I edged past Trent, trying to get to Al before he jumped out. I knew him, and I knew the signs. He was leaving. Running away again.

“Fine,” I snapped, and someone from the back laughed. “Run off so they can kill me without you watching. But put a playroom in your new mansion, Al, because if Trent and I die, you get Lucy.”

Dali’s head jerked up, and I swear I heard Jenks’s dust sizzle, on fire. “He what?” Jenks shouted, but I was staring at Al, reading his shock. He wasn’t going to jump out now, and that’s all that mattered.

“Mother pus bucket ... ,” the demon said, his blocky face pale as he looked from me to Trent and back again. His cheeks flashed red at a laugh. “I will not be responsible for elf brats!”

Trent’s presence edged in beside mine again, and it was all I could do to not take his hand, but big bad-ass runners facing down a coffee shop full of demons do not hold hands. “I had the papers drawn up six months ago,” Trent said, and Jenks hit the table, his wings unmoving. “If Rachel and I die, Lucy goes to you. You’ll hold the elven future, Al.”

“Oh my God,” Newt breathed, and Jenks made it back into the air, his bright silver dust falling from him like stardust.

“I will not!” Al bellowed as he spun and fussed, but I could tell he was flattered. The demon was dying inside that someone—anyone—trusted their children to him. I blinked fast, wanting to give him a hug, but bad-ass runners didn’t do that either.

“It’d be easier just to let both of us live,” I said, but only Al, Dali, and Newt heard me over the caterwauling of laughter. “And if you kill just one of us, you won’t survive the revenge of the other. I promise you that.”

Al was speechless, a hand on the table as he tried to understand.

Newt gave a long, meaningful stare to Dali, and when he shrugged, she slipped out from the booth. “Gentlemen?” she said softly, then shouted it, “Gentlemen!”

Slowly they quieted. Trent and I backed to the middle of the room. There had to be at least fifty demons in here, and I heard the cooling click on. It didn’t smell as bad as I thought it would.

“Gentlemen,” Newt said a third time as she smoothed her robes. “I propose we take the time until sunrise to weigh Rachel’s proposal.”

“I do not make deals with elves!” Mica protested. “They’re chattel! Slaves!”

No one moved, either away from him or toward him. They were balanced, and I forced myself to breathe.