I wedged my soaked shoes and socks off, padding into the kitchen to leave wet prints as I dropped the bucket just inside it. Continuing on, I headed to my bathroom to wash my comforter. “Ceri’s upset, huh?” I asked, fishing to find out what had happened while I was out.

“She’s crushed,” he said, landing on the raised lid as I punched buttons to get the washing machine going. “And you’re going to have to wait. The power is out. Can’t you tell?”

I hesitated, only now realizing it was eerily quiet in here, lacking the usual hum of computers, fridge fans, and everything else. “Not doing too well, am I?” I said, remembering Ceri gaping up at me, her hair in disarray and her eyes wide in shock at my having shoved her.

“Ah, we love you anyway,” Jenks said, taking flight. “The church is clear. The front door is still bolted. I’ve got some things to do in the garden, just yell if you need me.”

He lifted up, and I smiled at him. “Thanks, Jenks,” I said, and he darted out, the buzz of his wings obvious in the power-outage-silenced air.

Shoving my comforter into the washer, I started to plan out my day: shower, eat, debase myself to Ceri, call the holy guy and offer to have his baby if he would find a way to remove the blasphemy and resanctify the church, prep some spells to storm the evil-vampire fortress. Typical Saturday stuff.

Barefoot, I wandered into the kitchen. I couldn’t make coffee with the power out, but I could make tea. And by the time I changed into something dry, the water would be hot.

As I rattled around to get the kettle going, my thoughts kept returning to Piscary. I was in big trouble. I didn’t think he had forgiven me for walloping him into unconsciousness with a chair leg, and I had an ugly feeling I was still alive so he could use me to bring Ivy in line when the timing was right. Even worse was my growing belief that he and Al were working together. This all was simply too convenient.

From what Al had said, I didn’t think it was possible to summon and hold a demon in a circle if he was possessing someone. So Piscary had taken the credit for ridding Cincy of its newest Inderlander in what was probably a prearranged agreement. For services rendered, the master vampire had been pardoned for murdering those ley line witches last year. It was a con. The entire thing was a con. My only question now was who had helped arrange it, ’cause Piscary couldn’t safely summon a demon in prison. Someone had helped him set it up.

It just wasn’t fair.