She hadn’t been on a date in ages, but some customs are like riding a bike. Perfume dabbed behind each ear, a fresh coat of gloss across her lips, her wild mane tamed with a silk scarf, Gracey sat across a linen covered table smiling nervously at Simon St. Laine. The magician had chosen a posh Italian restaurant that Gracey had never been to, and had just finished ordering their second bottle of wine. Gracey was already beginning to feel the alcohol go to her head.

“So you got into magic by accident, then,” Gracey summarized, still smiling.

The magician swallowed that last bit of chianti in his glass, grinning. “That is a very kind way of putting it,” he said. “I suppose to an extent, we are all predisposed by some circumstance of nature to evolve along certain lines and destinies. Mine, it seems, was bent toward a perfunctory display of mild incompetence.” His eyes twinkled as he said this, and as Gracey moved to interrupt, surely to offer polite contradiction to this self deprecation, the magician held up his hand, shaking his head lightly. “No matter,” he said. “I won’t be doing this forever, I assure you.”

The evening was going better than Gracey had expected. When Simon had picked her up earlier wearing his signature top hot and violet glasses, Tiny had given her sister a weird look and whispered, “That guy is a total freakazoid”. But having sailed cleanly past the first few awkward silences and neatly evaded the choppy waves of past relationships, Gracey and Simon were now resting easy in safe waters. The expensive bottle of chianti Simon has ordered didn’t hurt.

“What about you? Did you always want to operate a bakery?”

The waiter appeared, refilled their wine glasses. Gracey took a small sip, settled back into her chair. “In a way, yes. But I guess it happened on accident,” Gracey explained. “I’ve always baked. I bake when I’m bored, I bake when I’m happy, I bake when I need to think something through. Anyway, after I moved here—which was unintentional, but that’s a whole ‘nother story—I was baking up a storm, you know, being in a new place. But I was baking more pies than I could eat, naturally, and I couldn’t just throw them out. Well,” she paused, looked thoughtful. “I threw out the ones I baked when I was bored or angry.” She wondered if she should explain, but decided not to bother. “So I started baking pies and setting them out on my porch with a little ‘Free pie’ sign. At first, people thought I was crazy. But slowly I started noticing the pies were disappearing. Turns out one of my neighbors, Beatríz Armstrong— do you know her?” When Simon shook his head, Gracey pressed on. “Anyway, she knocked on my door and told me she’d been taking the pies over to the Badlands. Bibi—that’s what everyone calls her—owns a salon, a renovated house on the corner of Church Street and East. Once a month she closes up shop and has the homeless in for showers and haircuts. I guess she feeds them, too, when she can, and apparently she’d been feeding them my pie. So she came by to introduce herself and to tell me I had no business giving away pie that good. She said I should open a proper shop.”

Gracey stopped to catch her breath, momentarily embarrassed that she’d been talking so much, but Simon didn’t seem to mind. He was watching her with a soft smile that warmed Gracey’s cockles. “So, Bibi helped me find a property and when the time was right…it just made sense to buy it and open the bakery properly.”

The magician was nodding, listening carefully. “So you bought it outright, then? Must have been a frightening investment for you.”

She thought a moment about how she wanted to answer. She was usually tight-lipped about her financial situation, but something about the magician’s formality and his sincere interest in her put her at ease. “My family is wealthy,” she explained. “I live off the interest of a trust fund. I’m lucky; I had the option of doing something just because I loved it without having to worry about making a living at it.”

The magician whistled. “You are lucky,” he agreed. “It could easily have gone the other way for you. A life of leisure is not without its own pitfalls. I understand it can be difficult to find fulfillment when everything has been handed to you.”

Gracey thought briefly of Tiny and the messes she had frequently found herself in before coming to Love & War to live with Gracey. It hadn’t ever occurred to Gracey before that the family’s wealth could have had a hand in Tiny’s wildness. She pushed this thought aside. “I originally studied sociology in college,” Gracey said, changing the subject. “But things happen. I found myself here instead and for the most part, I couldn’t be happier. The universe is unpredictable.”

Simon laughed and was about to respond when something just beyond Gracey caught his attention. He stiffened, his demeanor changing abruptly. He sat straighter in his chair, folded his hands in front of him on the table. Gracey turned slightly to see a slight woman approaching their table wearing a fur stole, glinting diamond earrings, and a too-wide smile. It was Simon’s cousin, Kit St. Laine.

“Well, fancy meeting you here!” she exclaimed, leaning down to kiss her cousin on both cheeks. She left a trail of thick, French perfume in her wake. “I didn’t realize you had a taste for Italian fine dining,” she said, winking.

