Free Storm in a Teacup by Emmie Mears

talisman on her desk, nudging a haphazard stack of papers to the side to make room for it.
    I tell her where I got the metal disc, and she eyes it as I speak. I know she's thinking of the three mounted claymores behind her desk, and I for one am not disappointed that she's got an office full of weapons. If a jeeling comes bursting through the glass block windows that surround her door, I don't want to be forced to try and kill it with paper cuts.
    "I got the report from Gregor about the splats. Are you okay with following this trail for him? If not, I can tell him to do it himself." Alamea leans back in her chair, long fingers interlaced over her stomach.
    It surprises me that she knows about Gregor's little pet project. I wonder if she knows about the connection to me and my birth mother. I wonder if she's ever tried to find her own parents. Gregor's not one to be free with his intel, and I get the sense he's left out my personal connection – or hidden it. He was so secret-op about it that I didn't expect him to have told anyone else. But then again, maybe he didn't and Alamea just found out. Two days ago, I might have jumped over her desk to hug her for suggesting I could be free of it, but now I'm too sucked in. Nashville won't miss The Righteous Dark's music, but they could be a symptom of a wider problem, and I need to find out if that problem is say, as wide as a crick or as wide as the Mississippi.
    "I'm happy to help," I say, which is a bit of an exaggeration. More that I want to find out what can make a body go boom from inside without a bomb.
    "You're still looking for Lena Saturn? Is that her name?"
    "That's her." The talisman glows a little, casting a thin nimbus on the desk below. If I remember right, the one Gryfflet found started doing that only a few hours before the human smoothie happened. "What are you going to do with that?"
    "I was going to ask you the same thing."
    "Me?"
    "I don't think any of our witches can dispel whatever magic draws the demons to it, so you'll have to think of something else."
    "Me?" My mouth goes dry like I've hung my head out the window of a speeding car, tongue flapping in the breeze for an hour. I've already had an almost-get-eaten moment this week, and my shoulder tightens at the memory.  
    "It's your responsibility, Ayala. It was given to you."
    Gee, that makes me feel better.

CHAPTER TWELVE

    The second to worst thing to go along with possession of a demon magnet is trying to figure out how much time you have before getting eaten becomes a legitimate possibility.
    The worst thing, of course, is the likelihood of ending up exploded all over a living room. Or a field.
    Because of that, I'm proud of the plan I come up with.
    Alamea hasn't completely turned me loose to become a splat, and she's lent me a small team of Mediators to help me. By small I mean she volunteered Ripper and Ben. I didn't know she disliked them enough to put them on demon talisman duty, but Ben will be happy to be in the same fifty-foot radius as me.  
    Forest Hills has a lot of little gullies and clearings, and I pick one I know well. If we're right and this talisman has a ticking countdown, I think it corresponds to the brightness of the glow. I deduce this because it's getting brighter.
    I know. I'm a genius.
    I meet Ben and Ripper about a half mile from the spot I have in mind. They've driven together in Ripper's dull black truck again, and Ripper nods at me as he slams his door. He's fixed his imp-chopped ponytail so it doesn't look like he got styled by someone's feet, though a ragged gap where the imp lobbed off a chunk of white-blond hair remains.  
    Ben hops out of the passenger side, hefting his preferred broadsword still in its sheath. His eyes scan the surrounding trees for movement. The sun's still up, so I'm not sure what he's looking for. Even though imps can make little forays into the daylight, they don't like to. And full demons stay in whatever hell dimension houses them until the