Yes, we had our differences, but they seemed to vanish when he turned to the kids, his badge and low, calming voice making a comforting presence as he tried to verify their names.

  “They’ve been spelled,” Pike said softly as one of the girls took a breath, confusion clouding her when she realized she couldn’t remember who she was.

  “That’s okay.” Doyle reached for his phone. “We know who you are. Your parents have been looking for you,” he added, and the three collectively seemed to relax as the whoop of a siren came from the front. The I.S. had finally arrived in force—now that it was over.

  Doyle was right. They’d be okay, but their next twenty-four hours would be hell as they were poked and prodded. I could try to take the befuddlement charm off, but they were relatively calm right now, and I wasn’t up to dealing with three hysterical teenagers.

  None of this would make the evening news, not because they were minors, but because it might scare the humans. Sometimes, I thought the only reason we got along was because the mundanes didn’t know the truth—how dangerous we were and that it was only law-enforced tradition that kept them safe. And we did keep them safe.

  Radio chatter filtered in from the front living room, and feeling the pinch of past misunderstandings between me and the I.S., I leaned against a dented, blood-splattered wall, fighting to keep my arms from rising up about my middle. A uniformed woman came in for the kids, and Doyle began cuffing the downed men with a wad of zip strips, being careful to stay out of the still-dripping potion. “This was our run,” I said, seeing even the street cred for this vanishing, and Pike sighed.

  “You owe me, Morgan.” Doyle turned his sharp-canine smile to me. “I lost my job because of you.”

  “Detective is a promotion,” I said, but he clearly hated having no one to boss around.

  “I take them in,” he said, trying to get all dark and angsty, but it was hard at ten in the morning in the sweltering heat. “Or I take you and Pike in for trespassing, assault, and perhaps underage predation. Walk away, Morgan. It’s easier that way.”

  “Got this all figured out, eh?” I said, my gaze going to the officer ready to back him up standing in the doorway. A flash of anger rose and fell. Doyle taking credit for my work was not the message I wanted to portray. Pike and I were keeping the vampires in line. Not the I.S.

  Pike leaned close. “Let it go, witch,” he muttered. “This is not necessarily a bad thing.”

  Sullen, I nodded, still not liking it. The subrosa was a hidden position. Anonymous. Like the Mob or Batman. Pike didn’t seem to care, but I wasn’t about to have this become a pattern.

  There were people in the front room now, and the kids drew together at the new faces peeking in. I could see the headlines tomorrow, and my name was nowhere in them. Not getting credit for it was one thing, Doyle taking it from me was another. “Is there anything else we can do for you, Detective? Maybe wipe your ass?” I said sourly, and Doyle snickered.

  “Nope. We’re good.” He smiled at the kids and gestured for the officer to escort them out. She was a witch or warlock, judging by the charms around her neck, far easier for the kids to handle after their ordeal. Their onetime chaperone sobbed as she was dragged out behind them. She might not have touched them, but she was complicit in their betrayal and would be charged the same.

  “Not even a thank-you,” I muttered as three more uniforms came in, the living vampires discussing the unconscious thugs before calling for an agent with ley line skills to de-spell them.

  Pike sidled next to me, his eyes on the self-centered man. “Don’t take too long,” he said, chin lifting to indicate Doyle. “I’ll be in the car. I want to show you a couple of logos I worked up over that iced coffee I promised you.”

  “Logos, right,” I said, and Pike sauntered out, limping and covered in blood, clearly pleased to be able to pound people into submission and then walk out between the cops with impunity. My car was a block down, and a sudden urge to talk to Trent made me itchy. Ivy was coming, dragging trouble along with her. But I had one thing to do, first.

  “Doyle?” I said sweetly, and he put up a finger for me to wait as he gave someone instruction. Jaw tight, I stood, weight on one foot, arms over my middle. Burning.

  Finally the last of the men were dragged out, the witches in uniform glancing nervously at me as they discussed how to break the magic keeping them unmoving. The sleepy-time potions they could handle, but the spoken curses were out of their league. They knew I’d cast them, but since Doyle was going to take the credit, they couldn’t ask. “I have no idea,” I heard faintly, and in a moment of sympathy, I tweaked the spoken curses, and they broke.

