American Demon - Kim Harrison Page 0,32

asked, looking like a tiny thief in his cumbersome black winter clothes as Dali came out from behind the counter.

“Tall latte, double espresso, skim milk, light on the foam, with cinnamon and a shot of raspberry?” I said over my shoulder as Dali took my elbow and pulled me to an empty table. “In a to-go cup. We can’t stay long,” I added.

Mark came out from the back, his worried brow smoothing when he saw me. “I’ll get it,” he said to the barista manning the drive-through, adding, “Tall skinny demon to go!” and a bell behind the counter rang of its own accord.

“Thank you,” I mouthed to Mark as I sat with Dali, his apron and polyester uniform dissolving to a more familiar suit and tie. I had no idea why the demon wanted to look like a slightly overweight white guy with no family, a bad haircut, and a grudge with life. Maybe it granted him some level of respect with the rest of the demons, who preferred pretty or dangerous. I could hear phones clicking. We’d be online in a matter of seconds. At least I didn’t smell like zombie anymore.

“Ah, what did you want to talk to me about?” I said, and when Dali said nothing, I looked up, shocked at his expression, which was somewhere between nervousness and . . . embarrassment?

“I’d ask to engage your services as an escort,” he said, and I blinked, truly surprised.

“What for?” I asked, following his gaze to Jenks, his dust spilling over the yellowing bananas and protein bars at the register. “No one will know you’re a demon if you wear sunglasses. Your aura doesn’t have any smut on it. Well, not much anyway.”

Dali hunched, his bulk looming between me and everyone else. “You misunderstand. To be other than a demon would be counterproductive.”

My eyes narrowed and I leaned in so close, I could almost pretend to smell burnt amber lifting from him. “I’m not going to help you make nasty deals with people,” I said softly. “You and the rest of the lost boys have one shot at making it work in reality. Don’t blow it, Dali. I worked too hard to get you here to be forced to curse you back into the ever-after one by one.”

Dali’s lip twitched in amusement at my claim that I could, and then the embarrassment was back. “No. I want to meet someone, and the last time I tried, it didn’t go well.”

Surprise kept me sitting. That, and my coffee wasn’t up yet. “You want help getting a date?” I asked, incredulous, and Jenks, talking with Mark at the counter, turned.

Dali’s lips pressed into a bloodless line, clearly not liking that Jenks was hearing this. “I want—,” he started, then hesitated. “There’s the chance—” Again his words cut off, but at my sigh, he held up a hand for patience. “The Rosewood children that Ku’Sox stole,” he said, eyes fixed on mine. “I want to meet the boy living in Cincinnati. His name is Keric.” A frown creased his brow. “Can you imagine giving a demon the call name of Keric?”

My mouth dropped open, and I closed it with a snap. I had dreamed about Keric this morning, all grown up and marrying Ray. Coincidence? “You can’t have him,” I said tightly. “Or any of the Rosewood babies. This conversation is over.”

I grabbed my bag to stand, freezing when Dali pinned my wrist to the table. The faint wash of tingles as the levels of our stored magic equalized went straight to my core. At the pickup counter, Jenks’s wings hummed threateningly. Dali leaned in, red goat-slitted eyes locked to mine. “I don’t want a child,” he said, practically biting the words off. “I want a student.”

“You want to teach him,” I whispered, relaxing, and Dali let go.

“When his aptitude begins to show, it would be best if someone is there to direct it,” he said, clearly discomfited. “I’ve tried repeatedly to make his acquaintance, but his parents become upset and he cries. I’ve seen nothing of him but his voice. He has a good voice.”

“He’s not even a year old,” I protested, but then I recalled Al teaching Lucy how to make winged horses. The hours my dad and I spent with pentagram flashcards . . . Okay. Apparently it was never too early to teach a good curse.

“I need an introduction,” Dali continued, but his tone had become stiff at my resistance. “With the great and wondrous Rachel

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