“Me too.” Nervous, I pulled out a chair and sat in it, reaching across the narrow space to where I kept my scrying mirror under the center counter. It felt cool on my knees, the glass seeming to sink into me. The ache at the back of my neck became more pronounced as I rested my fingers on the wine-stained glass. I really needed to make a smaller one I could carry in my shoulder bag, and I vowed if I ever got a weekend where I wasn’t saving the world, I would.

There was a faint, unusual tingling from my wrist, and I turned my hand over. The raised circle of scar tissue there tied me to Al, a visible mark that I owed him a favor for bringing me home the night we’d met. I’d never gotten around to settling it, and that it was tingling now was curious. Maybe it was responding to his ailment. Slowly my frown deepened. “Tell Ivy I’m sorry if this doesn’t go well,” I said as I placed my fingers on the proper glyphs.

“Roses on your grave. Right.” Bis dropped to the chair nearest me, his craggy feet denting the back as he caught his balance. He really was a good kid.

The coolness of the mirror ached into me, and a new, slight discord blossomed into an irritating whine at the back of my ears. Dallkarackint? I thought in my mind, avoiding saying the demon’s true calling name aloud. It wasn’t that I had a problem saying it, but Dali wouldn’t appreciate my speaking his name on this side of the lines, seeing as anyone who heard it would be able to summon him. Dali had taken great pains to keep his name secret.

Almost immediately the cloud of buzzing seemed to hesitate, part, and with a surprising suddenness, I had a second presence beside mine.

Rachel?

It was Dali, and I warmed in embarrassment. I didn’t often talk to demons through my scrying mirror apart from Al, and having Dali in my thoughts was unnerving. Whereas Al used bluster and show to hide his true self, Dali was like a steel pillar, everything seeming to slide off him. “Um, I’m sorry to bother you,” I said, my thoughts carrying through the mirror to him.

Irritation predictably joined my embarrassment in our shared thoughts. I’m busy. Make an appointment with my secretary.

He was about to break the connection. I was kind of surprised I’d gotten him at all and not one of his subordinates. “Dali, wait. I have to talk to you, and Al is . . .”

I stopped, not knowing who might be listening in.

Al is what? Dali asked, interest coloring his thought.

I hesitated, looking up at Bis’s drooping wings. “I’ve made some tea,” I started.