Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            Lips quirked, Trent glanced at his watch. “I promise I will not get roped into lunch at the club.” Then he winced. “Unless it will clinch the deal,” he added faintly.

            I resettled Lucy before me, delighted when she laced her fingers to match mine. “Fair enough,” I said. “I’ve got your car. If you take too long, I’m taking them to the church for lunch and naps.”

            “No naps,” Lucy whined, and I hugged her closer.

            “Not now, silly. When the sun is high in the sky and you get tired. You want to dream about ponies, don’t you?”

            She had to think about that, her brow furrowed until she spotted Jenks coming over with Mark. “Jenks!” Lucy shouted, and Ray threw her cookie at her in disgust. Lucy began screaming and I grinned as Trent sighed. It went without saying that I was awake, coffee or not.

            “You two newlings better shut your pollen holes,” Jenks said as he hovered over the table. “Or I’m going to make you itch for a week. Ray, I saw what you did. Apologize.”

            Lucy caught her next outburst, tears spilling from her. “Ray?” she warbled, and the little dark-haired girl actually sighed.

            “Sorry,” Ray said, her arms spread wide, and Lucy scrambled over the table to get a hug, peace restored.

            “You’re going to have a great morning,” Trent said, but I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

            “Yep.” I beamed at Jenks, glad he was here. “Jenks is a great dad. He’s going to teach me a couple things if I’m not careful.”

            Jenks went a bright scarlet, the dust spilling from him heavy and thick.

            Still smiling, Trent turned to Mark as the kid set an envelope of cookies down along with my coffee. “Thank you, Mark. Much appreciated,” Trent added as he stood, cookies in hand.

            “Anytime, sir.” Mark sort of bobbed his head, then retreated to his register. I’d say it was subservient, but he knew Trent had more money than God. Or at least, he once had. Now he only had more than Oprah, which was nearly the same thing.

            “Daddy?” Lucy almost whined, her arms wide and hands opening and closing. I thought it was for a cookie, but she wanted a hug and kiss, which he obliged, giving me one as well.

            “Good-bye, my wise and kind ladies,” he said as Ray got a kiss and hug, too, the small girl bouncing in her elevated child seat for attention. “Enjoy the cider mill.” Expression soft, he touched my chin. “I can’t thank you enough for watching them this morning. Sometimes, I think Ellasbeth wants me to fail so she can drag the girls back to Seattle.”

            “That will be the day,” Jenks muttered, his wing pitch rising as he sipped his coffee and the caffeine hit him.

            “Go make deals,” I said as I handed him my keys. “Save the world.”

            “Just my corner will be enough.” His fingers trailing from me left tingles. And then he was walking away.

            I felt loved as he wove through the tables, and I took a sip of sweet cinnamon coffee, practically moaning as it slipped into me, bringing me awake in a way that little-girl voices at full volume couldn’t. My arms around Lucy, I watched Trent shift his clubs to my car. He must have felt my stare, because he turned, waving once before getting in and driving off. Yes, it was golf, but it was with Lee, and the man had once broken Trent’s hand to win a canoe race. I was sure Lee still hadn’t forgiven me for falling into their lives and convincing Trent to stop taking shit from Lee and to stand up for himself.

            Though they’d been inseparable at camp, I doubted that Trent and Lee had ever been true friends. Lee was too aggressive, his drive to be the best easy to see. Their parents had insisted on the relationship, probably thinking that interaction early and often might help keep an open dialogue between the two crime families.

            It had worked . . . sort of, but I’d never trusted the witch who clearly had a problem with being alive thanks to Trent’s dad. Lee, too, had been born with the Rosewood syndrome. Unlike me, though, he couldn’t pass the cure on to his children. The repair had been engineered into our mitochondria, and since a baby got that from their mom, it was a final, surreptitious dig, or perhaps insurance, from Trent’s father.

            Be careful, Trent. I love you. Desperately.