The Good, The Bad, And The Undead th-2

by Ким Харрисон

  "Oh."

  The volume of emotion behind that one word was better than a year's worth of dates. Nick edged past me, his sneakers hushed on the wooden floor. His blue plaid shirt was tucked into his jeans, and I caught him before he made it to the sanctuary, pulling him back into the dark foyer. The skin about his neck almost seemed to glow in the dusk, nicely tanned and so smooth it begged for my fingers to trace the outline of his shoulders. "Where's my kiss?" I complained.

  The worried look pinching his eyes vanished. Giving me a lopsided smile, he put his long hands about my waist. "Sorry," he said. "You kind of threw me there."

  "Aw," I gently kidded him. "What're you worried about?"

  "Mmmm." He ran his gaze down me and back up. "Plenty." Eyes almost black in the dim light, he pulled me closer, sending the smell of musty books and new electronics to fill my senses. I tilted my head up to find his lips, a warm feeling starting in my middle. Oh yeah. This was how I liked to start my day.

  Being narrow of shoulders and somewhat spare, Nick didn't exactly fit the white-knight-on-a-horse mold. But he had saved my life by binding an attacking demon, leading me to think a brainy man could be as sexy as a muscular one. It was a thought that solidified to fact the first time Nick had gallantly asked if he could kiss me, then left me breathless and pleasantly shocked after I'd said yes.

  But by saying he wasn't muscle-bound, I didn't mean Nick was a weakling. His lanky build was surprisingly strong, as I learned the time we wrestled over the last spoon of Chunky Monkey and broke Ivy's lamp. And he was athletic in a lean sort of way, his long legs able to keep up with me whenever I coerced him into driving me out to the zoo for their early open hours for runners only; those hills were killers on the calves.

  Nick's strongest appeal, though, was that his relaxed, flow-with-the-punches exterior hid a wickedly quick, almost frightening mind. His thoughts jumped faster than mine, taking them places I'd never think to go. Threat brought quick, decisive action with little regard to future consequences. And he wasn't afraid of anything. It was the last that I both admired and worried about. He was a magic-using human. He should be afraid. Of a lot. And he wasn't.

  But best of all, I thought as I eased myself against him, he didn't care one whit that I wasn't human.

  His lips were soft against mine, with a comfortable familiarity. Not a hint of a beard ruined our kiss. My hands linked behind his waist and I tugged him suggestively into me. Off balance, we shifted until my back hit the wall. Our kiss broke as I felt his lips curl against mine in a smile at my forwardness.

  "You are a wicked, wicked witch," he whispered. "You know that, don't you? I came over here to give you the tickets, and here you are, getting me all bothered."

  His bangs were a soft whisper against my fingertips. "Yeah? You probably ought to do something about that."

  "I will." His grip on me loosened. "But you're just going to have to wait." His hand ran a deliciously light path across my backside as he stepped away. "Is that a new perfume?"

  Playful mood faltering, I turned away. "Yes." I had thrown my cinnamon scent out that morning. Ivy hadn't said a word upon finding the thirty-dollar-an-ounce bottle making our trash smell like Christmas. It had failed me; I hadn't the stomach to wear it again.

  "Rachel…"

  It was the beginning of a familiar argument, and I stiffened. Being in the unusual circumstances of having been raised in the Hollows, Nick knew more about vamps and their scent-triggered hungers than I did. "I'm not moving out," I said flatly.

  "Could you just…" He hesitated, his long pianist hands moving in short, jerky motions to show his frustration as he saw my jaw clench.

  "We're doing okay. I'm very careful." Guilt for having not told him she had pinned me against the kitchen wall pulled my eyes down.

  He sighed, his narrow body shifting. "Here." He twisted to reach into his back pocket. "You hold the tickets. I lose everything that lays around longer than a week."

  "Remind me to keep moving, then," I quipped to lighten the mood as I took them. I glanced down at the seat numbers. "Third row. Fantastic! I don't know how you do it, Nick."

  He flashed his teeth in a pleased smile, the hint of cunning swelling in his eyes. He'd never tell me where he'd gotten them. Nick could find anything, and if he couldn't, he knew someone who could. I had a feeling the guarded wariness he showed to authority stemmed from here. In spite of myself, I found this as yet unexplored part of Nick deliciously daring. And as long as I didn't know for sure…

  "Do you want some coffee?" I asked, shoving the tickets into my pocket.

  Nick glanced past me into the empty sanctuary. "Ivy still here?"

  I said nothing, and he read my answer in the silence. "She really does like you," I lied.

