Her speech had slowed to a sultry drawl. I had to get out of this hallway. “After three days with him, I have more than that.”

From the kitchen came Nick’s voice. “The I.S.?” he said loudly. “Are they the ones that put you in the rat fights, Rachel? You aren’t a black witch, are you?”

Ivy jerked. Her eyes flashed to brown. Looking disconcerted, she backed up. “Sorry,” she said softly. Clearly not pleased, Ivy returned to the kitchen. Relieved, I followed, to find Jenks on Nick’s shoulder. I wondered if Nick had acute hearing or if Jenks had relayed everything to him. I was betting on the latter. And Nick’s question about black witchcraft had been disturbing in its casualness.

“Nah,” Jenks said, sounding smug. “Rachel’s witchcraft is whiter than her ass. She quit the I.S. and took Ivy with her. Ivy was their best. Denon, her boss, put a price on Rachel’s head for spite.”

“You were an I.S. runner,” Nick said. “I get it. But how did you end up in the rat fights?”

Still on edge, I looked to Ivy, who was industriously scrubbing the sink again, and she shrugged. So much for keeping rat boy in the dark. Shuffling back to the counter, I pulled out six pieces of bread. “Mr. Kalamack caught me in his office looking for evidence of him moving biodrugs,” I said. “He thought it would be more fun putting me in the rat fights than turning me in.”

“Kalamack?” Nick asked, his large eyes going wider. “You’re talking about Trent Kalamack? The councilman? He runs biodrugs?” Nick’s robe had parted about his knees, and I wished he’d turn ju-u-u-ust a little more.

Smug, I layered two slices of bologna each on three slices of bread. “Yup, but while I was trapped I found out Trent isn’t simply running biodrugs.” I hesitated dramatically. “He’s making them, too,” I finished.

Ivy turned. Rag hanging forgotten in her slack grip, she stared at me from across the kitchen. I could hear kids playing tag next door, it was so quiet. Enjoying her reaction, I picked at the lettuce until I got to the green parts.

Nick was ashen-faced. I didn’t blame him. Humans were terrified of genetic manipulation, for obvious reasons. And having Trent Kalamack dabbling in it was very worrisome. Especially when it wasn’t clear which side of the human/Inderlander fence he was on. “Not Mr. Kalamack,” the distraught man said. “I voted for him. Both times. Are you sure?”

Ivy, too, looked worried. “He’s a bioengineer?”

“Well, he funds them,” I said. And kills them, and leaves them to rot on his office floor. “He’s got a shipment going out on Southwest tonight. If we can intercept it and tie it to him, I can use it to pay off my contract. Jenks, you still have that page from his datebook?”

The pixy nodded. “It’s hidden in my stump.”

I opened my mouth to protest, then decided it wasn’t a bad spot. The sound of the knife was loud as I slathered mayonnaise on the bread and finished the sandwiches.