He was grinning evilly, and I grimaced at his ruddy face and his goat-slitted eyes. They looked almost normal in the dim light. I took a breath to tell him where he could shove his cake, but he jerked, his eyes going to the hearth and an eager light coming into them. “I knew it. Little runt!” he whispered, bolting across the room.

I stood as Pierce popped into existence before the small hearth, right into Al’s grip. “Got you!” Al snarled, a white-gloved hand around his throat. Pierce’s eyes widened, then he screwed them shut—right before Al shoved his head into the stone mantel. Mr. Fish splashed at the ugly thump, and Pierce grunted in pain. Pierce’s hand flung into the air, and the coffee mug from Nick’s apartment rolled off to shatter on the hard floor.

“Watch out for Krathion!” I shouted, seeing the bottle tip, but it rocked back, safe.

“That’s for threatening me with Newt,” Al said. “I own you. Don’t forget it.”

“Al! Stop!” I cried as Al shoved Pierce’s head into the mantel a second time. “You’re going to knock Krathion off!”

“And that’s for not staying put when I told you to,” the demon snarled, but Pierce couldn’t possibly hear him. His eyes had rolled back and he had gone limp.

“Al!” I shouted, and he opened his hand to let Pierce slump to the hearth, out cold.

The demon turned to me, and I skidded to a halt beside the table, frightened by his seething anger. Behind him, the low fire burned. At his feet, Pierce lay, unmoving.

“What is your problem!” I asked, wanting to see if Pierce was okay, but Al’s eyes were evaluating me from over his smoked glasses, and his white-gloved hands were in fists.

“The only reason you’re still standing,” Al said, his voice whispering an echo in the dark, high ceiling, “is because you didn’t put him up to it. I will not be threatened by a familiar.”

My mouth was dry, and I dropped my attention to Pierce for an instant before returning it to Al. “He keeps trying to protect me. Damn it, Al, I didn’t ask for this.”

His posture easing, Al dropped his gaze to look at Pierce. Using the toe of his shiny buckled shoe, he edged Pierce’s coat away from the fire. I took a slow breath, thinking the worst might be over, but still my heart was pounding. “Maybe Newt was right,” Al said blandly.

“About what?” God, he’d just knocked him out. Pierce could be bleeding inside his skull and we’d never know.

But Al didn’t answer me, instead going to a cupboard and leaving Pierce crumpled where he lay. “Move him,” he said, his back to me as he rummaged. “Unless you want me to do it?”