Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            “Hey, I found the lens,” Jenks said, his dust glowing as he kicked at an elaborately cut chunk of glass the size of a walnut sitting upon the workbench.

            “Ah, I wouldn’t knock that around if I were only four inches tall.” Looking odd with Bis on his shoulder, Trent shifted the book in his hand and tapped the illustration. “It focuses mystics into a dangerously high concentration within the engraved Möbius strip.” He licked his lips, a little pale. “That’s how it works. It shoots out a blast of mystics to stop the chakras’ spin.”

            “Except the heart chakra,” I said. “No wonder their auras are that greenish yellow.”

            Trent nodded. The light of discovery in his gaze was heady even if he seemed a little ill, and I felt a pang of love for him. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he added, and Lee cautiously leaned in, sullen and bad-tempered that Trent could hold the book with impunity and he couldn’t. “Look.” Trent jiggled the book so we all could see. “The lens focuses the mystics, and the pentagram traps them in the engraved Möbius strip before remolding it into a ring.” His brow furrowed. “It remains connected to the ley line even after the curse has been twisted. Odd.”

            Hence the person doing it dying of mystic overload.

            Trent didn’t notice Lee reach for the book, only to draw away in a frustrated anger—but I did. “If I’m understanding this correctly,” Trent mused, “when invoked, the concentrated mystics burst out, jolting the intended chakras into a state of immobility. If chakras don’t spin, they don’t allow a smooth energy flow.”

            “And the victim passes out,” I whispered.

            “To die a slow death.” Lee took a picture of the page. “That sounds elven to me.”

            “And the cure?” I hid my hand behind my back as the book redoubled its glow.

            “Hang on a second,” Trent said, and I dropped to my heels. Jenks was grinning at me, and it was all I could do not to flick his wing. “Rachel, you know Hodin’s handwriting. Are they his notes in the margin?”

            “Yep,” I said, frustrated when Trent flipped the pages back and forth, but never to the page I wanted.

            “That lens looks old,” Bis said. “There can’t be many people who can make it.”

            “Like zero,” Lee said as he moved to the workbench. “Where do you think Hodin got it? It’s almost like a reverse Fresnel lens.”

            Trent’s head rose at Jenks’s warning wing rasp. “Put it down, Lee,” Jenks said, and then I was scrambling, juggling the tiny book when Trent dropped it into my hands to confront Lee.

            Bis was suddenly in the air, and I yelped, freezing in indecision. I didn’t want to drop something that old and falling apart, but I didn’t want to be burned, either. I held my breath—only to realize that I wasn’t writhing in pain. The spell protecting the book hadn’t engaged. Wondering, I glanced at Bis as he alighted on my shoulder.

            “It likes you now,” Bis said as he peered down at it splayed open in my hand.

            Maybe because Trent gave it to me?

            “If that belongs to anyone, it belongs to Rachel. Put it down,” Trent said, and I turned to see him facing a belligerent Lee, Jenks hovering over Trent’s shoulder like an avenging angel.

            Lee peered through the lens, goading him. “Why? You going to twist the curse?”

            “Don’t be stupid. All we need to know is how to break it. Anything else is a really bad idea.” Smug, I turned to the last page, looking for the cure. If the invocation for the curse was in Latin, maybe the countercurse would be, too. “Lee, put the lens down before you break it.”

            “I’m not going to break it.” Lee set the lens down with a small click. “Sorry, Trent, I know you’re dying to try it, but this is out of your league, ancient elven or not.”

            “Will you grow up?” I said, glad we hadn’t told Lee we had a curse ring already.

            “It’s a lens and a strip of metal.” Lee gestured at the workbench. “What’s the problem? Scared of a little smut?”

            Sure enough, Trent’s ears reddened. I jiggled the open book, uncomfortable with the darts of sensation prickling my fingers. A memory flashed through me of them getting me into trouble at camp. Or Lee, rather, because Trent would do anything that Lee dared him. Course, Lee would do anything Trent dared him to do, so they were both kind of stupid.