Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            “Good. It’s time to untwist it,” Pike said. “I know he tried to kill me, but I don’t like seeing him this way—even if no one else has tried to take a swing at me in the last three months.” Pike’s thin lips quirked. “I don’t know if it’s because of what you did to Brad, or because I’m taking care of him and if they kill me they will have to step up and it’s a pain in the ass. It’s getting more difficult. The more memory he loses, the harder time he has controlling his bloodlust.” Pike lifted one of his shoulders and let it fall. “Today is a good day.” He frowned at his brother now calling after the woman. “So far. I appreciate your talking to the coven.”

            “Sure,” I said softly, still not wanting to show Vivian the curse until I had the cure. It was dark, illegal magic. That I had been told it was white was immaterial. I was relying on her to speak for my good character and pattern of hack-assery to keep me out of Alcatraz, and I had a feeling this curse would be her line in the sand.

            Never again, I thought with a shudder, trying to disguise it with a sip of my iced tea.

            “That’s pretty gutsy,” Glenn said, still arranging his bottles. “Voluntarily showing the head of the coven of moral and ethical standards a dark curse.”

            Voluntarily, a pixy’s tight ass. “She trusts me,” I said, but I wasn’t sure anymore.

            Glenn’s phone hummed against me—we were sitting that close—and he leaned to wiggle his phone from his pocket.

            “Hey, sugar tooth!” Brad shouted at a passing trio. “I gots your table for three right here.”

            Frowning, Pike got to his feet. “Excuse me.”

            “Is it Martie?” I asked, trying to see, but the profile pic was one of those empty silhouettes.

            “Yep.” Shoulders tense, Glenn hit the accept icon. “What did you find out?” he said, not putting her on speaker, and I leaned in to hear.

            “That I should have listened to my mom and become a mechanic,” Martie said. “Over three thousand to fix a squeak and high-speed clunk?”

            Glenn cleared his throat. “And?” he prompted.

            I could hear the clicking of heels, and then a soft sigh as they went silent. “I did not see Parker, but the amulet went green, and I’m ninety-five percent sure I saw Walter making a call on the shop’s landline. There was a grimy plate of glass between us, but he’s the right height, right attitude, wide shoulders, and short buzz cut.”

            A thrill spiked through me, and the vamps at the next table stiffened, sensing it. If Walter was there, then David was probably with him. Twisting, I found my phone to call Cassie. It went immediately to voice mail, and I grimaced, frustrated.

            “I’m on a bus at the moment,” Martie was saying. “I left the car in case you wanted to play the angry husband. You want me to hang close, or head to the tower?”

            “Tower.” Glenn had tensed, and the scent of his cologne became more obvious. “I need you to go to my office and find a folder titled ‘Tunnels.’ See if there are any in the area that they can escape through. Give me a text on what you find. I’m turning my ringer off. Rachel and I are going out there right now with her vampire enforcers.”

            “You got it,” she said, and I reached for his phone, jerking it right out of Glenn’s hand.

            “Wait! Martie?” I exclaimed, and Glenn gave me a dry look. “I need to talk to Jenks.”

            “The pixy?” Martie said. “He’s not— Hey!” she yelped, and I felt a wash of relief at the sound of rasping wings. “Where did you come from?”

            “I’m here, Rache,” Jenks said, then louder, “God, woman! It’s dust, not Agent Orange. Hold the Tink-blasted phone still.”

            “Jenks, is it too cold for you to return to the chop shop?” I asked. “A layout of the place would be helpful. I don’t think Ivy has had enough time to print out anything.” I’d said the last rather sourly. The woman lived to plan, planned to live.

            “Will do,” he said, and then the sound of his wings faded.

            “Sweet mother of God,” Martie whispered. “I had no idea he was there.”