“As we’ve been saying, Diederik is almost the right age for me to start taking him with me,” Quinn said.

“We’ll all miss him,” she said, because that was safe and sincere, and she didn’t yet see where this conversation was going.

“Thanks,” he said. “He’s very good-natured, like his mother was. Maybe stubborn like her, too.”

Fiji nodded. She’d never met the late Tijgerin, but from what little Quinn had said she’d been determined to raise Diederik oldschool, away from his dad, and it was at least probable that her death had been a result of that decision.

“I have always planned on him learning my job, and I hope he takes to it,” Quinn said. “It would be great to have a helper, and eventually he could take on his own clients.” Quinn was an event planner for supernatural occasions, like vampire weddings, Were coming-of-age parties, packmaster contests, and other rituals too secret to be discussed.

“That sounds ideal, if he enjoys the work,” she said, still puzzled. “I know it takes a lot to get a business like yours going.”

“But he loves it here,” Quinn said. “He’s still a kid in a lot of ways. This little town is familiar to him, and he’s surrounded by friends.”

“Aw, I’m so glad he feels that way.” She beamed. It made her feel warm inside to hear that their affection for the boy was returned.

Even though Diederik’s childhood had lasted only a year.

“What I was considering,” Quinn said, after an awkward pause, “is that maybe Diederik and I might buy one of the empty cottages here, so we could spend our downtime in Midnight.”

It was a pleasant change to hear good news. “What a great idea,” she said. “He’d feel like he had a home here, and you’d have a place to spend a week or two now and then. I guess you’ve had an apartment somewhere all this time?” She hadn’t thought about it before.

“Yes, but it’s just an apartment, and I really want something more rooted. So I’d thought about checking out that one,” Quinn said, pointing at the house to the east of Fiji’s.

The house was very similar to Fiji’s, but in bad repair. It had sat empty for a long time. She had a thread of memory that the woman who’d lived in it, a widow named Gertrude something, had looked down her nose at Aunt Mildred.

“I was just wondering if that was one that interested you,” Fiji said. “No, of course I wouldn’t mind. It would be great to have someone in it.” She’d have to pay attention to whether her curtains were drawn . . . but they traveled a lot . . . she was lost in these details until Quinn said, “Earth to Fiji.”

“Oh, sorry! Just thinking about how different it would be to have neighbors,” she said. “The Rev’s not in the chapel or pet cemetery at night, ordinarily, and that house has been empty since before I moved in. It belonged to Gertrude . . . Flannigan, that was her name! She died about five years before Aunt Mildred.”

“You remember the next of kin, by any chance?”

Fiji closed her eyes to concentrate. She could almost feel Quinn looking at her through her eyelids, a strange sensation. Surely Aunt Mildred had talked about the house? Yes.

“He was named Tommy Flannigan. Thomas R. Flannigan,” she said. “He lives in Waco.”

“That’s a huge help. You’ve saved me hours in the courthouse or on the computer,” he said. “Can Diederik and I take you out tonight to say thanks?”

“Umm, well, I appreciate the thought, but there’s Kiki,” Fiji said awkwardly. She didn’t think she could stand Kiki making eyes at Quinn for a whole evening. And she didn’t even want to think about what she’d do if Kiki made a pass at Diederik.

“Then you have a rain check,” Quinn said. He gave her an unexpected kiss on the cheek before he loped off toward the hotel.

Fiji sat for a moment, smiling to herself as she thought over the conversation. After a minute, she went into the shop, where she had to answer Kiki’s million questions about Quinn. With some exasperation, Fiji said, “You haven’t even gotten rid of your current husband yet. Why start thinking about another one?”

This might have been a little too brutal: but then, most of Kiki’s questions hadn’t had to do with Quinn’s character, but with his income.

“Anyway,” said Kiki cruelly, “I don’t think he’s smitten with you.”

Fiji said, “I never thought he was.” But she kept her eyes lowered, because after this morning, she did think that might be a possibility.

This is the darker side of my big sister, Fiji thought. When Kiki was unhappy, she struck out against the people around her, especially the women. Kiki thought of herself as a sexual goddess.

Could she really be such a siren? Fiji wondered. Sure, Kiki had been married twice. But did that really prove anything? Reviewing the men Kiki had married and the men Kiki had dated, Fiji thought, I don’t think so. Surely that couldn’t be the basis for Kiki’s self-regard. So what was her sister really good at? She certainly couldn’t sing. “Are you good at art?” she asked abruptly, and Kiki gaped at her.

“Nope, I can’t draw a lick,” Kiki said. “What a weird question.”

They were sitting at the table in the kitchen, eating lunch. Fiji poured some more tea into their glasses.

“Why’d you ask?” Kiki said, as if simply being quiet bugged her.

“I just wondered.”

“That guy Quinn said you were a witch,” Kiki said, looking off in another direction, as if merely bringing this up made her uneasy.

“You know Aunt Mildred was,” Fiji said bluntly. “That was how she made her living.”

“So you make herbal teas for women with headaches? And read their futures in a crystal ball?”

“Future? No, that’s for psychics,” Fiji said, smiling. “You might try Manfred, across the road, if you’re interested in learning about your future.”

“That’s a bunch of crap.” Making a face to show how disgusted she was, Kiki got up to scrape her scraps into the garbage can and wash her plate. They’d shared a salad; not much of anything to put away or clean up except the cutting board. “I don’t believe in reading palms, or casting spells, stuff like that.”