The human went flying, hitting the door and sliding to the floor beside the spilled Chinese food. His hand was around his neck, and he was gagging, trying to get more air into himself than was possible. Jax flew to him and I slumped, feeling sick. I couldn’t stomach going to Newt. But Al knew better than to call me on this bluff. If I got mad enough, I would.

“I’ll see you both on Saturday,” the demon said to me, gesturing for Pierce to hand him the cup of coffee. “No more parties, itchy witch.”

“Looking forward to it,” I said, glowering back at him. Saturday wasn’t going to be fun, but at least stupid-ass Nick would be safe and sound in reality where he belonged.

Jax’s wings were loud as he hovered over Nick, and the human was stumbling to his feet, using the wall for balance as he glared at me like he wanted to kill me. Al, though, was taking a sip of coffee, his eyes momentarily closing in bliss. Opening, they fixed on Nick. “Hard to imagine, my itchy witch speaking out for you. What twisted way will you find to thank her?” he mocked. “If I find you alone, I will take you.” He shifted his gaze to Pierce, unrepentant as always. “We’re going to talk, runt,” he said, voice hard.

“Get out of here,” Nick rasped, and in a soft haze of ever-after, Al was gone.

I took a slow breath, my knees starting to shake. “Damn it!” I shouted, startling myself as I realized what had happened. I’d saved Nick, but what about me? “Damn it to the Turn. Damn it all to hell and back!” I made a fist, but there was nothing to hit. I hadn’t gotten my name back. I was just as screwed as I was when I’d been sitting in Alcatraz. “Just one break,” I shouted at the ceiling. “Why can’t I have just one lousy break?” Depressed, I slumped at the kitchen table. “Just one?” I asked, voice high and squeaky.

“Rachel!” Pierce shouted, and my head came up. Eyes widening, I looked up to see Nick coming at me with that knife. Gasping, I slid from the chair to under the table. Hand reaching behind me, I found my splat gun and pointed it at him.

Nick slid to a stop, holding the knife pointed backward and looking like he knew how to use it. “I trusted you,” he rasped, his free hand on his throat, his blue eyes almost black in the dim light. Al’s handprint was clear on his neck, and his eyes were wild.

“I just saved your ass!” I shouted from under the table, shaking. My aim, though, never shifted.