“Dali! She is!” Al protested. “I know it! They cursed her and everything!”

“Dali, she isn’t,” I muttered, and the older demon sighed, tapping the paper with a thick finger. Behind him, six tables sat empty.

“I suppose I could give you a table by the kitchen,” he finally offered.

“The kitchen?” Al echoed, appalled.

Dali let the folder hit the desk with a smack, and Calvin looked vindicated. “I’ve seen nothing from her that warrants anything better,” Dali said, and Al huffed. “Cursing her doesn’t make her a demon.”

“I’m telling you, she is!”

Leaning in, Dali said calmly, “You’re a scam artist on the skids—”

“I am a procurer and instructor of fine familiars for the discriminating palate,” Al interrupted. “You’ve bought from me yourself.”

“—and I’m not about to fall for one of your Henry Higgins cons,” Dali finished.

Affronted, my mouth dropped open. “Hey!”

Al lost some of his confidence, hunching slightly. “Dali…Give me this one thing. A table. That’s all I’m asking. How can I prove her birthright if no one sees her?”

The music shifted to a faster pace, and Dali frowned. “Sit them in the corner,” he finally said, and Al straightened, beaming.

“I’m not a demon,” I said as the host moved to show us to a table.

“That’s what I’m thinking, too,” Dali said, his head down as he scratched something in that folder of his.

Al pinched my elbow. “If you can’t say something nice, keep your mouth shut, Rachel. You are not helping.”

Mood ugly, I followed Al’s not-very-subtle push to go first. My feet hurt in the gray pumps, but at least my knees were okay. Beside and a little behind me, Al nodded to the demons we passed as if they were great friends, only to get a lackluster response. Unlike most of the places Al had taken me, there were no familiars, and I didn’t like being the only girl in the place.

“Al,” I whispered as he led us to the back. “I’m not a demon. I know I said I was, but that was for the coven because I was mad. I’m not really one.”

Smiling at someone, Al waved. “I believe you are, and the sooner you accept it, the sooner we can get out of a four-room apartment and into something more suitable.”

Okay, I was more than arm candy. I was his ticket to solvency. “Al…”

“Relax, itchy witch. Smile!”

“I have a name,” I grumped, my stomach pinching me harder.

“Yes, but it has no pizzazz. Ra-a-a-a-chel. Rach-e-e-e-eel,” he said, trying it out in different ways. “No one will tremble in terror at that. Oh my God!” he said in a high falsetto. “It’s Rachel! Run! Hide!”

I’d had boyfriends who might differ with him, but I was silent when the host stopped before a booth behind a pillar. Al smoothly pulled out a chair from the adjacent empty table. “Relax,” he said as he invited me to sit. “You’re the only female demon besides Newt, and she’s fucking crazy. Let them look at you.”