David got out of the car, shutting it with an attention-getting thump. Inside the house, a small dog started yapping hysterically. David looked good in his suit, but also tired. It was just after the full moon, and the two ladies had probably run him hard.

Eager to get my life back, I jumped out of the car and slammed the door.

“Relax, Rachel,” David murmured as he came around the car, gripping his briefcase and wrangling his shades into place.

“I am relaxed,” I said, then jiggled my feet impatiently. “You want to hurry up?” Please don’t be Nick. Let me have made one good choice in my life.

David hesitated, his dark eyes flicking to the barking dog visible through a window. “You can’t arrest anyone. You don’t have a warrant.”

I nudged him into motion and up the short walk. “If I’m lucky, someone will take a swing at me, and then I can hit ’em.”

Looking askance at me with a wry grin, David snorted. “Just tell me if it was demon damage, and we’ll leave. If it is, you can come back and make whoever it is chew his own balls on your terms, but as far as I’m concerned, this is just some nice lady with a crack in her wall.”

Yeah, and I’m the cosmetics girl at Valeria’s Crypt. “Whatever,” I muttered, then tugged my dress straight and checked my complexion charm as we took the stairs to the shady porch. I wanted my Halloween back.

David rocked to a halt on the mat, tilting his head to watch the dog having hysterics through the long window beside the door. “It’s not illegal to summon demons.”

I huffed as I tucked my shades into that ugly brown purse, right next to the splat gun, the magnetic chalk, and the heavy-magic detection amulet—so far a nice friendly green. “It’s illegal to tell them to kill someone.”

“Rachel…,” he coaxed as he rung the bell and the barking dog jumped up and down. “Don’t make me sorry I brought you.”

I stared, fascinated as the blond fuzz ball turned somersaults. “Me?” I said coyly.

The little dog yelped, vanishing in the blur of a swinging foot. I blinked, and my mouth was hanging open unintelligently when the door moved, revealing a middle-aged woman wearing a paisley-patterned dress and an honest-to-God apron. I sure hoped it was a costume, because the fifties look was not an attractive fashion statement.

“Hello,” she said, sounding like a little-miss-hostess doll. Her eyebrows arched, and I wondered if I had a run in my stockings. She didn’t appear as if she was a demon summoner. She didn’t appear as if she was in mourning either. Maybe she was the cook.