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The undead ones did ugly things thinking it was love, the living ones endured ugly things thinking it was love, but they both had a protective streak a mile wide. True, it was a little warped in the long undead, but no one liked underage predation, and that’s why we were here.
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.
The subrosa was a hidden position. Anonymous. Like the Mob or Batman. Pike
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.
How many practitioners does it take to make a spell. Three. One to do the work, and two to talk about it.
Jenks sneezed, a veritable explosion of silver dust coming from him.
“It never ceases to amaze me how someone can possess the world or nothing at all, and still have their happiness hinge on the small moments between them and the ones they love.”
Pissing off a witch-born demon was one thing. Trying to swindle money from an elf was a veritable death sentence.
“We have to keep it legal.” Unfortunately, they didn’t. Oh, if they got caught, they’d be tried, but somehow, assassins never did.
“Any friend of Rachel’s stays off my shit list until they prove me wrong.”
I set the glass down with a sharp tap, my brow furrowed. I could teach a 400-level class on turning insecurity into bitchiness, but she was badmouthing the man who had saved my life more times than I had shoes. “A man’s worth is found in who he loves and who loves him,” I said stiffly.
Ivy hesitated at the doorway, breathing deep before shooting her hand out with a living vampire’s quickness to grab Stef’s wrist and turn it up to show the two demon marks. “You should have Rachel look at that,” Ivy said as Stef froze, her arm extended. “Before it kills you.”
Talking to the old undead was about balance. If you were boring, they bled you. If you were interesting . . . well, they bled you for that, too, but for a different reason. But find that sweet spot, and you could talk to them and walk away. Usually.
“Do you know how hard it is to put down three assassins and a bad case of sibling rivalry without killing someone?”
“We will play your game,” he added as he motioned for the water attendant to top off his coffee. “Because the alternative is to rip out your throat here and now, and I don’t want to lose my damage deposit. Not to mention you are more fun than a basket of kittens, Ms. Morgan,” he added with a gut-punch of a wink. “If there is anything the undead crave more than blood, it is distraction.
The lock on the fire door had been a simple one when Nick and I had snuck into the ancient book section, but you tend to up your security when you find a quart of blood on the floor and a smashed book cabinet.
“Jenks, are you okay?” “Yeah, we’re fine,” he said, his voice unusually loud through the tiny speaker. “But something with eight arms and a mouth just tried to eat Hodin. Naturally I thought of you. What’s up?”
I’ll teach you things they cannot teach you up in college!” I put my hand down. “Unlike what Mr. Sting says, you won’t be able to wrap him around your finger.”
There’s no one policing them except maybe for me, and I’m too busy to save your ass.”
“Ah, Rachel?” he said as he hustled to keep up with me. “Is yelling the best course here?” “I’m from the Midwest. It’s how we start.”
Bullies have no friends, and they have a charming, desperate, hidden need to be accepted.
You don’t tell on me, and I won’t tell on you. Oldest form of currency on the planet. Or maybe the second.
“And I take offense that you would think to risk their lives to promote your idea of equality. Equality doesn’t exist between the paranormal species. There is balance, and by forcing them and yourself into the demons’ scrutiny, you are throwing it out of whack. I’m not your personal rescue team, and I can’t believe that you are using me as such. Go fishing for equality on your own time, Vivian.”
“I can’t tell you how pleased I am that I’m not the only one in this relationship who has done time.”
Not true. He has slept up there.
The Isa rune was all about fire and ice, of passion and possibilities hidden below a purifying forgetfulness of cold. Sort of like Trent.
“The past lives in the future, Rache,” he said, and I turned to him, not understanding. “Yesterday is as alive and full of potential as tomorrow.”
“What we remember and choose to act on is not dead, not set in stone,” he said, and my shoulders slumped. “There’s no I did this then, so that will happen now. That question of what we choose makes the past as fluid as the future.
“How did you get so smart? You’re like four inches tall,”
How many atrocities are committed from one person turning a blind eye?
And then my eyes dropped as a memory intruded of Kisten, and me, and an elevator. My God. The man had known how to kiss.
That was the funny thing about demons. Their word was absolute, but they only followed the rules that you could enforce.
It was delightful here in my garden in the cricket-filled dark, and I wished it wasn’t my own church we were sneaking into, but maybe something more fun, like the museum for an artifact we needed to borrow, or the I.S. to shred our files. I can work with Trent without fearing for his life, I thought, tugging him closer to steal a quick kiss.
“And no one reads a room better than a pixy. If Jenks is real, then you are real.”
sporting a new bandage on his wrist.
“Fortunately, I’m a benevolent, softhearted, naïve, foolish witch-born demon who believes the world is a good place and that demons deserve to live in it even when I have to drag them kicking and screaming like spoiled entitled brats.” I hesitated, wondering if this was going to be my life now: forcing demons to behave.
Lover, warrior prince, drug lord.
“Trent?” I whispered as I saw him with that basket, and he blinked fast, tears running unremarked from him as he pulled the silken cover from it and Bis opened his eyes, found mine—and smiled.
