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Ivy’s eyes were unblinking. “Leon Bairn didn’t just spontaneously explode, Rachel.”
My breath puffed out. I wouldn’t believe the stories. They were just that, stories to keep the I.S.’s flock of runners from wanting to break their contracts once they learned all the I.S. had to teach them. “That was over ten years ago,” I said. “And the I.S. had nothing to do with it. They aren’t going to kill me for breaking my contract; they want me to leave.” I frowned. “Besides, being turned inside out would be more fun than what I’m doing now.”
Ivy leaned forward, and I refused to back away. “They say it took three days to find enough of him to fit in a shoe box,” she said. “Scraped the last off the ceiling of his porch.”
“What am I supposed to do?” I said, pulling my arm back. “I haven’t had a decent run in months. Look at this.” I gestured to my take. “A tax-evading leprechaun. It’s an insult.”
The little woman stiffened. “Well, excu-u-u-u-use me.”
Jenks abandoned his new girlfriend to sit on the back rim of the cabbie’s hat. “Yeah,” he said. “Rachel’s gonna be pushing a broom if I have to take time off for workman’s comp.”
He fitfully moved his damaged wing, and I gave him a pained smile. “Maitake?” I said.
“Quarter pound,” he countered, and I mentally upped it to a half. He was okay, for a pixy.
Ivy frowned, fingering her crucifix chain. “There’s a reason no one breaks their contract. The last person to try was sucked through a turbine.”
Jaw clenched, I turned to look out the front window. I remembered. It was almost a year ago. It would have killed him if he hadn’t been dead already. The vamp was due back in the office any day now. “I’m not asking for your permission,” I said. “I’m asking you if you know anyone with a cheap place to rent.” Ivy was silent, and I shifted to see her. “I have a little something tucked away. I can put up a shingle, help people that need it—”
“Oh, for the love of blood,” Ivy interrupted. “Leaving to open up a charm shop, maybe. But your own agency?” She shook her head, her black hair swinging. “I’m not your mother, but if you do this, you’re dead. Jenks? Tell her she’s dead.”
Jenks nodded solemnly, and I flopped around to stare out the window. I felt stupid for having asked for her help. The cabbie was nodding. “Dead,” he said. “Dead, dead, dead.”
This was better and better. Between Jenks and the cab driver, the entire city would know I quit before I gave notice. “Never mind. I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I muttered.
Ivy draped an arm over the seat. “Did it occur to you someone may be setting you up? Everyone knows leprechauns try to buy their way out. If you get caught, your butt is buttered.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I thought of that.” I hadn’t, but I wasn’t going to tell her. “My first wish will be to not get caught.”
“Always is,” the leprechaun said slyly. “That your first wish?” In a flash of anger, I nodded, and the leprechaun grinned, dimples showing. She was halfway home.
“Look,” I said to Ivy. “I don’t need your help. Thanks for nothing.” I shuffled in my bag for my wallet. “Drop me here,” I said to the cabbie. “I want a coffee. Jenks? Ivy will get you back to the I.S. Can you do that for me, Ivy? For old times’ sake?”
“Rachel,” she protested, “you’re not listening to me.”
The cabbie carefully signaled, then pulled over. “Watch your back, Hot Stuff.”
I got out, yanked open the rear door, and grabbed my leprechaun by her uniform. My cuffs had completely masked her size spell. She was about the size of a chunky two-year-old. “Here,” I said, tossing a twenty onto the seat. “That should cover my share.”
“It’s still raining!” the leprechaun wailed.
“Shut up.” Drops pattered against me, ruining my topknot and sticking the trailing strands to my neck. I slammed the door as Ivy leaned to say something. I had nothing left to lose. My life was a pile of magic manure, and I couldn’t even make compost out of it.
“But I’m getting wet,” the leprechaun complained.
“You want back in the car?” I asked. My voice was calm, but inside I was seething. “We can forget the whole thing if you want. I’m sure Ivy will take care of your paperwork. Two jobs in one night. She’ll get a bonus.”
“No,” came her meek, tiny voice.
Ticked, I looked across the street to the Starbucks catering to uptown snits who needed sixty different ways to brew a bean in order to not be happy with any of them. Being on this side of the river, the coffeehouse would likely be empty at this hour. It was the perfect place to sulk and regroup. I half dragged the leprechaun to the door, trying to guess the cost of a cup of coffee by the number of pre-Turn doodads in the front window.
“Rachel, wait.” Ivy had rolled down her window, and I could hear the cabbie’s music cranked again. Sting’s “A Thousand Years.” I could almost get back in the car.
I yanked the door of the café open, sneering at the chimes’ merry jingle. “Coffee. Black. And a booster seat,” I shouted to the kid behind the counter as I strode to the darkest corner, my leprechaun in tow. Tear it all. The kid was a vision of upright character in his red-and-white-striped apron and perfect hair. Probably a university student. I could have gone to the university instead of the community college. At least for a semester or two. I’d been accepted and everything.