“It’s a pleasure to see you, Kit.” The magician barely met his cousin’s eyes. “I hadn’t realized you were in town.”

Kit giggled prettily. “I hadn’t intended to be! But you know how things go—my line of work can be so unpredictable!”

Simon nodded, cleared his throat. “You remember Gracey Daylittle?” He nodded toward his date.

Kit flicked her eyes to Gracey briefly, and Gracey thought she saw the barest flicker of irritation pass over her face. But then the woman took an exaggerated step backward, and motioned quickly between the two of them. “Hold on just a minute!”she exclaimed, her mouth drawing in to make a perfect o. “You’re not…are you two on a date?”

Simon continued to stare steadfastly down into his plate. Gracey noted a flush of red creeping up the magician’s neck, but something about his expression and the slight tremble in his upper body led Gracey believe the color was from anger, not embarrassment. “I had requested the pleasure of Miss Daylittle’s company for a leisurely evening,” he replied, his voice level.

Kit threw her head back and laughed. It was the kind of laugh that made other people turn their heads and look, which they did, which made Gracey’s cheeks flush red. The small woman shook her head in disbelief, her shining curls bobbing around her face like a dark halo. “Well that is just magnificent,” she patronized. “I mean it, Simon, you are just full of surprises.”

There was a hard edge to her voice, something decidedly unfriendly that set Gracey on edge. Still, she was a southern girl born and bred, and some customs die hard. “Kit, we’ve already finished dinner, but we’d be delighted if you wanted to join us.” Gracey smiled sweetly, hoping she sounded more sincere than she felt.

The woman lifted the wine bottle from the table, turning the label toward her to read it. “Wow, a very nice vintage,” she purred. “I would never have thought you’d know a good wine from a hole in the ground.” She gave Simon another dripping grin, which the magician didn’t notice as he was still staring into his plate. Kit turned her attention to Gracey, whose upturned face was starting to betray her annoyance. “I thank you for the invitation but I sense this was supposed to be a very intimate evening,” she said, winking. Gracey felt her stomach turn an unpleasant flip. “Simon, you will be home at a decent hour, won’t you? I have something we need to…discuss.”

For the first time, Simon looked up to meet his cousin’s eyes, his face stoic. “Would you prefer that I come home now?”

The contrite response caught Gracey off guard, but she was careful to keep the surprise out of her face. Go home with this woman? In the middle of their date? She felt another flush of embarrassment color her cheeks. Was he trying to get out of the rest of the evening? She’d thought things were going so well. But when she sneaked a quick glance at her date she could sense that going home with this woman wasn’t what the magician wanted at all. His expression was impassive, but Gracey could feel displeasure coming off him in waves, and she couldn’t help but wonder at the nature of the undercurrent she felt flowing between the cousins. Kit merely shook her head, the mischievous gleam in her eye all the more apparent. “Not necessary. It can wait,” she said simply. Gathering herself together, the woman gave Gracey a final, tight smile and said, “Very good to see you again, Gracey. Simon.” She bent low and kissed him again, and in an instant, she was gone.

The magician took a moment to compose himself, and then downed the last of his wine. He filled a second glass and it swallowed it as well. When he was finished, he sagged in his chair, his previous glow diminished, if not gone altogether. He smiled apologetically at Gracey, his eyes full of a regret Gracey could scarcely read. “I apologize for the interruption,” he said.

Gracey shrugged, offering an understanding smile. “We can choose our friends,” she said, nonchalant. “We can’t choose our family.”

The corner of the magician’s mouth trembled in what Gracey thought was an attempt at a smile. He gave an absent nod. “There is a deep truth in that statement,” he said. “For all that we are blood relations, Kit and I have always been a difficult pairing. I’m afraid I find her rather abrasive. Still,we have precious few allies in this world. It would be a pity to alienate them.”

His statement hit a little too close to home, and Gracey shifted uncomfortably in her seat as her thoughts shifted to her mother’s letter. She tried to think of a way to save the evening, but her own energy was waning, and she could tell Simon was faring no better. She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and said, “Maybe we should call it a night?”

The magician motioned for the bill and offered Gracey a grateful, if weary, smile.

He walked Gracey to her front door. Tiny had left the porch light on for them. For a moment, Gracey wished she’d had a reason to lock her doors, and therefore a reason to search her purse for her keys, a reason to keep Simon standing there, waiting for her. But she had no such convenient excuse to prolong the moment before his departure. She met his eyes and smiled into them, wracking her mind for something useful to say, something that could relay, without chance for serious repercussion, what she was feeling. She could think of nothing, however, and sensing that if she didn’t find the courage he certainly wouldn’t, Gracey leaned in, face upturned, and kissed the magician full on the lips.

