The paper came away to reveal a small wooden box, and inside that amid a cushion of crushed red velvet was a cut-glass perfume bottle. “Ooooh,” I breathed. “Thank you.” Ivy had been getting me perfume since I’d moved in as we tried to find a scent that covered up her lingering aroma on me and help her curb her vampiric tendencies. It wasn’t the romantic gift one might think it was, but kind of a vampire antiaphrodisiac. My dresser was covered in castoffs of varying degrees of effectiveness. Actually, the perfume was more for her than me.

“It’s really hard to find,” she said, starting to look discomforted. “You have to special order it. My dad told me about it. I hope you like it.”

“Mmmm,” I said, opening it and dabbing some behind my ear and on my wrists. I breathed deeply, thinking it smelled like a green woods and dash of citrus: clean and crisp, with a hint of darker shadows. Scrumptious. “Oh, this is wonderful,” I said, standing to give her a quick impromptu hug.

She held very still, and I busied myself at my dresser, pretending I didn’t notice her surprise. “Huh,” she said, and I turned, finding a bemused expression on her. “It works.”

“What …” I said warily, wondering what I had put on.

Her gaze rove before settling on mine. “It blocks a vampire’s sense of smell,” she said. “At least the more sensitive aromas that run to the unconscious.” She gave me a lopsided smile to make her look harmless. “I can’t smell you at all.”

“Cool,” I said, impressed. “I should wear it all the time.”

Ivy’s expression went subtly guilty. “You could, but I got the last bottle, and I don’t know if I could find it again.”

I nodded. She meant it was more expensive than a gallon of water on the moon. “Thank you, Ivy,” I said earnestly.

“You’re welcome.” Her smile was genuine. “Happy early solstice.” Her attention went to the front of the church. “He’s here.”

The rumble of an idling car filtered in through my thin stained-glass window. I took a deep breath and glanced at my bedside clock. “Right on time.” I turned to her, pleading with my eyes for her to get the door.

“Nope.” She grinned to show an unconscious slip of teeth. “You get it.”

She turned and left. I looked down at myself, thinking what I had on was grossly inappropriate, and now I had to answer the door in it. “Ivy …” I complained as I followed her out. She never slowed, holding her hand up in refusal as she walked into the kitchen.

“Fine,” I muttered, boot heels clicking to the front of the church. I flicked on the lights in the sanctuary in passing, the high, dim glow doing little to brighten the gloom. It was after one in the morning, and the pixies were all safe and snug in my desk until about four, when they would wake up. There was no light in the foyer, and I wondered if we ought to do something about that as I pushed open one side of the heavy wooden door.