The booth, though, was cushy and soft. There was a real tablecloth. And my feet didn’t stick to the floor, a definite plus. The kid was eyeing me with a superior look, so I pulled off my boots and sat cross-legged to harass him. I was still dressed like a hooker. I think he was trying to decide whether he should call the I.S. or its human counterpart, the FIB. That’d be a laugh.
My ticket out of the I.S. stood on the seat across from me and fidgeted. “Can I have a latte?” she whined.
“No.”
The door chimed, and I looked to see Ivy stride in with her owl on her arm, its talons pinching the thick armband she had. Jenks was perched on her shoulder, as far from the owl as he could get. I stiffened, turning to the picture above the table of babies dressed up as a fruit salad. I think it was supposed to be cute, but it only made me hungry.
“Rachel. I have to talk to you.”
This was apparently too much for Junior. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said in his perfect voice. “No pets allowed. The owl must remain outside.”
Ma’am? I thought, trying to keep the hysterical laughter from bubbling up.
He went pale as Ivy glanced at him. Staggering, he almost fell as he sightlessly backed up. She was pulling an aura on him. Not good.
Ivy turned her gaze to me. My air whooshed out as I hit the back of the booth. Black, predator eyes nailed me to the vinyl seat. Raw hunger clutched at my stomach. My fingers convulsed.
Her bound tension was intoxicating. I couldn’t look away. It was nothing like the gentle question the dead vamp had posed to me in The Blood and Brew. This was anger, domination. Thank God she wasn’t angry with me, but at Junior behind the counter.
Sure enough, as soon as she saw the look on my face, the anger in her eyes flickered and went out. Her pupils contracted, setting her eyes back to their usual brown. In a clock-tick the shroud of power had slipped from her, easing back into the depths of hell that it came from. It had to be hell. Such raw domination couldn’t come from an enchantment. My anger flowed back. If I was angry, I couldn’t be afraid, right?
It had been years since Ivy pulled an aura on me. The last time, we had been arguing over how to tag a low-blood vamp under suspicion of enticing underage girls with some asinine, role-playing card game. I had dropped her with a sleep charm, then painted the word “idiot” on her fingernails in red nail polish before tying her in a chair and waking her up. She had been the model friend since then, if a bit cool at times. I think she appreciated that I hadn’t told anyone.
Junior cleared his throat. “You—ah—can’t stay unless you order something, ma’am?” he offered weakly.
Gutsy, I thought. Must be an Inderlander.
“Orange juice,” Ivy said loudly, standing before me. “No pulp.”
Surprise made me look up. “Orange juice?” Then I frowned. “Look,” I said, unclenching my hands and roughly pulling my bag of charms onto my lap. “I don’t care if Leon Bairn did end up as a film on the sidewalk. I’m quitting. And nothing you say is going to change my mind.”
Ivy shifted from foot to foot. It was her disquiet that cooled the last of my anger. Ivy was worried? I’d never seen that.
“I want to go with you,” she finally said.
For a moment, I could only stare. “What?” I finally managed.
She sat down across from me with an affected air of nonchalance, putting her owl to watch the leprechaun. The tearing sound as she undid the fasteners of her armband sounded loud, and she set it on the bench beside her. Jenks half hopped to the table, his eyes wide and his mouth shut for a change. Junior showed up with the booster chair and our drinks. We silently waited as he placed everything with shaking hands and went to hide in the back room.
My mug was chipped and only half full. I toyed with the idea of coming back to stick a charm under the table that would sour any cream that got within four feet of it, but decided I had more important things to contend with. Like why Ivy was going to flush her illustrious career down the proverbial toilet.
“Why?” I asked, floored. “The boss loves you. You get to pick your assignments. You got a paid vacation last year.”
Ivy was studying the picture, avoiding me. “So?”
“It was for four weeks! You went to Alaska for the midnight sun!”
Her thin black eyebrows bunched, and she reached to arrange her owl’s feathers. “Half the rent, half the utilities, half of everything is my responsibility, half is yours. I bring in and do my business, you bring in and handle yours. If need be, we work together. Like before.”
I settled back, my huff not as obvious as I wanted it to be, since there was only the cushy upholstery to fall into. “Why?” I asked again.
Her fingers dropped from her owl. “I’m very good at what I do,” she said, not answering me. A hint of vulnerability had crept into her voice. “I won’t drag you down, Rachel. No vamp will dare move against me. I can extend that to you. I’ll keep the vamp assassins off of you until you come up with the money to pay off your contract. With my connections and your spells, we can stay alive long enough to get the I.S. to drop the price on our heads. But I want a wish.”
“There’s no price on our heads,” I said quickly.
