Dead Witch Walking. Ким Харрисон

but it was a start. I didn’t want to leave the security of the church, but Ivy’s protection was a double-edged sword. She had bottled up her blood lust for three years. If she broke, I might be just as dead.

      “‘Councilman Trenton Kalamack blames I.S. negligence in secretary’s death,’” she read, clearly trying to change the subject.

      “Yeah,” I said cautiously. I put her book in the pile with my spell books to read later. My fingers felt dirty, and I wiped them on my jeans. “Ain’t money grand? There’s another story of him being cleared of all suspicion of dealing in Brimstone.”

      She said nothing, turning pages between bites of muffin until she found the article. “Listen to this,” she said softly. “He says, ‘I was shocked to learn of Mrs. Bates’s second life. She seemed the model employee. I will, of course, pay for her surviving son’s education.’” Ivy gave a short snort of mirthless laughter. “Typical.” She turned to the comics. “So will you be spell crafting today?”

      I shook my head. “I’m going to the records vault before they close for the weekend. This,” I flicked a finger at the paper, “is useless. I want to see what really happened.”

      Ivy set down her muffin, thin eyebrows high in question.

      “If I can prove Trent is dealing in Brimstone and give him to the I.S.,” I said, “they’ll forget about my contract. They have a standing warrant for him.” And then I can get the hell out of this church, I added silently.

      “Prove Trent runs Brimstone?” Ivy scoffed. “They can’t even prove if he’s human or Inderlander. His money makes him slipperier than frog spit in a rainstorm. Money can’t buy innocence, but it can buy silence.” She picked at her muffin. Dressed in her robe and with her sloppy hair, she could have been any of my sporadic roommates over the past years. It was unnerving. Everything changed when the sun was up.

      “These are good,” Ivy said as she held up a muffin. “Tell you what. I’ll buy groceries if you make dinner. Breakfast and lunch I can get on my own, but I don’t like cooking.”

      I made a face in understanding and agreement—I didn’t appreciate the finer arts of culinary expertise, either—but then I thought about it. It would take up my time, but not having to go to the store sounded great. Even if Ivy only offered so I wouldn’t have to put my life on the line for a can of beans, it sounded fair. I’d be cooking either way, and cooking for two was easier than cooking for one. “Sure,” I said slowly. “We can try it for a while.”

      She made a soft noise. “It’s a deal.”

      I glanced at my watch. It was one-forty. My chair squeaked across the linoleum as I stood up and grabbed a muffin. “Well, I’m out of here. I’ve got to get a car or something. This bus thing is awful.”

      Ivy laid out the comics atop the clutter surrounding her computer. “The I.S. isn’t going to let you just walk in.”

      “They have to. Public record. And no one’s going to tag me with a bunch of witnesses they will have to pay off. Cuts into their profits,” I finished bitterly.

      The arch to Ivy’s eyebrows said more clearly than words she wasn’t convinced.

      “Look,” I said as I pulled my bag from atop a chair and sorted through it. “I was going to use a disguise spell, all right? And I’ll leave at the first sign of trouble.”

      The amulet I waved in the air seemed to satisfy her, but as she went back to her comics, she muttered, “Take Jenks with you?”

      It really wasn’t a question, and I grimaced. “Yeah. Sure.” I knew he was a babysitter, but as I poked my head out the back door and yelled for him, I decided it would be nice having the company, even if it was a pixy.