“Al, wait!” I shouted, lurching clear when Al dove across the kitchen for Pierce, shoving the table aside. My splat gun and Pierce’s hat hit the floor, victims of inertia. Al’s white-gloved hand smacked into Pierce’s hastily raised protection circle with an audible crunch.

“Bloody hell!” the elegantly dressed demon howled in his proper English accent and crushed green velvet as he shook his fist and danced back. “You bloody hell sewer rat. I told you no teaching her!” Looking from his hand, his anger shifted to me. “Hello, Rachel.”

Pierce’s face was white as he stood ramrod straight behind a shimmering sheet of green-tinted ever-after. A flair of red washed through it, and was gone. His expression was both determined and frustrated. Clearly he wasn’t happy about being caught teaching me lines.

Al backed up, his head bowed over his gloved hand until a shimmer of ever-after coated it. “Maybe I should blame you,” the demon muttered, goat-slitted red eyes making me shiver. “Using your feminine wiles to lead my familiar astray. If all you want is dangerous sex, I can give that to you better than he can, and I won’t break your heart afterward.”

Insulted, I glared, ready to argue with a demon who could snuff me as fast as I could flip a switch—but wouldn’t. “He was just teaching me the theory on line jumping. More than you ever did! And I’m not too happy about you sending him to watch me. All he does is order me around, and it’s not even good advice. He’s part of the problem!”

Al’s eyes narrowed. I had taken three steps back before I even realized it, the small of my back hitting the counter. Sure, as his student—the only one worth teaching in the last five thousand years—keeping me in good health and not bent into a pretzel was a plus, but if I went too far he might not be opposed to being known as the one who killed their chance at a rebirth of demons. Trent could make more of me, and Al knew it. Bastard.

“Pierce watching you wasn’t my idea,” he said smoothly, his anger an icy thread in his voice. “You’ll learn line jumping when I say so.” He looked at Pierce over his glasses, and I shivered. “And not from some runt with delusions of grandeur. You need a gargoyle.”

My anger hesitated, thoughts spinning back to last winter when he congratulated me on “having my own gargoyle” and asking him to come share mortar cakes with Treble … “Treble knows how to line jump?” I asked, and Al chuckled, the noise low and satisfied.