  “Doyle,” I called again, seeing as he had conveniently forgotten me and was following the last of the officers out.

  “What do you want?” he said caustically, and I pivoted, slamming my foot into his chin.

  He hit the wall with a thump, his sudden outcry bringing an officer to the door. The man took one look at Doyle on the floor, then fled.

  “Morgan, what the hell!” Doyle sputtered, and I sauntered closer, tossing the torn coverlet to him to clean up his face before I extended a hand to help him up.

  “You’re welcome,” I said dryly, giving a heave, and the man lurched to his feet.

  “You’re going to rot for that,” he said, face red as he hunched in a pupil-black-eyed frustration, but he didn’t dare make a move against me. Not when I was pissed. Not when I had a ley line burning through me, itching for direction. It was just him, and me, and whispers from the front room. I could smell the old blood on him, the danger, but after living with Ivy, I could tell he was small potatoes. And now, he knew I knew.

  “Rot? Maybe someday, but not because of you,” I said softly, and he knocked my hand away before I could smooth his shirt. “If you don’t have a little blood on you, your bosses will know all you did was sit in the car. I’m the demon subrosa, and I will not have my I.S. mole under suspicion of misconduct because he took credit when credit was clearly not due. Now you look like you did something. You’re welcome.”

  Doyle sputtered, his pupil-black eyes showing an increasing rim of brown as he glanced at the front room. “Your I.S. contact?”

  Beaming, I rocked back a step. “Isn’t that what you’re doing? Covering my ass? Keeping my actions secret?” Sighing, I checked my phone. “Good of you to anticipate my needs, but call first next time. Now if you will excuse me, Ivy is coming in tomorrow with a representative from DC. If you want in on this, I’ll be at the church in an hour for a meeting with my team to discuss how to deal with it. Hope to see you there.”

  “What the fuck,” he whispered, as I strode out, not sure if he would show or not.

  Keeping Cincinnati’s paranormals in line was not an easy task. Despite the massive offices of the FIB and I.S. doing the day-to-day, I was where the buck stopped and no I.S. flunky was going to jeopardize that. Taking control from Constance had cost too much to let it slide. I needed him, or someone like him, in the I.S. Badly.

  I just hope he never figured it out.

  CHAPTER

  2

  “Thank you,” I said to the man holding the door to Junior’s for me, leaving as I was going in. The charmed door chimes clunked dully, and I hesitated on the threshold, appreciating the dry cold Mark kept the place in as I waited for Pike. The mixed-population coffeehouse was a few streets off the waterfront, near enough to the stadiums that you couldn’t use it on game day, and far enough from Fountain Square that it didn’t become crammed with tourists. Even so, it was always busy. The air-conditioning was a heavy roar, and still it smelled faintly of sweaty Were and vampire. No, that’s Pike. . . .

  “Ah, I got this,” I said as Pike shuffled in behind me, the man still holding a silk handkerchief to his nose. “Why don’t you snag us a table.”

  “ ’Kay,” he muttered. Between his torn shirt, scraped knuckles, and swollen face, he was getting noticed. Watching the expressions shift as he wove through the tables was almost worth the price of admission to my weird life. Smiling, I headed for the long line.

  The decor in Junior’s was . . . unique. Painted circles adorned the floor, the wall, the counter, in what might be art deco but I knew was in case there was trouble and a secure protection bubble needed to be set. The ornately painted circle in the back was a designated place for demons to pop in and out without fear of landing too close to someone, but the ropes had gotten dusty. Where there had once been dozens of pictures of babies dressed like fruit, there was now only one, and someone had painted the huge front windows with roller coasters and the needle at Kings Island.

  I needed coffee. My arm was sore from hitting something stupid, and my chest hurt when I tried to take a deep breath. Tired, I settled in at the end of the line by the cold shelves. It might be a while. The man before the register was putting in an order for what could have been an entire office floor. Worse, the three young Weres in front of me were giggling, trying to flirt with Mark’s latest hire: a Were with tattoos from three different packs. His long hair was in a man-bun and yet he somehow managed an attractive scruffy behind his green apron and tidy slacks. I couldn’t help my sigh as the guy asked if he could get the oat milk caramel latte mocha with fat-free whip and peppermint sprinkles.

