Kim Harrison - The Witch with No Name

Trent eyed him sourly. “It’ll ensure both girls’ safety if Rachel or I aren’t here to see to it.”

Dali snickered, easing back into the booth to take up most of the seat. His opinion that it was really stupid was obvious.

“They left,” Newt said saucily. “I’m here drinking mar-r-r-r-rvelous coffee. Therefore, it went well. Mark, love. Another if you will? Put it on my tab.”

Tab? I slowly sank into the nearest chair. Mark wobbled to the door and turned the closed sign around. Good idea.

Elbow on the table, Dali dropped his chin into his hand. I caught a hint of worry as he looked at the clock. “Three against all the rest? Not good odds, Newt.”

He had included me. Interesting.

“Four.” Trent’s attention rose from his hands, having been gauging their shaking.

“Five,” Jenks added, and Newt eyed him until the pixy flipped her off.

Shrugging, Newt sipped her cooling coffee. “They’ll come around as soon as they know they won’t be pulled back to that hole come sunup. They’re just worried, poor dears. It’s not as if we have to trust the elves. Just not let them kill us.”

Poor dears, my ass. Tired, I looked for and found my bag, still on the pickup counter.

Newt’s eyes shifted to the window. A big black car was pulling up in disregard to the parking lines. It wasn’t the I.S. vans I had asked for, and Newt laughed at my fast inhalation when burly vampires began getting out. Shit, it was Cormel. But then I grew angry. Ivy. She’d better be okay. He promised, damn it!

Jenks hovered before Trent and nodded to the window. Trent sighed when he turned to look, and I could almost see him begin to pull himself together, his professional mask slipping over him to hide his fatigue. I thought it interesting that he’d let it drop in front of Dali and Newt. “I’m never getting home tonight. Ellasbeth is going to flay me alive,” he grumbled as he tucked his shirt back into his pants.

“I know the feeling.” I could think of a few reasons Cormel might be here, none of them good.

Newt wrinkled her nose. “Vampires,” she scoffed as Cormel emerged from the car, tugging his coat’s sleeves down as his people jogged around to the back of the store to look for possible trouble. “They remind me of surface demons in suits. Trenton, thank you for your offer to stay with you until I can arrange for the legal purchase of an estate.”

Trent jerked, clearly surprised, as Jenks hovered backward, mouth curling up in a laugh. “Ah, I would be honored . . . ,” Trent said, and Dali chuckled as well, seeming to gather himself to leave. Seeing it, Trent paled even more.

“Hey, that’s not a bad idea, Trent,” Jenks said as he yo-yoed up and down. “If that dog doesn’t get Ellasbeth to leave, the demons sure as hell will.”

Licking his lips, Trent stood, all professional polish gone. “Ahhhhh.”

“Dog?” Newt stood, and I froze when she leaned over to give me a professional cheek-to-cheek press. “Trent, I’ll fetch my horse and stable her. Dali, you know where the elf lives, yes?”

“It’s my bloody line running through his office,” the demon muttered.

“Ah, as much as I’d like . . . ,” Trent was saying, but it was too late, and Newt pressed her cheek against his as well, her lips smacking to make a kiss sound.

“I’ll make you spaghetti. Rachel will be too busy tonight,” the demon said primly. “Little girls love spaghetti.”

“N-Newt . . . ,” I stammered, but she vanished along with Dali as one of the vampire thugs jimmied the locked door open. Behind the counter, Mark made a sad, tired groan, and I gave him my best “sorry” look.

“Ellasbeth is going to kill me,” Trent said as the lock snapped and they opened the door.

“Nah,” Jenks said as he took to the air and hovered between us. “She’s got lousy aim. Remember?”

Tired, I turned as the first of Cormel’s thugs sauntered in. The spicy scent of confident vampire pricked my nose, diving deep and fanning the small flame of fear higher. The suave, pretty man in his bad-boy leather reminded me of Kisten, and I quashed it. They were all afraid if you looked deep enough.

He stopped in the middle of the room, his nose wrinkling as he took in the faint scent of burnt amber and rich coffee, and smiling, he gestured for us to stay where we were.

Like I had a choice?

The thumps of car doors closing pulled my attention to Cormel. “Ivy . . . ,” I whispered, and Trent tersely shook his head. His brow was pinched in thought, as calm and collected as ever. I wished I had his trust in vampiric deals and agreements.

“If he wanted Ivy, he’d have her already,” Trent said as he tucked his phone away. “My guess is he wants to talk to us about the surface demons.”

Jenks had said he’d warned us off them, but we hadn’t done anything. Yet. And I sent Jenks to assess the situation since Cormel seemed to be content to chat with his thugs while his people checked out the back. Paranoid much?

FIB officers watched a safe two blocks down since getting a coffee wasn’t illegal. I didn’t expect them to help. Didn’t want them to. They’d only get themselves killed. What had I been thinking telling Edden to make a stand?

“Ivy had better be okay,” I muttered as Mark sighed from behind the counter and Cormel entered the shop, his motions graceful with the ease and inevitableness of death. The man had run the country during the Turn, and his confidence was absolute. Handing his felt hat to the man coming in behind him, he stood just inside and breathed in the air, nose wrinkling as he scented demons under the rich coffee and tang of spent magic.

“Demons,” the man said, his Bronx accent obvious. “Have you gotten rid of them, then?”

“No. Why?” I said, and Cormel nodded to Trent as he shrugged out of his coat and carefully set it on the chair by the door.

“You’re a hard man to find lately, Kalamack.”

“Cormel,” Trent said in greeting, the thinnest trace of magic flowing through him making my skin tingle.

Blinking, I turned to Trent when Jenks whistled appreciatively. Not only was Trent’s hair slicked back and clean, but he was clean shaven. “H-how . . . ,” I stammered, then, “When did you learn that?”

A hint of red about his ears, Trent adjusted his collar. “It came with the, ah, circumcision curse. Kind of an all-encompassing trim-and-neat . . . spell.”

Do tell . . . I gave him an askance, approving look. Cormel was eight feet away, and all I wanted to do was run my hand over Trent’s smooth face. My eyes lost their focus, and when Cormel cleared his throat, I flushed.

“If Ivy is not okay, I’m going to slice your chest open with a plastic spork and rip your wrinkly heart out.”

“Charming . . . ,” Cormel drawled, and my eyes narrowed as he shifted one foot to stand directly on a painted line, in effect preventing Trent or me from circling him with the patterns in the floor. “I’m glad the rumors of your demise were premature.”

Premature? I thought dryly. Was that a threat?

Making a show of breathing in my rising anger, Cormel smiled. “Get me a small black coffee,” he said to the tidy man with him. “No cream. And whatever anyone else wants?” he asked pleasantly.

Okay, he was being nice, but that only made me more suspicious.

Jenks came in from the back smelling of fresh air. “I’ll have a buttercream latte if you’re buying,” the pixy said, and Cormel blinked before waving his hand at his aide to get one.

“You’re not afraid of me anymore,” Cormel said, and I shrugged, my attention on the parking lot behind him. The FIB had moved in and they were talking amicably with Cormel’s men. I felt a twinge of guilt. It wasn’t safe. Why had Edden listened to me?