“Rachel …” she cajoled. Her brown eyes were soft in worry, alarming me. “Rachel, there will be.” She leaned forward until I fought not to retreat. I took a shallow breath to look for the smell of blood on her, smelling only the tang of juice. She was wrong. The I.S. wouldn’t put a price on my head. They wanted me to leave. She was the one who should be worried.
“Me, too,” Jenks said suddenly. He vaulted to the rim of my mug. Iridescent dust sifted from his bent wing to make an oily film on my coffee. “I want in. I want a wish. I’ll ditch the I.S. and be both your backups. You’re gonna need one. Rache, you get the four hours before midnight, Ivy the four after, or whatever schedule you want. I get every fourth day off, seven paid holidays, and a wish. You let me and my family live in the office, real quietlike in the walls. Pay me what I’m making now, biweekly.”
Ivy nodded and took a sip of her juice. “Sounds good to me. What do you think?”
My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “I can’t give you my wishes.”
The leprechaun bobbed her head. “Yes, you can.”
“No,” I said impatiently. “I mean, I need them.” A pang of worry had settled into my gut at the thought that maybe Ivy was right. “I already used one to not get caught letting her go,” I said. “I have to wish to get out of my contract, for starters.”
“Uh,” the leprechaun stammered. “I can’t do anything about that if it’s in writing.”
Jenks gave a snort of derision. “Not that good, eh?”
“Shut your mouth—bug!” she snapped, color showing on her cheeks.
“Shut your own, moss wipe!” he snarled back.
This can’t be happening, I thought. All I wanted was out, not to lead a revolt. “You’re not serious,” I said. “Ivy, tell me this is your twisted sense of humor finally showing itself.”
She met my gaze squarely. I never could tell what was going on behind a vamp’s eyes. “For the first time in my career,” she said, “I’m going back empty-handed. I let my take go.” She waved a hand in the air. “Opened the trunk and let them run. I broke regulations.” A closed-lipped smile flickered over her and was gone. “Is that serious enough for you?”
“Go find your own leprechaun,” I said, catching myself as I reached for my cup. Jenks was still sitting on the handle.
She laughed. It was cold, and this time I did shiver. “I pick my runs,” she said. “What do you think would happen if I went after a leprechaun, muffed it, then tried to leave the I.S.?”
Across from me, the leprechaun sighed. “No amount of wishing could make that look good,” she piped up. “It’s going to be hard enough making this look like a coincidence.”
“And you, Jenks?” I said, my voice cracking.
Jenks shrugged. “I want a wish. It can give me something the I.S. can’t. I want sterility so my wife won’t leave me.” He flew a ragged path to the leprechaun. “Or is that too hard for you, greenie weenie?” he mocked, standing with his feet spread wide and his hands on his hips.
“Bug,” she muttered, my charms jingling as she threatened to squish him. Jenks’s wings went red in anger, and I wondered if the dust sifting from him could catch fire.
“Sterility?” I questioned, struggling to keep to the topic at hand.
He flipped the leprechaun off and strutted across the table to me. “Yeah. You know how many brats I’ve got?”
Even Ivy looked surprised. “You’d risk your life over that?” she asked.
Jenks made a tinkling laugh. “Who said I’m risking my life? The I.S. couldn’t care less if I leave. Pixies don’t sign contracts. They go through us too fast. I’m a free agent. I always have been.” He grinned, looking far too sly for so small a person. “I always will be. I figure my life span will be marginally longer with only you two lunkers to watch out for.”
I turned to Ivy. “I know you signed a contract. They love you. If anyone should be worried about a death threat, it’s you, not me. Why would you risk that for—for—” I hesitated. “For nothing? What wish could be worth that?”
Ivy’s face went still. A hint of black shadow drifted over her. “I don’t have to tell you.”
“I’m not stupid,” I said, trying to hide my disquiet. “How do I know you aren’t going to start practicing again?”
Clearly insulted, Ivy stared at me until I dropped my gaze, chilled to the bone. This, I thought, is definitely not a good idea. “I’m not a practicing vamp,” she finally said. “Not anymore. Not ever again.”
I forced my hand down, realizing I was playing with my damp hair. Her words were only slightly reassuring. Her glass was half empty, and I only remembered her taking the one sip.
“Partners?” Ivy said, extending her hand across the table.
Partners with Ivy? With Jenks? Ivy was the best runner the I.S. had. It was more than a little flattering that she wanted to work with me on a permanent basis, if also a bit worrisome. But it wasn’t as if I had to live with her. Slowly I stretched my hand to meet hers. My perfectly shaped red nails looked garish next to her unpolished ones. All my wishes—gone. But I would’ve probably wasted them anyway. “Partners,” I said, shivering at the coldness of Ivy’s hand as I took it.
“All right!” Jenks crowed, flitting to land on top of our handshake. The dust sifting from him seemed to warm Ivy’s touch. “Partners!”
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