“I’m back.” Not looking at him, I carefully set the scrying mirror down and dropped the package on the coffee table behind me. God, I stank. I didn’t think the hotel soap was going to cut it. A fifty-five-gallon drum of tomato juice might.

Pierce hesitated, then went to the chair by the window, taking up his long, heavy cotton coat and shrugging into it. “What took so long? Kalamack giving you trouble?”

Why did I care what he thought? “Al was messing with me,” I said shortly, not wanting to get into it.

Pierce hesitated in his motion to adjust his collar, and he looked at me from under his shaggy bangs. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, and he turned away, watching his reflection in the mirror as he arranged his sleeves. “Where are you going?” I asked, as it was obvious he was leaving.

His eyes met mine in the reflection. “To converse with Vivian.”

About me? “Pierce…,” I started, remembering what Newt had said about my odds. Having a shunned witch speaking for me wouldn’t help.

“Not about you,” he said as he took his hat from the stand beside the door and arranged it on his head. “I’m wanting her opinion concerning me trying to reclaim my spot before they fill it. It will give you another positive voice.”

My lips parted. “But you were dead!” I said, and he turned to me, his dark eyes smiling.

“I was,” he said, inclining his head, almost hiding his face behind his hat. “That’s a tricky word, ‘was.’ Once a coven member, it’s for life, and I’m alive.” His smile deepened as his gaze became unfocused. “Wouldn’t that beat all creation? A coven member who is also a demon’s familiar? It would make you look rather…tame.” Gaze sharpening, he took a step to the door and stopped. “Do you have your phone? Call me if you have trouble.”

I bobbed my head. He was going to try to reclaim his spot in the coven. I bet that would shift the odds in the ever-after if anyone knew.

“Good then,” Pierce said, and I did nothing, completely shocked when he leaned into me and gave me a quick, almost-not-there kiss. On my mouth. And then he was gone before I could even find the scent of redwood in my soul.

“Wish me the luck of the dead,” he said, half in the hall, half in my life.

“Good luck,” I whispered, and the door shut. He had kissed me?

He had kissed me, and like an idiot, I’d done nothing. It wasn’t as if he’d never kissed me before, but clearly something had changed in his thoughts between my taking Trent to Seattle and now. When I’d left, he had been cold and broody—angry with me for having foiled his attempt to kill Al, and rightly so. I’d done nothing to apologize, and he knew I’d do it again in a heartbeat. And yet he had kissed me and left to claim his old position to help me?