Ceri set her feet on the floor and leaned forward, her eyes asking for understanding. "Please, Rachel," she begged. "I need this. Being Al's familiar tore everything from me. Give this piece of my life back to me? I need to resume ties to my old life before I can cut them and move into this one."

I felt panicky. "I'm the last person you should seek advice from!" I stammered. "Look at me! I'm a mess!"

Smiling softly, Ceri dropped her eyes. "You're the most caring person I know, consistently risking your life for those who can't fight on their own. I see this in the people you love. Ivy, who is afraid she can't fight her battle alone anymore. Kisten, who struggles to stand in a system where he knows he's too weak. Jenks, who has the courage but not the strength to make a difference in a world that doesn't even see him."

"Aw, thanks, Ceri," the pixy mumbled from under his napkin.

"You often see the worst in people," she said, "but you always see the best. Eventually."

I gaped at her. Noting my unease, she hesitated. "Do you trust Trent?"

"No!" I blurted, then paused. But here I was broaching the subject of introducing Ceri to him. "Maybe in some things," I amended. "I trust your judgment, though."

Apparently it was the right thing to say, since Ceri smiled and put a cool hand upon mine. "You believe in him more than you realize, and I though I may not know him, I trust your judgment, slow as it is in coming." Her smile turned wicked. "And I'm not a silly girl to be blinded by a tidy posterior and expansive landholdings."

Tidy posterior and expansive landholdings? Was that the Dark Ages equivalent of a tight ass and a lot of money? I chuckled, and her hand slipped away. "He's devious," I warned. "I don't want you to be taken advantage of. I know he's going to want a sample for his labs."

Ceri sipped her tea, her eyes focused on the sunlit garden. "He can have it. I want my species to recover as much as he does. I only wish I'd predated the curse so the damage could be fixed completely instead of the bandage he has been slapping on our children."

My fingers curled around the cool porcelain, but I didn't bring the cup to my lips. Trent owed me big time. Ceri was giving him one hell of a better bandage. "He's manipulative," I added, and she raised one eyebrow.

"And I'm not? Do you think I couldn't wind this man about my finger if I wanted? "

I looked away, worried. Yeah, she could.

Ceri laughed. "I don't want a husband," she said, green eyes twinkling. "I have to reinvent myself before I can share my life with anyone. Besides, he's getting married."

I couldn't help my snort. "To a really nasty woman," I muttered, starting to relax. I did not want Trent marrying Ceri. Even if Trent weren't such a dirtbag, I'd probably never see her again after she found his garden.

"I do believe," Ceri said wryly, "you think this wedding is just punishment for past sins."

Nodding, I glanced into the garden following a flash of motion. I stood up and went to the window to see that it was just Jenks's kids driving a hummingbird out of the yard. "You haven't met her," I said, marveling at their teamwork. Ceri came to stand beside me, the rich scent of cinnamon drifting off her to tickle my nose. " She's a terrible woman," I added softly.

Ceri's gaze followed mine into the garden. "So am I," she said, more softly still.

Twenty-two

Slumped in the back of the cab, I watched the passing buildings and imagined Ellasbeth's distain for the clearly lower-class shops. Though the Hollows' cathedral was world-renowned, it was in a somewhat depressed area of town. Unease trickled through me, and I straightened, pulling my bag with its charms and splat gun onto my lap. I should have worn something else. I was going to look like a slob in jeans.

Jenks was on my shoulder, rapping my hoop earring in time with the calypso beat on the cabbie's radio. It was way past annoying, and though I knew it would likely only encourage him, I murmured, "Stop it."

My neck went cold as he lifted off to land on my knee. "Relax, Rache," he said, standing with his legs spread wide for balance and his wings a blur. "This is a cakewalk. How many people? Five, counting her parents? And Quen will be there, so it's not like you're alone. It's the wedding you're going to have to worry about."

I took a deep breath, cracking the window to set my hair drifting. Looking down, I picked at the engineered hole in my knee. "Maybe I should have worn a dress suit."

"It's a wedding rehearsal, for Tink's panties!" Jenks burst out. "Don't you watch the soaps? The richer you are, the more you dress down. Trent will probably be in a swimsuit."

My eyebrows rose, picturing his trim physique wrapped in spandex. Mmmm…

Wings stilling, Jenks adopted a bored expression. "You look great. Now, if you had worn that little thang you picked out…"

I shifted my knee, and he took to the air. We were only a block away, and early.

"Excuse me," I said, leaning forward and into the cabbie's enthusiastic rendition of Madonna's "Material Girl." I'd never heard it done calypso before. "Could you circle the block?"

He met my gaze through the rearview mirror, and, though clearly thinking I was crazy, lunched into the left-turn lane and waited for the light. I rolled the window down all the way, and Jenks landed on the sill. "Why don't you check it out?" I said softly.

"Already ahead of you, babe," he said, reaching to see that his red bandanna was in place. "By the time you get around the block, I'll have met the locals and get the sitch."

"Babe?" I said tartly, but he had darted out and was among the gargoyles. I rolled up the window before the street breeze could make a mess of the intricate French braid his kids had put my hair in. I didn't let them go at my hair very often. Their work was fantastic, but they chatted like fifteen-year-olds at a concert—all at once and a hundred decibels louder than necessary.

The light changed, and the driver made the turn carefully, probably thinking I was a tourist getting an eyeful. The sharp-cornered, tidily mortared stones rose up as high as perhaps an eight-story building, to look massive and permanent compared to the low shops that surrounded it. The cathedral sat tight to the curb on two sides, shading the street. There were shade-loving plants tucked into the moist shelter of the flying buttresses. Expansive stained-glass windows were everywhere, shadowed and dull from the outside.

I squinted as I took it all in, surprised at the lack of welcome that I found in my church. It was like visiting your great-aunt who disapproved of dogs, loud music, and cookies before dinner; she was still family, but you had to be on your best behavior and you never felt at ease.

After a quick scan of the side of the cathedral, I dug in my bag for my cell phone and tried to call Ivy again. Still no answer. Kisten wasn't answering either, and there had been no response when I called Piscary's earlier today. I'd be worried, but that it wasn't unusual. They didn't open until five, and no one manned the phone when they were closed.

The back of the cathedral was narrow walled garden and cracked parking lot. At the corner I set my phone to vibrate and tucked it into my front jeans pocket, where I would know if it rang. More parking was on the third side, empty but for a dusty late-model black Saturn in the shade and a basketball court, the hoop bolted onto a light pole at NBA regulation height. Across the way was another, much taller one. Mixing species on the court wasn't a good idea.

I braced myself when the cabbie pulled up, running his left wheel over the low curb of the one-way street. Shoving the car into park, he started messing with a clipboard. "You want me to wait?" he asked, glancing at the dingy storefront across the street.