“Hey, you’re the one who gave me the recipe,” I shot back, thinking the modern phrase sounded funny coming from the old-world-charm demon.

I gave that one to you because it’s bloody impossible and I thought you wouldn’t be able to do it! he exclaimed, loud enough to give me a headache. You just made Trent able to call any demon without fear of being snatched. Nice going.

Fingers pressed to the glass to maintain our link, I looked back at Trent. So? You can still smack him around, can’t you? I said, and the demon chuckled, making me shiver.

Technically, no, but that’s a matter of interpretation.

I pushed my fingers into my forehead, tired of it all. Demons. Their society’s rules were not worth the blood they were written with unless you had the personal power to force everyone to abide by them. But the snatching thing? That was probably ironclad.

“What did you say?” Jenks asked belligerently. “Hey! You’re talking and not telling us. That’s rude, Rache.”

“Tell you later,” I said, turning to look at Ivy, her hands on the wheel as she waited. She looked worried. Hell, I knew I was.

“Look, I wasn’t going to use him as a familiar,” I said to Al. “And now he’s going to help get my shunning removed.” The part about the West Coast elves trying to cack him, I’d keep to myself, not because it made this look more dangerous, but because Al wouldn’t care. He’d just as soon see me fail. If I lost our bet, I’d be living with him in the ever-after—hence the reason he wouldn’t just pop me over there.

Trenton Aloysius Kalamack? Al thought, a tweak of magic running through me when he lit a candle. Why? You going to be his little demon in return for his vouching for your sterling character, dove?

“Absolutely not,” I said with a huff. “Trent’s on some elf quest. I promised I’d see him to the West Coast is all. I’m his mirror, sword, and shield all in one. It was a deal, Al. Just because I can break them with impunity doesn’t mean I will.”

“You’re on an elf quest?” Jenks said loudly, and Trent sighed. “You shitting me?”

You make the most interesting mistakes, my itchy witch, Al thought, and I didn’t care if he could sense me slump in relief. If he was back to calling me itchy witch, we were okay. Don’t teach him anything, he finished. Nothing.

“Not a problem,” I said and lifted my hand, breaking the connection before Algaliarept caught my first whisper of unease.

Don’t teach him anything, Al had said. Like how to free a familiar, maybe? Too late.

Eight

The hum of the engine shifted, becoming deeper. It stirred my unconsciousness, waking me more than the bright sun determined to wedge itself under my eyelids. Beyond the cover of my coat draped over me, it was cold, so I didn’t move. Somewhere between Ohio and Texas, the cinnamon and wine smell of elf had joined the familiar scent of vampire and witch, mixing with the leather of my coat. Under that was the faint hint of lilac perfume, evidence of my mom lingering yet in the cushions of the backseat of her car. It was relaxing, and I lingered, dozing and slumped against the door. If I woke up, I’d have to move, and I was stiff from riding in the car for the last twenty-four hours.