  "No thanks." He shifted to the door. Ivy and Nick didn't get along. I hadn't a clue why. "I've got to get back to work. I'm on lunch break."

  Disappointment slumped my shoulders. "Okay." Nick worked full-time at the museum at Eden Park, cleaning artifacts when he wasn't moonlighting at the university library, helping them catalog and move their more sensitive volumes to a more secure location. I thought it amusing that our break-in to the university's ancient-book locker was probably what prompted the move. I was sure Nick had taken the job so he could "borrow" the very tomes they were trying to safeguard. He was working both jobs until the end of the month, and I knew it left him tired.

  He turned to leave, and I reached after him with a sudden thought. "Hey, you still have my largest spell pot, don't you?" We'd used it for making chili three weeks ago for a Dirty Harry marathon at his place, and I'd never brought it back.

  He hesitated, his hand on the door latch. "You need it?"

  "Edden is making me take a ley line class," I said, not wanting to tell him that I was working on the witch hunter murders. Not yet. I wasn't going to ruin that kiss with an argument. "I need a familiar or the witch will flunk me. That means the big spell pot."

  "Oh." He was silent, and I wondered if he was going to figure it out anyway. "Sure," he said slowly. "Tonight soon enough?" When I nodded, he added, "Okay. See you then."

  "Thanks, Nick. 'Bye." Pleased I had wrangled a promise to see him tonight, I pushed the door open, stopping halfway when a masculine voice called out in protest. I looked to find Glenn on the stoop, juggling three sacks of fast food and a tray of drinks.

  "Glenn!" I exclaimed, reaching for the drinks. "There you are. Come on in. This is Nick, my boyfriend. Nick, this is Detective Glenn." Nick my boyfriend. Yeah, I liked that.

  Shifting the sacks to one hand, Glenn extended his hand. "How do you do," he said formally, still outside. He was dressed in a sharp-looking gray suit, making Nick's casual clothes seem untidy. My eyebrows rose at Nick's hesitation before shaking Glenn's hand. I was positive it was because of Glenn's FIB badge. Don't want to know. Don't want to know.

  "Nice to meet you," Nick said, then turned to me. "I'll, uh, see you tonight, Rachel."

  " 'Kay. 'Bye." It sounded a bit forlorn even to me, and Nick shifted from foot to foot before leaning forward to give me a kiss on the corner of my mouth. I thought it was more to prove his boyfriend status than any attempt to show affection. Whatever.

  Sneakers silent, Nick hastened down the steps to his salt-rusted blue pickup at the curb. I felt a wash of worry at his hunched shoulders and stilted pace. Glenn, too, was watching, but his expression was more curious than anything else.

  "Come on in," I repeated as I eyed the sacks of food and shifted the door wider.

  Glenn took his sunglasses off, one hand tucking them into the inner breast pocket of his suit. With his athletic build and tidy beard, he looked like a pre-Turn Secret Service guy. "That's Nick Sparagmos?" he asked as Nick drove away. "The one who was a rat?"

  My hackles rose at how he had said it, as if turning into a rat or mink was morally wrong. I put a hand on my hip, the tray of drinks tilting dangerously close to spilling ice and soda pop. Obviously his dad had told him more of the sto
ry than Glenn had let on. "You're late."

  "I stopped to get us all lunch," he said stiffly. "Mind if I come in?"

  I fell back, and he crossed the threshold. He hooked the door with his foot, closing it with a tug behind him. The smell of fries became overpowering in the sudden dusk in the foyer. "That's a nice little outfit," he said. "How long did it take you to paint it on?"

  Affronted, I looked down at my leather pants and the red silk blouse tucked into them. Wearing leather before sunset had worried me until Ivy convinced me that the high quality of the leather I bought elevated the look from "white witch trash" to "wealthy witch class." She ought to know, but I was still sensitive to it. "This is what I wear to work," I snapped. "It saves on skin grafts if I have to run and end up sliding on pavement. Got a problem with it?"

  Keeping his comments to a noncommittal grunt, he followed me to the kitchen. Ivy looked up from her map, silently taking in the burger bags and drinks. "Well," she drawled. "I see you survived the pizza. I could still have Piscary bite you if you want."

  My mood lifted at Glenn's suddenly closed expression. He made an ugly noise deep in his throat, and I went to put the frozen waffles away, seeing that the toaster hadn't been plugged in. "You scarfed down that pizza fast enough last night," I said. "Admit it. You li-i-i-i-iked it."

