“I feel like run-over crap," I complained. "You look like run-over crap," Jenks said. "Drink your tea.”

“I want an expresso. Black. But give me the domestic blend. That Turkish crap gives me the runs for a week. - Jenks”

“Plan B?' Ivy said. 'What is plan B?'Jenks reddened. 'Grab the fish and run like hell,' he muttered, and I almost giggled.”

“Ivy rose to rinse the carafe. She leaned close to me, running the water to blur her words as she muttered, "What's wrong with her? She's crying over her tea.”

“Al's voice was faint but resolute. "Stand up. Try to look sexy.""In a bedsheet?" I complained, running my hands down it. "How can I look sexy in a bedsheet?" He cleared his throat, and I grimaced. "Never mind.”

“Jenks snickered. “Yeah, Rache. Why bother? I mean, this could be good. Ivy could invite her mom over for a housewarming. We’ve been here a year, and the woman is dying to come over. Well, at least she would be if she were still alive.” Worried, I looked up from the phone book. Alarm sifted over Ivy. For a moment it was so quiet I could hear the clock above the sink, and then Ivy jerked, her speed edging into that eerie vamp quickness she took pains to hide. “Give me the phone,” she said, snatching it.”

“I handed it over, and Jenks stumbled at the weight. His head thunked into the wall of the narrow hallway. “Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, crashing into the opposite wall when he overcompensated. “I’m all right!” he said quickly, waving off any help. “I’m all right. Sweet mother of Tink, the damn walls are so close! It’s like walking in a freaking anthill.”