Once I understood that he wasn’t going to hurt me, I felt freer to interact with him as though we were normal co-workers.

“So,” I said again, “Miss Sturluson. Has she been here long?”

“I am not at liberty to disclose information about Miss Sturluson.”

The expression on his face was pained, as though I’d made a horrific gaffe.

“Oh. Sorry, Mr. Yellin. I didn’t realize.”

I paused, but in the end I couldn’t resist. The urge to needle him was irresistible.

“How come that sort of thing is kept secret?”

“Seconds do not appreciate having their private affairs shared with Nolanders, Miss Ryder.”

“Ah. Of course.”

I let the silence stretch as we passed through the door to the garage. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched his hunched shoulders begin to relax. I waited until they seemed to have reached a low point.

“So where does she live, exactly?”

The shoulders shot back up, creating two large wrinkles in the back of his gray suit jacket.

“In Brooklyn.”

“Cool. I really like Brooklyn.”

I got no response.

“The brownstones are nice. I think so, anyway. Do you like them?”

Yellin made a little strangled noise.

Yeah, I was tormenting him, but really, he deserved it. All the Seconds did. People shouldn’t be treated like property and looked down on just because they belong to a different species, or whatever Nolanders are, exactly.

When we reached the car, Yellin handed me a list of addresses. I got in the driver’s seat and programmed them into the sedan’s GPS.

I had to drive. I always had to. I suspected that Yellin didn’t know how. If he didn’t take me with him as a driver, he took someone else.

Well, at least all the chauffeuring had made me more confident behind the wheel. My first few times driving in the city, I’d been terrified almost to the point of tears. New Yorkers don’t drive like small-town Wisconsinites. In Dorf, the driving challenges are different. Like, sometimes you get to a four-way stop, and another driver has gotten there before you, but they just won’t go. No matter how much you smile and wave them on, they just smile back and wave you on instead. Then you both give in at the same moment, go, and have to slam on your brakes to avoid hitting each other. Then another round of smiling and waving commences.

Infuriating, but not exactly terrifying.

After some practice, though, I’d gotten used to city driving. Actually, I’d reached the point where I sort of enjoyed the challenge. Or, to put it the way Andy did, I’d found my driving balls.

The best part was giving the finger to taxis that cut me off. When I did that, Yellin basically melted into a puddle of horrified goo. It was awesome.