Free Demon Song by Cat Adams

fly in my vest. Well, shit. I wasn’t going to enjoy telling Creede I’d lost it. With any luck it was in my car.
    “Morning, Alex. Sorry to keep you waiting. Want a soda?” She turned her head and took in my appearance with raised brows and general approval. I skirted around the coffee table just as she tossed the magazine the five feet backward to it. Good aim. It hit the top of the stack of magazines and stuck like an Olympic gymnast.
    “Celia. Sure. I guess.” She looked and sounded haggard but determined. It’s hard to lose someone you love, especially to murder. Rumor had it that, like me, she’d thrown herself into her work to escape the pain and emptiness. I think I fared better. While she hid it well with makeup, I could tell from the fit of an outfit I’d seen her in before that she’d lost weight and had a few more wrinkles around her mouth. She took the drink I held out. “You’re looking well.”
    I shrugged as I sat down in my office chair. “I’m trying some colors that don’t make me look so … well, you know.”
    She nodded and then took a deep breath. I could tell that part of her wanted to be annoyed with me for not being a blubbering mess. I had been for a couple of weeks, but it had become a little easier because Vicki was still around in ghost form. We talked. Which reminded me, we needed to talk about Ivy. Damn. Alex said, “You’ve been avoiding my calls and I’m starting to get a lot of … pressure from above.”
    So. She was here as a cop. Playing innocent was only playing, but I do it well. I wasn’t about to panic and throw myself on her mercy until absolutely necessary. “About what?”
    “The department needs your help. Our guys on the street are getting edgy. They’re demanding protection.”
    That stopped me cold. “Protection? From what?” She was silent for a long moment, obviously uncomfortable. Her fingers nibbled at her blazer trim before tucking into a pocket. Her foot began a light tapping on the floor that I’d seen before when she didn’t want to tell Vicki something about an active case she’d foreseen the events of.
    “They want siren charms. Two of the cops Eirene manipulated are having post-traumatic stress symptoms. The staff psychologist says the only thing that will help them even start to get over it is protection against future events.” She gave me a disgusted look that had both frustration and fear in it. “I’ve been resisting putting you in this position, but I’m afraid they’re going to hold it against me if I don’t get you to donate hair or skin samples for anti-siren charms. You’re the only siren they know and I’m the only one on staff who knows you.”
    Whoa. I honestly didn’t know what to say to that. I understood the fear of being out of control—doing things against your will. Whether or not you realized it was manipulation until later was pretty irrelevant. But while I sympathized, I was also offended and worried. Because DNA samples can also be used effectively in spells that are a lot less benign, and there were more than a few cops who’d felt I should be hunted as a monster. And then there was the obvious implication. “In effect, they want an anti- Celia charm. Isn’t that right? I presume your department witch told you there are two kinds. A true anti-siren charm would take a lot more magic and would have to be recharged periodically. Wouldn’t what you’re really asking for break something like a hundred years of precedent about discrimination against individual magic users? I don’t plan to break the law, so it would be punishment before an event.” Last night excepted, of course. And I wasn’t even sure I’d broken any laws. Other than throwing myself into one guard to keep him from shooting Kevin, the worst I did was break through the magic barrier, and I’m not sure it’s a crime to break into a prison. I wasn’t the one who actually got Kevin out.
    She sighed like she agreed with me but had to