A Perfect Blood by Kim Harrison

hard feelings on either side. But to go back now? No. I didn’t blame him, but he had left.
    Jenks hovered before me as I rinsed out the pot, a devilish smile on his sharply angular features. The chrysalis that Al had given me last New Year’s lay behind him on the sill, safe under an overturned brandy sifter. “Methinks she doth protest too much,” he said, and I threatened to squirt him.
    “Knock it off,” I said as I dunked the rinsed pot in the dissolution vat to get rid of any lingering charm. “I’m good with Ivy dating Glenn, biting Glenn, whatever with Glenn.”
    “And Daryl?” the pixy needled me. “You good with Daryl, Rache?”
    I stiffened, and from behind me, Ivy said, “Where’s the glue? And your cat, Jenks?”
    Jenks snorted. “Like you or that orange fuzz ball could catch me,” he said, but he was going for altitude.
    Glenn looked awkward when I turned back around, shifting from foot to foot, slightly flushed. I gathered up the dried amulets. “I’ll see what I can do about having these delivered to the FIB as soon as possible. It might take me a day, but as Ivy keeps pointing out, they’re only going to take you to an empty building by now.”
    Glenn’s attention flicked from the charms to me. “Uh, whenever you can get to it, that’d be great,” he said, actually dropping back a step. “Thanks. Rachel, I want you to stay here—”
    Stay here? My temper popped, and I smacked my hand down onto the counter. Jenks darted up, surprised, but Ivy chuckled, going to the fridge to give me space while I vented. “You are not turning me into the chief cook who never gets off the boat,” I exclaimed. “I’m going to be an active member in this run!”
    Ivy came out from behind the fridge door, raising a bottle of orange juice in a show of solidarity. “We’ve already been over it.”
    “So don’t even try telling her to stay home,” Jenks added, grinning as I glared at the FIB detective frowning right back at me, his chest puffed out. Puff all you want, FIB detective. You’re not turning me into the librarian.
    Ivy had her back to us as she poured out a glass. I knew she wasn’t thirsty. She was trying to cloud her senses as I filled the air with my anger. “We’re good at watching her.”
    Glenn took a step back so he could see Jenks better. “Against wackos abducting Rosewood syndrome carriers, to try to create synthetic demon blood? Rachel, I know you have a bodyguard and all, but how smart is it to put yourself where they can grab you?”
    “She said she’ll be careful.” Ivy leaned back against the counter with her ankles crossed, looking like sex incarnate as she drank her juice, her long, pale throat moving slowly.
    Stifling a shiver, I looked away. “I’ll only go to secure sites,” I said under my breath as I snapped up my spell book and crouched to put it away. This was a mess, and I wasn’t talking about the kitchen. The I.S. had asked for my help. The FIB desperately needed it. HAPA was stringing their victims up to taunt me into finding them. They knew I had what they wanted—what they were mutilating people to find. “Promise.”
    I shoved the book into its spot, then hesitated, growing angrier as I looked at the demon curse books right next to it. Suddenly I was twice as set on not giving the FIB or the I.S. a list of what I could do. They could hire an intern and get it from the library—I wasn’t going to give them the rope to hang me with.
    Never would I have guessed making it public knowledge that I could kindle demon magic would lead to this. It was no longer a secret that witches were stunted demons, so far removed from their original species that they were a species unto themselves—and clearly someone had made the correct assumption that the Rosewood syndrome had something to do with it. As one of the two people to survive the deadly but common genetic abnormality, I’d made myself a target.
    “I have to call Lee,” I whispered, then