Trinity Church, situated at the corner of Church and Martinez in the heart of Love & War, gained its notoriety for having burned down not once, but twice: once over a hundred years ago, and twice less than a year before. Both times it had gone up in flames before its construction was completed. Neither fire had been satisfactorily explained, but for the most part people were willing to accept both misfortunes as freak acts of God, especially since, in this case, the upshot of the accident was a block party sublimated to a holy festival by way of brightly colored party decorations, promise of prayer, and copious amounts of free food.

The townsfolk felt this was as good a way to consecrate the church grounds for its imminent rebuilding as any.

On this particular afternoon, the church had been transformed from the charred ruins of an old building with a statue out front to a small carnival. Street vendors offered peanuts, pretzels, popcorn, and candied apples. Brightly colored helium balloons were tied to anything that stood still. Folding chairs littered the lawn, and long banquet tables were set with fruit punch, potato salad, cold cuts, fried chicken, several plates of pot-luck dishes, and an assortment of desserts.

The Prime of Darkness shuffled behind Gracey, trying his best not to make eye contact with anyone. Obtrusive as he was in his shining pauldrons and billowing silk cape, the townsfolk did a commendable job of giving him a wide berth and offering pleasant smiles when eye contact was inevitable. If they tittered or gossiped when his back was turned, they did so with dignified, hushed voices behind cupped palms and only in the spirit of better understanding the blue-skinned newcomer whose presence had so disrupted their town.

It seemed everyone had turned out for the dedication ceremony. Mothers with small children chased their wards around the courtyard while men who had grown up together exchanged stories of family life, the economy, how tough things were at work. Teenagers stood sulkily apart, disdain and boredom oozing from their pores. The conversations he overheard as he passed between groups were oddly similar; the Prime of Darkness wondered if the humans were aware how common and trite their lives truly were.

He followed Gracey through the crowd as she mingled with the folks who patronized her bakery. She was a natural extrovert, the smile that played over her mouth wide and genuine. She blushed prettily at compliments about her dress or her hair; she offered her own praises and flatteries with the practiced art of a true southern belle. The Palmers received commendations on their home’s new paint job; the Garcias were lauded for their son’s winning the spelling bee. She mingled with the townsfolk easily, doling out pleasantries with a natural grace. The Prime of Darkness couldn’t help but be impressed at the spectacle Gracey was in her natural element.

“You’re having a good time?” The demon made it a question as his eyes scanned the crowd. He was looking for someone in particular. “You seem like you’re enjoying yourself.”

Gracey blushed. “I hardly ever get a chance to do anything like this,” she explained. “Always cooped up in the bakery or at the house, and Lord knows Tiny doesn’t like to socialize with us lowly commoners.” She grinned, shrugging. “It feels good to put on makeup, wear a pretty dress, have people admire you. It’s nice to have face time with the people you live with, ” she said. “You should know your neighbors.”

But the Prime of Darkness was hardly paying attention, as at that moment he found what he was been searching for. On the far end of the courtyard, furthest from the road, Lilac and Lakmei were moving in their direction, winding their lithe figures through the crowd as they welcomed their guests, pretty, warm smiles and genteel laughter at the ready. They wore identical kelly green blouses and identical gray slacks. They flitted from couple to couple, group to group, their buoyant smiles lighting their faces until their eyes found Darkness and their smiles flickered; dark surprise dimmed their angelic brightness.

The pair found their way to Gracey and Darkness, their smiles having returned full force. Lilac took Gracey’s hand, squeezed it. “Gracey Daylittle,” she cooed. “I’m so glad to see you could make it.” She leaned in, gave Gracey a light kiss on the cheek. She flicked her eyes to the Prime of Darkness, and her smile tightened. “And you brought someone with you,” she said, her voice strained. “Now that, I didn’t expect.” She faced the Prime of Darkness directly, her smile having taken on a menacing edge. “I’m surprised you had the audacity to show your face here after what you did,” she said.

The Prime of Darkness stiffened as he looked from Lilac to Lakmei, then back again. “I haven’t come for a reprise if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said. “I was obeying orders. The mission failed, or I wouldn’t still be here. I have no personal interest in you or this church,” he said calmly.

