My back was to the wall as I sat at the same table where I’d once had a conversation with a spoiled brat of a banshee and her husband the serial killer. Outside, my mom’s big blue Buick shone in the bright spring sun. Yes, we should have parked it somewhere else, but to be honest, when I spotted Junior’s I had all but screamed for Pierce to stop the car. He wasn’t a good driver, unable to get his feet to work the brake and gas with any precision. I think I’d bruised his ego. He’d been somewhat cold since. Sor-r-r-r-r-ry.

I rubbed at my aching neck and smiled as I recalled his red-faced, benign cussing about jo-fired fife curs and strumpets. Gaze rising, I looked at the register where he was counting out exact change for our drinks, looking appalled by the cost. Mark was waiting impatiently, and our coffee was done and sitting at the pickup counter before the till was shut.

A sigh sifted through me, not all of it from my fatigue. Pierce looked charming in his vest, long duster, and hat, his softly waving hair almost to his shoulders. It made him look like a young Were as yet free of responsibilities. Tucking the folded receipt away, he went to get our drinks with the smooth grace of a vampire. Drinks in hand, he moved slowly, not trusting the plastic tops to keep them from spilling as he wove between the tables busy with noon customers—both breakfasting Inderlanders and lunching humans—avoiding all with the awareness of self that most witches have. It was strange watching Pierce. He was a quick study and had been among the living again long enough to pick up most things, but it was obvious he had trouble with some of the smaller stuff, like how to open a package of gum.

“Rachel,” he said softly, eyes darting to mine before he placed a tall cup before me and sat at my elbow so that he could see the door as well. He looked confident but wary of the surrounding people. Furtive, maybe, as he tossed his hair from his eyes. He smelled good, too, a mix of redwood and clean hair. And he used black magic as if it were a breath mint.

“Thanks, Pierce.” Gaze dropping, I took the lid off so I wouldn’t have to taste plastic with my coffee. My eyes closed in bliss when the shot of caffeine laced with raspberry slipped down. “Oh, that’s good,” I breathed, eyes opening to see him smiling. “You remembered.”

“Grande latte, double espresso, Italian blend, light on the froth, heavy on the cinnamon, with a shot of raspberry in it.” Tilting his head, he added, “I’m not accustomed to seeing you graced with wrinkles. It takes a body a moment.”