Done with him, I jammed the car into first. Tom put his hand on the car, his fingers going white in their grip as his words stumbled over themselves. “Rachel Morgan, you have done great things, survived multiple demon attacks, but no one gives you your due. With us you can find the honor and respect you have earned.”

His flattery meant nothing, and I angled a vent until Jenks’s hair shifted. “I survived by luck and my friends. I shouldn’t be honored. I ought to be committed for uncommon idiocy.”

I reached for the gearshift, and he pressed closer. “You took my circle,” he stated.

“Because I stepped into it while it was forming! It was a one-in-a-million shot of timing!” Worry pinched his eyes that I was leaving, and I hesitated. “Do yourself and your mother a favor,” I said. “Run away. Tell your boss that I put a spell on you to make you unable to continue your great work. Forget you ever heard of them, or me, and run as fast and far away as you can, because if you play with demons, they will either kill you or take you as their familiar, and believe me, you want the former. And get your hands off my car!”

Tom took his hand away, but there was a new determination in his eyes. “You won’t survive on your own,” he warned. “Don’t be greedy. Share what you’ve learned along with sharing the danger of summoning them. It takes a quorum of witches to control a demon.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not trying to.”

“Rachel Morgan…”

A sound of exasperation came from me. “No!” I shouted. “And stop calling me Rachel Morgan. I’m Rachel, or Ms. Morgan. Only demons use every single damned name that a person is known by. My answer is no. No lifelines, no calling my best friend. That’s my final answer. I do not deal with demons. I do not want to deal with demons. Go back and tell your architect that I am flattered for the offer but that I work alone.”

His eyes slid to Jenks in my lap, and I scowled. “Jenks is family,” I said darkly. “And if you ever hurt my family again, you and your little sorry-ass circle will find out there are worse things than demons to piss off.”

“The I.S. won’t help you,” he said, backing up when I revved the engine and threatened to run over his foot. “They’re a vamp-run institution controlled by self-minded individuals, not those seeking to elevate a closed mind.”