Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            For a moment, there were no militant Weres, no troublesome I.S. detectives, and I breathed her in, feeling her pheromones go to my core in a wash of relaxation. And then her grip eased and she dropped away. I was glad Ivy had found someone to spend her life with who needed her, but sometimes I wondered what might have happened if I’d said yes to her more than once.

            “How is it going?” I asked.

            “Better now,” she said, the rim of brown around her pupils shrinking as she stood before Glenn, her thoughts lost behind a suddenly placid expression. “Glenn. Moved into your dad’s office yet?” she asked as she gave him a quick peck on the cheek. She glanced at the bottles clinking between them. “We have a special bag when you buy all six.”

            “That’d be great.” A flush had crept up Glenn’s neck. “You look fabulous.”

            “I could say the same.” Smirking, she put a hand on his shoulder and yanked him closer to give him a real kiss, one she clearly wanted to evolve into something more.

            It did not go unnoticed, and a light laughter eased through the waiting people as Glenn was officially claimed and tagged as hands-off. It might sound insulting, but it would make for a much more pleasant experience. And as word got around, Glenn would be safer for it, both here and on the street.

            But as the kiss lingered and grew, I began to get uncomfortable. I didn’t want to know what my friends did in the dark. “Hey, hey. Come on, guys,” I muttered. “No one will bother Glenn now. Can we sit down?”

            Glenn took a stumbling step as Ivy let go. Her eyes were pupil black, and if it wasn’t noon on a sunny day, Glenn might have had to cash that check immediately. But the woman smirked, her mood good as she adroitly caught one of Glenn’s bottles when he dropped it. “I’ll get you settled, and then we can talk.” Hips swaying, she angled to an empty table.

            “Good. I want to bring Pike in on it, too, if you can spare him,” I said. “We’re waiting on confirmation that Walter is on-site before we go in.”

            Ivy’s brow creased. I knew her thoughts and I appreciated her agreement. Lunch was busy, but Walter was erratic and unpredictable. We couldn’t wait until after the lunch crush.

            “Drinks,” she said as she set Glenn’s bottle on a small empty table with a bench at the wall and two chairs opposite it. “Glenn, you want a Bloody Mary?”

            The table was tight, but that’s how Piscary’s was. “Iced tea?” I said as I took the bench. “No lemon.” But Ivy would know that.

            “Virgin, please,” Glenn added, and Ivy made another one of her little smirks.

            “Can do,” she said, gaze flicking to the rafters. “Tell Jenks if he gets dust in my sauce that I will pluck his wings off.”

            “He’s not here.” I shifted to the end of the bench when Glenn sat beside me, both of our backs to the wall. “He’s doing recon with the FIB.”

            Glenn froze, halfway through a little scrunch hop. “H-he . . .” he stammered, ending his move with a grimace. “I thought we agreed Martie would go by herself.”

            My elbows were on the table, chin on my hands. “You can’t keep a pixy from anything.”

            Glenn’s brow pinched ruefully. “And you can’t keep anything from a pixy.”

            Ivy hesitated, flinching at a crash from the kitchen that raised an ooooh and claps from the patrons. “Let me check on your pizza,” she said, then sauntered away.

            The table felt empty without her, and neither Glenn nor I felt like talking. The man was fussing over his ketchup bottles, lining them up like soldiers, squinting to read the fine print. Yes, I’d told Cassie that we needed to plan this, but I was itching to get moving. Pizza. I should have called a city-powers meeting.

            “David has some time,” Glenn said as he saw me fidget. “They won’t kill him outright.”

            “If I thought otherwise, I wouldn’t be sitting here,” I said, resisting the urge to check my phone. The memory of Nick, beaten and bloodied, tied to a sink in a cruddy one-season cabin on an island in the Straits of Mackinac rose in my thoughts, and I grimaced. Walter didn’t play by any rules. Even his own.

            An eerily fast motion drew my attention as one of the employees set aside a stack of dirty plates to go after Brad. The forgetful man had finished his task and was heading for the door. Pike had noticed, too, but his reaction was far more casual as he got Brad settled at a table that was apparently kept open for him, seeing as there was a gaming tablet on it.