“Ah, right.” Jenks’s wings clattered as he rose up. “Hey, there’s a couple of assassins on the far side of the graveyard. You want to share with the class?”
“Those are for me.” Pike cleared his throat. “Probably.”
“You?” Jenks hovered, stock-still as I hesitantly pulled in behind my car in a start-and-stop motion that made Trent’s head shift back and forth. “You want me to run ’em off, Rache?”
I nodded, and Pike made a scoffing sound. “Sure, you do that, little man,” he said, and both Jenks and I frowned.
“Hang on,” Jenks said when I jerked forward another two inches. “I’ll spot you.”
“Yes, please do,” Trent muttered, his hand braced on the dash.
Wings rasping, Jenks darted out the window to hover high over the front bumper. “I don’t want to hit my car,” I said, creeping forward until Jenks’s dust flashed red.
Trent sighed as I put his car in park and, grinning, I turned the car off and handed him the keys. Jenks gave me a salute and darted over the garden wall. Three seconds later, he rose up with four more pixies, all of them headed to the far corner of the graveyard.
Little man, I thought, frowning at Pike as Trent got out and stretched. If I had a dollar for every time Jenks had saved my life, I could probably buy Constance off. “Are you good to walk?” I asked Pike, groaning as he tried to shift his feet out from under the seat.
“Yep.”
“I really wish you would convince Constance to meet with me,” I said, tracking Trent as he went around the back of the car to get to Pike’s door. His shoulders were hunched, and his pace looked weary in the new morning.
“You’d rather have her kill you than me?” Pike said, and I turned sideways to face him, making no move to get out of the car. “Ahh, maybe later,” he amended with a faint smirk. “I’m still assessing your possible threat.”
“I thought it was my possible compliance you were evaluating. Are you seriously still considering trying to kill me? In my own church? After I saved your life twice?”
“Why not? I saved yours.” Pike turned as Trent opened his door, a hand at his middle as he swung his long legs out and put his salt-stained dress shoes on the cracked cement. He hesitated when Trent held out a hand to help him up, finally taking it and rising to a pained stiffness.
Tired, I got out and carefully shut the door with a thump. Okay, I was home and surrounded by my friends and . . . refugees, but Pike remained a threat. The tingling running through me was from his vampire pheromones, not the ley line I had rested a light thought in. Him finding a way to make me compliant was a real possibility—if I hadn’t had three years of practice saying no to Ivy.
A delicious shudder ran through me, and I frowned. “You got him okay?” I said, arms over my middle as Trent and Pike headed slowly to the sidewalk. People had noticed Pike, and an angry whispering was rising.
Chin high, I strode to the church, my toes cold in my still-damp boots. The smoke from the graveyard was nice—as was the sound of the piano coming from the open windows. My steps bobbled and I continued forward, a small smile beginning. The plywood at the windows was gone, and the stained glass was open to let in the morning air.
“And a banister,” I said, feeling its smoothness as I went up the stairs.
But I stopped still, breath catching when I saw that someone had not only polished the plaque over the door, but engraved my pack’s dandelion tattoo in the corner.
Blinking fast, I pulled the door open.
The smell of new paint rolled out with the sound of the piano. Jenks had said that the refugees were supplying the labor, but we still needed to pay Finley, and this? This was a lot.
“You got the stairs?” Trent asked Pike, and I went inside, a smile finding me.
Despite the chaos of people outside, the mess I’d left the sanctuary in was showing signs of order. Unfamiliar people in jeans and tees were moving sheets of wallboard to the back of the church. A woman with a broom was sweeping up behind them. The cots were gone, and with them, the tired people sleeping in them. A beautiful circle of inlaid wood made the patched hole in the floor look intentional. The makeshift kitchen remained, bigger now with an additional folding table. Kisten’s pool table was still covered with snacks, but at least it had a red-and-white-checkered cloth on it now. A faded, unfamiliar couch sat across from Ivy’s old one, and that and a small ring of chairs gave people a place to eat. Most, though, seemed to be taking their plates of eggs, chili, and bacon outside.
People I didn’t know were smiling at me, and it was noisy. The sounds of hammering and a nail gun came from the back, luring me. A real deck? I wondered, remembering the plethora of cinder blocks. That would be a great selling point.
Immediately my mood crashed. I had to talk to Jenks. I didn’t want to leave anymore.
“Is that chili?” Pike said. “For breakfast? You mind if . . .”
“Don’t ask me,” I said sourly. “I didn’t make it.”
Pike limped over to the table. Hand outstretched, he smiled a toothy grin at the woman, but when she realized who he was, she dumped the bowl back in the pot and walked away. Undeterred, he scooped a portion out for himself before using his foot to open the cooler under the table and painfully taking a pint of apple juice from it. Food in hand, he started for the couch. Seeing him coming, everyone picked up their plates and left. The woman playing the piano quit, and they all walked out.
“Ah, this looks great,” Pike said as he gingerly sat down, exhaling in relief.
“Better than a skunk for clearing a room,” I muttered.
“My secret power,” Pike shot back, completely unbothered.
Trent gave me a sideways hug, the lingering scent of vampire making a curious mix. “Do you want some breakfast?” he asked, expression hopeful.
I shook my head. “Help yourself.” I’d snagged a doughnut at the airport. It was enough.
Trent indeed went to help himself. Chili in one hand, the entire, huge serving bowl of crackers in the other, he pointedly sat right next to Pike. The vampire looked at the empty couch across from him and chuckled, clearly recognizing Trent’s protective stance even as he continued to tuck in.
I didn’t blame Trent. Though the assassins were real, all Pike had to do was call in Constance’s people to fetch him—if he was willing to cause a bloodbath at 1597 Oak Staff Street. No, he was finding it far more useful to linger, either to kill me or, more likely, to gather information.
But then Pike seemed to choke, staring at the bowl as if in horror. “My God! Someone put chocolate in it!”
Chin high, Trent crushed a handful of crackers into his bowl. Somehow he made the simple act into a threat, and after a moment, Pike began eating again. He was clearly not enjoying it but just as obvious was his need to eat whatever Trent could stomach.