“Oh my God, Gracey. You’re completely crushed out.”

Gracey looked up from her newspaper and offered her sister an innocent look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tiny, ambling into the kitchen in her nightie, motioned toward the vase of pink peonies on the kitchen table. “What’s with the flowers? You’ve got them in here, in the bathroom…where did you even find peonies this time of year?”

Gracey shrugged, looking back down at her newspaper to hide her grin. “Simon left them.”

Tiny raised an eyebrow. “Simon left them,” she repeated.

Gracey bit her lip, pretended to be reading. “I found them on the porch this morning when I set the pie out to cool. Oh, there’s cranberry apple fig on the counter.”

Tiny shuffled to the sideboard, pulled a plate from the cupboard. “You had time to bake a pie already? How long have you been awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Tiny cut herself a healthy slice of pie and poured a mug of lukewarm coffee. “So your freaky friend left two dozen peonies—which are not even in season—on the porch, and you made pie.” Tiny’s eyes flew open in bewilderment. “Oh my God, Gracey, you guys didn’t…bow chicka wow wow?” Tiny pumped her hips in a suggestive movement.

“Tiny!”

“Well what am I supposed to think?” With her pie and her coffee, Tiny slid into the chair across from her sister. “I love you, Gracey, and I love to see you happy but I really don’t know what you see in that guy.”

Gracey sighed. “He’s intelligent, he’s charming, he’s polite—”

“He’s corny as hell,” Tiny cut in, scooping a bite of pie into her mouth. “What is up with the hat? And the way he talks?”

“He’s old fashioned,” Gracey sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Tiny echoed. “So you really don’t think that guy’s even, like, a little…” She swiveled her index finger near her temple, making the universal crazy sign. “…Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs? Froot Loops?”

Gracey grimaced. “Love the cereal references. Very mature.”

Tiny cocked an eyebrow at her sister.

Gracey threw up her hands in exasperation. “Well, what do you want me to say, Tiny? He’s different! I noticed! But that doesn’t make him crazy. I mean, Tiny.” She shook her head, sighing. “I am the last person who could condemn someone for being a little different.”

Tiny shrugged in tacit agreement, chewing her pie thoughtfully. “But it’s not just how he talks and dresses. There’s just something off about him. He kinda gives me the creeps.”

“Just drop it, Tiny. He makes me feel really good about myself. When I’m with him, I feel normal. And I don’t mean by comparison,” she explained before Tiny could interrupt. “I just mean, I feel like I can be myself. It’s very liberating.”

Tiny took a sip of coffee. “You don’t feel like you can do that with me? Or Bibi? Or Darkness?”

“Darkness!” Gracey laughed, rolling her eyes. “Nothing—nothing—about Darkness makes me feel normal. Where is he anyway?”

“Don’t know. I just woke up. Answer my question.”

Gracey sighed. “I’m talking about feeling normal with a man. A real man, not a demon that looks…sort of like a man. I’m talking about a man that I could love.”

Tiny’s jaw dropped, eyes practically bugging out of her head. “Wait, you’re falling in love with Simon St. Laine? Are you kidding me? You’ve been on one date!”

“I didn’t say I was in love, I said…” Gracey shook her head, standing up and clearing her place. She took the dishes to the sink. “You’re right, it’s silly to keep a bouquet of flowers in the bathroom. Let’s take them to the cemetery so more people can enjoy them.”

Tiny licked her fork. “What people? The dead dudes? I don’t know, I kind of like having something pretty to look at while I pee.”

Gracey walked over to the table and kissed the crown of her sister’s head. “Aw. Then you can just look in the mirror.”

Tiny wrinkled her nose. “While I pee? Seriously, Gracey. You are so weird.”

The cemetery was a short walk from the Daylittle house. It had been a long time since Gracey had been there, and she was surprised to see so many fresh graves. She’d known that Rubio Bautista had been recently buried, of course, but as she walked up and down the rows she noticed three graves that had only recently been dug. Two were on the Galina family plot, and the other was a single for Buddy Heffman.

