“He has been a rat for three months,” I said, backing up. “How on earth could he be an I.S. assassin? The poor man doesn’t even have any clothes, and you’re worried about him killing me?”
“No,” she protested, moving closer until I found my back against the wall. “But the less he knows about you, the safer you both will be.”
“Oh.” My face went cold. She was too close. Having lost her sense of personal space was not a good sign.
“And what are you going to accuse Trent of?” she demanded. “Keeping you as a mink? Putting you in the city’s fights? If you go whining to the I.S. for that, you’re dead.”
Her speech had slowed to a sultry drawl. I had to get out of this hallway. “After three days with him, I have more than that.”
From the kitchen came Nick’s voice. “The I.S.?” he said loudly. “Are they the ones that put you in the rat fights, Rachel? You aren’t a black witch, are you?”
Ivy jerked. Her eyes flashed to brown. Looking disconcerted, she backed up. “Sorry,” she said softly. Clearly not pleased, Ivy returned to the kitchen. Relieved, I followed, to find Jenks on Nick’s shoulder. I wondered if Nick had acute hearing or if Jenks had relayed everything to him. I was betting on the latter. And Nick’s question about black witchcraft had been disturbing in its casualness.
“Nah,” Jenks said, sounding smug. “Rachel’s witchcraft is whiter than her ass. She quit the I.S. and took Ivy with her. Ivy was their best. Denon, her boss, put a price on Rachel’s head for spite.”
“You were an I.S. runner,” Nick said. “I get it. But how did you end up in the rat fights?”
Still on edge, I looked to Ivy, who was industriously scrubbing the sink again, and she shrugged. So much for keeping rat boy in the dark. Shuffling back to the counter, I pulled out six pieces of bread. “Mr. Kalamack caught me in his office looking for evidence of him moving biodrugs,” I said. “He thought it would be more fun putting me in the rat fights than turning me in.”
“Kalamack?” Nick asked, his large eyes going wider. “You’re talking about Trent Kalamack? The councilman? He runs biodrugs?” Nick’s robe had parted about his knees, and I wished he’d turn ju-u-u-ust a little more.
Smug, I layered two slices of bologna each on three slices of bread. “Yup, but while I was trapped I found out Trent isn’t simply running biodrugs.” I hesitated dramatically. “He’s making them, too,” I finished.
Ivy turned. Rag hanging forgotten in her slack grip, she stared at me from across the kitchen. I could hear kids playing tag next door, it was so quiet. Enjoying her reaction, I picked at the lettuce until I got to the green parts.
Nick was ashen-faced. I didn’t blame him. Humans were terrified of genetic manipulation, for obvious reasons. And having Trent Kalamack dabbling in it was very worrisome. Especially when it wasn’t clear which side of the human/Inderlander fence he was on. “Not Mr. Kalamack,” the distraught man said. “I voted for him. Both times. Are you sure?”
Ivy, too, looked worried. “He’s a bioengineer?”
“Well, he funds them,” I said. And kills them, and leaves them to rot on his office floor. “He’s got a shipment going out on Southwest tonight. If we can intercept it and tie it to him, I can use it to pay off my contract. Jenks, you still have that page from his datebook?”
The pixy nodded. “It’s hidden in my stump.”
I opened my mouth to protest, then decided it wasn’t a bad spot. The sound of the knife was loud as I slathered mayonnaise on the bread and finished the sandwiches.
Nick pulled his head up from his hands. His long face was drawn and he looked pale. “Genetic engineering? Trent Kalamack has a biolab? The councilman?”
“You’re going to love this next part,” I said. “Francis is the one working the I.S. angle.”
Jenks yelped, zipping up to the ceiling and down again. “Francis? You sure you weren’t knocked on the head, Rache?”
“He works for Trent as sure as I just spent the last four days eating carrots. I saw him. You know those Brimstone takes Francis has been running? The promotion? That car?” I didn’t finish my thoughts, allowing Jenks and Ivy to figure it out.
“Son of a pup!” Jenks exclaimed. “The Brimstone runs are distractions!”
“Yup.” I cut the sandwiches in half. Pleased with myself, I put one on a plate for me and two on a plate for Nick; he was thin. “Trent keeps the I.S. and the FIB busy with Brimstone while the real moneymaker goes out on the other side of the city.”
Ivy’s motions were slow in thought as she washed her hands free of the scouring powder once more. “Francis isn’t that smart,” she said as she dried her fingers and set the dish towel aside again.
I went still. “No, he isn’t. He’s going to get himself tagged and bagged.”
Jenks landed beside me. “Denon’s gonna piss his pants when he hears this,” he said.
“Wait up.” Ivy’s attention sharpened. The ring of brown in her eyes was shrinking, but it was in excitement, not hunger. “Who’s to say Denon isn’t on Trent’s payroll, too? You’ll need proof before going to the I.S. They kill you before helping you tag him. And catching him is going to take more than us two and an afternoon of planning.”
My brow pinched in worry. “This is my only shot, Ivy,” I protested. “High risk or not.”
“Um.” Nick’s hand was shaking as he reached for a sandwich. “Why don’t you go to the FIB?”
Ivy and I turned in a poignant silence. Nick took a bite and swallowed. “The FIB would go into a Hollow slum at midnight on a tip concerning bioengineered drugs—especially if Mr. Kalamack was being implicated. If you have any proof at all, they’ll take a look.”
I turned to Ivy in disbelief. Her face looked as blank as mine felt. The FIB?
My brow smoothed and I felt a smile come over me. Nick was right. The rivalry alone between the FIB and the I.S. would be enough to get them interested. “Trent will fry, my contract will be paid off, and the I.S. will look like a fool. I like it.” I took a bite of my sandwich, wiping the mayonnaise from the corner of my mouth as I met Nick’s eyes.
“Rachel,” Ivy said warily. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”
I glanced at Nick, feeling my ire rise again. What did she want now? But she had already walked out. “Excuse me,” I said, lurching to my feet and nervously tightening the tie on my robe. “The princess of paranoia wants a word with me.” Ivy looked okay. It should be alright.
Nick brushed a crumb from his front, unperturbed. “You mind if I make some coffee? I’ve been dying for a cup the last three months.”
“Sure. Whatever,” I said, glad he wasn’t insulted by Ivy’s mistrust. I was. Here he came up with a great plan, and Ivy didn’t like it because she didn’t think of it first. “The coffee is in the fridge,” I added as I followed Ivy into the hallway.
“What is your problem?” I said even before I reached her. “He’s just some guy with sticky fingers. And he’s right. Convincing the FIB to go after Trent is a heck of a lot safer than trying to get the I.S. to help me.”
I couldn’t see the color of Ivy’s eyes in the dim light. It was getting dark outside, and the hallway was an uncomfortable black with her in it. “Rachel, this isn’t a raid on the local vamp hangout,” she said. “It’s an attempt to bring down one of the city’s most powerful citizens. One wrong word out of Nick and you’ll be dead.”
My gut clenched at the reminder. I took a breath, then slowly let it out. “Keep talking.”
“I