The Hollows Series Books 1-4. Kim Harrison

Nick finished. “It took eight officers to bring her down. Jenks says three are in the hospital for observation. Four more were treated and released.”

      “Idiots,” I muttered. “What about Jenks?”

      Nick put an arm out, bracing himself as we lurched to a stop before a tall stone and glass building. “They’ll release him to a responsible person.” His grin looked a tad nervous. “And in the absence of one, they said you would do.”

      “Ha ha,” I said dryly. Peering up through the dirty glass of the cab, I read FEDERAL INDERLANDER BUREAU engraved deeply over the two sets of doors. Nick sidled out to the sidewalk first and extended a hand to help me. I slowly worked my way out and tried to find my bearings as he paid the cabbie with the money I slipped him. It was bright under the streetlights, and the streets themselves had remarkably light traffic for that hour. Clearly we were deep into the human district of Cincinnati. Looking up to find the top of the imposing building, I felt very much the minority and on edge.

      I scanned the black windows around me for any sign of attack. Jax had said the fairy assassins left right after my phone call. To get reinforcements, or to set up an ambush here? I didn’t like the idea that fairy catapults might be winching back as I waited. Even a fairy wouldn’t be so bold as to tag me inside the FIB building, but on the sidewalk I was fair game.

      Then again, they could have been taken off the run, seeing as the I.S. was sending demons now. I felt a flash of satisfaction, knowing the demon had ripped apart its summoner. They wouldn’t send another any time soon. Black magic always swings back to get you. Always.

      “You really ought to take better care of your sister,” the driver said as he took the money, and Nick and I looked blankly at each other. “But I guess you Inderlanders don’t care about each other as much as us decent folks. I’d pulp anyone who dared touch my sister with the back of his hand,” he added before driving off.

      I stared at his taillights in confusion until Nick said, “He thinks someone beat you and I’m bringing you in to file a complaint.”

      I was too nervous to laugh—besides, it would have made me pass out—but I managed a choking snicker, taking his arm before I fell over. Brow pinched, Nick gallantly pulled the glass door open and held it for me. A flash of angst went through me as I stepped over the threshold. I had put myself in the questionable position of having to trust a human-run establishment. It was shaky ground. I didn’t like it.

      But the sound of loud conversations and the smell of burnt coffee were familiar and soothing. Institution was written everywhere, from the gray tiled floor, to the chatter of loud conversation, to the orange chairs the anxious parents and unrepentant thugs sat in. It felt like coming home, and my shoulders eased.

      “Um, over there,” Nick said, pointing to the front counter. My arm was throbbing in its sling and my shoulder hurt. Either my sweat was diluting my amulets or my exertions were starting to cancel them out. Nick walked almost behind me, and it was bothersome.

      The desk clerk looked up as we approached, her eyes widening. “Oh, sweetheart!” she exclaimed softly. “What happened to you?”

      “I, uh …” I winced as I put my elbows on the counter to steady myself. My complexion charm wasn’t enough to blur my black eye or stitches. Just what was I supposed to tell her? That demons were loose in Cincinnati again? I glanced behind me, but Nick was no help, turned away to the doors. “Um,” I stammered. “I’m here to pick someone up.”

      She reached to scratch her neck. “Not the one who did that to you.”

      I couldn’t help my smile at her concern. I was a sucker for pity. “No.”

      The woman tucked a strand of graying hair behind her ear. “I hate to tell you this, but you need to go to the Hillman Street office. And you’ll have to wait until tomorrow. They won’t release anyone after normal business hours.”

      I sighed. I hated the maze of bureaucracy with a passion, but I’ve found the best way to deal with it is to smile and act stupid. That way, no one gets confused. “But I talked to someone less than twenty minutes ago,” I objected. “I was told to come here.”

      Her mouth made a round O of understanding. A wary expression settled around her eyes. “Ah,” she said, looking at me sideways. “You’re here for the—” She hesitated. “—pixy.” She rubbed the beginnings of a small blister behind her neck. She’d been pixed.

      Nick cleared his throat. “His name is Jenks,” he said tightly, his head lowered. Clearly he had heard the hesitation, thinking she had almost said “bug.”

      “Yes,” she said slowly, leaning to scratch her ankle. “Mr. Jenks. If you would take a seat over there,” she pointed, “someone will be with you as soon as Captain Edden is available.”

      “Captain Edden.” I took Nick’s arm. “Thank you.” Feeling old and creaky, I angled to the orange monstrosities lined up against the lobby’s walls. The woman’s attitude shift wasn’t unexpected. In a breath I had gone from honey to whore.

      Though having lived openly with humans for forty years, tensions ran high at times. They were afraid, and probably for good reason. It’s not easy waking up to find your neighbors are vampires and your fourth-grade teacher really was a witch.

      Nick’s eyes rove over the lobby as he helped me sit. The chairs were as unpleasant as I had expected: hard and uncomfortable. Nick sat beside me, perched on the edge with his long legs bent at the knees. “How are you doing?” he asked as I groaned while trying to find a halfway comfortable position.

      “Fine,” I said shortly. “Just dandy.” I winced, tracking two uniformed men passing through the lobby. One was on crutches. The other’s black eye was just starting to purple up, and he was scratching vigorously at his shoulders. Thanks a heap, Jenks and Ivy. My unease filtered back. How was I supposed to convince the captain of the FIB to help me now?

      “You want something to eat?” Nick said, yanking my attention back. “I, uh, could go across the street for some Graeter’s. You like butter-pecan ice cream?”

      “No.” It came out more brusque than I had intended, and I smiled to soften my words. “No, thank you,” I amended, my worry settling in my belly to stay.

      “How about something from the candy machine, then? Salt and carbohydrates?” he prompted hopefully. “The food of champions.”

      I shook my head and set my bag between my feet. Trying to keep my breathing shallow, I stared at the scuffed tile floor. If I ate one more thing, I thought I was gonna ralph. I had eaten another bowl of Nick’s macaroni before the cab picked us up, but that wasn’t the problem.

      “Amulets wearing off?” Nick guessed, and I nodded.

      A pair of scuffed brown shoes came to a slow halt within my range. Nick slid to the back of his chair with his arms crossed, and I slowly pulled my head up.

      It was a stocky man in a white dress shirt and khakis, trim and carrying the polish of an ex-marine gone civilian. He wore plastic-framed glasses, the lenses looking too small against his round face. There was the smell of soap about him, and his close-cropped hair was damp and stuck up like a baby orangutan’s. My guess was he had been pixed and knew enough to wash before the blisters could start. His bandaged right wrist was in a sling identical to mine. Short black hair, short gray mustache. I hoped he had a long temper. “Ms. Morgan?” he said, and I straightened with a sigh. “I’m Captain Edden.”

      Great, I thought, struggling to stand up. Nick helped. I found I could look Edden right in the eye, making him rather short for all his official presence. I would almost say he had some troll blood in him if such a thing were biologically possible. My eyes lingered on the weapon holstered on his hip, and I spared a wish for my I.S.-issue cuffs. Eyes scrunched from my too strong perfume, he stuck out his left hand instead of the usual right, seeing as we were both unable to use them.

      My pulse quickened as we shook left hands; it felt wrong, and I would rather