“Oh shit,” I whispered, and Ku’Sox inclined his head as he realized I’d figured it out. I took a breath to shout out the truth, hesitating only because Ku’Sox seemed to want me to. There was more to this; I could see it in his face, feel it in the air, moist and heavy.

Frantic, I turned back to Al. “Al,” I hissed. “Tell them he broke my line!”

“Right . . .” Al muttered. “We don’t know that, and saying so will only get us in jail where you can’t do anything.”

“But he did it!” Crap on toast, this had gone from bad to worse, and Al didn’t care.

“Don’t say anything to get me in jail, love,” Al breathed, hardly audible over the noise. “You don’t have enough to get both of us out. We’ll find out how bad the damage is and fix it.”

I wasn’t sure if Al meant damage to my line or damage to my credibility. Frustrated, I cocked my hip and fumed.

Dali, who’d been counting heads by the look of it, stood up, his hands raised to quiet the rabble behind us. “Quiet! Quiet!” he shouted, his resonant voice booming. The demon was used to being listened to, and the last of the demons hustled to find their places. Every demon was equal in the ever-after, but some had more power than others, and some had more money. Dali had both.

Beside me, Al jammed a finger into my ribs to make me jerk straight. “I’ll do the talking,” he said.

“If you can’t shut your mouths and your minds in that order, I’m going to clear the room!” Dali bellowed. “None of you will have a chance to vent!”

Newt sniffed, curving her legs up beside her on the bench to look oddly sexy. “And by the Turn, you need to vent,” she said, her soft voice carrying to the back of the stands. “It smells like goats in a locker room.”

There was a smattering of masculine guffaws, and finally they all shut up. It was like living with perpetual sixth graders. Dali lowered his hands, moving his middle-aged spread gracefully as he walked to the center of the narrow stage. Demons could appear as whatever they wanted. I still didn’t know what Dali found appealing in being a fortysomething, slightly overweight, graying civil servant.

“As Al’s parole officer, I am responsible for keeping Algaliarept’s behavior within acceptable parameters,” he said, and Al cleared his throat and made an elegant bow. “And you,” Dali added, pointing at Al, “are responsible for your student’s.”

That would be me, and I turned a smidge to show off my curves. So I wanted to appear attractive. So sue me. I was surrounded by perfection.