I touched the rings in my pocket for reassurance as I shooed everyone out of my room and shut the door behind me. Pace fast, I headed for the sanctuary. Ivy was where I’d left her on the couch, stretched out and dangerously languorous, and I gave Nick a disparaging glance as I passed. “Don’t let him move, whatever happens, okay?” I asked Jenks, and he left my shoulder to stand on the coffee table beside Jax. The smaller, tattered pixy shied at the soft clatter of his dad landing, and I hoped that the two of them would start to talk again.

Stomach churning, I went to the door, promising myself that if I lived through this, I was finally going to get a light in the foyer.

“It’s Quen!” one of Jenks’s kids said in excitement as I undid the bolt to the front door and peeked out into the lamp-lit dark.

Relief filled me as I pushed the heavy oak door open wider in invitation. Quen was getting out of the black beamer parked at the curb, and my face warmed as I remembered him charging me with Trent’s safety. And here I was the one asking him to help me. At midnight. On a weekday. To save the world a day ahead of schedule.

His hair slicked back, Quen was wearing all black again and soft-soled shoes. My eyes fell as I remembered the first time I had seen him. He’d looked like a gardener. Perhaps that was what he’d truly like to be.

“How are the girls?” I asked, and he brought his gaze back from where he’d been saying a soft hello to the pixy bucks braving the cold to escort him in. The light on the sign over the door made creases in his face. Or maybe it was the burden of his life balancing on a fine point. It was going to fall one way or the other.

“Doing well,” he said, looking taller than usual because I was in my stocking feet. “Ellasbeth is getting to know them.” A frown crossed his features. “They’re locked in the closet until I get back. Did you have fun raiding the museum today?”

Smiling, I took his sun-weathered hand in mine as he extended it, pulling him into a hug instead. My eyes teared up as I remembered Ceri. The scent of cinnamon and warm wine filled my senses, and Quen took a quick breath to catch his grief. Anger at Nick flared, and I shoved it away. “I appreciate your help,” I said, thinking that he smelled different from Trent, dark and warm, not green and warm. I wondered if it was a mark of more maturity or just an individual trait. “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s just us. No demon assist.”