“How much is this going to cost?” I asked, remembering I was supposed to be angry.

“Seven hundred a month, utilities—ah—included,” Ivy said quietly.

“Seven hundred?” I hesitated, surprised. That would be three fifty for my share. I was paying four fifty uptown for my one-room castle. That wasn’t bad. Not bad at all. Especially if it had a yard. No, I thought, my bad mood returning. It was a graveyard.

“Where are you going?” I said as Ivy walked away. “I’m talking to you.”

“To get a cup of coffee. You want one?” She disappeared through the door at the back of the raised stage.

“Okay, so the rent is cheap,” I said. “That’s what I said I wanted, but it’s a church! You can’t run a business from a church!” Fuming, I followed her past the opposing his-and-her bathrooms. Farther down was a door on the right. I peeked past it to find a nice-sized empty room, the floor and smooth walls giving back an echo of my breathing. A stained-glass window of saints was propped open with a stick to air the place out, and I could hear the sparrows arguing outside. The room looked as if it had once been an office, having since been modified for toddlers’ nap cots. The floor was dusty, but the wood was sound under the light scratches.

Satisfied, I peeked around the door across the hall. There was a made-up bed and open boxes. Before I could see more, Ivy reached in front of me and pulled the door shut.

“That’s your stuff,” I said, staring at her.

Ivy’s face was empty, chilling me more than if she had been pulling an aura. “I’m going to have to stay here until I can rent a room somewhere.” She hesitated, tucking her black hair behind an ear. “Got a problem with that?”

“No,” I said softly, closing my eyes in a long blink. For the love of St. Philomena. I was going to have to live at the office until I got myself set. My eyes opened, and I was startled by the odd look Ivy had, a mix of fear and—anticipation?

“I’m going to have to crash here, too,” I said, not liking this at all but seeing no other option. “My landlady evicted me. The box by the front door is all I’ve got until I can get my stuff despelled. The I.S. black-charmed everything in my apartment, almost nailed me on the bus. And thanks to my landlady, no one within the city limits will rent to me. Denon put a contract out on me, just like you said.” I tried to keep the whine out of my voice, but it was there.

That odd light was still in Ivy’s eyes, and I wondered if she had told me the truth about being a nonpracticing vamp. “You can have the empty room,” she said, her voice carefully flat.

I gave her a terse nod. Okay, I thought, taking a deep breath. I was living in a church—with bodies in the backyard—an I.S. death threat on me—and a vamp across the hall. I wondered if she would notice if I put a lock on the inside of my door. I wondered if it would matter.