“Uh, Ivy, I have to go,” I said, impressed and a little scared. “Please. Don’t trust Nina,” I said, ashamed, and the hum of Jenks’s wings dropped in pitch.

Ivy was silent, then, “Okay,” and the conversation ended with a click.

My eyes were on the terrified vampire as I put my phone in a back pocket. Bis had puffed himself up larger, managing to look menacing next to Trent. Jenks, though, didn’t give a fig about impressing our captive, clearly more upset about abandoning the church as he wiped the soot off his wings. “Rache,” he started, and I rubbed my forehead. It was the right thing to do, hard as it was.

The garden, my kitchen. But to stay and fight might get someone killed when we would be better off dropping back and attacking with more strength later. I was trying to make smarter decisions—I loved Trent, and realizing I’d abandon the church to get him out of this threat was ... a gut-wrenching shock, both happy and sad.

“This won’t take long.” Trent didn’t sound like himself, and I watched, chilled, as he reached up into the rack, his motions sure and steady, his eyes never leaving the vampire’s. The vampire panted, small noises coming from him as he tried to break through the binding charm. Trent looked awful, showing a part of himself he wasn’t proud of—and being with me had brought it forth again.

Spoon pressed right under the vampire’s eye, Trent leaned in. Voice hardly audible, he whispered, “Who’s organizing this?”

I felt Trent’s pull on the line lessen, and the vampire wiggled, still caught but able to move now. “You’re dead, Morgan! You lied to us, and your life is forfeit!”

“I didn’t lie!” I exclaimed, then lowered my voice. This smacked of torture, even if Trent hadn’t done anything but threaten him with a spoon. A spoon right under his eye.

“Flagro,” Trent intoned, and I stiffened. The tip of the ceramic spoon glowed with heat. Whimpering, the captive focused on it, and the scent of frightened vampire rolled into the air.

Jenks darted close, his irritation obvious. “That won’t work. He’ll make it feel good.”

“Not if I scoop his eyeball out.”

Horrified, I gasped. He had to be kidding. “My God. Trent!”

Ignoring my hand on his arm, Trent blew on the spoon to send the heat over the terrified vampire’s face. I couldn’t believe this was happening, and I gasped right along with the vampire when Trent pressed it to his skin, the word “Caecus” intoned with a terrible certainty.

“Trent, stop!” I shouted as the vampire arched in pain, horrified. Jenks simply hovered, clearly not caring. Seeing me ready to smack Trent, the pixy darted over. “Get a grip, Rache,” Jenks whispered, perched at my ear. “It’s not real.”