Gray Hoodie whirled and strode to the bar, shoved the protesting drunk girl aside, and waved a fist at Tetra. “Be careful what you say, bitch. You can’t make accusations like that.”

Tetra strutted a step nearer. “Watch me.”

Gray Hoodie’s eyes narrowed. “Relax, everyone. She’s crazy. I didn’t do a thing.”

“Uh-huh?” Tetra thrust the beer glass in his face. “Drink this, then, if there’s nothing in it.”

The guy sneered and slapped the glass out of her hand. It shattered on the floor amid a pool of foaming beer. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Yeah?” Tetra raised her chin. “Fight me, asswipe.”

Jeff pushed through the crowd too late. Gray Hoodie lunged and grabbed Tetra by the front of her Iron Fist golf shirt, but she moved like a snake. One second, he thought he had her. The next, her hand closed around his throat, and she lifted him to his tippy toes, fingers digging into his windpipe. His roar of anger became a terrified squeak, and he gripped her wrists with both hands.

“Tell me whose drinks you spiked,” Tetra snarled, tugging him across the bar.

“Go...screw...yourself,” the guy wheezed.

Tetra slammed his head on the bar. It bounced with the sharp crack of bone on wood, and he slid to the floor, groaning.

“Check his pockets, Jeff,” the faerie barked.

Jeff gawped at her, then crouched beside Gray Hoodie. Val emerged from the office as Tetra stood over the fallen human, arms crossed, making no move to attack him.

“Kyle, I think we should go,” a man behind Val whispered. “This place is full of crazy bitches.”

“Let’s bounce,” his companion agreed.

They slipped out of the bar, along with several others. Val made sure they knew she watched them go.

Jeff straightened, holding a bottle of dull green capsules.

“What are they?” Val asked.

Jeff tipped one onto the bar and crushed it with a thumbnail, revealing a blue center. “Rohypnol. The classic date rape drug.”

A ripple of shock ran through the crowd at the bar. The three girls blanched like the drug’s name had turned them instantly sober.

“It dyes pale liquids blue, but the Iron IPA is dark enough that it wouldn’t show up,” Jeff added.

“Okay, everyone.” Enzo raised his voice. “The cops will deal with that asshole. Everyone else at the bar, you’re getting fresh drinks.” He grinned. “On the house.”

A boozy cheer rocked the bar. The crowd returned to their carousing, and Jeff dragged the moaning would-be rapist outside to await the NYPD.

Val turned to Tetra, but the faerie busied herself with gathering the possibly contaminated drinks. She swept them off the bar and onto her tray with matter-of-fact efficiency.

“Hey.” One of the drunk girls grabbed Tetra’s wrist.

The faerie tensed. “What?”

“I wanted to thank you.” The girl released her arm. “You saved me from something horrible tonight.”

Tetra shrugged and ducked her head, her unevenly cropped hair almost hiding her smile. “It’s cool.” She hustled to the back and dumped the contaminated drinks down the sink.

“She’s right, you know.” Val stepped forward.

Tetra’s head snapped up. “What?”

“You saved her.” Val smiled. “You did a great job, Tetra.”

This time, there was no dangling hair to hide Tetra’s smile.

The big red dog licked another treat from Val’s palm and crunched it noisily, tail waving. Today, he sat upright, and the sleek, noble lines of his head almost touched the cage’s ceiling.

“Feeling a little cramped in there, boy?” Val asked.

The dog’s tail wagged faster at the sound of her voice. She fed him another treat.

Muffled cursing announced the arrival of Jess, carrying an extremely fat gray cat that vehemently did not want to be transported. It yowled, little limbs paddling on its chunky body.

“Get in there, fat-ass!” Jess shoved it into a cage. “Why your mother can’t bring you in a carrier, I’ll never know.”

“Check it out.” Val held up the empty bowl. “He ate everything I gave him.”

“That’s good news.” Jess brushed cat hair off her blue scrubs. “Oh, look! He’s sitting.”

“I think he wants to stand.” Leaving the cage door open, Val retreated a few steps. “C’mon, boy. Come on!”

The dog wobbled to his feet. Slow and doddering but bearing weight on all four limbs, he hobbled out of the cage and crossed the floor to Val, then flopped at her feet.

“Aw, good boy!” Val crouched and rumpled his ears. “Aren’t you a good boy?” She looked up at Jess. “He’s well enough to leave now, right? He can go to the shelter and look for a new home?”

Jess sighed and glanced at the front desk, mindful of the full waiting room. She chose to sit cross-legged beside Val.

“Technically, yes,” she murmured, her tone gentle. “But I’m not sure that’s the right thing for him.”

Val raised her head. “What do you mean? Look at him. Sure, he’s dirty and scruffy, but he needs a bath, that’s all. Someone would love to have him.”

“Thing is, Val, there are plenty of beautiful dogs like him in the shelter. Healthy dogs who are ready for adoption right away. There are socialized, well-trained, purebred dogs for adoption and no shortage of untrained mixes like him.”

Jess’s mouth turned down at the corners. “His chances of adoption are slim, and he’d have to survive the kennel stress until his leg and pelvis heal.”

Val stared at her. “’Survive?’”

“Kennel stress is a killer. He only eats when you feed him,” Jess reminded her gently. “He can’t live like that for long. The odds are stacked too high against him.”

Val felt sick. The dog gently crumpled into her lap, sighing with pleasure as she rubbed his ears.