“Just six months,” he said, not answering me. “David and I can’t keep slapping Band-Aids on the chaos you leave behind. The lawsuits alone—”

“Lawsuits?” I asked, my arms untwisting from my middle. “Who?”

“Who doesn’t matter…,” he said evasively.

“Who?” I said loudly. “I want to know who tried to sue me,” I said softer when Lucy’s hand rose, startled by my voice.

Shifting Lucy to his shoulder, he began to rock without moving his feet, a movement new to him but as old as fire and having the grace of a thousand years. “There was one from a woman about dog theft,” he said calmly. “And a couple from my wedding. That’s how I got involved. Someone on a bus thought you hexed them with bad luck. Two people sued when you crashed your car into the bridge.”

Hands clenched, I turned to the window, wanting to hide how disturbed I was. I owed David a big thank-you. I knew he’d been paying my lawyer, but I hadn’t realized I’d been keeping him so busy. And how did Trent figure into it?

“The one concerning the Rays’ fish went away when I brought it up at a party,” Trent continued, answering my unasked question. “The harassment lawsuit from the Howlers for magicking their field…That was harder. That woman doesn’t like me.”

I shrugged. “They weren’t going to pay me,” I muttered.

Trent sighed. “You getting your five-hundred-dollar fee cost David several thousand,” he said, still rocking, his damaged hand pressing into Lucy, holding her close. “He’s not begrudging it, but it supports what I’m saying. I’ve got my people working on getting some laws on the books for you, but until they do, you have all the drawbacks of being a noncitizen and none of the protection. And that’s not even bringing up the fact that for every person looking for monetary compensation, there will be at least two looking to take you on for the notoriety.”

My head came up. “What?”

He shrugged, Lucy on his shoulder. “A demon with no magic? You are irresistible, and there will be idiots lining up to prove they’re stronger than the great Rachel Morgan, demon banisher and savior of San Francisco.”

I didn’t like his mocking tone, but what could I say? “I understand,” I managed flatly, not knowing how I was going to iron out this new wrinkle. Six months. I could do nothing for six months.

Trent relaxed, his rocking easing. “Good. Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“What choice do I have?” I said, eying my charmed silver. “The check from the Withons?” I guessed, and he nodded.

“And if you ever do want to come work for me—” he started, ruining the moment.

I exhaled, now realizing why he had been blocking the lawsuits. He still wanted me to work for him.

“Shut up, Trent, before I smash your face,” I said lightly, not a whisper of threat in my voice. “Do you want to stay for pizza?”