I exhaled in relief when they pulled from the curb and accelerated down the street. “Thank God,” I muttered, then frowned. I was going to be in Trent’s wedding. Swell.

I turned to the door, and Ivy’s voice echoed out. “That’s not what your ad says!” she exclaimed, shortly followed by Jenks’s voice, too faint to understand.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” an unfamiliar masculine voice protested, becoming louder. “I don’t have the equipment or skill to fix it.”

I hesitated, hand on the latch. The man had sounded embarrassed. The door swung open, and I jumped back, stumbling to catch my balance. A young man almost walked right into me, jerking to a halt at the last moment. His clean-shaven face reddened, and the purple sash of his faith draped around his neck and flowing down his front looked funny with his jeans and the casual polo shirt embroidered with his business name. An expensive-looking cell phone was clipped to his belt, and he carried a locked toolbox.

“Excuse me,” he said in annoyance. Jiggling on his feet, he tried to get around me. I took a step to get into his way, and his eyes rose to meet mine.

Ivy was glowering behind him, Jenks hovering at head height with his wings clattering in anger. Her eyebrows went up when she saw the silk garment bags, then, catching her thought, she said dryly, “Rachel, this is Dr. Williams. He says he can’t resanctify the church. Dr. Williams, this is my partner, Rachel Morgan.”

Almost hiding his irritation, the man moved his toolbox to his left hand and extended his right. I shifted my garment bags and shook it. I felt a rise of stored ley line energy try to slip between us to equal out our balances, and I snatched the force back before it could make the jump. God, how embarrassing.

“Hi,” I said, thinking he looked cute and had a nice grip. The heady scent of redwood flowed from him, stronger than I’d winded in a long time. He was a witch, and an educated one, and when his brown eyes widened, I knew he knew I was the same. “What’s the problem?” I said, letting go of his hand. “If it’s the financing, I just took care of it. I can have cash for you by Monday next.”

It felt damn good saying that, but Jenks dropped three inches and groaned, and Ivy glanced at the garment bags in understanding. “Rachel, you didn’t…” she said, and I flushed.

“I’m working a wedding and a reception,” I said tightly. “How bad could it be?” Really bad. Really, really bad.

But Dr. Williams was squinting at his van and shaking his head. “Your financing came through fine. I simply can’t do it. I’m sorry. If you’ll excuse me…”