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worship anything,” he said gently. “I follow Sekhmet as best as I can. Olga was raised sort of Russian Orthodox, with some worship of Bastet, too.”
    They stopped in an office of slightly calmer people with bigger desks. Chloe recognized Igor, shouting in Russian on a phone. Standing next to him was an assistant, a boy about Brian’s age, with trendy thick glasses and a look of resigned hopelessness.
    â€œIs everyone here … Mai?” Chloe whispered.
    â€œTo the last one. I built up this little real estate empire so everyone could have a place to work with their own people if they chose.”
    â€œDoes everyone … in the pride … work here?”
    Sergei shook his head. “Valerie, Igor’s fiancée, is a model. Simone is a dancer. And Kim does her own thing, as they say. But it’s difficult for us to hold down corporate jobs—people can sniff out the wolves among the sheep, or the cats among the … well, you know. We don’t fit in.”
    Chloe looked at Igor. He seemed like a normal overworked human male. His tie was thrown over his shoulder and his shoes were trendy. He took notes with a pencil and played with a desk toy as he spoke. But the way he arched his back, and the way the light hit hisbrown eyes and made them glow for a moment, and the way he swung his head to look at Sergei and Chloe and didn’t blink—taken all together, there was indeed something very different about him.
    Igor put one hand over the receiver and held out the other when he saw Chloe and Sergei standing there.
    â€œHello,” he said in an accent that was noticeably Russian.
Or noticeably something
.
    â€œI’m Chloe.” She felt something strange poke her on her skin as she shook his hand—and realized that his claws had come out and were gently pricking her.
A secret greeting,
she realized, trying to do it back. She pressed too hard, though, underestimating her strength. Igor pulled back his hand, grinning ruefully, and sucked on the pad of his palm where she had drawn blood.
    â€œI’ve never done that before,” Chloe said, blushing. “The handshake thing.”
    Sergei thought it was hysterical.
    â€œThat’s my girl. A man-eater!” He slapped her so hard on the back, she almost pitched into Igor’s lap. But he was already shouting back into the phone.
    â€œIgor is my right-hand man. I’d be helpless without him,” Sergei confided. Somehow, Chloe didn’t believe that. “Right now he’s working on an old, uh, massage parlor near Union Square. We plan to put franchises in it, like Starbucks. Maybe a Quiznos.”
    â€œThat’s terrible,” Chloe said before she could stop herself. “I mean, that must be very profitable.” Shepaused. “But I mean, it might have a bad history, but at least the place has, you know, an interesting one. Not a strip-mall-y one.”
    â€œAh, you’re one of those.” Sergei sighed. “If it’s any consolation, we just worked with the city to turn the space next to a vacant lot into a city-subsidized childcare center for low-income women and the lot into a community garden for them.”
    â€œHell of a tax break,” Igor whispered, holding his hand over the receiver again.
    Sergei frowned at him, and the boy went meekly back to work.
    â€œAt least consider a bookstore,” Chloe pleaded. “Even a Barnes & Noble.”
    â€œLook at this, I have my own little spiritual adviser.” Sergei fluffed the hair on her head. “Maybe we’ll put you to work while you’re not in school—like an intern. Then you can make your voice heard. Heh. Come, let’s order lunch.” He whirled his arm around Chloe’s shoulders, and dragged her with him.

“The emergency meeting of the Order win now come to session.”
    It was a lot less formal than most of the meetings Brian was forced to attend: in daylight, no less, and