Adrenaline shivered through me as a wave of flower scents hit me. The church was dim with candlelight, and the soft intonations of the holy guy up front created a sensation of comfort. By the looks of it, they were just getting started. Good. I had to go along with this until I got Glenn’s call, and I didn’t know when that would be.

Someone in the back row turned, starting a slow chain reaction. My pace bobbled, and I took a deep breath. Shit. The mayor was here, and Takata? Oh, God, I was going to arrest Trent in front of Takata? Talk about performance anxiety.

As expected, Piscary was in the front row with Ivy and Skimmer, and I stifled a surge of anger at him for giving Kisten to someone to murder for some twisted pleasure and the clout he had with the I.S. to get away with it. But I needed his help, so as much as I hated it, I’d have to be damningly politically correct.

I couldn’t look at Ivy. Not yet. But I recognized her stiff carriage from under a gray, wide-brimmed hat beside Piscary. Ivy’s dad was here, too, and what had to be her mother beside him, looking like an ice queen from Asia next to his elegant, rugged fatigue. Mr. Ray and Mrs. Sarong made an unusual showing together, banding up since they lacked their usual packs. Al was standing up with Trent, and, catching sight of me, he grinned, the pure-Al expression looking odd on Lee’s strongly Asian features. Quen was beside him, his face blank. He mouthed something at Trent, and Ellasbeth’s grip on his arm tightened.

The bride’s side was entirely full of thin, tan people. They hadn’t listened to me, and they all dressed alike to look as if they were extras from a Spielberg movie at a Hollywood commissary. I thought they ought to be more careful if they didn’t want their little secret to get out. Jeez, they all looked the same to me.

The holy guy’s spiel faltered when the usher stumbled in from outside. I glanced back in warning, seeing his hand still over his nose, a white handkerchief stained with blood.

Piscary slowly turned, drawn by the scent of blood. He smiled delightedly at me, making my own blood burn. He knew I hated him, and he liked it. The usher went pale at Piscary’s attention, and when Quen motioned for him to leave, he beat a hasty retreat, trying to hide the blood.

“Sure about this, Rache?” Jenks said. “You could always retire and open a charm shop.”