Ivy’s expression softened, and then she looked away in understanding. I hadn’t thrown the bracelet away, I’d set it aside in memory. “One game,” she said as she rose, sleek and lanky in her exercise outfit and the long, baggy sweater she hid half her body behind.

I dropped the chalk into her hand. “I rack, you break.”

The doorbell rang, and Ivy sighed. “I’ll rack them,” she said. “You get the door.”

Jenks stayed with Ivy, and content, I swatted aside a low-hanging bat and grabbed the candy bowl. Feeling all was right with the world, I pushed the door open only to have my good mood fade in a flash of annoyance. Trent?

It had to be him. He looked his usual self apart from the fact that he was wearing a baggy suit that was three inches too long and shoes that gave him an extra two inches in height. Obviously he had been in costume. My eyes flicked to the KALAMACK FOR CITY COUNCIL 2008 button, and he reddened. A sports car idled at the curb, its hazard lights flashing, and the door open. Trent’s gaze went from the bats behind me to the bruises decorating the underside of my jaw where Al had gripped me, and finally to my new, red-rimmed bites. Maybe he’d think they were a costume. Maybe.

“What the sweet sugar candy-ass do you want?” I said in irritation, then stepped out of his reach in case it was Al in disguise. My thoughts winged back to Quen, and I fought with the urge to demand that he tell me if Quen was all right and the desire to call the FIB and tell them I was being harassed by a Trent look-alike. I had already said no. He wasn’t going to change my mind.

Jenks had darted up at my exclamation, and his wings took on a faint orange glow as his circulation increased. “Hey, Ivy—come here for a sec! I know how you like watching Rache kick the bad guys to the curb.”

A trio of witches with glowing wands, chattering madly, dodged Jenks’s pumpkin and ran up the stairs shouting, “Trick or treat!” Looking pained, Trent brushed his hair from his eyes and stood aside, clearly agitated. Ivy slid up behind me, and I handed the bowl to her when the three boys left amid thank-yous prompted by their moms on the sidewalk. They jumped the last two steps, and I put my fist on my hip, eager to tell Trent to shove it.

“I want you to come with me,” he said before I could speak, his voice terse and his attention darting to Ivy.

A hundred rude responses came from nowhere, but what I said was, “No. Go away.”