Walking over the Buddy’s grave, Gracey threw her sister a look over her shoulder. “What on earth…? When did Buddy Heffman die?”

Tiny stood, arms akimbo, surveying the cemetery. In the year she’d lived in Love & War, she’d never set foot in it. “Like a week ago, I think? I heard about it when I was visiting Darkness at the salon.”

Gracey separated out one of the peonies she was clutching and laid it on Buddy’s grave. “And you didn’t tell me about it?”

Tiny kicked at a stone lodged in the dirt, shrugged a shoulder. “I’m telling you about it now.” She ignored the look Gracey threw her. “I heard he didn’t have any family left, so there wasn’t much of a funeral. That’s kind of sad, to die alone?”

Gracey knelt down, nodded. “He lived with his sister Evangeline on the far edge of town, but she died a couple three years back. Emphysema, I think. Neither of them ever got married or had any kids.” Gracey chuckled to herself, shaking her head. “When I first moved to town Buddy used to find all sorts of reasons to show up at my house, fix things. Used to hint about how he wouldn’t mind seeing me in a swimsuit.”

Tiny made a face. “You moved here eleven years ago, so Buddy must have been…what, seventy?”

Gracey smiled at the memory. “Randy old fart,” she agreed. “It’s sad he never had kids. I think the Heffmans were one of the original settlers of Love & War. His death is…mildly historical, I guess.”

Tiny looked around, noticed there were no other Heffmans buried nearby. “Where are the others buried?”

Gracey shrugged. “I don’t know; fair question. Lots of families are buried on their own land. I’ve never been out to the Heffman place, but that could be it.”

“I heard Mr. Heffman’s eyes were missing when they found him.”

Startled, Gracey and Tiny looked around and found Lakmei standing behind them, arms crossed over her chest, her porcelain face drawn, hiding behind a curtain of white hair. She was wearing an oversized rugby shirt and jeans. Gracey had never seen her dressed so casually. For that matter, Gracey had never seen her without Lilac at her side. Seeing only one of the two identical women temporarily threw Gracey for a loop.

“Lakmei.” Gracey stood, dusted herself off. “I didn’t see you come up. You look…What was that about Buddy’s eyes?”

Lakmei remained stoic, slid her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “Horace Green found Mr. Heffman dead on the floor of his garage. His eyes were missing. Not ripped out or dug out. More like burned out. I heard he had a black hole in his face where his eyes should have been.” She paused a moment, shrugging. “I can’t say for sure. The only people to see Mr. Heffman were Mr. Green and the coroner. But it’s what I heard.”

Tiny looked from Lakmei, to Gracey, and back to Lamkei. “I suspect Mr. Green in the garage with the tire wrench.” When Gracey snapped her head around and gave Tiny a horrified look, she changed tactics. “Well, I didn’t hear that,” she said. “How come I didn’t hear that? That’s the kind of thing people would be talking about, isn’t it?”

Gracey returned her attention to Lakmei, her horror still evident in the lines of her face. “Where did you hear such a nasty rumor?”

Lakmei shook her head, clear, blue eyes locking on Gracey’s. “I don’t remember,” she said. “But I heard that’s why he wasn’t buried with the other Heffmans. They’re Catholic,” Lakmei explained. “And what happened to his face was the work of the devil.”

Gracey’s mouth dropped open as she glanced anxiously from the angel to her sister. Finally she asked, “Well…was it?”

It wasn’t what she had planned to say. Until a year ago, Gracey had no reason to believe in Hell or devils or angels for that matter. But the night she and Tiny had found the Prime of Darkness lying on the side of the road, everything had changed. Gracey wasn’t sure what to believe in anymore.

But Lakmei only shook her head, unblinking eyes never breaking contact. “Probably not,” she said simply. “I thought you didn’t believe the Prime of Darkness was dangerous.”