Lakmei reached for the demon, and took his hand in both of hers, the way Lilac had done with Gracey. The gesture surprised the entire party. “It’s so good to hear you say that, Prime of Darkness,” she said, her voice soft as silk and sweet as honey. She tilted her head to the side as her thumbs caressed the back of Darkness’s hand. “We don’t have to be enemies,” she said. “I know that millennia of grievances stand between your kind and ours, but there doesn’t need to be any animosity here, between you and us. We just want to bring our message of love and salvation to Love & War. It would be good of you not to stand in our way. We don’t want trouble.”

Angelic tenderness toward the demon was a display Gracey had never witnessed, and it surprised her. She’d never seen Lilac or Lakmei direct anything but hostility in Darkness’s direction. She stole a glance at Lilac and saw on her smooth, white face an expression that mirrored her own confusion. Whatever Lakmei was trying to convey to Darkness, Lilac neither shared in it nor fully understood it. This realization was more worrisome to Gracey than the fact that she was standing between two natural enemies—a sworn solider of darkness and two messengers of light. It wasn’t exactly an enviable position to be in.

The Prime of Darkness held Lakmei’s stare and struggled to find the right words to reply, but they weren’t forthcoming. Eventually he removed his hand from hers and turned to Gracey. “I think I’ll have some fried chicken,” he said. She watched him make his way to the food tables where he soon disappeared behind a wall of townsfolk and balloons.

“Anyway,” Lilac said, returning her attention to Gracey, “it’s good to see you. Is your sister not with you today?”

Gracey shook her head. “She couldn’t make it. Though I was instructed to bring back a slice of Hannah Davey’s chocolate cake if there was any left.” She put extra effort into her smile. She hoped it made her seem nonthreatening. She’d already earned the angels’ mistrust for harboring the demon.

“Oh, well. Tell her we missed her.” Lilac took a little breath and looked around, slipping back into hostess mode. “I expect we’ll be getting started soon. We’ll talk later.” Her saccharine-sweet smile was pasted back into place, and the two angels gave Gracey little finger waves as they drifted back into the crowd.

Aware as she was of how uncomfortable Darkness felt amongst people he didn’t know—which was nearly everyone—Gracey set off to find the demon. But though she found the fried chicken and several Jell-O molds, she didn’t happen to find the Prime of Darkness. As she craned her neck to look over the heads of the crowd, she maneuvered through the throng without watching where she was going and collided with another body. A gasp, a swear, a slice of German chocolate cake tumbling to the ground, and Gracey brought her hands to her mouth as she apologized for her clumsiness. “I’m so sorry,” she breathed, kneeling to help clean up the mess. “I didn’t see you there.”

The woman on the receiving end of Gracey’s apologies chuckled graciously, waving the apology away. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’m used to it.” She was referring, ostensibly, to her height, which was slight. Even crouched, Gracey could tell she was not much more than five feet tall. She offered Gracey a forgiving smile, and Gracey felt the band of embarrassment that had caught her in its grasp loosen as they stood.

It took Gracey half a moment to realize she’d seen this woman before, but she couldn’t recall where. They didn’t get many newcomers to Love & War, and fresh faces tended to stand out; why she was drawing a blank on where she’d seen this woman before, Gracey didn’t know. It wasn’t until she glanced over the woman’s shoulder and saw her escort, a thin, nervous gentleman in a top hat and violet colored spectacles that she was able to place her. Gracey pointed a finger in recognition. “Are you…you’re the lovely woman I saw onstage at the Simon St. Laine show recently, aren’t you? You’re his assistant, right?” Gracey motioned to the magician. “I thought I recognized you.”

Simon St. Laine moved to the woman’s side in one quick, graceful movement as the small woman laughed—it was a high, tinkling laugh, the sound of silver bells on a clear morning. She shook her head. “I’m afraid not,” she said. “I don’t know a thing about magic.” She looked up at the magician, eyes bright. “But Simon does put on a wonderful show. Wasn’t it just marvelous?”

Gracey looked to the magician, saw a nervous smile try to appear, resulting only in an upward twitch of the corner of his mouth. She gave a little nod and extended her hand. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure,” Gracey said. “I’m Gracey Daylittle. I own the pie shop just down the road, Want Some Pie? Do you know the one?”

The magician nodded his head, a stiff, up once, down once movement. He accepted Gracey’s proffered hand awkwardly, like the action pained him. He pumped her hand once and released it. “I know the one,” he said. “I’m afraid I don’t partake of pastry, so I’ve never had the opportunity to patronize your establishment,” he explained. His words were more clipped and formal than they had been the several times she’d seen him onstage. Gracey wondered if perhaps he were the shy sort. “I’m Simon St. Laine,” he said. “I’m quite pleased to make your acquaintance, Ms. Daylittle.”

