The band settled themselves—picking up seamlessly with soft forties jazz when the guitar ended—and I clapped with the rest when a woman in a sequined gown started singing “What’s New?” I slumped back, then started when I felt someone’s hand on my chair.

Heart in my throat, I spun, my alarm falling into self-disgust. It was Lee, or Al rather, and his normal-looking brown eyes glittered in amusement. Pulse still fast, I sent my gaze to Quen. The older man smiled, seemingly enjoying that I had been surprised.

“What do you want?” I said, shoving Al’s gloved hand off the back of my chair.

His gaze lifted to touch upon the small dance floor as Trent and Ellasbeth moved to it. Great. They were dancing. I’d be here all night.

Smiling like…well, the devil, Al gestured as if inviting me to dance. My breath puffed out of me and I crossed my knees. “Right.” No way was I going to dance with Al.

Lee’s striking Asian features melted into a smile. “You have something better to do? I have a proposition concerning that nasty mark of mine you’re wearing.”

My heart gave a pound, then settled. I felt every muscle tighten. Getting rid of my demon marks was high on my to-do list. But I was sure whatever he had in mind wouldn’t do me any favors. Still, talking to Al here was better than doing this on the bus ride home, or my kitchen, or my bedroom if he decided to follow me. I glanced up to Jenks in the chandelier, and the pixy shrugged, his wings a dull orange. “Why the hell not,” I muttered, standing up.

“That’s the spirit!” Al dropped back a step to elegantly offer his arm.

I thought about my splat gun, then left it in my bag under the table. No need to put it in Al’s reach. “Jenks is up there,” I said, edging past Al to reach the dance floor without his help. “You do anything funny and he’ll pix you.”

“Oh, I’m shivering in my little silk boxers,” Al scoffed.

“You’ve never been pixed,” I said, and a frown crossed his brow, making my guess that he couldn’t go misty to avoid pain and discomfort seem likely. My feet were on the parquet floor, and he put out his hand, waiting for me to take it.

Suddenly I realized I was standing face-to-face with a demon—and he wanted to dance. O-o-okay, I thought, thinking my life couldn’t get any more chancy. Al huffed impatiently, and I slid my hand onto his. The white cotton of his glove was soft, and I stifled a shudder when his free hand went to my waist. If he tried to get rid of the air between us, I was going to slug him.