“You never asked back then.” He picked up a glossy black feather that had fallen to the bar. No more the teenager with a crush. He was a man now and a good one. I liked to think I had something to do with that. “What we were running from.”

“At first it wasn’t my business.” Or rather, they didn’t want it to be my business. I started scooping the ice into the bins. “And later I figured it out. Zeke.”

The blue eyes darkened. “The social workers told those goddamn foster parents to watch him. Told them to never leave him alone. I should’ve known better than to think they actually listened. I should’ve been there.” He shook away the guilt, at least the visible kind. “They never cared about us and they especially never cared about what Zeke needed.” He dropped the feather. It twisted once in the air before drifting down. “And don’t ask me what happened, all right? Don’t.”

“I won’t.” I’d just wait until the time came. I picked the feather back up and handed it to him. “Keep the feather. Raven feathers are good luck.”

“Like that?” He reached forward and lightly touched the teardrop around my neck. “Is that good luck?”

“No.” The roughness of Griffin’s combat-worn skin was an interesting sensation on my neck and his serious expression almost irresistible. Almost. Nothing had yet been able to let me forget they were anything but boys I’d all but raised for a few years, no matter what their ages now. Four or five years can be nothing, or it can be all the difference in the world.

Plus . . . well . . . I smiled to myself, then moved his hand away.

“Not luck,” I continued, giving the ice a break as Lenore sidled over to sit on my shoulder. “It’s a Pele’s tear from Hawaii. Lava that solidifies into the shape of a drop or tear, named for the Hawaiian goddess of fire and volcanoes.”

“So you’ve been to Hawaii?” he asked curiously.

“Once or twice. I wear it for my brother.” Lenore moved back to his roost and tucked his head under his wing. He picked up the emotion in my voice easily enough. So did Griffin.

“A brother,” he said slowly. What he meant was, “You had a brother,” had not have, but he didn’t want to come out and say that, did he?

I said it for him. “That’s right. I had a brother.” End of topic as I closed my lips tightly and went back to shoveling ice with a vengeance.

Griffin turned the feather in his fingers, looking for a painless way out. Painless for me. “So you’ve been to Hawaii, but you never lived there? You’re not part Hawaiian, Trixa?”

That did make me laugh. “Look at me, Griff. I’m part everything.” I untied the apron around my waist. “Watch the bar for me, would you? Just until Leo gets back.”

Good-naturedly, especially for a demon killer, he moved behind the bar. “You really are going to give that bird a complex calling him a girl’s name.”

I shrugged and smiled. “What else are you going to call a raven? Edgar Allan Poe? It’s a little long. But you can call him Lenny if it has your testosterone in an uproar.”

He snorted, “I’ve noticed Leo and Lenny are never around at the same time. What are they? Superman and Clark Kent?”

I shoved some money into my jeans pocket and figured my light sweater would do for a sunny November day; it was probably in the high sixties. “There was an incident. Bird crap, vacuum cleaner retaliation. It wasn’t a pretty sight. They tend to avoid each other now, which is probably for the best.” I gave him a quick wave and was gone. I had errands to do and it was a perfect blue-sky morning to do them. I took my car, blazing red as I liked most things in my life—red my favorite color and blazing my favorite philosophy—and drove slowly past the still-smoldering nightclub. I lowered the window to catch a whiff of smoke. A floating memory in the air. Talk about warming your heart.

I did the rest of my chores in a few hours and was back at the bar with four grocery bags of frozen mini-pizzas, potato skins, and fried cheese of varied colors. Lenore was gone, and Leo and Griffin were watching the small TV mounted over the bar. The rest of the bar was empty except for one guy dozing at a corner table.

“What’s up? Did they vote another demon into office?” I demanded, putting the bags down with a loud thunk that said, Thanks so much for the help. “Not that they do much worse than humans sometimes.”

“No, someone was eaten at the zoo,” Griffin said absently, still watching. “At least, the vast majority of him was eaten.”

I wasn’t a fan of the zoo. I didn’t like to see animals locked up, but I’d been on occasion. The TV was showing a security tape of a little girl, maybe four, sitting on a bench by herself. She had long, light brown hair, melancholy dark brown eyes that could break your heart, and was dressed in a yellow top, pants, and matching tennies, with a red balloon in her hand. Now, wasn’t that a coincidence. She liked red too, and she watched the balloon float in the air with those wide, wistful eyes. If her parents were around, they didn’t show up. The only immediate adult was a man with a leash and empty collar in his hands. He had a friendly smile, light jacket, and oh . . . how sad . . . you didn’t have to hear the words to know what he was saying. I’ve lost my puppy, sweetie. I’ll bet she’s so scared. Could you help me find her?

Never mind he couldn’t smuggle a puppy into a zoo and not be seen at some point. But a leash and empty collar fit right in your pocket.

The little girl looked around and static started to fuzz the video. She bit her thumb, smiled back shyly, and held out her hand. Then it was nothing but static.

“Wait until you see this.” Zeke had joined us at some point. He must have shown up after I left and he didn’t look too unhappy. In fact he looked pretty cheerful. Zeke’s sense of humor—such as he had—tended to tilt toward the dark end of the spectrum. “I saw it earlier. It’s good stuff.”

When the static cleared, the video had switched to another part of the zoo. You could hear screaming—throat-rending screaming—see running zoo personnel, and hear the howls of wolves looking for who had invaded their pen.

It seemed a man had been looking for his puppy and now a whole pack of puppies was looking for him. Apparently they found him too. When the zoo personnel were able to recover his remains, what few there were, he was identified as one Richard Charles Hubbins Jr.—a multiply convicted pedophile. No one was going to be shedding tears over him.

I tucked a wild strand of hair behind my ear and started unpacking the bags with a warm sense of satisfaction. “I have to say I love it when a pervert gets what’s coming to him. And the puppies got a nice treat too. It’s a win-win.”

There was one last security shot of the empty bench with the red balloon tied to the armrest. Bright and shiny in the sun, it swayed lightly as if waving at the camera. The police never found the girl or her parents but were asking that they step forward to give statements.

“What kind of statement do they need?” Zeke snorted. “He made a good chew toy?” Zeke wasn’t into clothes like his partner. Black on black was good enough for him, but today he was wearing jeans and a gray T-shirt. A completely no-name brand; the jeans probably came from the thrift store. Zeke didn’t care much about all the money Eden House paid. He didn’t care much about material things period. Just killing demons, drinking beer, and beating Griff at pool. Well . . . and guns. He did like guns.

“They’re probably curious to know who tossed the son of a bitch into the wolf pen.” Griffin’s eyes narrowed. “You weren’t just at the zoo, were you?”

Zeke, copper hair hanging loose to his shoulders, shrugged and reached for the bowl of pretzels. “No. I’d have just shot him. I wouldn’t have thought of anything that fun.” He looked up at the TV again, hoping for another repeat. “Anyone tape it?”