“That isn’t it,” he protested. Bag in hand, his tired brown eyes went worried. “I don’t know anything about her, Rachel. I can’t risk taking her in. Don’t ask me to do this.”

I leaned over the space between us, almost angry. “She has been in the ever-after the last millennium. I don’t think she’s out to kill you,” I accused, and his leathery features shifted to a startled alarm. “All she needs,” I said, flustered that I had found one of his fears, “is a normal setting where she can regain her personality. And a witch, a vampire, and a pixy living in a church running down bad guys isn’t normal.”

Jenks looked at us from Ceri’s shoulder as the woman watched her fries warm. The pixy’s face was serious; he could hear the conversation as clearly as if he was standing on the table. Ceri asked him a soft question, and he turned away, answering her cheerfully. He had chased all but Jih out of the kitchen, and it was blessedly quiet.

“Please, Keasley?” I whispered.

Jih’s ethereal voice rose in song, and Ceri’s face lit up. She joined in, her voice clear as the pixy’s, managing only three notes before she started to cry. I stared as a cloud of pixies rolled into the kitchen, almost smothering her. From the living room came an irate shout as Ivy complained that the pixies were interfering with the stereo reception again.

Jenks yelled at his kids and all but Jih flitted out. Together they consoled Ceri, Jih soft and soothing, Jenks somewhat awkwardly. Keasley slumped, and I knew he’d do it. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll try it for a few days, but if it doesn’t work, she’s coming back.”

“Fair enough,” I said, feeling a huge weight slip off my chest.

Ceri looked up, her eyes still wet. “You didn’t ask me my opinion.”

My eyes widened and my face flamed. Her hearing was as good as Ivy’s. “Um…” I stammered. “I’m sorry, Ceri. It’s not that I don’t want you to stay here—”

Heart-shaped face solemn, she nodded. “I am a stumbling stone in a fortress of soldiers,” she interrupted. “I’d be honored to stay with the retired warrior and ease his hurts.”

Retired warrior? I thought, wondering what she saw in Keasley that I didn’t. In the corner came a high-pitched argument between Jenks and his eldest daughter. The young pixy was wringing the hem of her pale green dress, her tiny feet showing as she pleaded with him.

“Now wait a moment,” Keasley said, curling the top of his paper bag down. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need anyone ‘easing my hurts.’ ”