Snorting, Keasley propped the folding chair against the wall and shuffled over the threshold. Past him, the street was quiet and damp with dew. “You’ve already helped her. You gave her a choice besides Piscary.”

I dropped my eyes. It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. I couldn’t protect her against the undead. I couldn’t protect myself—thinking I could protect her was ludicrous.

Keasley paused in the threshold. “I’ll be honest with you,” he said. “I don’t like the idea of same-sex relationships. It doesn’t seem right to me, and I’m too old to start thinking different. But I do know you’re happy here. From what Jenks tells me, Ivy is, too. Which makes it hard for me to think you’re making a mistake or that it’s wrong. Whatever you do.”

If I knew the charm to curl up and die, I would have used it. As it was, I watched my feet and moved forward to stand in the gate. Sort of like what I was doing in my life.

“Are you going after Piscary?” he asked suddenly.

Warm under my blanket, I jiggled on my feet. “I want to.”

“Smart decisions, Rachel,” he said with a sigh. “Make smart decisions.”

Restlessness filled me as he headed to his tired-looking house a few homes up the street. “Keasley, tell Ceri I’m sorry for pushing her down,” I called after him.

He raised a hand to acknowledge me. “I will.”

Jenks dropped from the tree overhead to land atop the gate, making me think he’d been eavesdropping again. I glanced at him, then yelled to Keasley, “Can I come over later?”

Pausing at the curb to let the minivan belonging to the only human family on the street pass, Keasley smiled to show coffee-stained teeth. “I’ll make lunch. Tuna sandwiches okay?”

The minivan beeped, and Keasley returned the driver’s wave. I couldn’t help my smile. The elderly witch carefully stepped off the curb and started home, head up and eyes scanning.

Jenks rose when the gate thumped shut, and with the splat gun rattling against the radio, I made for the back door. “And where were you when Keasley downed me?” I asked Jenks tartly.

“Right behind him, stupid. Who do you think told him what you stocked your splat gun with?”

There wasn’t much I could say to that. “Sorry.” I took the porch steps, juggling everything in my arms to manage the door. Jenks darted in to do a quick run-through of the premises, and, remembering him in his robe last night, I hollered, “Is Matalina okay?”

“She’s fine,” he said, swooping back in.