"Ditch the chick, Romeo," Lacey called up to him. "You're missing a great party. Especially under some of the bushes."

Even now, after two and a half months of being an angel, Tristan's first instinct was to quiet her. But no one else could hear them, except when Lacey chose to project her voice, a power he hadn't yet mastered.

He gave her a lopsided smile, then withdrew from the window. At the same moment that Tristan turned back toward the stairs, Ivy stopped and turned toward the window.

Instantly he began hoping. She senses something, he thought.

But Ivy looked right through him, then without hesitation moved past him.

She leaned upon the sill of the window, gazing wistfully at the scene before her. Tristan stood beside her and watched as torches were lit, flaring up suddenly in the summer twilight.

Ivy turned her head, and Tristan did, too, following her gaze to Will, who was standing at the edge of the crowd, surveying it. Suddenly Will looked up, meeting Ivy's eyes. Tristan knew what Will saw: brilliant green eyes and a tumbleweed of blond hair falling over her shoulders.

Ivy looked down at Will for what seemed like forever, then stepped back abruptly, her hands going up to her cheeks. Tristan pulled back just as fast. Take a picture, Will, it lasts longer, he thought, then quickly descended the steps.

Lacey was waiting on the patio, amusing herself by hitting the drummer's cymbal every time he turned his back. Of course, the drummer didn't see her, not even the purple shimmer that some believers glimpsed.

She winked at Tristan.

"I'm not here to fool around," he said.

"Okay, sweetie, let's get down to business," Lacey said, giving him a little push. Though they could slip through other people's bodies, they appeared and felt solid to each other.