The slight mocking in Lakmei’s voice wasn’t lost on the pie baker. “I never said I didn’t think he was dangerous,” Gracey said carefully. “But I have no reason to think Buddy Heffman would be Darkness’s enemy. Besides. I assume Darkness doesn’t have a monopoly on diabolic acts.”

Lakmei, chagrined, said nothing for a moment as she watched Gracey work through her own inner conflicts. It was no secret to either of the angels that Gracey’s feelings toward the demon were not altogether logical. Lakmei cocked her head to the side, expression evaluative. “There’s something different about you, Gracey.”

Gracey blinked. “Different how?”

Lakmei watched her a second, then shook her head slowly. “I don’t know exactly.”

Breathing an agitated sigh, Gracey nodded toward the other two graves. “Do you know what happened over there?”

Lakmei followed her gaze and sighed. “Car accident,” she said. “Carmen Olaya and her son, ah…”

“David,” Gracey whispered.

“That’s the one.”

“David was just a baby,” Gracey said. A wild shudder ran through her and she wrapped her arms across her chest in the same manner as Lakmei.

“But why is she buried with the Galinas if her last name is Olaya?” Tiny asked.

“Olaya was her married name,” Gracey said. “The Olayas and the Galinas don’t get along. Most of the Olayas have left Love & War by now; they came into money about twenty years ago, I think. Carmen’s husband Christopher was the last of them, if you don’t count the baby, of course, and he left about a year ago when he and Carmen divorced.”

Lakmei glanced down to the flowers Gracey was still holding. “Were you going to lay those anywhere in particular?”

Gracey had forgotten all about the peonies. She glanced at them, suddenly feeling foolish. She shook her head. “No, I just thought…” she shrugged, letting her words trail off.

“Do you mind if I..?” Lakmei reach for the flowers, and as though jarred out of a daydream, Gracey shook herself, handing the small bouquet to the angel.

“Not at all, please.” She handed the flowers over to Lakmei and for a brief moment, their hands brushed against each other. Lakmei drew in a sharp breath, eyes popping wide as saucers. Her lips parted, drew close in a round little O. She caught hold of Gracey’s hand, closing her delicate fingers around Gracey’s strong ones. She leaned in, pulling Gracey to her in a furtive embrace. “Is that what’s different?” She shook her head, blue eyes filling with tears. “Oh, Gracey! Whoever he is, I hope he doesn’t break your heart.”

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.

The shadows that fell from the hollows of Trinity Church grew longer as autumn announced her arrival. The days were growing shorter, and the sunlight that saturated the town during the day grew thinner and more desperate as it drained as much color from curtains and wooden sideboards as it could hold, readying the small desert town for the dull gray of winter.

Candles flickered in their amber glasses on the makeshift altar inside the Trinity Church office. Their light threw dancing shadows on the walls—shadows which, under different circumstances, might have been cause for some concern. Lilac and Lakmei * knew there was a Prime of Darkness in their midst, and they knew all too well the kind of powers his kind possessed, the magic they held. Allowing shadows to play across their walls, to numb them to what quickly moving shadows could mean, could have harkened the snuffing out of their ancient existence.

But Lilac and Lakmei were not concerned tonight. This particular Prime of Darkness was more interested in the pie woman than he was in them or their games. This put them at ease. For now.

They sat at opposite ends of the overstuffed couch in their waiting room, feet curled up under them as they sipped pinot grigio from identical crystal glasses and read identical novels, hummed identical melodies, and thought identical thoughts. In fact, nearly everything about them was identical, from their white, heart-shaped faces to the timbre of their lilting voices. The only perceptible difference between them was their hair–both wore their hair long and board straight, but where Lilac’s was black as death with a curious violet sheen, Lakmei’s was gleaming white.

It was the crackle of thunder that made them look up from their books and catch the other’s eyes, inviting each to recall that the other was present.

