This was anger, domination. Thank God she wasn’t angry with me, but at Junior behind the counter.
Sure enough, as soon as she saw the look on my face, the anger in her eyes flickered and went out. Her pupils contracted, setting her eyes back to their usual brown. In a clock-tick the shroud of power had slipped from her, easing back into the depths of hell that it came from. It had to be hell. Such raw domination couldn’t come from an enchantment. My anger flowed back. If I was angry, I couldn’t be afraid, right?
It had been years since Ivy pulled an aura on me. The last time, we had been arguing over how to tag a low-blood vamp under suspicion of enticing underage girls with some asinine, role-playing card game. I had dropped her with a sleep charm, then painted the word “idiot” on her fingernails in red nail polish before tying her in a chair and waking her up. She had been the model friend since then, if a bit cool at times. I think she appreciated that I hadn’t told anyone.
Junior cleared his throat. “You—ah—can’t stay unless you order something, ma’am?” he offered weakly.
Gutsy, I thought. Must be an Inderlander.
“Orange juice,” Ivy said loudly, standing before me. “No pulp.”
Surprise made me look up. “Orange juice?” Then I frowned. “Look,” I said, unclenching my hands and roughly pulling my bag of charms onto my lap. “I don’t care if Leon Bairn did end up as a film on the sidewalk. I’m quitting. And nothing you say is going to change my mind.”
Ivy shifted from foot to foot. It was her disquiet that cooled the last of my anger. Ivy was worried? I’d never seen that.
“I want to go with you,” she finally said.
For a moment, I could only stare. “What?” I finally managed.
She sat down across from me with an affected air of nonchalance, putting her owl to watch the leprechaun. The tearing sound as she undid the fasteners of her armband sounded loud, and she set it on the bench beside her. Jenks half hopped to the table, his eyes wide and his mouth shut for a change. Junior showed up with the booster chair and our drinks. We silently waited as he placed everything with shaking hands and went to hide in the back room.
My mug was chipped and only half full. I toyed with the idea of coming back to stick a charm under the table that would sour any cream that got within four feet of it, but decided I had more important things to contend with. Like why Ivy was going to flush her illustrious career down the proverbial toilet.
“Why?” I asked, floored. “The boss loves you. You get to pick your assignments. You got a paid vacation last year.”
Ivy was studying the picture, avoiding me. “So?”
“It was for four weeks! You went to Alaska for the midnight sun!”
Her thin black eyebrows bunched, and she reached to arrange her owl’s feathers. “Half the rent, half the utilities, half of everything is my responsibility, half is yours. I bring in and do my business, you bring in and handle yours. If need be, we work together. Like before.”
I settled back, my huff not as obvious as I wanted it to be, since there was only the cushy upholstery to fall into. “Why?” I asked again.
Her fingers dropped from her owl. “I’m very good at what I do,” she said, not answering me. A hint of vulnerability had crept into her voice. “I won’t drag you down, Rachel. No vamp will dare move against me. I can extend that to you. I’ll keep the vamp assassins off of you until you come up with the money to pay off your contract. With my connections and your spells, we can stay alive long enough to get the I.S. to drop the price on our heads. But I want a wish.”
“There’s no price on our heads,” I said quickly.
“Rachel …” she cajoled. Her brown eyes were soft in worry, alarming me. “Rachel, there will be.” She leaned forward until I fought not to retreat. I took a shallow breath to look for the smell of blood on her, smelling only the tang of juice. She was wrong. The I.S. wouldn’t put a price on my head. They wanted me to leave. She was the one who should be worried.
“Me, too,” Jenks said suddenly. He vaulted to the rim of my mug. Iridescent dust sifted from his bent wing to make an oily film on my coffee. “I want in. I want a wish. I’ll ditch the I.S. and be both your backups. You’re gonna need one. Rache, you get the four hours before midnight, Ivy the four after, or whatever schedule you want. I get every fourth day off, seven paid holidays, and a wish. You let me and my family live in the office, real quietlike in the walls. Pay me what I’m making now, biweekly.”
Ivy nodded and took a sip of her juice. “Sounds good to me. What do you think?”
My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “I can’t give you my wishes.”
The leprechaun bobbed her head. “Yes, you can.”
“No,” I said impatiently. “I mean, I need them.” A pang of worry had settled into my gut at the thought that maybe Ivy was right. “I already used one to not get caught letting her go,” I said. “I have to wish to get out of my contract, for starters.”
“Uh,” the leprechaun stammered. “I can’t do anything about that if it’s in writing.”
Jenks gave a snort of derision. “Not that good, eh?”
“Shut your mouth—bug!” she snapped, color showing on her cheeks.
“Shut your own, moss wipe!” he snarled back.
This can’t be happening, I thought. All I wanted was out, not to lead a revolt. “You’re not serious,” I said. “Ivy, tell me this is your twisted sense of humor finally showing itself.”
She met my gaze squarely. I never could tell what was going on behind a vamp’s eyes. “For the first time in my career,” she said, “I’m going back empty-handed. I let my take go.” She waved a hand in the air. “Opened the trunk and let them run. I broke regulations.” A closed-lipped smile flickered over her and was gone. “Is that serious enough for you?”
“Go find your own leprechaun,” I said, catching myself as I reached for my cup. Jenks was still sitting on the handle.
She laughed. It was cold, and this time I did shiver. “I pick my runs,” she said. “What do you think would happen if I went after a leprechaun, muffed it, then tried to leave the I.S.?”
Across from me, the leprechaun sighed. “No amount of wishing could make that look good,” she piped up. “It’s going to be hard enough making this look like a coincidence.”
“And you, Jenks?” I said, my voice cracking.
Jenks shrugged. “I want a wish. It can give me something the I.S. can’t. I want sterility so my wife won’t leave me.” He flew a ragged path to the leprechaun. “Or is that too hard for you, greenie weenie?” he mocked, standing with his feet spread wide and his hands on his hips.
“Bug,” she muttered, my charms jingling as she threatened to squish him. Jenks’s wings went red in anger, and I wondered if the dust sifting from him could catch fire.
“Sterility?” I questioned, struggling to keep to the topic at hand.
He
