“His seat belt was on, and his hands dropped from where he’d been fiddling with the visor. “You look small,” he finally said, looking both innocent and wise.”

“Maybe he'll go away if we don't answer," I said, and Jenks rose - sixty feet in a mere second. In another second, he dropped back down."He's coming around back," he said, his gold dust looking black through my sunglasses.Damn it back to the Turn. "Pix the sucker," I said, then waved my hand in negation when Jumoke clearly thought I was serious. The small pixy looked about six, and he took everything literally.[...]"Let him come back," I finally said. "If this is about that paper of his, he can suck my toes and die.”

“Pierce jerked his hand from Trent and pushed himself straight. “Kalamack Industries,” he said, expression twisted as he wiped his hand on his pants. “I knew your father.”“I do not freaking believe this,” I said, shifting to stand where I could see both of them.Al beamed. “Amazing who you can meet in an elevator.”

“This is about Ku’Sox, isn’t it,” I said, more of a statement than a question. He made a sighing groan, and I knew it was. “Then you’ve met,” he said, his thoughts clearly on the day-walking demon. “Funny, you don’t look dead.” His hand touched my chin, shifting it so he could see where I’d been pixed, the blisters itchy and red. “I’m surprised you survived the little designer dump. I nearly didn’t.”

“You need me, just whistle," he said as he arranged his ball cap over his eyes against the sun leaking through the frost-emptied branches."You're not coming?"Lifting the brim of his cap, he eyed me, "You want me to?" he asked blandly."Not really, no."He dropped the brim and laced his hands over his middle. "Then why are you bitching? It's a crime scene, not a grocery store.”

“You pompous little bitch!” the infuriated Were shouted, red-faced and with his thugs backing him. “What are you doing here?” Mrs. Sarong pushed past the men who had put themselves in front of her. “Arranging your removal,” she said, her voice sharp and her eyes glaring. Removal? As if he were an overgrown tree clogging the sewer line? The short businessman seemed to choke on his own breath, becoming choleric. Mouth gaping to look like one of his prize fish, he struggled to respond. “Like hell you are!” he finally managed. “That’s what I wanted to talk to her about!” From my shoulder came a small, “Holy crap, Rache. How did you become Cincy’s assassin of choice?”

“Al was looking at me in disbelief. “Not your lover?”“No.”“But he is Rachel candy,” Al said, his confusion too honest to be faked.”