“It’s going to rain soon.” Lilac spoke the words aloud, though she needn’t have done so. She’d been communicating with Lakmei in other ways for millenia, but for some reason she enjoyed, even after all this time, the sound of her voice. She liked the way speaking felt, the way the vibrations in her chest and throat became sound, the way her voice sounded different to her than it did to others. She enjoyed the physicality of speaking and listening. It was one of the perks of corporeality.

Lakmei leaned her head back and breathed in, smelling the air for rain. “It’s coming from the east,” she said. “Should be here in twenty minutes or so. Some tea?”

“Yes, please,” Lilac purred, snuggling deeper into the corner of the couch. It was a rare October night in west Texas where the temperature hadn’t climbed above 60 and the wind howled through the narrow country lanes. Love & War didn’t have much in the way of tumbleweed, but if it had, this would be the kind of night to see them performing their namesake action down the road.

Lakmei filled two identical coffee mugs with water from the cooler and put them in the microwave. “Something has arrived that shouldn’t be here,” she said.

Lilac sighed, marking the page she was reading before setting it down beside her. “I know, I felt it, too. Not our concern, though,” she said, her voice stern.

Lakmei shrugged, rummaging through their collection of tea boxes. “I don’t know, it could be,” she said. “Whatever it is, it–”

“Human,” Lilac said. “It’s not a what, it’s a who, and you know that. It’s a ghost. This is not our domain. Stay out of it.”

Lakmei chose two tea bags and set them out. “Do you suppose it’s still a ghost if it has a physical body?”

Lilac cocked her head to the side, thoughtful. “The Prime of Darkness has a physical body. We have physical bodies. And we three of us are still what we are.”

The microwave beeped, and Lakmei retrieved the two steaming mugs and dunked the tea bags inside. The corners of her mouth quirked up into something like a smile, and without quite looking directly at her counterpart, said, “Strange to hear you speak of us like that. The three of us. Together.”

Lilac winced, her chagrined expression mimicking Lakmei’s almost-smile. “A fine trinity we make,” she said.

“Mmm.” Lakmei wrapped her hands around the hot mug. “What do you think the ghost wants?”

Lilac shrugged; the question was clearly of small import to her. “They usually want the same things. To see loved ones. To recall their too-short lives. To seek justice for wrongs done against them.”

“Or revenge.”

“That, too.”

They sat without speaking while their tea steeped, listening and smelling for the coming rain. Lakmei closed her eyes, could hear music playing in her head. It wasn’t coming from her, though, not from her own thoughts or her own memory, but from Lilac, who was remembering another time when they sat in a room not too different from this one, in a town very different from this one, listening to Alexei Dombrovski make love with his violin. His music set the very air a-quiver, his notes dancing like electricity along the skin. Hairs stood on end to be nearer to his melody; the body ached to hear him play, to be filled with his emotion, to be fluent in his language. To be present with Alexei Dombrovski’s playing was to sit at the feet of God.

His music would never be studied by eager violin pupils with more wish than earnestness, never praised by critics with more ego than talent, his name never written in the annals of music’s long history, for Alexei’s music died long before he did, as talent so often does amidst the hustle and bustle of everyday life. So much of the world’s talent went undiscovered, shared only with a handful of friends and family who inevitably envied and hated the talent more than they appreciated it. This was humanity’s way. They loved, even worshiped, what they could not themselves do but only if the genius belonged to a stranger. The genius of loved ones was too rich a pain to bear.

Lilac and Lakmei knew this perhaps better than anyone.

When the tea was ready, they drank it. When the rain began, they listened to it. When the candles burned out, they relighted them. When all was done, they sat in stillness, Alexei Dombrovski’s last impromptu recital on a virtual loop inside both their heads. The rain, with its fat splashes against the office windows, provided the perfect counterpoint to the doleful melody Alexei played. When the sun rose over the edge of town, they put their nighttime things away and prepared to greet the new day.

*Author’s note: Lakmei is pronounced LOCK-may, like the title character in the opera Lakmé.