I gave him a weary look. “Would you show Glenn the garden while I shower?”

Jenks’s wings blurred into motion. “Yeah,” he said, going to make wide wary circles around Glenn’s head. “I’ll baby-sit. Come on, cookie. You’re going to get the five-dollar tour. Let’s start in the graveyard.”

“Jenks,” I warned, and he gave me a grin, tossing his blond hair artfully over his eyes.

“This way, Glenn,” he said, darting out into the hall. Glenn followed, clearly not happy.

I heard the back door shut, and I leaned to the window. “Jenks?”

“What!” The pixy darted back in the window, his face creased with irritation.

I crossed my arms in thought. “Would you bring in some mullein leaves and jewel weed flowers when you get the chance? And do we have any dandelions that haven’t gone to seed?”

“Dandelions?” He dropped an inch in surprise, his wings clattering. “You going soft on me? You’re going to make him an anti-itch spell, aren’t you?”

I leaned to see Glenn standing stiffly under the oak tree, scratching his neck. He looked pitiful, and as Jenks kept telling me, I was a sucker for the underdog. “Just get them, all right?”

“Sure,” he said. “He’s not much good like that, is he?”

I choked back a laugh, and Jenks flew out the window to join Glenn. The pixy landed on his shoulder, and Glenn jumped in surprise. “Hey, Glenn,” Jenks said loudly. “Head off toward those yellow flowers over there behind that stone angel. I want to show you to the rest of my kids. They’ve never met an FIB officer before.”

A faint smile crossed me. Glenn would be safe with Jenks if Ivy came home early. She jealously guarded her privacy and hated surprises, especially ones in FIB uniforms. That Glenn was Edden’s son wouldn’t help. She was willing to let sleeping grudges lie, but if she felt her territory was being threatened, she wouldn’t hesitate to act, her odd, political status of dead-vamp-in-waiting letting her get away with things that would put me in the I.S. lockup.

Turning, my eyes fell upon the fish. “What am I going to do with you—Bob?” I said around a sigh. I wasn’t going to take him back to Mr. Ray’s office, but I couldn’t keep him in the canister. I cracked the top, finding that his gills were pumping and he was laying almost on his side. I thought perhaps I ought to put him in the tub.

Canister in hand, I went into Ivy’s bathroom. “Welcome home, Bob,” I murmured, dumping the canister into Ivy’s black garden tub. The fish flopped in the inch of water, and I hurriedly ran the taps, jiggling the flow to try to keep it room temp. Soon Bob the fish was swimming in graceful sedate circles. I turned off the water and waited until it finished tinkling in and the surface grew smooth. He really was a pretty fish, striking against the black porcelain: all silver, with long, cream fins and that black circle decorating one side to look like a reverse full moon. I dabbled my fingertips in the water, and he darted to the other end of the tub.