Gracey waved away the formality, smiling. “Gracey, please,” she said. “I’m so pleased to finally meet you. I’ve seen many of your performances over the years.” She paused, noticed the way a flush crept up his neck. She wondered if he were aware of what people said about his work. “The Placerita show was brilliant,” Gracey said. “I’d never seen anything like it; it was even better than I expected.”

Simon gave her another curt nod. “I’m delighted to hear that it exceeded your expectations.”

Gracey looked back at the small woman standing beside them and shook her head slowly. “I thought for sure you were the woman on the stage. There’s such a similarity.”

Simon cleared his throat, clasped his hands behind his back. “May I introduce my cousin,” he said, “visiting from out of town.”

The woman smiled even more brightly, showing even, white teeth. She extended her hand. “Kit,” she said, her handshake limp and dainty. “Kit St. Laine. It’s such a pleasure to meet you.”

Having grown up in Catholic schools, Gracey was relatively certain there was no Saint Laine, so she was relatively sure St. Laine was a stage name, so she was relatively confident the woman whose hand she was shaking was lying about her name. That struck her as odd, but she labeled the curious thought “None of my business” and pushed it out of her mind.

“So you own a bakery,” Kit was saying, eyes wide. “I just love pie.” She had the kind of voice that caressed her words, the kind of voice made for radio or untoward telephone operations. “My favorite is strawberry rhubarb. Do you sell that?” She leaned forward, hopeful. Gracey thought she looked like she was about to tip over.

“Sometimes, when strawberries are in season, but not right now,” she said. “But I do have a dozen flavors most days. Why don’t you stop by and try a slice on the house? Maybe even take a pie back home with you to…I’m sorry, where did you say you were from?”

“Vermont,” Kit said, shooting her cousin a mischievous look. She bit her bottom lip in anticipation. “I would love that,” she breathed. “Tell me, Gracey, which flavor would you recommend?”

Of all the questions in all the world, of all the inquiries, queries, petitions, and solicitations that had been offered up to Gracey in the past, “Which pie?” or some variation thereof, was Gracey’s absolute favorite. That moment where she was granted implicit permission to reach out with her heart and soul and touch the inner workings of another shining being to ferret out the perfect combination of confections that would elicit the greatest surge of joy was the single most brilliant point in Gracey’s day. It set her spirit on fire like nothing else. Brimming with anticipation, Gracey opened her heart to the woman standing in front of her, reaching out with her own tendrils of emotion to touch whatever emotions and pie ingredients lurked inside Kit St. Laine’s heart of hearts. She searched for one moment, two. But instead of finding contentment sprinkled with cardamom, or boredom laced with orange liqueur, amusement spiked with chocolate fudge sauce, or longing smoothed over with marshmallow topping, she found, to her profound dismay…nothing.

Nothing at all.

Kit was waiting for a response, her upturned face expectant and curious. Gracey blinked and offered a flustered smile. “Ah, well, apple crumb is my most popular,” she said, the words tripping out of her. “But right now Chocolate for Breakfast is selling like hotcakes. It’s a chocolate and espresso cream with a chocolate graham cracker crust. They’re single-serving pies,” she added, as though this made a difference. “You’re sure to get just enough.”

Delighted, Kit clapped her hands together, turning her bright, smiling face to her cousin, who offered merely an uninterested grin. “Well, I can’t wait to try it,” Kit said, eyes glittering. “It’s been such a pleasure talking to you. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other before I leave. You take care, now.”

The magician offered Gracey an affected, tight-lipped smile as his cousin pulled him away from the befuddled pie baker. When they were perhaps twenty paces away, the Prime of Darkness sidled up beside her, a fried drumstick in one hand and a plastic cup filled with potato salad in the other. “We ready to go?” he asked.

Gracey looked around and spread her hands out before her. “The dedication ceremony hasn’t even gotten started yet!”

Darkness wiggled his shoulders in an ambiguous little shrug, took a bite of his chicken. “I didn’t think we were really staying for that. I’m sort of allergic to these kinds of things,” he said.

Gracey made a disgusted noise, the wind knocked out of her sails. “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she said. Shoulders slumped, she turned on her heel and started for her car, motioning for the demon to follow. “All right, let’s go. I think I’ve had enough camaraderie for one afternoon anyway.”

Gracey and Darkness hoofed it to the car they’d parked a few blocks away, Darkness munching his fried chicken, Gracey wondering why her pie empathy had failed her for the first time in her life.

Watching from the far side of a banquet table, only one of the angels was glad to see them go.