“Come on in to the kitchen,” I said as I went through the archway at the back of the sanctuary. I took off my shades as I passed my bathroom. It had once been the men’s bathroom, the traditional fixtures replaced with a washer and dryer, a small sink, and a shower. This one was mine. The women’s bathroom across the hall had been converted into a more conventional bathroom with a tub. That one was Ivy’s. Separate bathrooms made things a heck of a lot easier.

Not liking the way Glenn was making silent judgments, I closed the doors to both Ivy’s and my bedrooms as I passed them. They had once been clergy offices. He shuffled into the kitchen behind me, spending a moment or two taking it all in. Most people did.

The kitchen was huge, and part of the reason I had agreed to live in a church with a vampire. It had two stoves, an institutional-size fridge, and a large center island overhung with a rack of gleaming utensils and pots. The stainless steel shone, and the counter space was expansive. With the exception of my Beta in the brandy snifter on the windowsill, and the massive antique wooden table Ivy used for a computer desk, it looked like the set of a cooking show. It was the last thing one would expect attached to the back of church—and I loved it.

I set the canister of fish on the table. “Why don’t you sit down,” I said, wanting to call the Howlers. “I’ll be right back.” I hesitated as my manners clawed their way up to the forefront of my mind. “Do you want a drink … or something?” I asked.

Glenn’s brown eyes were unreadable. “No, ma’am.” His voice was stiff, with more than a hint of sarcasm, making me want to smack him a good one and tell him to lighten up. I’d deal with his attitude later. Right now I had to call the Howlers.

“Have a seat, then,” I said, letting some of my own bother show. “I’ll be right back.”

The living room was just off the kitchen on the other side of the hallway. As I searched for the coach’s number in my bag, I hit the message button on the answering machine.

“Hey, Ray-ray. It’s me,” came Nick’s voice, sounding tinny through the recording. Shooting a glance at the hallway, I turned it down so Glenn couldn’t hear. “I’ve got ’em. Third row back on the far right. Now you’ll have to make good on your claim and get us backstage passes.” There was a pause, then, “I still don’t believe you’ve met him. Talk to you later.”

My breath came in anticipation as it clicked off. I had met Takata four years ago when he spotted me in the balcony at a solstice concert. I had thought I was going to be kicked out when a thick Were in a staff shirt escorted me backstage while the warm-up band played.