There was a click, and a low voice nearly growled, “ ’Ello. Ya got the Howlers.”

“Coach!” I exclaimed, recognizing the Were’s voice. “Good news.”

There was a slight pause. “Who is this?” he asked. “How did you get this number?”

I started. “This is Rachel Morgan,” I said slowly. “Of Vampiric Charms?”

There was a half-heard shout directed off the phone, “Which one of you dogs called the escort service? You’re athletes, for God’s sake. Can’t you pin your own bitches without having to buy them?”

“Wait!” I said before he could hang up. “You hired me to find your mascot.”

“Oh!” There was a pause, and I heard several war whoops in the background. “Right.”

I briefly weighed the trouble of changing our name against the fuss Ivy would raise: a thousand glossy black business cards, the page ad in the phone book, the matched oversized mugs she had imprinted our name on in gold foil. It wasn’t going to happen.

“I recovered your fish,” I said, bringing myself back. “When can someone pick it up?”

“Uh,” the coach muttered. “Didn’t anyone call you?”

My face went slack. “No.”

“One of the guys moved her while they cleaned her tank and didn’t tell anyone,” he said. “She was never gone.”

Her? I thought. The fish was a her? How could they tell? Then I got angry. I had broken into a Were’s office for nothing? “No,” I said coldly. “No one called me.”

“Mmmm. Sorry about that. Thanks for your help, though.”

“Whoa! Wait a moment,” I cried, hearing the brush-off in his voice. “I spent three days planning this. I risked my life!”

“And we appreciate that—” the coach started.

I spun in an angry circle and stared out at the garden through the shoulder-high windows. The sun glinted on the tombstones beyond. “I don’t think you do, Coach. We’re talking bullets!”

“But she was never lost,” the coach insisted. “You don’t have our fish. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry won’t keep those Weres off my tail.” Furious, I paced around the coffee table.

“Look,” he said. “I’ll send you some tickets to the exhibition game coming up.”

“Tickets!” I exclaimed, astounded. “For breaking into Mr. Ray’s office?”

“Simon Ray?” the coach said. “You broke into Simon’s office? Damn, that’s rough. ’Bye now.”

“No, wait!” I shouted, but the phone clicked off. I stared at the humming receiver. Didn’t they know who I was? Didn’t they know I could curse their bats to crack and their pop flies to land foul? Did they think I would sit back and do nothing when they owed me my rent!