“Get that dog out of here!” came an angry voice through the floor, and we looked up at the faint spot of light. The yapping grew faint, and my pulse eased. “Yup,” Jim said. “Those are fresh chewings. One got out this way.”

“How do we get down there?” It was Trent, and I cowered, pressing myself into the dirt.

“There’s a trapdoor in the hallway, but the crawl space is open to the street through any of the vents.” Their voices grew distant as they moved away. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kalamack,” Jim was saying. “We’ve never had an escapee before. I’ll get someone to go down there right away.”

“No. She’s gone.” His voice held a controlled, soft frustration, and I felt a stir of victory. Jonathan wasn’t going to have a very pleasant drive back. I straightened from my crouch and heaved a sigh. My ear and eyes were burning. I wanted to go home.

Baron squeaked for my attention, pointing to the ground. I looked to find he had written in careful letters, “Thanks.”

I couldn’t help my smile. Crouched beside him, I wrote, “You’re welcome.” My letters looked sloppy next to his.

“You two are so sweet,” Jenks mocked. “Can we get out of here now?”

Baron leapt to the screen across the vent, latching on with all four feet. Choosing carefully, he began to pull at the seams with his teeth.

Twenty-Three

My spoon scraped the bottom of the cottage cheese container. Hunching over it, I pushed what remained into a pile. My knee was cold, and I tugged my midnight-blue, terry-cloth robe back over it. I was stuffing my face while Baron changed back into a person and showered in the second bathroom Ivy and I had independently determined was mine. I could hardly wait to see what he really looked like. Ivy and I agreed that if he had survived the rat fights for who knew how long, he had to be a hunk. God knew he was brave, chivalrous, and not fazed by vampires—the last one being the most intriguing, seeing as Jenks had said he was human.

Jenks had called Ivy collect from the first phone we found. The sound of her motorcycle—just out of the shop from her having slid it under a truck last week—had been like a choir singing. I almost cried at her concern when she swung from the seat wearing head-to-toe biker leather. Someone cared if I lived or died. It didn’t matter if it was a vampire whose motives I still didn’t understand.

Neither Baron or I would get into the box she had brought, and after a five-minute discussion consisting of her protests and our squeaks, she finally threw the box into the back of the alley with a grunt of frustration and let us ride up front. She hadn’t been in the best of moods when she tooled on out of the alley, a mink and a rat standing on her gas tank with our forepaws on the tiny dash. By the time we cleared the worst of Friday rush-hour traffic and were able to pick up speed, I knew why dogs hung their heads out the window.