“How much for an escort on the twenty-third?” a young voice asked, cracking.

“That depends on the situation.” I frantically looked for the calendar and a pen. They weren’t where I’d left them, and I finally dug through my bag for my datebook. I thought the twenty-third was a Saturday. “Is there a death threat involved or is it general protection?”

“Death threat!” the voice exclaimed. “All I want is a good-looking girl so my friends won’t think I’m a dweeb.”

My eyes closed as I gathered my strength. Too late, I thought, clicking the pen closed. “This is an independent runner service,” I said tiredly, “not a bloodhouse. And kid? Do yourself a favor and take the shy girl. She’s cooler than you think, and she won’t own your soul in the morning.”

The phone clicked off, and I frowned. This was the third such call this month. Maybe I should take a look at the yellow pages ad that Ivy bought.

I wiped my hands free of the last sugar and shuffled in the narrow cabinet that the message machine sat on, pulling out the phone book and dropping it on the coffee table. The red message light was blinking, and I tapped it, leafing through the heavy book to Private Investigators. I froze when Nick’s voice came rolling out, guilty and awkward, telling me he had stopped by about six this morning and picked up Jax and that he would call me in a few days.

“Coward,” I breathed, thinking it was one more crucifix tied to the coffin. He knew no one but the pixies would be up then. I vowed to enjoy myself on my date with Kisten, whether Ivy would have to kill him afterward or not. I jabbed the button to clear his message, then went back to the phone book.

We were one of the last listings, and as I found Vampiric Charms in a friendly font, my eyebrows rose. It was a nice ad, more attractive than the full-page ads around it, with a line drawing of a mysterious-looking woman in a hat and duster ghosted into the background.

“ ‘Fast. Discreet. No questions asked,’” I said, reading it. “ ‘Sliding scale. Payment options. Insured. Week, day, and hourly rates.’” Under it all were our three names, address, and phone number. I didn’t get it. There was nothing here that would lead anyone to think bloodhouse or even a dating service. Then I saw the tiny print at the bottom saying to see the secondary entries.

I flipped through the thin sheets to the first one listed, finding the same ad. Then I looked closer; not at our ad, but the ones around it. Holy crap, that woman was hardly clothed, having the perky body of an animé cartoon. My eyes flicked to the heading. “Escort Service?” I said, flushing at the steamy, suggestive ads.

My gaze jerked to our advertisement again, the words taking on an entirely new meaning. No questions asked? Week, day, or hourly rates? Payment options? Lips pressed together, I shut the book, leaving it out to talk to Ivy about. No wonder we were getting calls.