Ever After (Rachel Morgan)

hesitate, part, and with a surprising suddenness, I had a second presence beside mine.
    Rachel?
    It was Dali, and I warmed in embarrassment. I didn’t often talk to demons through my scrying mirror apart from Al, and having Dali in my thoughts was unnerving. Whereas Al used bluster and show to hide his true self, Dali was like a steel pillar, everything seeming to slide off him. “Um, I’m sorry to bother you,” I said, my thoughts carrying through the mirror to him.
    Irritation predictably joined my embarrassment in our shared thoughts. I’m busy. Make an appointment with my secretary.
    He was about to break the connection. I was kind of surprised I’d gotten him at all and not one of his subordinates. “Dali, wait. I have to talk to you, and Al is . . .”
    I stopped, not knowing who might be listening in.
    Al is what? Dali asked, interest coloring his thought.
    I hesitated, looking up at Bis’s drooping wings. “I’ve made some tea,” I started.
    Outrage flooded me, and I almost yanked my hand from the mirror. You’re summoning me! Dali exploded, and I scrambled to assert myself before he drowned me.
    “I made some tea!” I said, trying to match his anger, and Bis’s eyes grew round. “You want to come over here and drink it or not? It’s Earl Grey. I don’t particularly like it, but most men I know like bergamot. I don’t give a flying flip if we do this here or your office, but if I have to bring the cookies over, they’ll taste like burnt amber and I spent two hours on them!” I took a breath, feeling his anger subside. “I need to talk to you,” I said softly, my thought mirroring the pleading sound I had. “My kitchen isn’t much, but—”
    My words cut off as I felt our connection shift, turning from the light, uppermost thoughts to a more enveloping, place-finding sensation. He was coming over, using the mirror to locate me. My eyes widened at the feeling, and a small noise of I-don’t-know-what slipped from me, part alarm, part surprise, part sexual titillation as he drew a small trace of ley line through me so he’d show up next to me and not in the garden’s ley line.
    “He’s coming,” I said as I lifted my head, flushing because of that weird noise I’d made.
    “Holy sweet seraph,” Bis swore as a swirl of red ever-after coalesced in the corner of the room beside the fridge. I didn’t have a formal circle to mark a spot to jump in at. Maybe I should remedy that if I survived the next couple of days.
    “Earl Grey?” Dali’s Americana businessman accent drawled as he shook off the last of the black-tainted swirls, showing up in a gray suit and a red power tie instead of a toga—thank God. He looked like a slightly overweight mob boss with his expensive dress shoes, tailored pants, and graying, styled hair.
    Uneasy, I stood. Bis shrank back, his red eyes going wide. He held his ground, though, trusting my judgment. “Thank you,” I said, wiping my palms on my jeans. Crap, I should have put on a dress, but it was my kitchen, and I’d have felt stupid wearing a gown—again.
    Dali’s attention had been running over my kitchen, but at my whisper, it returned to me. “You are far too quick in assuming this is a good thing.” He glanced at his watch; then his red, goat-slitted eyes returned to the spell pots and the tea steaming on the table. “You don’t have any wards protecting your spelling area?”
    “I don’t need it.” I looked away, used to dealing with egotistical, powerful people who got a kick out of my apparent total disregard for the danger they represented. “You want to sit down?” I said, looking at the chair kitty-corner to mine.
    My brow furrowed as he stepped forward and eyed the hard-backed chair. “It’s probably more comfortable than it looks,” he said as he gingerly sat, crossing his knees and trying to appear dignified, but he looked even more out of place than Trent usually did in my kitchen.
    A memory of Trent standing at my counter making cookies with me flashed through my thoughts. That hadn’t really happened. I’d been in a coma of sorts, and his mind had been trying to reach mine, but it had been real enough. So had the kiss that had followed.
    Bis’s nervous giggle made Dali frown. This wasn’t going as well as I had hoped, but with the determination I might use on a badly begun blind date, I sat down and began pouring out the tea. “I’m only twenty-seven,” I said dryly. “I’ve not had the time to gather much