Ever After (Rachel Morgan)

babies, not a piece of antiquated piece of history no one cares about. You are stealing someone’s child, and I’m going to—”
    The phone clicked. “Rachel.”
    The flat sound of my name cracked through me, and my eyes darted to Jenks, now standing on my plate. It was Nick all right, his tone dry and accusing. The image of his narrow face, scruffy stubble, and casual, unkempt clothes flashed through my mind, and my gut tightened. What had I ever seen in him? But behind his rough exterior was a wickedly clever mind, one that was going to get him in a hole in the ground.
    “Oh,” I said lightly. “So you have a pair after all, huh?”
    “You left me with no recourse but to sell my soul,” Nick said.
    “Oh please.” I stood, pacing to the other side of the kitchen with Jenks hovering by my ear. “You sold your soul all on your own. I never made you summon a demon. I asked you once, but you were summoning him already, so I’m not taking the blame for that. Besides, you don’t belong to Al. Who owns you, Nickie? Is it Newt? You almost deserve her.”
    “There you go again,” he said, his bitter laugh clear through the phone. “Jumping to the wrong conclusion. Listen to me this time. You left me with no recourse but to sell my soul. Thank you.” My lips parted. “I never would have met Ku’Sox any other way.”
    Oh. Shit. My gut tightened even more, and Jenks dropped to the counter before me, pale and his wings unmoving. Ku’Sox was totally deranged and psychotic—along with coddled, endured, and hated by his entire race as their beloved and mentally unstable attempt to circumvent the elven curse that had made them basically barren. The lab-created demon had a tendency to eat people alive because he thought his soul was missing something. Maybe he was right. Nick stealing surviving Rosewood babies for him wasn’t for the good of his species. He was up to something, something really bad. I had to call Algaliarept. My teacher had to know of this like yesterday.
    “Son of a Disney whore,” Jenks whispered.
    I spun, hearing the silence of the church. “Listen to me,” I said, and Nick snorted. “Ku’Sox is psychotic. He’ll kill you as soon as he has everything he needs.”
    “Which is why I haven’t told him how to make the enzyme that keeps his babies alive,” Nick said, his voice distant. “God, you think I’m stupid?” He wasn’t really paying attention, and that made me even angrier.
    “You think you have something on him?” I exclaimed, and I heard pixy kids whisper from the hallway. “Nick, you almost deserve what’s coming. Just stop. Okay? Stop. If you stop and go away, I won’t have to hurt you. Better yet, put the babies back, and maybe I can get the rest of the demons to not kill you, too. You’re not going to come out of this alive.”
    “You’re not the only one who wants to cheat death,” he said bitterly. “I’m hanging up now. Don’t bother calling back. This number isn’t going to work anymore.”
    I stared at the phone as he clicked off. “Son of a bastard,” I whispered, knowing now why he’d gone to Ku’Sox. He wanted power and was hoping Ku’Sox would give it to him. “Sweet loving son of a bastard.” More tired than angry, I leaned against the counter, my dress pulling tight against me. Head bowed, I set the phone down with an exaggerated softness. Nick was going to get himself killed, but not before he hurt a lot of people and broke the balance of power that kept Inderland and humans from open conflict. Ku’Sox was halfway to making his own army of day-walking demons—unless I did something about it.
    My dinner sat on the table across the kitchen, the two bites out of it looking odd and disconnected—coffee and a sandwich when I’d been expecting to end my day with grilled salmon and tiramisu. “Where’s my scrying mirror?” I said softly, and Jenks lit into motion, darting to the open shelving under the counter.
    Lungs full of stale air, I leaned to get it. My dress tightened again, and with a smooth motion, I pulled the scrying mirror from between the demon textbooks and my favorite cookie book. Holding it tight to my chest, I sat back down in my chair and rested it on my knees. It was wrong side up, the flat silver back dull and mundane. “I’m calling Al,” I said, though that was obvious. “He needs to know what’s going on.”
    The red-wine-tinted glass sent sparkles through my fingertips and the tops of my legs as I arranged