“Jenks snickered. “Yeah, Rache. Why bother? I mean, this could be good. Ivy could invite her mom over for a housewarming. We’ve been here a year, and the woman is dying to come over. Well, at least she would be if she were still alive.” Worried, I looked up from the phone book. Alarm sifted over Ivy. For a moment it was so quiet I could hear the clock above the sink, and then Ivy jerked, her speed edging into that eerie vamp quickness she took pains to hide. “Give me the phone,” she said, snatching it.”

“Ivy could have been a model. Hell, Ivy could be anything she wanted. Except happy. Ivy had issues.”

“Jenks shook his head. "Rache, I really feel bad for her, but Ivy's right. She can't stay here. She needs professional help." "Really?" I said belligerently, feeling myself warm. "I haven't heard of any group therapy sessions for retired demon familiars, have you?”

“Ivy rose to rinse the carafe. She leaned close to me, running the water to blur her words as she muttered, "What's wrong with her? She's crying over her tea.”

“There comes a point at which you stop giving things up. That is what i won't give up. None of it will i give up, for my beautiful sister Ivy who lies in bed. Ivy who used to be alive. Ivy who used to be. Ivy who used. Ivy who. Ivy-who-is-not-me.Not me. Not me. Not me.”

“Still staring at the woman in the mirror, I hung up the phone. She looked as if she was going to cry. I felt bad for her, that woman with the dark hair, the one who only ever wore black and white. The one who might have been pretty if she'd only take care of herself, if only she weren't smarter, if only she didn't earn more money. I felt sorry for her but envied her, too, because she, at least, could cry and I could not.”