“Sterility?” I questioned, struggling to keep to the topic at hand.

He flipped the leprechaun off and strutted across the table to me. “Yeah. You know how many brats I’ve got?”

Even Ivy looked surprised. “You’d risk your life over that?” she asked.

Jenks made a tinkling laugh. “Who said I’m risking my life? The I.S. couldn’t care less if I leave. Pixies don’t sign contracts. They go through us too fast. I’m a free agent. I always have been.” He grinned, looking far too sly for so small a person. “I always will be. I figure my life span will be marginally longer with only you two lunkers to watch out for.”

I turned to Ivy. “I know you signed a contract. They love you. If anyone should be worried about a death threat, it’s you, not me. Why would you risk that for—for—” I hesitated. “For nothing? What wish could be worth that?”

Ivy’s face went still. A hint of black shadow drifted over her. “I don’t have to tell you.”

“I’m not stupid,” I said, trying to hide my disquiet. “How do I know you aren’t going to start practicing again?”

Clearly insulted, Ivy stared at me until I dropped my gaze, chilled to the bone. This, I thought, is definitely not a good idea. “I’m not a practicing vamp,” she finally said. “Not anymore. Not ever again.”

I forced my hand down, realizing I was playing with my damp hair. Her words were only slightly reassuring. Her glass was half empty, and I only remembered her taking the one sip.

“Partners?” Ivy said, extending her hand across the table.

Partners with Ivy? With Jenks? Ivy was the best runner the I.S. had. It was more than a little flattering that she wanted to work with me on a permanent basis, if also a bit worrisome. But it wasn’t as if I had to live with her. Slowly I stretched my hand to meet hers. My perfectly shaped red nails looked garish next to her unpolished ones. All my wishes—gone. But I would’ve probably wasted them anyway. “Partners,” I said, shivering at the coldness of Ivy’s hand as I took it.

“All right!” Jenks crowed, flitting to land on top of our handshake. The dust sifting from him seemed to warm Ivy’s touch. “Partners!”

Three

“Dear God,” I moaned under my breath. “Don’t let me be sick. Not here.” I shut my eyes in a long blink, hoping the light wouldn’t hurt so much when I opened them. I was in my cubicle, twenty-fifth floor of the I.S. tower. The afternoon sun slanted in, but it would never reach me, my desk being toward the middle of the maze. Someone had brought in doughnuts, and the smell of the frosting made my stomach roil. All I wanted was to go back home and sleep.

Tugging open my top drawer, I fumbled for a pain amulet, groaning when I found I’d used them all. My forehead hit the edge of the metal desk, and I stared past my frizzy length of hair to my ankle boots peeping past the hem of my jeans. I had worn something conservative in deference to my quitting: a tuck-in red linen shirt and pants. No more tight leather for a while.