks, and Cassie Castle. She’s going to meet us here.”

            “Mmmm, Detective Glenn works nights,” she said, her smile a little too wide. “Would you like me to make an appointment for you?”

            “I already have one,” I said, smile just as stilted. “I called him ten minutes ago. He said he was here.” He’d never gone home, apparently. “Can you check again?” I mean, really. The guy at the car lot got the message.

            “He won’t be in until tonight,” she said instead of taking thirty seconds to glance at her computer. “If you want to wait, you can sit over there.”

            My breath came in and out, and still, she stared at me, unmoving. Jenks sniggered, knowing what was going to happen next. There was no way I was going to sit in the orange chairs. Once you sit down, they forget about you as if there was a time-distortion field on them.

            “Nah,” I said, smiling to show my teeth, and Jenks spilled a bright dust, scaring her. “I’ll wait right here.” Elbows on the counter, I leaned forward, staring.

            “Rachel?” came a high-pitched voice, and both Jenks and I turned to see Cassie struggling to get through the metal detector. “It’s licensed,” she said to the attendant. “Of course I have a permit. Like hell I’m leavin’ it here. Fine. Fine! Keep it. I have an appointment.”

            Jenks’s lips quirked into a smile. “I didn’t know she was packing mundane steel.”

            “Good to know,” I said, shifting to make room for her at the counter as she paced forward, scowling as she shoved a tiny piece of paper into her purse where her pistol belonged. Her curly hair was shiny and wet, and she seemed deathly tired.

            “I don’t know why I’m here,” Cassie said as she joined us. “This is a waste of time.”

            I smiled, draping my arm over her shoulder and turning to the woman behind the counter. “Detective Glenn?” I said pleasantly. “We have an appointment.”

            The woman’s gaze lingered on Cassie’s bandages and swollen eye. “Just a moment,” she said flatly as she engaged her headset. Suddenly her lips parted and her attention shot back to us. “Sir. Yes. I didn’t know you were in this morning. Are you expecting—”

            “Rachel Morgan and Cassie Castle,” Glenn interrupted, his low voice barely audible. “Send them up. It should be in my appointments.”

            I beamed as the woman flushed. “Sir, they have a pixy—”

            “I would hope so,” Glenn barked. “Get them their IDs and send them up. If you are going to make me use this ridiculous app, you’d better darn well look at it.”

            Cassie cleared her throat, and the woman stiffened. “Yes, sir,” she said as she clicked him off. “IDs, please?”

            I dropped my bag on her counter and began pawing through it, careful to not show off my cherry-red, high-density-plastic spell pistol—which had not set off the metal detector. “Hang on. I know it’s here.”