Man, the rain was really coming down now. His windshield wipers slapped it wildly off the glass.

“It has to be my place,” she was saying.

“Of course. I’ll drive.”

She hurried around the back of the car and slid into the passenger seat. It smelled clean, no lingering smoke, so she didn’t light up, just rattled off the address as he, dressed all in black, his jacket zipped to his neck, drove calmly, not talking. The swish of the wipers and hiss of the tires over the wet pavement underscored the drone of the radio. He drove the speed limit—no hurry—and they arrived at the old apartment building where she resided. Her two rooms were on the first floor, near the back entrance. She dashed through the rain with him on her heels, and though she thought it odd that he didn’t remove his sunglasses, Gracie was used to all kinds of freaks, some of whom didn’t even want sex; they just wanted to talk or watch her fondle herself, or . . . well, whatever. If she’d learned anything in this business, it was that she couldn’t guess what made a john tick.

Damn, the hallway reeked of Mrs. Rubino’s old-world spaghetti sauce, meaning there was enough essence of garlic to keep even the toughest vampire at bay. And her television was cranked to the max, the noise from one of her favorite late-night game shows echoing down the corridor. Mrs. Rubino, nearly deaf and overly friendly to the point of being downright nosy, was Gracie’s only neighbor on this side of the building. The maintenance room, elevator, and stairway to the upper floors separated the two units.

Gracie didn’t apologize for the odor and knew that it would stop at her doorway. She always made sure her rooms smelled of vanilla and musk, the scents of the candles and incense she burned in her tiny quarters.

Quickly, she unlocked her door and stepped inside.

The john followed after her, and as she lit the candles, she heard him shrug off his jacket.

“I get paid in advance,” she said gently, touching the end of her lighter to the charred wick of a tall, fragrant taper.

“I know.” His voice was low, nearly melodic, and she felt rather than saw him withdraw his wallet, open it, and leave the money on the small kitchen table near the window. Then she heard the venetian blinds snap shut.

She set down the lighter. The ambiance was lost on so many of her johns, but she liked the soft light and warm scents. Shrugging out of her jacket, she turned and her heart nearly stopped when she saw the clerical collar that had been hidden under his coat.