The stuffed rat was pointed at the wall, staring at nothing as it crouched atop an overfilled file on the five-foot-tall cabinet in Glenn's office. The FIB detective was currently downstairs. As I'd figured, the grocery store had called the human-run FIB, not Inderland Security. Lucky for me, the I.S. hadn't even shown up. Long story short, I'd been asked to accompany an FIB officer downtown to file a report. They'd even let me sit in the front, sticky as I was. Ivy had followed in my car and was waiting downstairs. It was good to have friends.

It had been a quiet ride through Cincy to the FIB building, my thoughts circling. Had the coven been trying to talk to me, and I'd just flushed my chance at getting my shunning removed? But why not just tell me what was going on? Those charms Vivian had been flinging around hadn't been peace offerings. Had it been a test? If so, had I failed or passed?

I'd worked myself up into a very bad mood by the time we'd gotten here, but it had eased once Glenn had pulled me aside and snipped my charmed silver off even before I'd crossed the FIB emblem downstairs. Glenn was a good guy, complex in his thoughts and smart. His office, though... I looked at the mess, trying not to grimace.

A new flat-screen monitor was perched on his desk, a stack of files piled high beside it. The in-box was full, and the out-box held a couple of books on nineteenth-century serial killers. We were too deep into the FIB building for a window, but a bulletin board across from the desk gave the illusion of one, the clippings and sticky notes so old they needed thumbtacks. A new pressboard bookcase held a few textbooks, but mostly it was stacks of files and photos. Glenn was meticulous in his dress, and that usually carried over to his car and office. This mess was scary and not like him at all.

The floor was cold tile; the walls were an ugly, scuffed white; and the keyboard was old and stained with dust and coffee. Glenn had been Cincinnati's FIB Inderland specialist for almost a year now, and I wondered if I was seeing him trying to do everything himself. Even the phone cord was still draped across the floor in what had to be an OSHA violation.

My roving gaze settled on a gleaming glass-and-gold clock serving as a bookend. It didn't match the rest of the no-frills office, and I got up to read the inscription, grimacing when my coat pulled from the metal chair with the sticky sound of strawberries. The marble was cold on my fingers as I read, MATHEW GLENN, OUTSTANDING SERVICE, 2005. The clock was stopped, stuck at three minutes to midnight.

I set it down and checked my phone. Nine thirty. The sun had been down for hours. I wanted to go home, get cleaned up, eat something. What was taking so long?

Impatient, I went to the rat and turned it to face the room. Glenn had bought it with me at a charm shop last year, and I frowned when I realized the file it was sitting on was Nick's. Nick as in my former boyfriend Nick. Ex-rat, ex-boyfriend, ex-alive if I ever got hold of him Nick.

My shoulders tensed and I forced my jaw to not clench. Nick had been a rat when I met him. A real rat, with whiskers and a tail, transformed with witch magic by a peeved vampire who'd caught Nick stealing from him. I couldn't say much about that, though, since I'd been a mink at the time, thrown into Cincinnati's illegal rat fights for having been caught trying to pilfer evidence of illegal bio-drug activity from beloved city son Trent Kalamack.

Nick and I had helped each other escape, which might sound romantic but should have been a warning. He turned out to be a real gem when all was said and done, selling information about me to demons to help his career as a thief. A not very lucrative but nevertheless busy one, according to the file Glenn had on him. The FIB detective was still trying to track him down, not believing that he'd died going off the Mackinac Bridge last summer. The case had gone cold if the dust was any indication—but the file was still out.

I took a deep breath to wash the reminder of Nick away, and the faint scent of vampire tickled my nose. "Huh," I whispered and, sniffing, I made a circuit of the cluttered office, ending at Glenn's short, fashionable coat hung up on a wooden hanger behind the door. Eyebrows raised, I fingered the supple leather. Had Glenn been investigating something that put him in contact with vampires? He knew how risky that was. Why hadn't he come to us? He knew I needed the work.

Curious, I brought the sleeve to my nose to get a better sniff. I loved leather, and it was a nice coat, cut to show off the man's small waist and wide shoulders. I pulled the air deep into me to find under the expected smell of masculine aftershave a mellow tang of honey and hot metal. Deeper was a familiar scent of vampiric incense. A very familiar scent. Ivy?

Blinking, I dropped the coat's sleeve as footsteps approached in the hall. Why does Glenn's coat smell like Ivy?

Glenn strode into his office, almost shoving me into the wall when he pushed the door open. He slowed, making a surprised sound when he found my chair empty, then started when he found me behind him, pressed into the wall. His brown eyes were wide, and I blinked at the tall, clean-shaven man. "What are you doing behind my door?" he asked, planting his feet. There was a red file under his arm and a ceramic mug with rainbows on it in his hand.

I gave myself a mental shake to get the thoughts moving. "Uh, admiring your coat," I said, giving the brown leather a last touch. I wanted to sit down, but he was standing next to my chair. "I, uh, like the no-hair thing."

"Thanks," he said suspiciously as he moved his compact frame behind his desk. When we'd first met, he had short hair and a goatee, but this smooth-shaven nothing was nice. The coffee went on the corner nearest me, and the file was dropped beside the keyboard. He saw me eye the clutter, and I think he blushed through his dark, beautifully mahogany complexion.

I went to ask him about Ivy, then reconsidered. He and Ivy? No way. Though if they were, they'd look great together. His height was just a shade more than hers, and with his trendy clothes and attention to detail, he could play the part of a living vampire's boyfriend without missing a beat. Glenn was ex-military and worked at keeping his trim look. Right now, he'd gone no hair, and it made his stud earring stand out all the more, the glint giving him a hint of bad boy. The story he gave his dad was that he'd gotten it pierced so he could blend into the darker elements of Cincinnati, but I think he liked the small bit of bling.

Glenn looked up at my silence, his eyebrows raised as he indicated the rainbow mug. "I thought you'd want some coffee. This might take a while."

"Okay... " He brought me coffee and rainbows, I thought as I reached for it and sat down, feeling the bump my phone made in my back pocket. "They're pressing charges? For what? Killing a strawberry display? That wasn't even my charm. I told you, I didn't use magic. I know better. Get an I.S. team in there. None of the magic will have my aura on it."

He chuckled, irritating me even more. The painfully slow sounds of him typing clicked key by key as he worked off the open file beside him. "The I.S. is ignoring the incident completely, so sending a team to ascertain it wasn't your magic? You're going to take the hit for this," he said, his resonant voice dark and sexy. "Nice bit of passive harassment."

My eyes flicked to my strawberry-covered bag and the little silver broach tucked inside. Passive harassment was a good story, but I think the reason the I.S. didn't show was because the coven told them to back off while they brought me in themselves. Guilt and fear kept my mouth shut. Crap on toast, what if I'd ruined my only chance to rescind my shunning?