“Uncle Brendon’s going to be here with Sophie any minute, and I can’t skip out early.”

“Four days, Kaylee.” The reaper’s usual scowl deepened. “Addy only has four days.”

I shrugged. “You’re welcome to explain what we’re doing to my entire family….”

Tod flinched, and that one movement told me just how much he respected the combined threat of my father and uncle standing together. Bean sidhes might not have any obvious offensive abilities, but together, my dad and uncle had almost three hundred years of experience. And they weren’t exactly small men.

“Fine. Just get there as soon as you can.”

“Do you have a plan, or are you just throwing us all into the deep end?” Nash’s finger traced lazy figure eights on my lower back, and I wanted to lean into his touch. Or better yet, pick up where we’d left off.

Tod sank wearily into my desk chair, arms crossed over the back. “Well, obviously we need to know which hellion she sold her soul to.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.” I pointed at the computer screen behind him, and the reaper twisted in his seat to look. When he met my gaze again, a cocky smile had turned up one side of his mouth, and his blue eyes glinted in shadowed mirth.

“You thought you could figure that out online? Somehow I don’t think hellions are much into social networking.”

“You got a better plan?” Nash pulled me closer, and my heart beat a little faster in response to his.

“Yeah. I thought we’d ask her.”

“You can do that on your own,” Nash snapped.

Tod shook his head. “I need Kaylee. Addy likes her.”

“And Addy always gets what she wants?”

I could practically hear the scowl in Nash’s voice, and I twisted to look at him in amusement. “Like you’re one to talk!”

His brows rose, and his steamy gaze traveled south of my face. “I don’t have everything I want. Yet.” I flushed, and turned back to Tod in time to see his eyes roll. “Well, you guys aren’t going without me.” Nash stretched one leg out on my rumpled comforter. “But do you honestly think she’ll know this hellion’s name?”

Tod shrugged again. “I think it’s worth a shot—”

Before he could finish, my door creaked open and my dad appeared in the gap. His gaze hardened when it landed on me and Nash, now reclined together on the bed, and I knew that if he had less control over his emotions, my father’s irises would be churning furiously.

“Kaylee, I know I’m new at this, but I’m not that new. This door stays open when you two are alone in here.”

I glanced at Tod, who smirked at me from my own desk chair. “We’re not—” And that’s when I realizedmy father couldn’t see the reaper, and that I probably shouldn’t remedy that. I’d rather my father think Nash and I were breaking the normal human rules than the weird bean sidhe ones. “Doing anything,” I finished lamely.

“We were just talking, Mr. Cavanaugh.” Nash didn’t even glance at his brother, who was now making obscene gestures and rolling his eyes madly.

Unconvinced, my dad nodded curtly, then disappeared into the hall, just as the doorbell rang. “Kaylee, can you get that? I’m burning the bread.”

“Eat fast.” Tod leaned back to cross both arms over his chest as I stood. Then he was gone before I could reply. At least, I thought he was gone, but it was hard to tell with Tod.

Nash followed me to the door, behind which my cousin’s voice rang out loud and clear. “…don’t see why we can’t do this at our house. There’s barely room to turn around in their kitchen, and Uncle Aiden’s place smells funny.”

“It does not smell funny, and we hosted last week.” Uncle Brendon sounded exhausted, but much more patient with his only daughter than I would have been. Especially considering how much he’d suffered from his wife’s loss, in spite of what she’d cost us all. But Sophie seemed oblivious to her father’s pain. “It’s their turn.”

I shot Nash a resigned smile, then pulled the door open, bracing myself for Sophie’s acidic presence. “Hey, guys, come on in.”

My cousin brushed past us into the house as if she hadn’t heard my greeting, mumbling beneath her breath about how she’d rather spend a Sunday night. She left us to choke on a cloud of her perfume, overwhelming in our small, dark entry.

“I’m sorry about that.” Uncle Brendon pushed the front door shut as he stepped inside. “She’s…still suffering.”

And making sure her misery has plenty of company.

Half an hour later, all five of us sat around the square card table in our eat-in kitchen, me straddling the corner between Nash and Sophie. There wasn’t enough room to actually put the food on the table, so if anyone wanted seconds, he’d have to get up and refill his plate from the dishes on the counter. But that didn’t seem to be much of a worry, considering that the rim of Sophie’s plate was ringed with small bits of marinara-stained waxed paper, which my dad had forgotten to remove from the slices of cheese he’d layered into the lasagna.

If it hadn’t embarrassed my father to no end, it would have been almost funny to watch her face twist with fresh horror each time she pulled a limp bit of paper from her food. Not that it mattered. She didn’t eat enough to keep a squirrel alive, anyway, and had lost several pounds in the weeks since her mother’s death.