The crack of pool balls was pleasant, reminding me of early mornings at Kisten’s dance club while I waited for him to finish up with the stragglers and spend some time with me. Eyes shut against the heat of the overhead light, I could almost smell the lingering aroma a hundred partying vampires left behind, mixing with good food, good wine, and just a hint of Brimstone.

No, I didn’t have a problem. I wasn’t addicted at all. Nope. Not me. But when I opened my eyes and saw Ivy, I wondered.

Doesn’t matter, I thought as I went to take my shot and felt the skin around the marks Ivy had put in me pull. This afternoon I might have been scared to tell Ivy she wasn’t going to break my skin again, but I’d done it. And it felt good. Like we had really made progress, even though neither of us was going to get what we wanted.

Warming, I focused on the yellow-striped nine as I lined the shot up. So it was Halloween and I was stuck home in jeans and a red top handing out candy instead of wearing leather and lace, bar-hopping with Ivy. At least I was with friends. Holding to my new smart-but-dull-Rachel mission statement, I wasn’t ready to trust Tom to do the intelligent thing, and though I was regularly stepping off hallowed ground to raid the fridge, risking a roomful of drunk potential casualties just so I could have a fun night out was a little much.

Ivy agreed, not at all surprised when I told her Tom Bansen of the I.S.’s Arcane Division was the one summoning and releasing Al to kill me. Actually, she laughed, noting, “Least it wasn’t crap-for-brains.” I was still toying with the idea of filing a demon complaint with the I.S., if only to avoid that spell shop bill, but Ivy said it would be cheaper healthwise to let sleeping demons lie. If nothing happened this next week, I might let it go, but if Al came at me again, I was going to let Tom have it right where it hurt—in the checkbook.

Apart from the annoyance of being stuck home on Halloween, I was in a good mood. Jenks and I were manning the door, and Ivy was in the corner watching a post-Turn comedy classic with lots of chainsaws and a stump grinder. Marshal hadn’t called, but after yesterday, I wasn’t surprised. My mild disappointment only affirmed my belief that I needed to back off before he slipped into boyfriend status. I really didn’t need the trouble.

Exhaling, I tapped the cue ball. It hit the dip by the corner and wobbled into the nine, hitting it perfectly wrong.

The doorbell bonged as I straightened, followed by a chorus of “Trick or treat!”