“But you wanted me to quit. …” I whispered as he disappeared into the elevator. The doors closed; the little red arrow pointing down turned bright. He had his own boss to tell. Denon had to be joking. He wouldn’t put a price on my head for something as stupid as Ivy leaving with me. Would he?

“Good going, Rachel.”

My head jerked up at the nasal voice. I had forgotten Francis. He slid from Joyce’s desk and leaned up against my wall. After seeing Denon do the same thing, the effect was laughable. Slowly, I slipped back into my swivel chair.

“I’ve been waiting six months for you to get steamed up enough to leave,” Francis said. “I should’ve known all you needed was to get drunk.”

A surge of anger burned away the last of my fear, and I returned to my packing. My fingers were cold, and I tried to rub some warmth back into them. Jenks came out of hiding and silently flitted to the top of my plant.

Francis pushed the sleeves of his jacket back to his elbows. Nudging my check out of the way with a single finger, he sat on my desk with one foot on the floor. “It took a lot longer than I thought,” he mocked. “Either you’re really stubborn or really stupid. Either way, you’re really dead.” He sniffed, making a rasping noise through his thin nose.

I slammed a desk drawer shut, nearly catching his fingers. “Is there a point you’re trying to make, Francis?”

“It’s Frank,” he said, trying to look superior but coming off as if he had a cold. “Don’t bother dumping your computer files. There’re mine, along with your desk.”

I glanced at my monitor with its screen saver of a big, bug-eyed frog. Every so often it ate a fly with Francis’s face on it. “Since when are the stiffs downstairs letting a warlock run a case?” I asked, hammering at his classification. Francis wasn’t good enough to rank witch. He could invoke a spell, but didn’t have the know-how to stir one. I did, though I usually bought my amulets. It was easier, and probably safer for me and my mark. It wasn’t my fault thousands of years of stereotyping had put females as witches and males as warlocks.

Apparently it was just what he wanted me to ask. “You’re not the only one who can cook, Rachel-me-gal. I got my license last week.” Leaning, he picked a pen out of my box and set it back in the pencil cup. “I’d have made witch a long time ago. I just didn’t want to dirty my hands learning how to stir a spell. I shouldn’t have waited so long. It’s too easy.”

I plucked the pen back out and tucked it in my back pocket. “Well, goody for you.” Francis made the jump to witch? I thought. They must have lowered the standards.

“Yup,” Francis said, cleaning under his fingernails with one of my silver daggers. “Got your desk, your caseload, even your company car.”