see Bis asleep when I turned to him, but he was staring at me, his craggy gray eyebrows high. Fully awake despite the hour, he took a breath to say something. Then his eyes went up, and I started, surprised at the black-wearing, gray-dusting pixy hovering below the lights, clearly having just slipped off the smooth fixture, his angular features frozen in shock.
“Jumoke?” I questioned, seeing as he was the only dark-haired pixy in all of Cincinnati, but his wings weren’t quite right, and his mop of black hair was unprecedented. “Hey!” I exclaimed, wildly swinging the mirror at him when he dropped down right in front of me dusting black and gold sparkles.
Bis vaulted himself into the air, wings beating.
“Not so close!” I shouted, as the pixy darted away. Pulse fast, I scrambled off the counter and put it between us, feeling like one of those guys at the park freaking out over a bee. But I lived with Jenks. Though most people were “Aww, how sweet!” I knew firsthand the damage a pixy could do, and I didn’t want to explain to anyone in Emergency why I was missing an eye and my eardrums were pierced.
“How the Turn did you get past Jenks?” I said as the pixy in his black tights and jacket swung in agitation like a pendulum. “And what are you doing in my kitchen?”
But my surprise at finding another dark-haired pixy alive was nothing to my shock when Bis made a weird noise and the pixy vanished into a familiar swirl of yellow and green, quickly expanding into a demon, his red goat-slitted eyes wide in astonishment.
CHAPTER
5
“That was Dali?” The demon stood stock-still in the small space between the counter and the long, empty table. “You were talking to Dali? They let you into the collective?”
I jumped when Bis dropped to my shoulder, his tail unusually tight as he wrapped it around me. I slowly set my mirror aside, never dropping my gaze as I estimated my chances of reaching my purse and the splat gun in it at a dismal nil. With my aura compromised, it was about all I had. “Yeah . . . ,” I said hesitantly, and he grew more agitated.
The demon was tall, markedly so, more sinewy than bulky, with a trim waist and wide shoulders. He looked as if he was in his mid-thirties with a dark, smooth complexion, but why not when you could be any age you wanted? Low-heeled manly boots, black jeans, black cotton shirt, and a lightweight leather jacket. I was betting his ornate silver belt buckle was actually a ley line charm. He had another supposed charm around his neck on a chain of black gold. Rings, lots of rings. His long black hair was thick and wavy like a Were’s, and was held back from his face with a silver clip. Add in a classically cut chin and a strong jaw, and he could be anyone on the street if not for his red goat-slitted eyes—if anyone on the street could row a Viking boat all day and not get tired.
“Have we met?” I said, not knowing why he was confused. I didn’t personally know every demon, but every demon knew me.
“I saw you.” The demon pointed at the scrying mirror beside me as if it was an affront. “You’re in the collective. You’re in the Goddess-blessed collective. You talked to Dali!”
“Stop!” I warned him as he took a step closer, and he jerked to a halt. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my kitchen?” I was trying to be nice, but it was getting harder.
His eyes flicked to mine, and then, as if only now realizing I was upset, he dropped back a few more feet. Relieved, I nodded to tell him that was a smart move.
“So,” I said, stifling my wince when Bis’s nails dug into my shoulder, “which one of the four hundred and thirteen demons are you, and what do you want?”
The demon’s jaw dropped, and he ran a hand across his chin in surprise. “Four hundred and thirteen? Damn my dame, we’re almost gone.”
His faint accent reminded me of Newt’s, and the distinctive scent of burnt amber was wafting up from him. “Well, it’s been a hard couple of years,” I smart-mouthed as I glanced at him with my second sight expecting the worst, but his aura was as clean as mine, sporting a cheerful yellow and green, with shades of purple and red