A prickling at the back of my neck pulled my attention to Quen. His eyebrows were high in question, and I looked away before he decided to come over. Arms clasped about myself, I headed for a back table where I could sit out the rest of the evening. Jenks landed on my earring in a gliding slide of gold sparkles, his almost nonexistent weight comforting and familiar. "You told him about Ceri?" he asked.

I nodded as the music ended, the singer's voice rising beautiful and alone.

Jenks's wings fanned my neck. "What did he say?"

Sighing, I sat down and started fiddling with the sugar packets. "Nothing."

Twenty-four

My feet hurt, and as I walked the last few blocks from the bus stop to my church, I paused to lean against a maple to take my flats off. A car whizzed by going way too fast, and I scowled at it, listening to the breaks squeal as it turned the corner. Jenks yelped in surprise from my shoulder when I bent at the waist to remove my shoes, darting off in a clatter of wings.

"Hey!" he snapped, the pixy dust sifting from him. "How about some warning, witch!"

I glanced up. "Sorry," I said wearily. "You were so quiet I forgot you were there."

His wing noise dulled, and he returned to my shoulder. "That's because I was asleep," he admitted.

My shoes hooked over two fingers, I straightened. The party had broken up early so all good elves could get home for their midnight siesta. Pixies kept to the same clock—sleeping four hours around midnight and four again at noon. No wonder Jenks was tired.

The cracked sidewalk was warm against the soles of my feet, and we made our way in the streetlight-lit darkness toward the cheerful glow of the bulb illuminating the Vampiric Charms sign above the door. In the distance a siren wailed. The full moon wasn't due for a few days, but the streets had been busy, even here in the Hollows.

Not that I'd been listening, but the gossip I caught on the bus was that The Warehouse on Vine had caught fire again. The route home hadn't taken us anywhere near it, but the number of I.S. cruisers I'd seen had been astounding. The few people on the bus had looked afraid, for lack of a better word, yet my thoughts were too full of my own troubles to strike up a conversation, and Jenks, apparently, had been asleep.

My feet were silent on the steps, and I yanked open the door, my gaze darting to the coat hooks in the hopes of seeing something of Ivy's hanging there. Nothing.

Jenks sighed from my shoulder.

"I'm calling her right now," I said, dropping my shoes by the door and swinging my shoulder bag around.

"Rache." The pixy left me to hover where he could see my face. "It's been a full day."

"That's why I'm calling her." The connection went through as I wandered into the sanctuary, flicking on lights as I headed for the kitchen. Guilt whispered at me. She couldn't have found out about Kisten and me, and even then I think she would have yelled at me before she left. I think.

The sound of crickets joined the hum of Jenks's dragonfly-like wings as I thunked on the kitchen light, squinting until my eyes adjusted to the glare. Ivy's missing computer was depressing, and I dropped my bag on the table to try to make it look less empty. My cell phone rang until Ivy's phone told me it was going to voice mail, and I disconnected before I got charged for the call.

I closed the top with a dull snap. Jenks was sitting atop his brine shrimp, feet moving slightly as his wings hung still from worry. "If it's not one of you, it's the other," he said sourly.

"Hey, I'm not the one who left last winter," I said, padding to the fridge for one of Ivy's bottled waters.

"You really want to bring that up?" he snarled, and I shook my head, feeling guilty.

"Maybe she's with Kisten," I said, cracking the plastic top and taking a swig. I wasn't thirsty, but it made me feel better, as if Ivy might come storming in demanding to know what I was doing drinking her water.

Jenks rose into the air, slowly unfolding to stand on the lid of his brine shrimp. "Let me know if you hear something. I'm calling it a night. Jhan is in charge if something comes up. If you need me, let him know."

My eyes widened. He had his kid playing sentry? "Jenks?" I questioned, and he turned from the screen, hovering by the pixy hole.

His shoulders lifted and dropped. "I'm going to spend some time with Matalina," he said, and I worked hard to keep from smiling.

"Okay," I said. "You want tomorrow off?"

He shook his head, then vaulted through the hole in the screen. I stepped to the window, leaning over the sink to watch him trail a green shimmer of dust to the stump in the garden. Then he was gone. I was alone. My eyes drifted to the cake Ivy had made for me, still unfrosted. I'd had put foil on it this afternoon so it wouldn't dry out.

God, this stinks.

Refusing to let this become a pity party, I yanked one of my spell books out from the shelf and headed into the sanctuary with my water and the tub of frosting. I wasn't hungry, but I needed something to do. I'd watch local TV, since the cable wouldn't stretch out here, pretend to do some research, then go to bed early. Jeez, some birthday this had been.

Is it my fault Ivy's gone? I thought as I shuffled into the sanctuary. Damn it, why did I let my emotions make my decisions? No one had forced me to bite Kisten. I could have given him the caps back. But Ivy had no right to be upset. He was my boyfriend! Besides, she had said her kiss was a taste so I could decide what I wanted. Well, I was trying to decide, and Kisten figured into that.

Depressed, I flopped into Ivy's cushy suede chair. Vampire incense puffed up, and I breathed it deeply, looking for solace. Far off, I heard the bang of a transformer go, and I waited for the lights to blink out. They stayed lit, happy for me but sad for the squirrel that had just bit the big one, thanks to a zillion volts of electricity. I opened my spell book and snatched up the remote. It was almost midnight. The news probably had something now about the fire.

The TV brightened, and as the commercials blared and I ate a spoonful of frosting, I called Kisten. Nothing. Pizza Piscary's was next, and I listened to the recorded message of their business hours wondering why no one was answering. They must really be busy.

My head tilted, and I looked at the dark foyer. I could just grab my keys and head over there, but the presence of so many cops on the street had me worried about my suspended license.

There was another bang from outside, closer this time, and the lights flickered.

Two squirrels? I thought, then frowned. It was dark. There wouldn't be any squirrels. Maybe someone was taking potshots at the streetlights again.

Curious, I set the frosting down and went to look out a window. The thumping at the door brought me spinning around, and Ceri blew in.

"Rachel?" she exclaimed, her heart-shaped face worried. "Rachel, thank God," she said, coming forward and taking my hands. "I have to get you out of here."

"What?" I said intelligently, then looked past her when Keasley trooped in, the older black man's steps painfully quick despite his arthritis. "Ceri, what's the matter?"

Keasley bobbed his head at me, then locked and barred the door.

"Hey!" I exclaimed. "Ivy isn't in yet."

"She's not coming," the old witch said, limping forward. "Do you have a sleeping bag?"

I stared at him. "No. I lost it in the great salt-dip of '06." There was a lot I had lost during my I.S. death threat, and replacing my sleeping bag was low on the list. "And how do you know Ivy's not coming in?" I added.

Ignoring that, the old man headed down the hall and into my room.

"Hey!" I said again, then turned to Ceri when she gripped my arm. "What's the matter?"