Alone, I snatched up the scrying mirror and my bag of cookies. I wasn't looking forward to wearing someone else's aura. I'd rather just suffer the pain. Head down, I trudged through the snow, wincing when I felt the icy warmth of the line take me. Usually it was hard to feel them like this, but my aura was thin and this was my line, unused by anyone else, as it was rather small and surrounded by the dead. People were superstitious.

Finding my footprints from last week, I went a few steps beyond and set the cookies and mirror on a nearby tombstone. "Thanks, Beatrice," I whispered, reading the stone marker. Wrapping my arms around myself, I stared at the night and tried to stay warm. It was sort of like waiting at the bus stop, and I found myself falling into blank-stare mode. With a wry smile, I carefully unfocused my attention—slowly, until I knew it wouldn't hurt—to bring up my second sight, hoping to spot Al before he popped in to scare the crap out of me.

The red ribbon of power was suddenly around me, looking like an aurora borealis as it swelled and ebbed, always there, always fluctuating, running off to who knew where. Surrounding it was a broken landscape of stunted scrub and cold rock. Everything had a red sheen to it now except for the moon and the grave markers, and though the moon looked its normal silver now, when I crossed over to the ever-after, it would be an ugly shade of red. Not that we'd stay on the surface long.

I shivered, not liking it when my hair started to move in the wind from the ever-after. There was no snow, but I'd be willing to bet it was colder there. "Any time, Al," I called, then leaned against Beatrice's tombstone. He was going to make me wait. Son of a bastard.

"Ah, mistress witch," a faintly familiar voice sighed. "You're as smart as a steel trap, but I opine you won't keep body and soul together much longer. Nohow can I fix it if you maintain your course."

I spun around, going warm when I saw Al behind me, casually leaning against a tombstone with one booted foot cocked on a toe. He had made himself look like Pierce, and face hot, I gritted my teeth. But then I realized that Al didn't know about Pierce, wouldn't know to look for him in my thoughts, and wouldn't know what the man called me, or the curious accent he had—a mix of rough street talk and pre-Turn English.

Shocked, I stared at the ghost, dressed in an old-style three-piece suit and the memory of the long coat that had once belonged to my brother. He was clean shaven this time, and had a funny-looking hat on his head. Realizing I was looking at him, he jerked himself upright, his eyes wide in the moonlight. "Pierce?" I said, unsure. "Is that you?"

The small man's jaw dropped and he took his hat off as he stepped from the stone. There were no footprints behind him. "It must be the line," he whispered in wonder. "We're both in the line, and you're communing with it…using your second sight, aren't you?" His entire face brightened in the light from the back porch. "You don't do that very often, stand in a line."

I couldn't move, not believing it. "My dad told me not to because you never know what you'll see," I said lightly. I felt unreal, dizzy.

He shrugged, and delight filled me on a quick intake of breath. I crossed the space between us only to jerk to a stop, smile fading. It had to be a joke. It had to be one of Al's perverted jokes. "What's the word to open my dad's locket?" I asked cautiously.

Pierce leaned forward, and when his breath was cold, not warm, as Al's would be, I felt a surge of hope. "Lily white," he whispered, touching his nose, and elated, I reached out a gloved finger and jabbed his shoulder. It hit him, and he rocked back.

"Pierce!" I exclaimed, giving him a fierce hug that made him grunt in surprise. "My God, I can touch you." Then I let him go to give his shoulder a smack. "Why didn't you do this before? Stand in a line, I mean! I'm here every week. I was going to try to stir that spell again, but now I don't have to! Damn, it's good to see you!"

The small man searched my face, grinning as the scent of coal dust, shoe polish, and redwood seeped into me. "I've been in a line when you were," he said. "I abide here most times you leave to fulfill your bargain with the demon, and I abide here when you return."

"You've been spying on me?" I asked, blushing when I remembered I'd called Pierce sexy not five minutes ago in the kitchen. Jenks's claim that he was going to sell our secrets was ridiculous, but there had been plenty going on in the church that I wouldn't want my mom to know, much less an almost stranger from the nineteenth century.

"Spying?" Pierce said, looking affronted as he put his hat back on. "No. I've been in the belfry most times. Apart from when the TV was spelled. That's a powerful fine magic there." His expression shifted to one of a satisfied appreciation as he took me in, running his eyes from my hair to my feet. "You've grown into a damned fine young woman, mistress witch."

"Well, it's good to see you, too." My eyebrows rose as I pulled my hand from his, sure now that he had been in the kitchen before I'd come out here. I went over in my mind what I'd said, deciding there'd been nothing I wouldn't want him to hear and a lot he probably ought to know—apart from me telling Jenks to get bent, perhaps. Smiling deviously, I rocked back on my heels to intentionally catch my balance a few inches back, a subtle reminder that I wasn't that eighteen-year-old-girl anymore. Trouble was, I think he was glad of it.

Sure enough, his own smile deepened as he recognized me distancing myself. Gaze intent, he inclined his head. The porch light caught his eyes, and they glinted, lingering on my face, making me wonder if I had chocolate chip cookie dough on my chin.

"Land sakes, how could you have gotten so deep so fast," he said, his brow furrowing as he shook his head in dismay and changed the subject. "Beholden to a demon? You were so innocent when I left you."

His cool fingers tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and a shiver struck me when I took his hand out of my curls and he gripped my fingers. "Um…," I murmured, then remembered what I was going to say. "I had to save Trent. I promised him I'd get him home safely. I still have my soul. Al doesn't own me."

The slamming of the back door jerked me around, but it was only Bis. His frightening, batlike silhouette lurched closer, moving heavily from the bag he was carrying. I took a breath to ask him to get Ivy, and Pierce touched my chin, turning me to him.

"Al will be back to fetch you soon," he said, his expression taking on a sudden urgency. "I beg you to be of a mind to find me when your lesson is done. I'll allow we can talk now, and that's enough. Drawing upon a coven for power to give me a body for a night isn't worth the agony until I find a way to be whole again. Just promise me you won't tell your demon about me. Don't ask for his help. I can fix this on my own hook."

Bis landed heavily atop my canvas bag, his skin black and cold and his eyes widening as he saw Pierce. He doesn't want me to ask Al about him? I thought. When there might be a charm or spell that could bring him back to life? Jenks saying he was spying for secrets rose in my mind, and my smile faded. People don't ask you to do things unless they have a reason.

Seeing me hesitate, Pierce frowned, looking between me and the startled gargoyle. "It's but a small thing, Rachel. I'm of a mind to tell you why, just not directly."

"You can be of a mind to tell me now," I said, starting to warm.

My ears popped, and I gasped as Al was suddenly behind Pierce, eyes glowing and white-gloved hand reaching out. Pierce dove for the far edge of the line, but it was too late.

"Rachel, look out!" Bis shouted, and I stumbled backward, falling over my bag, my elbow hitting the cookies. There was a whoosh of air as Bis became airborne, and I looked up at the hiss of the gargoyle, hovering between me and Al. Al's elegantly coated arm was wrapped around Pierce's neck, tightening until his feet dangled. His face went red as he struggled.