Still crying, she shook her head.

Ivy was waiting for me when I turned back around. “She can’t stay here, Rachel,” the vampire said, her brow tight.

“She’ll be fine,” I whispered, appalled that Ivy was ready to kick her out. “I’ll bring my old cot down from the belfry and set it up in the living room. I’ve got some old T-shirts she can wear until I take her shopping.”

Jenks buzzed his wings for my attention. “Then what?” he said from the spigot.

I gestured my frustration. “I don’t know. She’s much better already. She wasn’t talking half an hour ago. Look at her now.”

We all turned, finding Ceri sobbing quietly and drinking her tea in small reverent sips as the pixy girls hovered over her. Three were plating her long, fair hair and another was singing to her.

“Okay,” I said as we turned back. “Bad example.”

Jenks shook his head. “Rache, I really feel bad for her, but Ivy’s right. She can’t stay here. She needs professional help.”

“Really?” I said belligerently, feeling myself warm. “I haven’t heard of any group therapy sessions for retired demon familiars, have you?”

“Rachel …” Ivy said.

A sudden shout from the pixy children brought Jenks up from the spigot. His eyes went past us to his kids as they descended upon the mouse, who had finally made a dash for the living room and found itself in its own personal hell. “Excuse me,” he said, flitting off to rescue it.

“No,” I said to Ivy. “I’m not going to dump her in some institution.”

“I’m not saying you should.” Ivy’s pale face had started to color, and the ring of brown about her eyes was shrinking as my body heat rose and my blood grew warm, triggering her instincts. “But she can’t stay here. The woman needs normal, and Rachel? We aren’t it.”

I took a breath to protest, then let it out. Frowning, I glanced at Ceri. She was wiping her eyes, the hand curled about her mug shaking to make rings on the surface of her tea. My eyes went to the pixy children arguing over who was going to get to ride the mouse first. It was little Jessie, and the tiny pixy screamed in delight when the rodent darted out of the kitchen with her on its back. In a blur of gold sparkles, all but Jih followed. Maybe Ivy was right.

“What do you want me to do, Ivy?” I said, calming. “I’d ask my mom to take her in, but she’s a step away from being in an institution herself.”

Jenks buzzed back. “What about Keasley?”

Surprised, I looked at Ivy.

“The old guy across the street?” Ivy said warily. “We don’t know anything about him.”

Jenks landed on the sill beside Mr. Fish and put his hands on his hips. “He’s old and on a fixed income. What more is there to know?”

As Ceri collected herself, I sifted the idea through my mind. I liked the old witch whose slow speech hid a sharp wit and high intelligence. He had stitched me up after Algaliarept had torn my neck. He had stitched up my will and confidence, too. The arthritic man was hiding something, and I didn’t think his real name was Keasley any more than I believed his story that he had more medical equipment than a small emergency room because he didn’t like doctors. But I trusted him.