Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            “Mmmm? Oh.” Trent looked down, his free hand brushing his coat to no effect. “Yes. This afternoon. Glitter. I swear, it’s got to be demon dandruff in disguise.”

            “I should have given you your present this morning,” I whispered, and he tugged me into him so our feet struck the soft earth together like matched horses. I could feel the ley line he was using to spell his light into existence, and it warmed me clear through.

            “You are all I need,” he said, and I smiled, loving him.

            “That’s beside the point.” I hesitated. “I didn’t mean to take you from your party prep. Or is that why you’re out here?”

            Trent chuckled. The medical suite where we’d left Cassie and David had been an oasis in the out-of-control chaos. After verifying that David’s ribs were not broken and his lungs were clear, we’d made the five-minute walk to the ley line in Trent’s garden in about forty minutes. Some of it had been the girls, now terribly excited about the prospect of the cider mill tomorrow, but most was where to put what, and how many of the other thing did Trent want on hand.

            Green eyes black in the magic light, Trent lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles. “The prep I can handle. I want to talk to Al about my books.”

            “Mmmm.” I was quite sure that conversation wasn’t going to go well, and I lifted Trent’s globe of light higher when a moss-covered trunk was suddenly barring the path. It looked as if it had been there for twenty years, but it hadn’t been there last week. “You don’t know if he was the one who took them,” I said as I let go of Trent’s hand to step over the log. It was a warning, and I wiped my hand clean on my jeans.

            “Right.” The word was flat, and Trent’s expression was tight as he followed suit. His books had vanished about the same time that the university library lost theirs, and whereas the library had written them off, Trent was tenacious.

            “Maybe I should have told Al we were coming,” I said as the trees began to thin and the moonlight brightened. Al might be the easiest way to find the invocation phrase. Unfortunately, easy always seemed to bite me on the ass.

            “How? He can’t use a scrying mirror.”

            That was kind of mean, but Al had tried to sell him one once. “I could have sent Bis,” I said as the path suddenly widened and vanished, spilling into a large, perfectly circular opening in the woods a good sixty feet in diameter. One end held three trees forever in pink bloom, tiny petals drifting like snow. A stream ran close to the colorfully painted wagon, the tongue of which was too massive for horses. Big-ass oxen might be able to handle it. Moonlight made a white glow on the flat rocks about the simple fire pit, and the ribbon of smoke rising from the center looked like a forgotten spirit. A new toadstool ring delineated Al’s “property” line, and I drew Trent to a halt before it. Anything new was to be distrusted.

            I waved when a craggy head lifted from the lump atop the huge wagon. It was Treble, and the ancient gargoyle yawned, wings stretching to look like the devil herself. After giving me a nod, she took to the air, her tail thumping into the wagon with enough force to send it rocking before she flew to a nearby conifer. Her laugh sounded like a rockslide when a faint bellow came from the wagon.

            Not surprisingly, the door slammed open, hitting the side with a bang. “Mother pus bucket, what’s wrong with you, you reptile reject!” Al shouted as he leaned out over the first step to glare at the now empty roof. “There is tea all over my floor!”

            “Ah, hi, Al!” I called, and the demon’s head whipped around. The imposing silhouette didn’t move, his thick-fingered hand shifting to touch his wildly embroidered vest and plain black slacks. He was not in his usual elegant Victorian crushed green velvet frock coat—and he didn’t dissolve into a mist to reappear with it on. Worn shoes instead of his shiny, trendy boots covered his feet. His hair was in disarray, and he ran a hand over it to find order. But it was his expression that tore at me. Embarrassment.

            “You’re right,” Trent said softly. “We should have sent Bis.”

            “Ah, sorry for barging in on you,” I said as Al slowly thumped down the huge wooden steps. The fire was nothing but smoldering ashes, but moonlight made the large clearing bright, and I could see his frown from here.

            “You brought a plus-one. Wonderful,” he mocked, and I took Trent’s elbow before he could step over the toadstool ring. A faint vibration was cramping my toes, undoubtably a spell. New fence, log across the road: I was beginning to wonder how accommodating Al was going to be. Sure, he was my mentor, but that didn’t mean he was roses and warm fuzzies.