“Glenn!” I exclaimed, reaching for the drinks. “There you are. Come on in. This is Nick, my boyfriend. Nick, this is Detective Glenn.” Nick my boyfriend. Yeah, I liked that.

Shifting the sacks to one hand, Glenn extended his hand. “How do you do,” he said formally, still outside. He was dressed in a sharp-looking gray suit, making Nick’s casual clothes seem untidy. My eyebrows rose at Nick’s hesitation before shaking Glenn’s hand. I was positive it was because of Glenn’s FIB badge. Don’t want to know. Don’t want to know.

“Nice to meet you,” Nick said, then turned to me. “I’ll, uh, see you tonight, Rachel.”

“’Kay. ’Bye.” It sounded a bit forlorn even to me, and Nick shifted from foot to foot before leaning forward to give me a kiss on the corner of my mouth. I thought it was more to prove his boyfriend status than any attempt to show affection. Whatever.

Sneakers silent, Nick hastened down the steps to his salt-rusted blue pickup at the curb. I felt a wash of worry at his hunched shoulders and stilted pace. Glenn, too, was watching, but his expression was more curious than anything else.

“Come on in,” I repeated as I eyed the sacks of food and shifted the door wider.

Glenn took his sunglasses off, one hand tucking them into the inner breast pocket of his suit. With his athletic build and tidy beard, he looked like a pre-Turn Secret Service guy. “That’s Nick Sparagmos?” he asked as Nick drove away. “The one who was a rat?”

My hackles rose at how he had said it, as if turning into a rat or mink was morally wrong. I put a hand on my hip, the tray of drinks tilting dangerously close to spilling ice and soda pop. Obviously his dad had told him more of the story than Glenn had let on. “You’re late.”

“I stopped to get us all lunch,” he said stiffly. “Mind if I come in?”

I fell back, and he crossed the threshold. He hooked the door with his foot, closing it with a tug behind him. The smell of fries became overpowering in the sudden dusk in the foyer. “That’s a nice little outfit,” he said. “How long did it take you to paint it on?”

Affronted, I looked down at my leather pants and the red silk blouse tucked into them. Wearing leather before sunset had worried me until Ivy convinced me that the high quality of the leather I bought elevated the look from “white witch trash” to “wealthy witch class.” She ought to know, but I was still sensitive to it. “This is what I wear to work,” I snapped. “It saves on skin grafts if I have to run and end up sliding on pavement. Got a problem with it?”

Keeping his comments to a noncommittal grunt, he followed me to the kitchen. Ivy looked up from her map, silently taking in the burger bags and drinks. “Well,” she drawled. “I see you survived the pizza. I could still have Piscary bite you if you want.”