“Yup. If we had jumped through all the hoops, we never would have gotten the front entryway gardens or the flower boxes.”

My eyes went to my feet, and I picked my path so I wouldn’t jar him. He had dropped tradition to gain a six-by-eight swath of garden and some flower boxes. Now he had a walled garden of four city lots. Jenks was doing well. Well enough that his children could take time from their life for the rituals that marked it. “It’s nice that Jih has you to help her,” I said.

“I suppose,” he muttered, but I could tell he was eager for the chance to guide his daughter in making a good decision in who to spend her life with. Maybe that’s why I keep making such stellar decisions in my own love life, I thought, smirking at the idea of Jenks coming out on a first date with me and grilling the poor guy. Then I blinked. He had warned Kisten to behave himself when I went out with him that first time. Damn, had Kisten gotten Jenks’s stamp of approval?

The gust from Jenks’s wings cooled the sweat on my neck. “Hey, I gotta go. She’s waiting. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Sure,” I said, and he rose up. “Tell her I said congrats!”

He gave me a salute and darted off. I watched him for a moment, then continued to the back door, imaging the grief he was going to put the three young pixy bucks through. The heavenly scent of baking muffins was slipping out the kitchen window, and, breathing deeply, I climbed up the few stairs. I checked the bottoms of my sneakers, stomped my feet, and entered the torn-apart living room. Three Guys and a Toolbox had yet to show up, and the smell of splintered wood mixed with the scent of baking. My stomach rumbled, so I headed into the kitchen. It was empty but for the muffins cooling on the stove, and after dropping my cuttings by the sink, I washed my hands and eyed the cooling bread. Apparently Ivy was up and in the mood to bake. Unusual, but I was going to take advantage of it.

Juggling a muffin and the fish food, I fed myself and Mr. Fish both, then pulled a dark green T-shirt on over my chemise and collapsed into my chair, happy with the world. I started at the sudden skittering of claws, and an orange ball of feline terror streaked into the kitchen and under my chair. Pixies spilled in, a swirling storm of high-pitched screeching and whistles that made my skull hurt.

“Out!” I shouted, standing. “Get out! The church is her safe place, so get out!”