City of Demons by Richelle Mead

meant evil and despicable. Once again, he’d thrown me into the kind of state that’s led mortals into temptation for millennia. My stress and anxiety from the jury debacle only intensified matters.
    Which is why it shouldn’t have been surprising when—despite my promises not to repeat last night—I called Seth and told him I’d be busy tonight. A half hour later, I found a lobby phone and called him as Beth, asking him for dinner again.
    To my supreme dismay, he accepted.

Chapter Ten
    I’d had pretty bad hand-eye coordination when I’d been a mortal, but centuries and centuries of practice will pretty much perfect almost any skill set.
    â€œWhoa,” said Seth, wide-eyed.
    A Ping-Pong ball sailed from my hand and landed neatly into a glass filled with blue water. About twenty other glasses sat pressed together around the blue one, some with clear water and some with red. I eyed my target and launched another Ping-Pong ball. It too landed in the blue glass. It was the third time I’d hit my mark.
    The guy running the game booth shook his head. “I don’t see that very often.”
    Seth turned and grinned at me—or rather, he turned and grinned at Beth. We’d taken a cab to this small, beachside carnival and had spent most of our evening playing games and spinning around on rides that caused me only a little more nausea than jury deliberation had. After all that demonic bribery and intrigue, impersonating another woman in order to test my boyfriend seemed downright mundane.
    â€œThat was amazing,” said Seth. “You play sports or something?”
    â€œNow and then,” I replied enigmatically.
    â€œHere you go.” The game attendant shook his head again and handed me a large, stuffed dragon. I handed it to Seth, who already held a unicorn and a bear.
    â€œYou sure you’re okay with all that?” I asked him as we walked away.
    â€œHey, I’m not winning anything,” he replied, shifting his hold on the animals. “You’re doing all the work. I figure I should just help out the best I can.”
    I laughed. It was such a typical Seth thing to say. If his arms weren’t full, I might have been in danger of reaching out and holding his hand.
    â€œI can’t keep those,” I told him. “You want to take them home?”
    â€œNo,” he said promptly. “Too much trouble.” I wondered if he was contemplating the difficulty in fitting them in his luggage or the difficulty in explaining to his girlfriend how he’d acquired another woman’s midway winnings.
    Fluffy clouds of pale pink caught my eye, and I honed in on a cotton candy vendor. I bought a clump of it, and Seth and I sat on a nearby bench so that he could deposit his burden and eat the spun sugar with me.
    â€œGood God,” he said, putting a piece into his mouth. “I can feel myself getting diabetes already.”
    I didn’t respond right away, instead luxuriating in the way the billowy sugar melted away to nothing on my tongue. “You look like you’re in shape,” I told him a few moments later. “I don’t think you’re doing any permanent damage.”
    â€œNot at the moment, no. But I can’t make this a regular thing. I swim and jog, but considering how much time I just, well, sit around . . . yeah. Gotta watch this stuff.” He tore off another piece. “But not right now.”
    I chuckled. “I hear you. I have to go to the gym every day and . . .” I paused. What trendy fitness activity were mortal women doing these days? “... and pay homage to the elliptical machine. Pain in the ass—no pun intended. I mean, I hate those people who can eat anything they want and never gain a pound.”
    He nodded. “Yeah, my girlfriend’s like that—” He cut himself off and abruptly looked elsewhere.
    â€œIt’s okay,” I said. “You don’t have to avoid