"Oh." He was silent, and I wondered if he was going to figure it out anyway. "Sure," he said slowly. "Tonight soon enough?" When I nodded, he added, "Okay. See you then."

"Thanks, Nick. 'Bye." Pleased I had wrangled a promise to see him tonight, I pushed the door open, stopping halfway when a masculine voice called out in protest. I looked to find Glenn on the stoop, juggling three sacks of fast food and a tray of drinks.

"Glenn!" I exclaimed, reaching for the drinks. "There you are. Come on in. This is Nick, my boyfriend. Nick, this is Detective Glenn." Nick my boyfriend. Yeah, I liked that.

Shifting the sacks to one hand, Glenn extended his hand. "How do you do," he said formally, still outside. He was dressed in a sharp-looking gray suit, making Nick's casual clothes seem untidy. My eyebrows rose at Nick's hesitation before shaking Glenn's hand. I was positive it was because of Glenn's FIB badge. Don't want to know. Don't want to know.

"Nice to meet you," Nick said, then turned to me. "I'll, uh, see you tonight, Rachel."

" 'Kay. 'Bye." It sounded a bit forlorn even to me, and Nick shifted from foot to foot before leaning forward to give me a kiss on the corner of my mouth. I thought it was more to prove his boyfriend status than any attempt to show affection. Whatever.

Sneakers silent, Nick hastened down the steps to his salt-rusted blue pickup at the curb. I felt a wash of worry at his hunched shoulders and stilted pace. Glenn, too, was watching, but his expression was more curious than anything else.

"Come on in," I repeated as I eyed the sacks of food and shifted the door wider.

Glenn took his sunglasses off, one hand tucking them into the inner breast pocket of his suit. With his athletic build and tidy beard, he looked like a pre-Turn Secret Service guy. "That's Nick Sparagmos?" he asked as Nick drove away. "The one who was a rat?"

My hackles rose at how he had said it, as if turning into a rat or mink was morally wrong. I put a hand on my hip, the tray of drinks tilting dangerously close to spilling ice and soda pop. Obviously his dad had told him more of the story than Glenn had let on. "You're late."

"I stopped to get us all lunch," he said stiffly. "Mind if I come in?"

I fell back, and he crossed the threshold. He hooked the door with his foot, closing it with a tug behind him. The smell of fries became overpowering in the sudden dusk in the foyer. "That's a nice little outfit," he said. "How long did it take you to paint it on?"

Affronted, I looked down at my leather pants and the red silk blouse tucked into them. Wearing leather before sunset had worried me until Ivy convinced me that the high quality of the leather I bought elevated the look from "white witch trash" to "wealthy witch class." She ought to know, but I was still sensitive to it. "This is what I wear to work," I snapped. "It saves on skin grafts if I have to run and end up sliding on pavement. Got a problem with it?"

Keeping his comments to a noncommittal grunt, he followed me to the kitchen. Ivy looked up from her map, silently taking in the burger bags and drinks. "Well," she drawled. "I see you survived the pizza. I could still have Piscary bite you if you want."

My mood lifted at Glenn's suddenly closed expression. He made an ugly noise deep in his throat, and I went to put the frozen waffles away, seeing that the toaster hadn't been plugged in. "You scarfed down that pizza fast enough last night," I said. "Admit it. You li-i-i-i-iked it."

"I ate it to stay alive." Motions sharp, he stood at the table and pulled the bags to him. Seeing a tall black man in an expensive suit and shoulder holster unpacking paper-wrapped food made an odd picture. "I went home and prayed to the porcelain god for two hours straight," he added, and Ivy and I exchanged amused looks.

Pushing her work aside, Ivy took the burger that was the most unsquished and the fullest envelope of fries. I slouched into a chair beside Glenn. He moved to the end of the table, not even trying to make it look casual. "Thanks for breakfast," I said, eating a fry before unwrapping my burger with a rustle of paper.

He hesitated, his death grip on his FIB officer persona loosening as he undid the lowest button to his jacket and sat. "The FIB is paying for it. Actually, this is my breakfast, too. I didn't get home until the sun was almost up. You put in a long day."

His faint tone of acceptance eased my shoulders another notch. "Not really. It just starts about six hours later than yours."

Wanting ketchup for my fries, I levered myself up and went to the fridge. I hesitated in my reach for the red bottle. Ivy caught my eye, shrugging after I pointed to it. Yeah, I thought. He was invading our lives. He ate the pizza last night. Why should Ivy and I suffer because of him? That decided, I pulled it out and set the bottle on the table with a bold thump. Much to my disappointment, Glenn didn't notice.

"So," Ivy said, reaching across the table and taking the ketchup. "You're going to baby-sit Rachel today? Don't take her on the bus. They won't stop for her."

He glanced up, starting as Ivy laced her burger with the red sauce. "Uh." He blinked, clearly having lost his thought. His eyes were fixed upon the ketchup. "Yes. I'm going to show her what we have so far on the murders."

A smile quirked the corner of my mouth at a sudden thought. "Hey, Ivy," I said lightly. "Pass me the clotted blood."

Not missing a beat, she pushed the bottle across the table. Glenn froze. "Oh my God!" he whispered harshly, his face going sallow.

Ivy snickered, and I laughed. "Relax, Glenn," I said as I squirted ketchup over my fries. I lounged in my chair, giving him a sly look as I ate one. "It's ketchup."

"Ketchup!" He pulled his paper place mat with his food closer. "Are you insane?"

"Nearly the same stuff you were slurping last night," Ivy said.

I pushed the bottle toward him. "It won't kill you. Try some."

His eyes riveted to the red plastic, Glenn shook his head. His neck was stiff, and he pulled his food closer. "No."

"Aw, come on, Glenn," I coaxed. "Don't be a squish. I was kidding about the blood." What's the point of having a human over if you can't jerk him around a little?

He stayed sullen, eating his burger as if it were a chore, not an enjoyable experience. But without ketchup, it might be a job. "Look," I said persuasively as I edged closer and turned the bottle around. "Here's what's in it. Tomatoes, corn syrup, vinegar, salt…" I hesitated, frowning. "Hey, Ivy. Did you know they put onion and garlic powder in ketchup?"

She nodded, wiping a stray bit of ketchup off the corner of her mouth. Glenn looked interested, leaning closer to read the fine print above my freshly painted nail. "Why?" he asked. "What's wrong with onions and garlic?" He got a knowing look in his brown eyes and settled back. "Ah," he said wisely. "Garlic."

"Don't be stupid." I set the bottle down. "Garlic and onions have a lot of sulfur. So do eggs. They give me migraines."

"Mmmm," Glenn said smugly as he picked the ketchup bottle up between two fingers to read the label for himself. "What's natural flavors?"

"You don't want to know," Ivy said, her voice pitched dramatically.

Glenn set the bottle down. I couldn't help my snort of amusement.

The sound of an approaching motorcycle pulled Ivy to her feet. "That's my ride," she said, crumpling her wrapper and pushing her half-eaten carton of fries to the middle of the table. She stretched, her lanky body reaching for the ceiling. Glenn ran his attention over her, then looked away.

My gaze met Ivy's. It sounded like Kist's cycle. I wondered if this had anything to do with last night. Seeing my apprehension, Ivy grabbed her purse. "Thanks for breakfast, Glenn." She turned to me. "See you later, Rachel," she added as she breezed out.