Turning, the slender woman made her unhurried way to the door, kicking off her shoes at the last moment and going barefoot out onto the icy cement steps.

“How can you stand the cold?” I heard Ivy say before the door shut behind them.

I soaked in the silence and the dusky light. Reaching over, I clicked off the desk lamp and it seemed to brighten outside. I was alone—for what was probably the first time—in my church. No roommate, no boyfriend, no pixies. Alone. My eyes closed, and I sat on the slightly raised stage and breathed. I could smell plywood over the almond scent of Ivy’s stupid cookies. A soft pressure behind my eyes reminded me I was still holding that ball of ever-after, and with a nudge of my will, I broke the three-dimensional circle in my thoughts and the energy flowed back to the line in a warm wash.

I opened my eyes and headed for the kitchen, my sock feet soundless. I wasn’t going to take a nap; I was going to make brownies as part of Ivy’s present. There was no way I could compete with thousand-dollar perfume: I had to take the handmade-goodie track.

Detouring into the living room, I searched for the remote. The smell of plywood was almost an assault, and I glanced at the window Ivy had sketched on the panel, freehanding the view of the graveyard. I clicked on the stereo and Offspring’s “Come Out and Play” spilled out. Grinning, I cranked it. “Wake the dead,” I said, tossing the remote and dancing into the kitchen.

While the bouncy music lured me into a better mood, I pulled out my dented spell pot, which I couldn’t use for spelling anymore, and the recipe book I had swiped from my mom. Thumbing through it, I found Grandma’s fudgy brownie recipe penciled in beside the gourmet recipe that tasted like cardboard. Timing my motions with the music, I got out the eggs, sugar, vanilla, and dumped them on the center island counter. I had the chocolate chips melting on the stove and the evaporated milk measured out when the air shifted and the front door slammed. The egg in my hand slipped, cracking as it hit the counter.

“Forget something, Ivy?” I shouted. Adrenaline stabbed through me as my gaze went from the broken egg to everything scattered over the kitchen. I’d never get it hidden before she made it back here. Couldn’t that woman stay away for even an hour?

But it was Kisten’s voice that answered.

Twenty-one

“It’s me, Rachel,” Kisten called, his voice faint over the music blaring from the living room. I froze, the memory of the kiss he’d given me keeping me where I stood. I must have looked like an idiot when he turned the corner and stopped in the threshold.