  Slumping, I glanced at Pike scribbling on a napkin so stiff it wasn’t much good for anything else. “Logos, right,” I whispered. My arm was really hurting, and as the guy moved to the pickup counter and the three Were pups began to place their orders, I swung my big canvas bag around to find a pain amulet. The finger stick to draw the blood to invoke it was in a side pocket, and I hardly felt the prick as I snapped it open and jabbed my pinky.

  Immediately the living vamps enjoying the sun at the front of the shop turned, their heads swiveling to find me. The mixed group coming in noticed, too, and Pike, who looked up from his logos to give me a thin smile.

  And Dali, I thought as I quickly smeared a drop of blood on the wooden amulet and dropped it around my neck. The surly demon often lurked in the back until it got busy, whereupon he’d come out for twenty minutes, use his magic to burn through the line, and then go hide again. Today, though, he was working the drive-through with the help of a pixy. Mark took being an equal-opportunity employer seriously. Or maybe it was because getting anyone to work with the demon was hard. His help wanted sign was in neon.

  “My apologies,” I mouthed to the vamps in the sun as the ache in my arm vanished and my shoulders drooped in relief. Brows furrowed, they returned to their conversations. The scent of my blood was a minor irritant, especially compared to Pike. After working with him for several months, I was beginning to suspect that he liked wearing someone else’s blood as a badge of honor. I thought it totally unfair that it made him more attractive. I just looked a mess covered in blood.

  The line was hardly moving, and taking the opportunity, I twisted to find my phone to call Jenks. He picked up immediately, his hail loud over Attenborough’s voice narrating a nature documentary in the background. “Hi,” I said, tapping my phone’s volume down when one of the girls turned to me, her eyes widening at the blood splatters on my shorts. “Did Ivy call you?”

  “Yep.” Jenks’s voice was clear; the four-inch man was probably standing on top of his phone. “I got her flight info. She knew you were busy. I told her there’s a demon in her room, but she was planning on staying at the Cincinnatian, anyway. The master vampire she’s bringing has her on a short leash.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment slumped my shoulders, but work was work. “Hey, could you do me a favor?” I asked, reconsidering my initial thought to bring everyone in on this. “Could you make sure David knows what’s up and that I’ll call him if I need him? Keep watch for trouble. I don’t expect anything, but I don’t know what this guy wants yet.”

  “Sure,” he said, and then louder, yelling, “Oh, for Tink’s little pink rosebuds, Brandy, out! Do a perimeter like I asked! I’m recording it.”

  “Never mind. I’ll call him.” I inched forward in line. “You’re busy.”

  “No, I got it,” Jenks said, voice heavy with ire at his pixy tenants. “Are you at Junior’s?”

  “Yep.” I stepped forward when one of the girls finally moved to the pickup counter. “You want something?”

  “A short latte with honey. And one of those lemon scones. Maybe I can bribe Baribas into taking the church’s security seriously. All he cares about is the garden.”

  “Can do.” I knew he was starting to regret letting a pod of displaced pixies rent out the graveyard in return for policing it, but any pixy presence was better than none, and he couldn’t patrol the entire block-wide plot alone. “Short latte and a scone. Whole milk, no foam, honey,” I said, and the speaker crackled when his dust hit it. “Be there in twenty.”

  “Wait!” he called, and my hovering finger hesitated. “How did the run go?”

  “Pike had fun,” I said, glancing at the vampire still busy scribbling. “It would have been easier if you had been there.”

  Jenks huffed, his dragonfly-like wings rasping. “Never send a vamp to do a pixy’s job. Hey, before I forget, the library called. Some guy named Lenny wants to talk to you. Someone has been permanently checking out books from the ancient book locker.”

  Nick . . . I thought, brow furrowing, but Nick was dead, starved to death in Newt’s oubliette. And then the original ever-after collapsed and took even his bones. Slowly my expression lifted. Missing books? It was a real job, maybe one where I could show off my spelling skills instead of my head-busting ones. “Really?” I said as I flexed my sore elbow. “Can you text me his number?”

