The breath in me turned inside out, and I reached for something, anything. Dizziness roared in, and I was already mumbling, “I take the smut, I take it,” before even the hint of it could lay me out. Unlike an earth charm that changed a person, a demon curse didn’t hurt—unless you refused the smut. My vision swam in a nauseating swirl, and I took another breath, my lungs starved for air as they formed, empty and slack.

“You okay?” Ivy asked, close and worried.

Blinking, I found she was holding my arm to keep me upright. Rex was at my feet, tail twitching in confusion. And I was stark naked, as hairy as an orangutan. “Oh, for God’s sake,” I muttered as I snatched my pillow and covered myself. Eaten by a cat. Wouldn’t the coven love that?

Ivy grinned, her eyes black because of the emotions I was kicking out. “Welcome back,” she said wryly, letting me go and sauntering out my door. I heard a thump and a sigh as she leaned her head back against the wall in the hall next to my door, and when I went to shut the door—which she’d left open—Ivy put a long hand in the way. “I want to talk to you,” she said from the hall.

I hesitated, then tossed my pillow back on my bed before I yanked my top drawer open and pulled out a bright red pair of undies. Yeah. Red would be good today. Rex jumped up on my bed, chirping for attention, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch her yet. A soft bong from the belfry told me the sun was down. Bis had taken to tapping it when he woke. My thoughts drifted to having gotten my own summoning name back, and I smiled. I could lounge around in my robe, or shower, or even shave, maybe, without worrying about being jerked out. Slowly my smile faded. I was not feeling bad for Al. No freaking way.

“Can I come in yet?” Ivy asked from the hall.

I pulled a camisole over my head, red to match my underwear. “I’m not dressed.”

The click of my door closing pulled me around. “I said I’m not dressed!” I exclaimed, seeing Ivy with her back to it, her eyes a nice steady brown, but her expression grim.

“I, ah, looked Pierce up on the Internet,” she said, and my anger shifted to worry.

Oh. Avoiding her, I dug around in my top drawer for a pair of ankle socks. My feet, once cold and dirty, were clean. My scars were gone again. Apart from the hair thing, demon curses were better than a shower. I glanced at my snarled hair in the mirror over my dresser. Almost. The neurotoxins from my vampire bite were still there, and the tweaking to my mitochondria, too. My ears, too, needed piercing. Again.