I truly owed Jenks a huge debt. Ivy had installed the garden years ago in the hopes of luring me to live here, which it had, but Jenks and his family had been the ones keeping it up. Whoever Ivy had contracted to put it in had done it right, and the city garden space had everything from the staples of willow and fern, yarrow and yew, to the more exotic and esoteric plants like moonflower and wolfsbane. The graveyard had the messy, wild plants like Queen Anne’s lace, chicory, plantain, and even poison ivy. I actually had a lakeside daisy growing on a limestone grave marker where no one could see it, and rue outside the gate for easy pilfering—because to be effective, rue had to be stolen. I got mine from the Cincy Botanical Garden. They kept it by the curb. Otherwise, witches might be tempted to take more than the rue.
My gaze rose to the back door as Stef came out, blinking at the bright light. “I’ve got the week off to find a place,” she said, head down and straight auburn hair swinging as she managed the chancy steps. “It might be easier to deal with this if I had work as a distraction. Otherwise it’s going to bug the hell out of me.”
Jenks rejoined me as Stef settled herself across and down a little, her eyes on the graveyard. “Rache, you mind?” the pixy said, indicating the coffee, and I opened the lid for him.
“So what’s with the pixy clan?” I said as he dipped some out into his pixy-size cup.
Jenks turned red. Stef hesitated as she noticed, the paper crackling as she opened her sandwich. “I’m letting them stay if they keep up the graveyard,” he muttered, now sitting on the edge of my cup to enjoy the warm steam. “I’m taking their patriarch, Baribas, on a tour in about an hour to tell him what plants you need in good repair. The backyard garden and the oak tree are mine, though,” he said, and I smiled at his territorial tone. Understandable when your life depended on what a small scrap of ground could produce and there was seldom enough for everyone. Evolution had made him what he was: a savage warrior poet who I trusted with my life.
“I’m proud of you, Jenks,” I said, and his wings flashed red.
“I could use the help and they don’t have anywhere to go. The entire family was turned out. You know that park over on Edison?”
“The one they bulldozed for the theater parking?” Stef said, then made a face at her cold coffee. “How come yours is still warm?” she said, and I touched the cup to make the brew steam. “Oh, wow. I don’t know anyone who can do that.”
“I can show you if you’re any good with ley lines,” I offered, and her eyes widened.
“I’m letting them stay until they find something,” Jenks grumped, clearly embarrassed.
Which might not happen, I thought. But maybe Jenks could make the situation permanent when we moved out of the church. God! Constance was screwing everything up. The Weres were unhappy as their traditional borders were squeezed. What was left of Piscary’s vampires were really unhappy as they were poised to lose whatever clout they had under Ivy and Nina. And the witches were unhappy, being the easiest group to displace as Constance’s people moved in, soaking up or taking all the good housing.
I picked at my sandwich, eating the bacon first. “I’m failing to see how Constance moving in is helping anyone,” I said. Between the pixies and Stef, the church was making good on its all-but-forgotten status as a paranormal shelter—which I thought funny since it wasn’t livable.
“Yeah.” Jenks’s dust had shifted to an almost blinding white under the caffeine. “We were handling everything fine without a city master vampire. Who needs a master vampire when you’ve got a resident demon?”
“Dali?” I said in confusion, and Stef’s eyes flicked to mine, telling me she’d heard of him. “What does he care?”
Jenks laughed himself off the rim of my cup. “I’m talking about you, witch.” He dropped down and sliced a corner of tomato off my sandwich for himself. “Cincy’s vamps heard what you did to San Francisco. They’re toeing the Tink-blasted line, baby!”
“What did you do to San Francisco?” Stef asked, her forehead pinched in worry.
Jenks opened his mouth, and I knocked the underside of the table with my knee to get him to shut up. He flew up, laughing. “Tell you later,” he said. “You. Me. Some hot chocolate.”
“Deal,” Stef said, but I didn’t like Jenks thinking that it had been me, not Ivy and Nina, keeping them in line. It had been Ivy. She knew what to do, who to talk to, what nose to break to make things right. Everything. She’d been strong-arming Cincinnati under Piscary for the last ten years or so. It had probably been easier without him mucking it up with his needs and demands. That things were copacetic while she was in DC only meant they knew she’d bust heads if they made trouble when she was gone.
But even so, it bugged the heck out of me that Constance thought she could force me out. This was my home, damn it. And as I eyed the weed-choked garden, I had an idea.
“Jenks?” I said, and he pulled his gaze back from the pixies following Rex through the graveyard at a careful four feet. “Did any of those Easter lilies under Ivy’s window survive her last ‘cleansing’?”
He snickered. “There might be a few bulblets she missed. Why?”
I took a sip of coffee, feeling it bringing me alive, back to the witch I used to be. “She tore them out because she couldn’t stand the smell, right?”
Nodding, Jenks watched the pixies. “I have yet to meet the vampire who likes lilies.” His gaze returned to me. “It reminds them of funerals.”
My head bobbed, and I wrapped up the remainder of my sandwich. “Can you show me where they are? I want to make Constance a welcome-to-Cincinnati housewarming gift.”
Stef snorted, almost choking on her coffee. “You want to give her flowers?” she said in disbelief, but Jenks was laughing.
“Tink’s contractual hell, yes!” he exclaimed. “It’s about time. Edden and I had a bet going as to how much you were going to take before you smeared her nose in a little Rachel Morgan justice.” His wing hum quickened. “I won.”
Justice. That was a good name for it. Rachel Morgan justice. Filling Constance’s quarters with the smell of lilies couldn’t be traced back to me—if I did it right—but she’d know. And maybe she’d back off a little. It was perfect. Annoyance without any actual threat. Jenks said that was one of my best skill sets.
“You’re making a spell?” Stef said, her hazel eyes wide. “Can I help? I owe her.”
I froze. She was a warlock. It would be like a five-year-old helping mommy in the kitchen, slowing things down and increasing the cleanup. But seeing her eager, not-nice smile, I changed my mind.
“Sure,” I said, and she beamed. “If you’re going to be here for a while, you should know a little magic.”