Nick felt the shift in me, and slowly, after a moment’s thought, he gave me a tentative kiss on the cheek, but it was a tentativeness born from his long absence, not his usual hesitancy.

“Nick?” I said, hearing the coming tears in my voice.

Immediately he pulled back. “Hey,” he said, smiling as his long hand rested on my shoulder. “I’ve got to go. I’ve been up since yesterday and I have to get some sleep.”

I took a reluctant step back, hoping he couldn’t tell how close to tears I was. It had been a long, lonely three months. At last something seemed to be mending. “Okay. You want to come over for dinner tonight?”

And finally, after weeks of quick refusals, he paused. “How about a movie and dinner instead? My treat. A real date … thing.”

I straightened, feeling myself grow taller. “A date thing,” I said, moving awkwardly foot-to-foot like a fool teenager asked to her first dance. “What do you have in mind?”

He smiled softly. “Something with lots of explosions, lots of guns …” He didn’t touch me, but I saw in his eyes his desire to do so. “… tight costumes …”

I nodded, smiling, and he checked his watch.

“Tonight,” he said, catching my eye as he headed back to his truck. “Seven o’clock?”

“Seven o’clock,” I called back, my good feeling growing. He got in, the truck shaking as he slammed the door. The engine rumbled to life, and with a happy wave, he drove away.

“Seven o’clock,” I said, watching the taillights flash before he jostled onto the street.

Five

Plastic hangers clattering, I stacked the clothes on the counter beside the cash register. The bored, bottle-dyed blonde with ear-length hair never looked up as her fingers manipulated those nasty metal clips. Gum snapping, she pointed her gun at everything, adding up my purchases for Ceri. She had a phone to her ear, head cocked, and her mouth never stopped as she chatted to her boyfriend about getting her roommate fried on Brimstone last night.

I eyed her in speculation, breathing in the fading aroma of the street drug lingering on her. She was dumber than she looked if she was dabbling in Brimstone, especially now. It had been coming in cut with a little something extra lately, leaving a rash of deaths spanning all the socioeconomic brackets. Maybe it was Trent’s idea of a Christmas present.

The girl before me looked underage, so I could either sic Health and Inderland Services on her or haul her ass down to the I.S. lockup. The latter might be fun, but it would put a real crimp in my afternoon of solstice shopping. I still didn’t know what to get Ivy. The boots, jeans, socks, underwear, and two sweaters on the counter were for Ceri. She was not going out with Keasley dressed in one of my T-shirts and pink fuzzy slippers.

The girl folded the last sweater, her bloodred manicure garish. Amulets clanked about her neck, but the complexion charm hiding her acne needed to be replaced. She must have been a warlock because a witch wouldn’t be caught dead with a bass-ackward charm like that. I glanced at my wooden pinky ring. It might be small, but it was now potent enough to hide my freckles through a minor spell check. Hack, I thought, feeling vastly better.