Kincaid rolled her eyes at her friend, who even in jeans and a T-shirt looked like a goddess with her long lashes, light-brown skin, and thick black hair. “Oh, hush your mouth. You are neither worn nor damaged, and you know it.”

Plus, even if Liv looked like a troll, Kincaid knew that Finn wouldn’t look at her any differently. That guy was so in love that he practically glowed like a radioactive superhero when he was around his woman. Kincaid had only been looked at like that by one person long ago, but she remembered the all-encompassing high of that, of knowing you were loved so completely. Familiar sadness welled, but she pushed it down before it could make it to her expression. She pasted on a smile instead—a tactic she’d used so many times over the years that it was second nature now to smile when hurting.

“Please. We’re all a little damaged,” Liv said, bumping her shoulder into Kincaid’s. “It’s what makes us interesting, though, right? Like this house.” She grabbed Kincaid’s hand. “Come on, let’s see what this old girl looks like on the inside.” She peeked over her shoulder as she dragged Kincaid along. “But fair warning, if I see any spirits seeking a host or hell demons wanting to eat some souls, you’re on your own, sister.”

Kincaid’s smile eased into a genuine one at that. “So nice to hear you have my back. Sweet as sugar, that Olivia Arias.”

Liv laughed. “Hey, you’re wearing heels you can’t run in. Plus you know they always go after the busty blond first. You’re doomed. I’m just being practical. I’ll run for help. Promise.”

Kincaid snorted.

Liv led her up the charmingly crooked front steps, and Kincaid got the key from the lockbox. She opened the front door, squeaky hinges announcing their arrival. She half expected the witch from Hansel and Gretel to pop out and toss her and Liv in a cauldron, but when they stepped inside the foyer, only dust motes and the stale smell of a closed-up house greeted them.

Still, despite the air of neglect overlaying everything, Kincaid could see the potential. Hardwood floors that could be refinished. High ceilings. Beautiful door casings and original moldings. A grand old house with soul baked in. Perfectly imperfect. She cringed. That’d be something else Bethany would put on a pillow. Probably in this very house if she got the chance.

Liv was looking around curiously and snapped a few pictures of the foyer, which opened up to the main living area on the right, the soft click of her camera the only sound. She sent Kincaid a glance over her shoulder. “No sparkly vampires.”

Kincaid ran her hand over the worn banister at the base of the stairs. “Bummer.”

“But hey, no one in a hockey mask has attacked us either, so there’s that.” Liv gave her an exaggerated thumbs-up.

“Small victories.” Kincaid put a hand on her hip, her eyes scanning the space as she tried to be objective. “Original details. Needs a lot of refurbishing. Inspection could be tricky.” She pulled a printout from her purse. “The plumbing was replaced a few years ago. Wiring updated. That’s good. Mostly needs cosmetic work.”