“Ivy!” Art exclaimed, and she turned at the sound of ripping tape.

Pulse pounding, she hesitated. She was safe. It was done. “You made one mistake, Art,” she said, taking in his anger. “You shouldn’t have tried to use me to cover up that witch’s murder,” she said, and the color drained from him. “That pissed me off.” Giving him a bunny-eared “kiss-kiss” she turned and took the stairs with a slow, taunting pace.

“This isn’t going to work, Ivy!” he shouted, and her pulse leaped at the sound of the tape ripping, but she had reached the top and it was far too late. She smiled as she emerged into his kitchen. He was stuck down there with that corpse until the sun went down. If he called in help to get it out, it would damn him faster. An anonymous tip from a concerned neighbor was going to bring someone knocking on his door within thirty minutes. “No hard feelings, Art,” she said. “Strictly business.” She went to shut the door so he wouldn’t get light sick, hesitating. “Really,” she added, closing the door on his scream of outrage.

Scooping up her duffel bag from where Kisten had left it, she sauntered out the front door and down the steep walk to the street. Kisten was waiting, and she slipped into the passenger-side seat, throwing her bag into the back. She imagined the fury belowground, glad she could walk away. It didn’t matter if anyone saw her leave. She was supposed to be here.

“Two minutes on the nose,” Kisten said, leaning over to give her a kiss. He was still wearing her disguise amulet, and she caught him looking at himself and his hair. “Are you okay, love?” he asked, hitting his new accent hard and fussing with his bangs.

Rolling down the window, she put her arm on the sill as he drove away and the sun hit her. The memory of being unable to say no to Art resounded in her, and the lure of the bloodlust. Saying no had been impossible, but she had stopped him—and herself. It had been hard, but she felt good in a melancholy way. It wasn’t the glorious shock of ecstasy, but more like a sunbeam, unnoticed when you first find it, but its warmth growing until you felt…good.

“I’m all right,” she said, squinting from the morning sun. “I like who I am today.”

Ivy dropped the empty box on her desk and sat before it, swiveling her chair back and forth until someone walked past her open door. Adopting a more businesslike mien, she looked over her office. Her eyebrows rose, and she plucked her favorite pen from the cup and then tossed the empty box into the hall. The thump silenced the gossip, and she smirked. They could have everything. All she wanted was her favorite pen. Well, and a pair of thicker leather pants. And an updated map of the city. A computer would be helpful, but they wouldn’t let her take the one she’d been using. Some really comfortable boots. Sunglasses—mirror sunglasses.

A soft knuckle-knock at her open door brought her head around, and she smiled without showing her teeth. “Rat,” she said companionably. “Come to see me off?”

The large officer eased into her office, a manila folder in his hand. “I won the pool,” he said, ducking his head. “I’ve got your, ah, transfer papers. How you doing?”

“Depends.” She leaned across her desk, biting her finger coyly. “What’s the word on the street?”

He laughed. “You’re bad. No one will be looking at you for a while.” Brow pinching, he came in another step. “You sure you don’t want to work Arcane? It’s not too late.”

Ivy’s pulse quickened at the lure of bloodlust she knew she couldn’t resist. “I don’t want to work in the Arcane anymore,” she said, eyes lowered. “I need to get out from underground. Spend some time in the sun.”

The officer slumped, the folder before him like a fig leaf. “You’re ticking them off with this rebellious shit. This isn’t Piscary’s camarilla, it’s a business. They had a late meeting about you this morning in the lowest floor.”

Fear slid through her, quickly stifled. “They can’t fire me. There was no evidence that I had anything to do with that girl in Art’s tub.”

“No. You’re clear. And remind me to stay on your good side.” He grinned, but it faded fast. “You did contaminate that crime scene, and they’re almost ignoring that. You should lay low for a while, do what they want you to do. You have your entire life and afterlife ahead of you. Don’t screw it up your first six months here.”

Ivy grimaced, flicking her attention past him to the outer offices. “They’re already blaming my demotion on my—lapse. They can’t punish me twice for the same thing.” The reality was she was being demoted because she refused to move up to the Arcane. That was fine by her.

“Publicly,” he said, making her agitated. “What happens behind closed doors is something else. You’re making a mistake,” he insisted. “They can use your talents down there.”

“Don’t you mean a new infusion?” Rat winced, and she held up a hand and leaned back into her chair, well aware it put her in a position of power with him standing. “Whatever. I won’t be manipulated, Rat. I’d rather take a pay cut and go where I don’t have to worry about it for a while.”

“If only it was that easy.” Rat dropped the folder on her desk as if it meant something. “Ah, I thought you’d like to see your new partner’s file.”

In a smooth, alarmed motion, Ivy sat up. “Whoa. Put your caps on. I agreed to move upstairs, but no one said anything about a partner.”

Rat shrugged, his wide shoulders bunching his uniform. “They can’t give you a pay cut, so you’re pulling double duty chaperoning a newbie for a year. Intern with two years of social science and three years pulling familiars out of trees. Management wants her under someone with a more, ah, textbook technique before they instate her as a runner, so she’s all yours, Ivy. Don’t let her get you killed. We like you ju-u-u-ust the way you are.”

The last was said with dripping sarcasm, and her face hot, Ivy pushed the folder away. “She’s not even a full runner? I’ve worked too hard for my degree to be a babysitter. No way.”

Rat chuckled and pushed it back with a single, thick-knuckled finger. “Yes way. Unless you want to move down to Arcane where you belong.”

Ivy almost growled. She hated her mother. She hated Piscary. No, she hated their control over her. Slowly she pulled the folder to her and opened it. “Oh my God,” she breathed as she looked at the picture, thinking it couldn’t get any worse. “A witch? They partnered me with a witch? Whose bright-ass idea was that?”

Rat laughed, pulling Ivy’s eyes from her “partner’s” picture. Slumping back, she tried not to frown. Though it was clearly meant to be a punishment, this might not be a bad thing. A witch wouldn’t be after her blood, and the relief of not having to fight that would be enough to compensate for the extra work that having such a weak partner would engender. A witch? They were laughing at her. The entire tower was laughing at her.

“You said management doesn’t want her on her own. What’s wrong with her?” she asked and Rat took her shoulder in a thick hand and drew her reluctantly to her feet.

“Nothing,” he said, grinning. “She’s impulsive is all. It’s a match made in heaven, Ivy. You’ll be best friends before the week is out: going shopping, eating chocolate, catching chick-flicks after work. You’ll love it! Trust me.”

Ivy realized she was clenching her jaw, and she forced her teeth apart before she gave herself a headache. Her partner was a flake. She was partnered with a girly-girl flake who wanted to be a runner. This was going to be pure hell. Rat laughed, and seeing no other option, Ivy dragged the folder to her, tucked it under her arm, and headed for the door with Rat, leaving her old office and its comforting walls behind for an open office with pressboard walls and bad coffee.

It was only for a year. How bad could it be?