“My God, Ivy,” Erica said, her high voice heavy on the valley girl accent. “You have to talk to Daddy. He’s being total Big Brother. Like, I don’t know the difference between good Brimstone and bad Brimstone? Listening to him, you’d think I was still two, crawling around in diapers trying to bite the dog. God! He was in the kitchen,” she continued, her mouth going as she eyed me up and down, “making Mom her organically grown, earth-friendly, politically correct stinking cup of tea, when I can’t go out one night with my friends. It’s so unfair! Are you staying? She’ll be up rattling the windows soon.”

“No.” Ivy drew back. “I’m here to talk to Dad. He’s in the kitchen?”

“Basement,” Erica said. Mouth finally stopping, she sent her gaze over me again as I stood in a bemused wonder at how fast she talked. “Who’s your friend?” she asked.

A faint smile curled up the corners of Ivy’s mouth. “Erica, this is Rachel.”

“Oh!” the young woman exclaimed, her brown eyes that were almost hidden behind her black mascara going wide. She stepped forward and grabbed my hand, pumping it up and down enthusiastically with her bangles jingling. “I shoulda known! Hey, I saw you at Piscary’s,” she said, giving me a whack on the shoulder that sent me forward a step. “Man, you were sugared up good. Riding the short bus. Walking with the ghost. I didn’t recognize you.” Her eyes traveled over my jeans and winter coat. “You had a date with Kisten? Did he bite you?”

I blinked, and Ivy laughed nervously. “Hardly. Rachel doesn’t let anyone bite her.” She took a step to her sister, giving her a hug. I felt good when the young woman returned it with a careless attention, apparently not knowing or caring how rarely Ivy touched anyone. The two pulled apart, and Ivy’s features stilled. She took a breath, nostrils widening.

Erica grinned like the cat who ate the canary. “Guess who I picked up at the airport?”

Ivy straightened. “Skimmer’s here.”

It was almost a whisper, and Erica all but danced back a step. “Came in on a morning flight,” she said, as proud as if she had landed the plane herself.

My eyes widened. Ivy was wire-tight. Breath catching, she spun to an archway at the sound of a door closing. A feminine voice echoed, “Erica? Is that my cab?”

“Skimmer!” Ivy took a step to the archway, then rocked back. She looked at me, more alive than I’d seen her in a long time. A small scuff at the archway pulled her attention from me. Emotion cascaded over her, and the happiness settled in to stay, telling me that Skimmer was one of the few people Ivy felt comfortable to be herself around.