  “Oh, for Tink’s contractual hell,” he grumbled. “Yeah, let me get right on that. I’ll just punch it out for you with my feet. For ever-loving moss wipe, the phone is bigger than me.”

  “Great. Thanks, Jenks. I appreciate it. See you in a few,” I said, right as Jenks ended the call. I held the phone for a moment, then scrolled for Trent’s number. Ivy coming in with a master vampire was going to mess up our weekend. He’d appreciate a heads-up.

  I hit connect, and the picture I’d taken of him asleep under an apple tree with his horse nosing his wispy blond hair vanished when he picked up.

  “Rachel,” he said in obvious surprise, and then in worry, “Are you okay? Pike—”

  There was soft conversation in the background, quickly muffled as he moved somewhere more private. “All fine,” I said, glancing at the vamp. “Kip is doing some wrap-up, but the kids are okay. Don’t look for it on the news.”

  “Always a good sign,” he said, but I could hear his worry, and a flash of guilt rose and fell, guilt that I was working with Pike and not him. It was quickly followed by annoyance that Doyle was taking credit for our work. Am I really that vain?

  “Ah, Ivy called,” I said as two of the girls in front of me texted their phone numbers to the barista, giggling like mad things. “She’s coming in tomorrow with a DC rep.” My voice softened. “He’s checking on Constance. I could use your input on this. I know you’re busy . . .”

  “I can be at the church in fifteen,” he said, and I blinked in surprise.

  “You’re in town?” It was my turn at the register, but I gestured for the guy behind me to go ahead. It would be a half-hour drive from his estate.

  Trent was silent for three heartbeats. It was an eternity for the quick-thinking man, and my suspicion deepened. “Ah, yes,” he said faintly. “I’m taking care of some business, but I can step out for a moment.”

  I waited for more, but there was only silence. He usually tried to arrange lunch or dinner together when he was in town. But then again, he had known I was on a run. “Oh. Well. I’m at Junior’s, actually . . .” I said.

  “I can be there in five,” he said, almost interrupting in his haste to reassure me.

  He is downtown? My focus went to the big plate-glass windows. “Cool. I’m next in line. You want your usual?” Mark was smiling at me from behind the register, and I stepped in front of him. He’d sent Sexy Were Pup to fill the girls’ drink order, and that was fine with me.

  “Sounds good. See you in a few,” Trent said.

  “You got it.” Eyes on Mark, I ended the call. The first time I’d met Mark had been about four years ago when Ivy and I had walked into this place having decided to quit the I.S. and make our own runner firm. He’d been brave but sort of stupid back then with misunderstandings and bad data. But so had I. Now he was the owner, having gotten it cheap after I’d trashed the place while trying to catch a banshee. We’d both grown, and it felt good to know that change, real change, did happen when people paid attention and tried to learn.

  “Hey, Rachel. Your usual? Tall latte, no fat, no foam, pump of raspberry. And cinnamon on top. You want that on ice today?”

  I dropped my bag on the counter, feeling as if I was home. “Perish the thought. Hot, please,” I said, eager for the sweet drink.

  “One tall, hot, skinny demon,” Mark said as he punched it in.

  “I need a grande iced black for Pike. And a short latte, whole milk, no foam, with a shot of honey,” I added. “One of those lemon scones, three baseball cookies, and a tall caramel latte, skim, no foam. Hot.”

  “Jenks and Mr. Kalamack coming?” Mark asked as he reached for the tongs and put four iced cookies into a bag. “Should I turn the closed sign on?”

  I grinned at his half-earnest sarcasm. “No fight this time. Promise,” I said, tapping my card as the total flashed. My lips curved up at the names on it. Tamwood, Jenks, and Morgan, LLC. But slowly my smile faded. Ivy hadn’t worked with us since Nina died and she became Nina’s scion, but I wouldn’t take Ivy off the card or the sign out front of the church for anything.

  “Hey, do you know anyone looking for a job?” Mark asked as I put my card away. “Dali’s given me his notice.” He leaned forward, whispering, “Just as well, I think he’s stealing the napkins. We’re going through them way too fast.”