“I thought all witches had a cat.”

Lips pursed, I strode down the hall. “Cats make Mr. Dinky sneeze.”

Jenks flew alongside my ear. “Who is Mr. Dinky?”

“Him,” I said, pointing to the framed, oversized picture of a white Chihuahua hanging across from my landlady’s door. The butt-ugly, bug-eyed dog wore one of those bows parents put on a baby so you know it’s a girl. I pounded on the door. “Mrs. Talbu? Mrs. Talbu!”

There were the muffled yaps of Mr. Dinky and the sound of nails on the backside of the door, shortly followed by my landlady screeching to try and get the thing to shut up. Mr. Dinky redoubled his noise, scrabbling at the floor to dig his way to me.

“Mrs. Talbu!” I shouted. “Why is my stuff in the hall?”

“Word’s out on you, Hot Stuff,” Jenks said from the ceiling. “You’re damaged goods.”

“I told you not to call me that!” I shouted, hitting her door with my last word.

I heard the slamming of a door from inside, and Mr. Dinky’s barking grew muffled and more frenzied. “Go away,” came a thin, reedy voice. “You can’t live here anymore.”

The flat of my hand hurt, and I massaged it. “You think I can’t pay my rent?” I said, not caring that the entire floor could hear me. “I’ve got money, Mrs. Talbu. You can’t kick me out. I’ve got next month’s rent right here.” I pulled out my soggy check and waved it at the door.

“I changed your lock,” Mrs. Talbu quavered. “Go away before you get killed.”

I stared at the door in disbelief. She had found out about the I.S.’s threat? And the old lady act was a sham. She shouted clear enough through my wall when she thought I played my music too loud. “You can’t evict me!” I said desperately. “I’ve got rights.”

“Dead witches have no rights,” Jenks said from the light fixture.

“Damn it, Mrs. Talbu!” I shouted at the door. “I’m not dead yet!”

There was no answer. I stood there, thinking. I didn’t have much recourse, and she knew it. I supposed I could stay at my new office until I found something. Moving back in with my mother was not an option, and I hadn’t talked to my brother since I joined the I.S.

“What about my security deposit?” I asked, and the door remained silent. My temper shifted to a slow, steady burn, one that could last for days. “Mrs. Talbu,” I said quietly. “If you don’t give me the balance of this month’s rent and my security deposit, I’m going to sit right in front of your door.” I paused, listening. “I’m going to sit here until they spell me. I’ll probably explode right here. Make a big bloody stain on your carpet that won’t come out. And you’re going to have to look at that big bloody stain everyday. Hear me, Mrs. Talbu?” I quietly threatened. “Pieces of me will be on your hall ceiling.”