My jaw clenched. No. I didn’t want to die at the hands of a vampire. Especially one who would say she was sorry while killing me.

I met her gaze across the cluttered table. She sat in her black robe and kick-off slippers, looking as dangerous as a sponge. Her need for me to accept her apology was so raw and obvious, it was painful. I couldn’t do it. Not yet. I reached a finger out to pull the book closer. “What is it?”

“A—uh—dating guide?” she said hesitantly.

I took a quick breath and drew my hand back as if stung. “Ivy. No.”

“Wait,” she said. “That’s not what I mean. You’re giving me mixed signals. My head knows you don’t mean it, but my instincts …” Her brow furrowed. “It’s embarrassing, but vampires, whether living or dead, are driven by instincts triggered mostly by … smell?” she finished apologetically. “Just read up on the turn-ons, okay? And don’t do them.”

I settled back into my chair. Slowly, I pulled the book closer, seeing how old it was by the binding. She had said instincts, but I thought hunger was more accurate. It was only the realization of how hard it had been for her to admit that she could be manipulated by something as stupid as smell that kept me from throwing the book back in her face. Ivy prided herself on her control, and to have confessed such a weakness to me told me more than a hundred apologies that she was really sorry. “All right,” I said flatly, and she gave me a relieved, closed-lipped smile.

She took a muffin and pulled the evening edition of the Cincinnati Enquirer that I had found against the front door to her. The air was still tense, but it was a start. I didn’t want to leave the security of the church, but Ivy’s protection was a double-edged sword. She had bottled up her blood lust for three years. If she broke, I might be just as dead.

“‘Councilman Trenton Kalamack blames I.S. negligence in secretary’s death,’” she read, clearly trying to change the subject.

“Yeah,” I said cautiously. I put her book in the pile with my spell books to read later. My fingers felt dirty, and I wiped them on my jeans. “Ain’t money grand? There’s another story of him being cleared of all suspicion of dealing in Brimstone.”

She said nothing, turning pages between bites of muffin until she found the article. “Listen to this,” she said softly. “He says, ‘I was shocked to learn of Mrs. Bates’s second life. She seemed the model employee. I will, of course, pay for her surviving son’s education.’” Ivy gave a short snort of mirthless laughter. “Typical.” She turned to the comics. “So will you be spell crafting today?”

I shook my head. “I’m going to the records vault before they close for the weekend. This,” I flicked a finger at the paper, “is useless. I want to see what really happened.”