Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            Glenn arched his eyebrows at me. “Can I have my phone?”

            “Sorry.”

            Sighing, Glenn put the phone to his ear. “Martie? You good?”

            “You’ll never know, Detective,” she said. “Watch yourself.”

            Glenn smiled as she ended the call, reaching for his glass as Ivy came forward with a large pizza balanced in one hand. Ivy’s attention went from Glenn as he downed his drink to my adrenaline-laced posture. “I take it this is to go, then?”

            “I need to pay for these.” Glenn stood, his bag of ketchup in hand. He got all of three steps, then made a sliding hop back to grab a slice before pushing his way to the register.

            My breath to ask him for some zip strips vanished. Cassie. I’d promised I’d wait for her, and she hadn’t answered her phone. “Ah, Cassie,” I started, and Ivy shrugged.

            “Leave her a message. You know what Walter is capable of. She’ll thank you.”

            “I suppose.” I stood, resolving to call her again on the way. “You’re coming, right?”

            “Wouldn’t miss it.” Turning, she called, “Brad! Road trip! Bring your Band-Aids!”

            Clearly eager, Pike slapped his brother across the shoulder as he drew him to his feet. Brad, too, looked ready, excited without knowing why, and I felt a little ill. Atlantean mirror or not, I had to find a way to fix this. Now.

            Ivy started for the kitchen to box the pizza. Her bike was probably parked at the rear door, and I followed her, hoping she’d give me a ride. Glenn would have to leave his FIB cruiser three blocks away, but Ivy could ride right up to the front door. “I’m surprised you don’t want to plan this,” I said as I came even with her, and she stuck a hand in her pocket, handing me a folded printout of the chop shop. The exits, including the windows, were circled, and she had already verified there was no official underground access. If there was one, it wasn’t registered.

            “I’m good.”

            “Yes, you are,” I said, pulse fast. If Cassie didn’t check her messages, it wouldn’t be my fault.





CHAPTER


            8

            A stray strand of Ivy’s black hair was hitting my face as I rode behind her. My arms were loose about her middle, and the thrum of the bike and the shifting of our weight as we moved reminded me of fish in a stream. Breathing her in along with the faint adrenaline buzz, I couldn’t help but wonder again what my life would be like if I had said yes to her. But when you were in a committed relationship with a vampire, even a living one, you belonged to them. Your wishes, your dreams didn’t matter anymore. Not a problem if you both had the same goals, but Ivy and me? She wanted to survive her past. I wanted to survive my future.

            Even so, I sighed when we idled to a halt outside the converted manufacturing building. Letting go of Ivy, I swung off to leave her to balance the bike. The wind had been chilly, and I was worried about Jenks. I’d left a message on Cassie’s voice mail that we were on our way here, but a quick look at my phone said she hadn’t gotten back to me.

            “It wouldn’t have been like that,” Ivy said, an empty, almost hurt expression on her face.

            “What?” I said, confused as I took my borrowed helmet off.

            “I’m not an extension of Nina, and she’s not an extension of me. But you’re right. You couldn’t be who you are if you were tied to me. It was a good decision.”

            I stared, fumbling for my mental balance. “First of all, how do you do that? And second . . .” My shoulders slumped, and a faint, honest smile quirked her lips. “Never mind.”

            Clearly feeling as if she had scored points somewhere, Ivy took my helmet and set it behind hers on the long seat. “The best, most frustrating years of my life are those that had you in it. Let’s go rescue some werewolf ass.”

            Nodding, I faced the long, low building. My arm went around her lower back for a few steps, and then we broke apart, our feet striking the ground at exactly the same pace. Yes, my world might be in turmoil, but she was right, and I felt at peace with it all.

            The building was six large bays, able to accommodate buses, by the height of them. Unfamiliar graffiti had been painted over the traditional Were symbols. Atop that was Pike’s bracketed diamond logo, glinting as if still wet. He had beaten us here, and I looked in the corners for the telltale hint of pixy dust.