“Breakfast for the witch and the vamp it is,” Trent said, sounding like he was in a good mood. Relaxed almost. I ran my eyes over his clothes, seeing that he’d changed into a pair of dark slacks at some point. Not jeans but still casual. His boots were gone, and soft-soled shoes had taken their place. I’d be willing to bet they were still pricey, but the shine was gone. The businessman was vanishing, being replaced by…something else. Quen, I thought as I slumped back into my seat, might not be pleased.

“Good,” Jenks said as Ivy pulled herself together. “I gotta pee. Maybe get me a red hat or something. I gotta call my kids, too.”

“Taking up a new profession, Jenks?” I asked, and he slipped a silver dust.

“I like the color,” he said, flushing. “And where else am I going to get new clothes?”

My gaze went to the weird landscape as I thought of Matalina. Most pixies died of heartache when their spouses passed, but Jenks had lived, partly due to a demon curse that had accidentally given him a new lease on life, and partly due to his desire to see beyond what was real and into what might be. He had spent half his life breaking pixy traditions, learning about both the grief and the reward that came from taking chances. Matalina had told him to live, and somewhere he’d found the courage to do it. It was the smaller things, like who was going to make his clothes or cut his curly hair, that tripped him up. The obvious choice would be one of his daughters, but the thought had probably never occurred to him.

I slumped as Trent pulled into the single cluster of buildings on the right, sporting a tidy-looking gas station, a small motel, and an eatery. The southwestern flavor made everything look alien. Tires popping on gravel, Trent parked in front of the long, low restaurant. Behind us, a green two-door Pinto slowly turned into the lot and parked at the outskirts.

“Hey, look who caught up,” Jenks said, wheezing slightly as he landed on my shoulder.

Alarmed, I turned to look closer, relaxing when I recognized the woman. It was Vivian, the youngest member of the coven of moral and ethical standards. Of the five remaining members, I liked Vivian the best, and might even count her as a friend if circumstances were different. She’d given me a bit of blackmail to use against Oliver, and had enough guts to think on her own. She drove a Pinto? I’d put her down as a BMW kind of girl.

“I saw her at the airport, too,” Ivy said sleepily. “I’m surprised she found us at all.”

“Hey, I got all the bugs off,” Jenks said in a huff. “Don’t look at me.”

I eagerly opened my door, and the new air coming into the car smelled of dry grass. My faint headache seemed to ease. Vivian was a concern, but if she’d wanted me dead, she would have done something by now. The woman was lethal despite her diminutive looks and childlike voice. “Think we should go talk to her?” I said, and Trent stared at me like I had lobsters crawling out of my ears.