"Well." My mom settled herself. "I was going to stay to help pick up, but it looks like there isn't much left."

I glanced at the sanctuary, nearly back to normal under the attentions of Matalina and the remnants of her brood. "No, it's okay."

She hesitated. "You're sure?" she said, her gaze flicking behind me to the rest of the church. "It's Saturday. Isn't that the day…"

I nodded. "It is, but he's still looking for a set of rooms. I have another week's reprieve."

Takata nervously ran a hand through his unruly hair, and I smiled wryly. "This is the same demon who was trying to kill you, right?" he asked. I could smell the redwood coming off of him. He wasn't happy, but he didn't feel it was his place to say anything. Smart man.

"Yup." When my mom wasn't looking I shot him a look to get him to be quiet. "He sold everything he owns to get me, so he'll treat me okay." So shut up so my mom doesn't get spastic.

My mother beamed and gave my hand a squeeze, but Takata looked horrified. "That's my girl," she said. "Always keep a few cards back."

"I will." A feeling of peace filled me as I gave her a hug good-bye. She was a cool mom. We broke, and I looked at Takata, then gave him a hug, too. God, he was tall. He seemed pleased until I tightened my grip on his shoulder, holding him while I whispered, "If you hurt my mother, I will be all over you like mist."

"I love her," he whispered back.

"That's what I'm afraid of."

My mom was frowning at me when I let go of Takata, apparently knowing I'd threatened him. But hey, that's what a kick-ass daughter was for.

Ivy sidled up to me, looking nice in her jeans and sweater. "'Bye, Mrs. Morgan. Takata," she said, clearly trying to get them out. She wasn't one for long partings. "Let me know about the security for this solstice, Takata. I can get you a good price."

Takata started edging backward. "Thanks. I will."

He took my mom's goody bag and escorted her out to the door. Matalina took advantage of the open door and corralled her kids, getting them out of the church on the excuse of taking the leftover fruit cups into their stump now that the rain had slacked off. My mother was chatting cheerfully as the door thumped shut behind them all, and I exhaled, soaking in the welcome silence.

Ivy started gathering the trash, and I pushed myself into motion. "That was fun," I said as I took a pool cue and jerked free an end of the festive banner from above the windows. It fluttered down, and I tugged to pull the other end off.

Ivy came to help me wind it up. "Your mother had her hair differently."

A soft feeling of melancholy slipped over me. "I like it. It looks better," I said.

"Younger," Ivy added, and I nodded. We were working the long banner together, folding it back and forth on the little brackets, getting closer to each other with each bend.

"I haven't made any progress in finding out who killed Kisten," she said unexpectedly. "Just eliminating people."

Startled, I let the packet go as we met in the middle. Ivy caught it with her vampire reflexes before it unfolded more than two twists and casually folded it up. "It has to be someone outside Cincy," she said, pretending ignorance at my fluster. "Piscary wouldn't give him to a lesser vampire outside of the camarilla, only a higher one. I'm going to try to get into the airline records, but whoever it was probably drove in."

"Okay. Do you need any help?"

Not meeting my eyes, Ivy dropped the packet in the bag and set it aside. "Have you given any thought to talking to Ford?"

Ford? The memory of the FIB's psychiatrist flashed through me, and I warmed. He made me nervous.

"If you could remember anything. Anything at all," Ivy was saying, sounding almost afraid. "Even a smell or sound."

Scared, I felt the inside of my lip for the small scar. The memory of someone forcing my back into a wall rose up from my past. Vampire incense and the agonizing, aching need to be bitten, to feel the icy burning of teeth in me, followed close behind—and the fear that I couldn't stop it. It wasn't a memory of Ivy, but of Kisten's killer. There was nothing to identify whom it had been, only the terror of being forced into something I desperately didn't want.

My heart was pounding, and I looked up to find Ivy at the far end of the sanctuary, her eyes black as she felt my fear and it triggered her instincts. "Sorry," I whispered, holding my breath to get my pulse to slow. Seeing her like that, I wondered how we were going to do this—live in a church together without pressing each other's buttons. That we had been doing this for over a year didn't help. It made things worse.

Ivy grabbed the leftover cake off her piano. Her motions edging into a vampiric quickness, she breezed past me and went into the hall. "Don't worry about it."

I listened to my breathing and counted to ten. Fingers slow, I gathered the bowl of jelly beans from my mom's baby-shower game and followed her. I found Ivy leaning against the sink, her expression mildly peeved. The cake was sitting forgotten on the counter.

"Don't screw this up by thinking too hard, Rachel," she said softly, her voice like silk against the rain. "The question isn't if we can do this. It's can we live with ourselves if we don't try." She looked up, her eyes a steady brown, but there was a hint of hurt in them. "Don't apologize every time you feel something and accidentally jerk me around. It makes me feel like you've done something wrong. You haven't. You're just being you. Let me take my share of the responsibility. Just give me time to collect myself. Okay? And maybe start wearing your perfume again."

I blinked, shocked that she was actually talking to me instead of running away. "Okay. Yeah. Sure. Um, sorry."

She snorted at that, and clearly wanting to drop it, she found the tinfoil and started wrapping up the leftover cake. It seemed different now, as we silently went about the business of cleaning up the kitchen, both of us not quite walking on eggshells, but peaceful almost, knowing nothing was ever going to happen between us and we could just concentrate on getting along. But when things loosened up into a casual comfort was when I usually had the most trouble with relationships. Sighing, I turned at the sound of pixy wings in the hall.

"Hey, I think Al's here," Jenks said as he hovered between us, and a spike of fear slid through me and was gone. Ivy took a slow breath, but she was smiling as her softly dilating pupils met mine.

"I can't see him, but the air got about three degrees colder in that ley line," Jenks added, then hesitated, his expression going wary when he noticed we were a careful eight feet apart. "Did I interrupt something?" he asked warily.

"No," I blurted. What is Al doing here? I thought I had tonight off. "Is it still raining?"

Ever the observant pain-in-the-ass, Jenks flew a circle around Ivy. "Are you sure?" he persisted, laughing. "'Cause it looks like—"

"No," I reiterated as I started for the back door, anticipation of the unknown running through me. Who would have thought I'd ever go into the ever-after willingly. "Ivy and I were discussing how I need to go talk to Ford. See if I can remember anything new."

Ivy was right behind me with Mr. Fish. I opened the door to find the rain had settled into a fine mist. I glanced at the Betta, then her. "Uh, Ivy?"

"Take your fish," she said, eyes low as she shoved it at me. "Use him like a canary. If he can handle the toxicity of the ever-after, then you can."

Knowing it would be easier to just accept the fish than argue, I took him. A sneeze ripped through me, and I almost spilled the bowl. "I'm coming!" I shouted, knowing Al was trying to hurry me up. Like the weather wasn't enough of a goad?

Jenks was tight by my ear as I waved one finger at the empty-seeming garden. I couldn't see Al without bringing up my second sight, but he could probably see me. "So you want me to make an appointment for you with Ford?" Jenks asked uncertainly.