White Witch, Black Curse

"Not your personal night," Glenn said dryly. "Don't you ever look at a paper?"

Interested, I pushed off from the counter and found this morning's paper still in its little plastic bag on the table. Under it was the picture of Jenks and me standing before the Mackinaw Bridge, rescued from yesterday's burning fridge. Carefully moving the photo, I opened up the paper. "Where am I looking?" I asked, standing hunched over it.

"The front page," he said wryly.

Oh goodie. Wincing, I read, THREE IN HOSPITAL. EARLY MORNING BLACK MAGIC TO BLAME. There was a picture of ambulances in the dark, the scene lit by a car on fire. People were milling around in front of a business. From my shoulder, Jenks whistled, back from his kids.

"Uh, I was home all night," I said, thinking I was going to get blamed for this somehow. Whatever it was. "I talked to your dad about midnight. He can vouch for me." I leaned forward, recognizing the roof's outline. Aston's roller rink? "You're not working this, are you?" I asked, worried now. "Glenn, you might feel better, but your aura is still thin."

"I appreciate your concern," he said, his attention moving from the paper to the open box of cold pizza. "Hey, uh, can I have a slice of that? I'm starving."

"Sure." I squinted at the black-and-white shot as Glenn crossed the kitchen and wrangled a slice from the pizza. "Jenks, did you know about this?"

Jenks shook his head and landed on the paper, hands on his hips and his attention directed downward as he read.

"From what we've gotten from the I.S.," Glenn said around a bite of pizza, "it seems Ms. Walker ran into Ms. Harbor. Three people in intensive care with damaged auras."

"That's terrible," I said, glad I wasn't being blamed for it. "Do you need me to come down and look at the crime scene?" I asked, brightening. "It's Aston's roller rink, isn't it?"

Glenn laughed, turning it into a choke, and I kept my eyes on him—not on Ivy, suddenly standing in the doorway. She was dressed in jeans and a black sweater, looking nice, her hair brushed and wearing a little bit of makeup. "No, but thanks," he said, oblivious to Ivy.

Affronted, I sat in my chair and said, "You didn't have to laugh."

Jenks was in the air with the paper, struggling to turn it over and get to the rest of the article. "Yes, he did. You need to take a class on crime scene etiquette, Rache."

Ivy ghosted up behind Glenn as he started to take another bite, her feet soundless. "Thanks for the tomatoes, Glenn," she whispered in his ear, and the man jumped.

"Sweet mother of Jesus!" he exclaimed, spinning, his hand smacking his hip where his pistol would have been. The slice of pizza went airborne, and he scrambled to catch it. "Damn, woman," he complained as it hit the floor. "Where did you come from?"

Ivy smiled with her lips closed, but I was laughing. "My mother always said I came from heaven," she said, then delicately stepped over the pizza to reach the coffeemaker. Motions sultry, she refilled her cup and turned, standing in front of the cupboard door to the trash.

Glenn was holding the slice of pizza cradled in his big hand like it was a favorite pet—dead but still beloved. Ivy slid sideways and opened the cupboard door, and the man sighed as he threw it away. Amused, I extended the pizza box, and he brightened, taking another slice.

"So what's up?" Ivy asked as she sipped her coffee, eyeing him over the rim as if she wanted to eat him up like pie.

"Yeah, why are you here, Glenn, if you don't want me to check out that crime scene?" I asked, putting my feet up on the adjacent chair and adjusting my robe to cover my legs.

"Can't a guy bring over a get-well tomato without getting the third degree?" he said with a false innocence.

"Six freaking pounds of get-well tomatoes," Jenks muttered, and Ivy set her cup down, turning to the sink to fill a small pan to wash the red fruit. She wanted to stay and needed something to do.

"It better not be about working tonight," I said, looking askance at the paper. "I already told your dad I was not working his lame-ass party."

"No way!" Jenks darted from the paper to hover an inch before Glenn's nose. "There is no way I'm letting Rachel work with her aura that crappy. You want her facedown again? She may look all tough and shit, but her aura peels off like a banana skin."

I hadn't known that, and I wondered if it was a species thing or just me.

"Which is exactly why I'm not doing what my dad sent me to do, asking you to work that party," Glenn said as he stood unperturbed in our kitchen and mowed down his pizza crust. Wings clattering, Jenks backed down, and Glenn glanced at me. "If he calls, swear a lot and tell him I gave you a hard time, will you? He has no idea what it's like to have a compromised aura. I'm glad you're both staying in tonight."