The sprawling cemetery was said to have been originally developed to tastefully “rehouse” cholera victims in the late 1800s. It was one of the first garden cemeteries in the United States; the undead liked their parks as much as the next person did. It had been hard to keep your newly undead relatives out of the ground back then, and being unearthed in such peaceful settings must have been a small favor. I had to wonder if the large, hidden vampire population Cincy had in those days had much to do with how the Queen City gained the dubious distinction of being known for grave robbing. It wasn’t so much that they were supplying the multitudes of teaching hospitals with cadavers but that they were pulling their relatives out of the earth and back where they belonged.

Scanning the quiet, parklike grounds, I wiped my mouth of the last of the frosting. The feel of my fingers across my lips brought Ivy to mind for obvious reasons, and I warmed. God, I should have done something, But no-o-o-o-o, I stood there like an idiot, too surprised to move. I hadn’t reacted, and now I was going to have to think about how to handle this instead of settling it right then. Stupid-ass witch.

“You okay?” Jenks asked, and I pulled my hand down.

“Peachy,” I said sourly, and he laughed.

“You’re thinking of Ivy,” he needled, and my flush deepened.

“Well, duh,” I said, stumbling on a marker set even with the ground. “You have your roommate kiss you, and you see if you can just forget it.”

“Hell,” Jenks said, flying just out of my reach with a grin on his face, “if one of you kissed me, I wouldn’t have to think. Matalina would kill me. Relax. It was only a kiss.”

I plodded over the grounds, following the sound of radios. This was just what I needed. As if an insane demon tearing apart my church weren’t enough, I now had a four-inch man telling me to lighten up, go with the flow, live life—don’t analyze it.

Jenks’s wing clatter softened, and he lit on my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Rache,” he said, his voice unusually solemn. “You’re you, and Ivy is Ivy. Nothing has changed.”

“Yeah?” I muttered, not seeing it that clearly.

“Angle to the left,” he said cheerfully. “I can smell dead Were down there.”

“That’s nice,” I answered, continuing on past a marker and cutting a soft left. Downslope and through the trees were the flashing amber and blue lights of a multispecies ambulance. I’m not too late, I thought, arms swinging as we passed a huge stone marked WEIL. Beyond a row of cedars was an artificial pond, and between that and the evergreens was a cluster of people.

“Rache,” Jenks said, his voice introspective. “You think this has anything to do with—”

“The bushes have ears,” I warned.