Jenks zipped into my cubicle, buzzing about my head like a deranged moth as he showed off the patch job on his wing. “Hi, Rache,” he said, obnoxiously cheerful. “What’s cooking?”

“Not so loud,” I whispered. I would have given anything for a cup of coffee but wasn’t sure it was worth the twenty steps to the coffeepot. Jenks was dressed in his civvies, the colors loud and clashing. Purple doesn’t go well with yellow. It never has; it never will. God help me, his wing tape was purple, too. “Don’t you get hung over?” I breathed.

He grinned, settling himself on my pencil cup. “Nope. Pixy metabolisms are too high. The alcohol turns to sugar too fast. Ain’t that fine!”

“Swell.” I carefully wrapped a picture of Mom and me up in a wad of tissue and set it next to Rosalind. I briefly entertained the idea of telling my mom I didn’t have a job, deciding not to for obvious reasons. I’d wait until I found a new one. “Is Ivy okay?” I asked.

“Yeah. She’ll be all right.” Jenks flitted to the top of my pot of laurel. “She’s just ticked it took everything she had to buy her way out of her contract and cover her butt.”

I nodded, glad they wanted me gone. Things would be a lot easier if neither of us had a price on our head. “Did you know she had money?”

Jenks dusted off a leaf and sat down. He adopted a superior look, which is hard to manage when you’re only four inches tall and dressed like a rabid butterfly. “Well, duh … She’s the last living blood-member of her house. I’d give her some space for a few days. She’s as mad as a wet wasp. Lost her house in the country, the land, stocks, everything. All that’s left is the city manor on the river, and her mother has that.”

I eased back into my chair, unwrapped my last piece of cinnamon gum, and stuck it in my mouth. There was a clatter as Jenks landed in my cardboard box and began poking about. “Oh, yeah,” he muttered. “Ivy said she has a spot rented already. I’ve got the address.”

“Get out of my stuff.” I flicked a finger at him, and he flew back to the laurel, standing atop the highest branch to watch everyone gossip. My temple pounded as I bent to clean out my bottom drawer. Why had Ivy given Denon everything she had? Why not use her wish?

“Heads up,” Jenks said, slithering down the plant to hide in the leaves. “Here he comes.”

I straightened to find Denon halfway to my desk. Francis, the bootlicking, butt-kissing office snitch, pulled away from a cluster of people, following. My ex-boss’s eyes fastened on me over the walls of my cubicle. Choking, I accidentally swallowed my gum.

Put simply, the boss looked like a pro wrestler with a doctorate in suave: big man, hard muscles, perfect mahogany skin. I think he was a boulder in a previous life. Like Ivy, Denon was a living vamp. Unlike Ivy, he had been born human and turned. It made him low-blood, a distant second-class in the vamp world.