He laughed bitterly, as if he had caught me in a lie. "She?" he mocked. "Female demons can't cross the lines."

"Can't, or won't?"

That made him pause, his expression taking on a hint of respect. Then he shook his head and his expression became hard. "Demon practitioners have a life expectancy of months, Ms. Morgan. I suggest you change your profession. Before your state-of-aliveness does it for you."

Dr. Williams took a step down, and I shot after him, "I don't deal in demons. She showed up on her own."

"That's my point." His feet were on the sidewalk, and he stopped and turned. "I'm very sorry, Ms. Tamwood, Jenks…" His gaze lifted to me. "… Ms. Morgan, but this is outside my current abilities. If the ground hadn't been cursed, there would be no problem, but as it is… ?" Shaking his head again, he headed for his van.

I shifted my garment bags to my other arm. "What if we got the ground cleaned?"

He stopped at the back of his van to open it and set his toolbox in it. He slammed it shut, his purple ribbon still in his grip. "It would be cheaper to move the bodies out of the cemetery and build a new church on hallowed ground." He hesitated, his attention flitting to the copper sign above the church door, proudly stating VAMPIRIC CHARMS. "I'm sorry. But you should count yourself lucky you even survived."

Shoes scuffing the pavement, he disappeared around the side of the van. The sound of his driver's-side door shutting seemed loud in the quiet street, drawing attention to the tinkling of an ice cream truck. As his van drove away, Ivy sat on the second step down. Saying nothing, I sat beside her, draping the bags over my knees. After a moment of hesitation, Jenks landed on my shoulder. Together we watched the ice cream truck trundle closer, its merry tune sounding especially irritating.

In an eyeball-hurting, shrill cloud, Jenks's kids flocked over to it, diving in and out of the man's windows until he stopped. He had been coming down here every day since the first of July to sell a two-dollar snow cone to a family of pixies.

Jenks's wings shifted my hair in the breeze as he lifted off. "Hey, Ivy," he said confidently, "can you float me a couple of bucks? "

It was an old pattern by now, and, shoulders hunched, she got to her feet. Grumbling under her breath, she slipped into the church for her purse.

I knew I should be worried about the church and sleeping on blasphemed ground, but I was ticked about working for Trent for no reason-seeing as we couldn't resanctify the church. And on my birthday, too.

While Jenks yelled at his kids to decide on a flavor and get it over with, I dug my phone out of my bag and hit the speed dial. I had to call Kisten.

The sound of heavy plastic was soothing as I hung up my new outfit beside my two bridesmaid dresses on the back of my closet door. The black plastic with the Poison Heart logo looked garish next to the silk: garment bags, and I touched their smoothness just to prove that someone had actually spent money on something so extravagant.

Shaking my head, I ripped the plastic off my new purchase, wadded it up, and tossed it into a corner, where it slowly unfurled, the sound of it clear in the silence that held the church. I had just come from the mall by way of the bus, and I was eager to show somebody what I'd bought for Trent's wedding rehearsal and dinner, but Ivy was out and Jenks was in the garden. The Poison Heart was an exclusive shop, and I had thoroughly enjoyed my afternoon of guilt-free shopping. I needed this outfit for my run. It was tax-deductible.

The night was humid. My chemise was sticking to me, and since our central-air funds had become our resanctify-the-grounds funds, it looked as if the most we'd be doing this year would be a window unit somewhere. All the windows were open, and the shush of an occasional passing car mixed comfortably with the sound of Jenks's kids playing June-bug croquet.

It was as bad as it sounded, and Ivy and I had spent a hilarious evening last week watching his kids divide into two teams and, by the light of the porch lamp, take turns whacking the hapless beetles to very fat toads. The team whose toad hopped away first—stuffed to the gills—won.

My smile widened at the memory, and I brushed nonexistent lint from the snappy short black jacket, the beads sewn into it glinting in the overhead light. Smile fading, I looked the outfit over again—now that I was free of the clerk's enthusiasm. Maybe the beads were a little over the top, but they went well with the glitter on the stockings. And the shortness of the hip-hugger skirt was offset by its subdued black. It had come with a nice top that would show my midriff, and I had the jacket in case it got cold.

Shuffling in my closet, I pulled out a pair of flat sandals I could run in. Ellasbeth wouldn't be wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Why should I slum it to make her look good?

I dropped the sandals and stepped back in thought. Some jewelry would finish it nicely, but Ivy could help me with that.

"Hey, Jenks!" I shouted, knowing if he didn't hear me, his kids would and go get him. "Come and see what I bought!"

Almost immediately there was a clatter of wings at my window. I had sewn up the pixy hole in the screen a few days previous, and I stifled my smile when Jenks ran into it.

"Hey!" he shouted, hovering with his hands on his hips and a soft glow of gold sifting from him. "What the hell is this? "

"A little privacy," I said, fluffing the lace about the skirt's hem. "Use the door. That's what it's for."

"You know what?" he snarled. "I oughta— Oh, for the love of Tink!"

I turned at his wonderstruck tone, but he was gone. In an instant he was in the hall, laughing as he drifted backward. "Is that it?" he said. "Is that the dress you bought to wear to Trent's wedding rehearsal and dinner? Damn, woman, you need some serious help."

Following his gaze, I looked at my outfit. "What?" I said, warming. My nose tickled, and I muffled a sneeze, the heat and humidity starting to get to me.

Jenks was still laughing. "It's a dinner, Rache. Not a dance club!"

Worried, I touched the jacket's sleeve. "You think it's too much?" I asked, working hard to keep my tone noncombative. I'd had this conversation with ex-roommates before.

Jenks landed on the hanger. "Not if you're going to play the part of the town whore."

"You know what?" I said, starting to get ticked. "Being sexy doesn't come naturally, and sometimes, you have to go out on a limb."

"Limb?" he choked. "Rache, if that's the way you dress for a wedding rehearsal, it's no wonder you spent high school fighting off bad boyfriends. Image, girl! It's all about image! Who do you want to be?"

I went to flick him away, and he darted to the ceiling, a trail of silver dust drifting down like a ribbon of thought he'd left behind. At the window a cluster of his kids were giggling. Flustered, I closed my curtains. Rex, drawn by the sound of Jenks's voice, padded in from who knew where, settling herself in my threshold with her tail curled about her feet and her eyes on Jenks. The pixy had landed on Nick's file, now shoved in among my perfume bottles, and I hoped the idiotic cat wouldn't jump up there after him. I felt a slow buildup of a tickle in my nose, and I scrambled for a tissue, startling Rex into skittering out to the hall when I sneezed.

Looking over my tissue, I watched Jenks's head go back and forth. "It's a nice outfit," I protested. "And I didn't buy it for Trent, I bought it for my birthday date with Kisten." I touched the beaded sleeve again, feeling melancholy. So I liked to dress up. So what? But maybe… maybe my image could use a little more class and a little less party girl.

Snorting, Jenks gave me a long, knowing look. "Sure you did, Rache."