Dead Witch Walking. Ким Харрисон

I good girl,” I snarled as I slid back into my seat, “you let me turn music down?”

      The driver grinned. He was missing a tooth. He would be missing another one if I had my way. “Yah,” he said. “They talking now.” The music fell to nothing, replaced by a fast-talking announcer shouting louder than the music had been.

      “Good Lord,” I muttered, turning the radio down. My lips curled at the smear of grease on the knob. I stared at my fingers, then wiped them off on the amulets still in my lap. They weren’t good for anything else. The salt from the driver’s too-frequent handlings had ruined them. Giving him a pained look, I dumped the charms into the chipped cup holder.

      I turned to Ivy, sprawled in the back. One hand was up to keep her owl from falling out of the rear window as we bounced along, the other was propped behind her neck. Passing cars and the occasional functioning streetlight briefly illuminated her black silhouette. Dark and unblinking, her eyes met mine, then returned to the window and the night. My skin prickled at the air of ancient tragedy about her. She wasn’t pulling an aura—she was just Ivy—but it gave me the willies. Didn’t the woman ever smile?

      My take had pressed herself into the other corner, as far from Ivy as she could get. The leprechaun’s green boots just reached the end of the seat, and she looked like one of those dolls they sell on TV. Three easy payments of $49.95 for this highly detailed rendition of Becky the Barmaid. Similar dolls have tripled, even quadrupled, in value! This doll, though, had a sneaky glint in her eye. I gave her a sly nod, and Ivy’s gaze flicked suspiciously to mine.

      The owl gave a pained hoot as we hit a nasty bump, opening its wings to keep its balance. But it was the last. We had crossed the river and were back in Ohio. The ride now was smooth as glass, and the cabbie’s pace slowed as he seemed to remember what traffic signs were for.

      Ivy removed her hand from her owl and ran her fingers through her long hair. “I said, ‘You never took me up on a ride before.’ What’s up?”

      “Oh, yeah.” I draped an arm over the seat. “Do you know where I can rent a cheap flat? In the Hollows, maybe?”

      Ivy faced me squarely, the perfect oval of her face looking pale in the streetlights. There were lights now at every corner, making it nearly bright as day. Paranoid norms. Not that I blamed them. “You moving into the Hollows?” she asked, her expression quizzical.

      I couldn’t help my smile at that. “No. I’m quitting the I.S.”

      That got her attention. I could tell by the way she blinked. Jenks stopped trying to dance with the tiny figure on the dash and stared at me. “You can’t break your I.S. contract,” Ivy said. She glanced at the leprechaun, who beamed at her. “You’re not thinking of …”

      “Me? Break the law?” I said lightly. “I’m too good to have to break the law. I can’t help it if she’s the wrong leprechaun, though,” I added, not feeling a bit guilty. The I.S. had made it abundantly clear they didn’t want my services anymore. What was I supposed to do? Roll on my back with my belly in the air and lick someone’s, er, muzzle?

      “Paperwork,” the cabbie interjected, his accent abruptly as smooth as the road as he switched to the voice and manners needed to get and keep fares on this side of the river. “Lose the paperwork. Happens all the time. I think I’ve Rynn Cormel’s confession in here somewhere from when my father shuttled lawyers from quarantine to the courts during the Turn.”

      “Yeah.” I gave him a nod and smile. “Wrong name on the wrong paper. Q.E.D.”

      Ivy’s eyes were unblinking. “Leon Bairn didn’t just spontaneously explode, Rachel.”

      My breath puffed out. I wouldn’t believe the stories. They were just that, stories to keep the I.S.’s flock of runners from wanting to break their contracts once they learned all the I.S. had to teach them. “That was over ten years ago,” I said. “And the I.S. had nothing to do with it. They aren’t going to kill me for breaking my contract; they want me to leave.” I frowned. “Besides, being turned inside out would be more fun than what I’m doing now.”

      Ivy leaned forward, and I refused to back away. “They say it took three days to find enough of him to fit in a shoe box,” she said. “Scraped the last off the ceiling of his porch.”

      “What am I supposed to do?” I said, pulling my arm back. “I haven’t had a decent run in months. Look at this.” I gestured to my take. “A tax-evading leprechaun. It’s an insult.”

      The little woman stiffened. “Well, excu-u-u-u-use me.”

      Jenks abandoned his new girlfriend to sit on the back rim of the cabbie’s hat. “Yeah,” he said. “Rachel’s gonna be pushing a broom if I have to take time off for workman’s comp.”

      He fitfully moved his damaged wing, and I gave him a pained smile. “Maitake?” I said.

      “Quarter pound,” he countered, and I mentally upped it to a half. He was okay, for a pixy.

      Ivy frowned, fingering her crucifix chain. “There’s a reason no one breaks their contract. The last person to try was sucked through a turbine.”

      Jaw clenched, I turned to look out the front window. I remembered. It was almost a year ago. It would have killed him if he hadn’t been dead already. The vamp was due back in the office any day now. “I’m not asking for your permission,” I said. “I’m asking you if you know anyone with a cheap place to rent.” Ivy was silent, and I shifted to see her. “I have a little something tucked away. I can put up a shingle, help people that need it—”

      “Oh, for the love of blood,” Ivy interrupted. “Leaving to open up a charm shop, maybe. But your own agency?” She shook her head, her black hair swinging. “I’m not your mother, but if you do this, you’re dead. Jenks? Tell her she’s dead.”

      Jenks nodded solemnly, and I flopped around to stare out the window. I felt stupid for having asked for her help. The cabbie was nodding. “Dead,” he said. “Dead, dead, dead.”

      This was better and better. Between Jenks and the cab driver, the entire city would know I quit before I gave notice. “Never mind. I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I muttered.

      Ivy draped an arm over the seat. “Did it occur to you someone may be setting you up? Everyone knows leprechauns try to buy their way out. If you get caught, your butt is buttered.”

      “Yeah,” I said. “I thought of that.” I hadn’t, but I wasn’t going to tell her. “My first wish will be to not get caught.”

      “Always is,” the leprechaun said slyly. “That your first wish?” In a flash of anger, I nodded, and the leprechaun grinned, dimples showing. She was halfway home.

      “Look,” I said to Ivy. “I don’t need your help. Thanks for nothing.” I shuffled in my bag for my wallet. “Drop me here,” I said to the cabbie. “I want a coffee. Jenks? Ivy will get you back to the I.S. Can you do that for me, Ivy? For old times’ sake?”

      “Rachel,” she protested, “you’re not listening to me.”

      The cabbie carefully signaled, then pulled over. “Watch your back, Hot Stuff.”

      I got out, yanked open the rear door, and grabbed my leprechaun by her uniform. My cuffs had completely masked her size spell. She was about the size of a chunky two-year-old. “Here,” I said, tossing a twenty onto the seat. “That should cover my share.”

      “It’s still raining!” the leprechaun wailed.

      “Shut up.” Drops pattered against me, ruining my topknot and sticking the trailing strands to my neck. I slammed the door as Ivy leaned to say something. I had nothing left to lose. My life was a pile of magic manure, and I couldn’t even make compost out of it.

      “But I’m getting wet,” the leprechaun complained.

      “You want