Movements slow and depressed, I styled my shorter hair up into a spare, businesslike bun. I put my makeup on heavy, using a base that was too dark, and so having to give my hands and neck a good layer as well. It covered my freckles, though, and with an unhappy feeling, I twisted my wooden pinky ring off; the charm was broken. With the darker makeup and the brown contact lenses, I looked different, but the clothes really turned the trick. And as I stood before my mirror and looked at myself in my dull boring suit and a dull boring hairstyle, and a dull boring look on my face, I didn’t think even my mother would recognize me.

I dabbed a drop of Ivy’s expensive perfume on me—the one that hid my scent—then followed it up with a splash of a musky perfume Jenks once said smelled like the underside of a log: earthy and rich. Clipping Ivy’s phone onto my waist, I went into the hall, my heels making an unusual amount of noise. The soft sound of Ivy and David in conversation pulled me into the sanctuary, where I found them at her piano. I really wished Jenks were with us. It was more than needing him for reconnaissance and camera detail. I missed him.

David and Ivy looked up at the sound of my feet. Ivy’s mouth dropped open. “Bite me and slight me,” she said. “That is the most god-awful thing I think I’ve seen you wear. You actually look respectable.”

I smiled weakly. “Thanks.” I stood there gripping my hands in a fig-leaf posture as David ran his gaze over me, the slight easing of his brow the only sign of his approval. Turning away, he tossed his papers into his briefcase and snapped it shut. Mrs. Aver had left hers behind, and I picked it up when David indicated I should. “You’ll bring my spells?” I asked Ivy.

She sighed, turning her gaze to the ceiling. “Kisten is on his way over. I’ll go over it with him one more time, then we lock up the church and leave. I’ll give you a ping when we’re in place.” She looked at me. “You do have my spare phone?”

“Ah…” I touched it on my waist. “Yes.”

“Good. Go,” she said as she turned and walked away. “Before I do something stupid like give you a hug.”

Depressed and unsure, I headed out. David was behind me, his pace silent but his presence obvious by the faint scent of fern. “Sunglasses,” he murmured when I reached for the door handle, and I paused to put them on. I pushed the door open, squinting from the late sun as I picked my way through the sympathy offerings ranging from professional flower arrangements to crayon-bright pages torn from coloring books. It was cold, the crisp air refreshing.