Nick shifted and Ivy jerked, almost reaching for him. Licking his cracked lips, Nick said, “You’ll hold it for me?”

“I’ll keep it,” I assured him, fumbling for the lead-lined bag and extending it. “Here.”

Hollow-cheeked face frightened, he carefully placed it into the pouch. His swollen fingers started curving around it, and I pulled it to me, tightening the drawstrings. It wasn’t any magical hold it had on him; it was greed.

Hand shaking, Ivy grabbed her drink and downed it to ice. I kept an eye on her while I put the statue in my bag, then put the bag on my lap. It felt heavy, like a dead thing. From the corner came Jenks singing “Ballad of the Edmund Fitzgerald.” The skinny guy at the bar was watching him, having turned completely from the game recap. Jenks could sing?

“Sit,” Ivy breathed, and this time Nick did, taking Jenks’s spot beside me and putting Jenks’s coat on the chair beside Ivy. “Where did you find that?” she muttered.

“It’s mine.”

I shifted in my chair, smelling our food coming. The woman didn’t look at anyone as she placed the food down and left. The tension was so thick, even she could sense it. I stared at my plate. There was my fabulous burger, oozing juice, with lettuce, onions, mushrooms, cheese, and, oh God, there was bacon on it too. And I couldn’t eat it because we had to argue about Nick’s ugly statue first. Well, to hell with that, I thought, removing the top bun and picking the onions off.

Ivy refilled her glass from the pitcher, a growing rim of brown around her pupils. “I didn’t say whose is it. I said, where did you find it?”

Nick pulled his plate closer, clearly wanting to ignore her but making the healthy decision not to. “I can’t believe you brought it here,” he said again, motions jerky as he rearranged his pickles. “I sent it to Rachel so it would be safe.”

Ivy glared at him. “If you use smart people in your takes without telling them, don’t complain when they do the unexpected and ruin your plans.”

“I thought she was dead,” Nick protested. “I never expected anyone to come help me.”

I ate one of Jenks’s fries. There wasn’t any ketchup on the table, but asking for some would get us thrown out. Humans blamed the Turn on tomatoes, but they were the ones who had done the genetic tinkering. “And why are they willing to pack up to get ahold of it?” I asked.

Nick looked ill. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

My lips parted in disbelief, and I turned to Ivy. “He’s still running his scam.”

“I’m not.” His eyes were wide in an innocence that couldn’t reach me anymore. “But the Weres can’t have it. Don’t you know what it is?”

His last words were a hushed whisper, and Ivy glanced past me to the door as three underdressed, giggling women pranced in. Immediately Becky started in with a high-pitched chatter, her eyes tracking to Jenks. I think she had called them about fresh meat.