  "I ate it to stay alive." Motions sharp, he stood at the table and pulled the bags to him. Seeing a tall black man in an expensive suit and shoulder holster unpacking paper-wrapped food made an odd picture. "I went home and prayed to the porcelain god for two hours straight," he added, and Ivy and I exchanged amused looks.

  Pushing her work aside, Ivy took the burger that was the most unsquished and the fullest envelope of fries. I slouched into a chair beside Glenn. He moved to the end of the table, not even trying to make it look casual. "Thanks for breakfast," I said, eating a fry before unwrapping my burger with a rustle of paper.

  He hesitated, his death grip on his FIB officer persona loosening as he undid the lowest button to his jacket and sat. "The FIB is paying for it. Actually, this is my breakfast, too. I didn't get home until the sun was almost up. You put in a long day."

  His faint tone of acceptance eased my shoulders another notch. "Not really. It just starts about six hours later than yours."

  Wanting ketchup for my fries, I levered myself up and went to the fridge. I hesitated in my reach for the red bottle. Ivy caught my eye, shrugging after I pointed to it. Yeah, I thought. He was invading our lives. He ate the pizza last night. Why should Ivy and I suffer because of him? That decided, I pulled it out and set the bottle on the table with a bold thump. Much to my disappointment, Glenn didn't notice.

  "So," Ivy said, reaching across the table and taking the ketchup. "You're going to baby-sit Rachel today? Don't take her on the bus. They won't stop for her."

  He glanced up, starting as Ivy laced her burger with the red sauce. "Uh." He blinked, clearly having lost his thought. His eyes were fixed upon the ketchup. "Yes. I'm going to show her what we have so far on the murders."

  A smile quirked the corner of my mouth at a sudden thought. "Hey, Ivy," I said lightly. "Pass me the clotted blood."

  Not missing a beat, she pushed the bottle across the table. Glenn froze. "Oh my God!" he whispered harshly, his face going sallow.

  Ivy snickered, and I laughed. "Relax, Glenn," I said as I squirted ketchup over my fries. I lounged in my chair, giving him a sly look as I ate one. "It's ketchup."

  "Ketchup!" He pulled his paper place mat with his food closer. "Are you insane?"

  "Nearly the same stuff you were slurping last night," Ivy said.

  I pushed the bottle toward him. "It won't kill you. Try some."

  His eyes riveted to the red plastic, Glenn shook his head. His neck was stiff, and he pulled his food closer. "No."

  "Aw, come on, Glenn," I coaxed. "Don't be a squish. I was kidding about the blood." What's the point of having a human over if you can't jerk him around a little?

  He stayed sullen, eating his burger as if it were a chore, not an enjoyable experience. But without ketchup, it might be a job. "Look," I said persuasively as I edged closer and turned the bottle around. "Here's what's in it. Tomatoes, corn syrup, vinegar, salt…" I hesitated, frowning. "Hey, Ivy. Did you know they put onion and garlic powder in ketchup?"

  She nodded, wiping a stray bit of ketchup off the corner of her mouth. Glenn looked interested, leaning closer to read the fine print above my freshly painted nail. "Why?" he asked. "What's wrong with onions and garlic?" He got a knowing look in his brown eyes and settled back. "Ah," he said wisely. "Garlic."

  "Don't be stupid." I set the bottle down. "Garlic and onions have a lot of sulfur. So do eggs. They give me migraines."

  "Mmmm," Glenn said smugly as he picked the ketchup bottle up between two fingers to read the label for himself. "What's natural flavors?"

  "You don't want to know," Ivy said, her voice pitched dramatically.

  Glenn set the bottle down. I couldn't help my snort of amusement.

  The sound of an approaching motorcycle pulled Ivy to her feet. "That's my ride," she said, crumpling her wrapper and pushing her half-eaten carton of fries to the middle of the table. She stretched, her lanky body reaching for the ceiling. Glenn ran his attention over her, then looked away.

  My gaze met Ivy's. It sounded like Kist's cycle. I wondered if this had anything to do with last night. Seeing my apprehension, Ivy grabbed her purse. "Thanks for breakfast, Glenn." She turned to me. "See you later, Rachel," she added as she breezed out.

  Shoulders easing, Glenn looked at the clock above the sink, then went back to eating. I was scraping the last of the ketchup up with a fry as Ivy's demand filtered in from the street, "Go Turn yourself, Kist. I'm driving." I smiled as the bike accelerated and the street grew quiet.

  Finished, I crumpled my paper into a ball and stood. Glenn wasn't done, and as I cleared the table, I left the ketchup. From the corner of my sight, I watched him eye it. "It's good on burgers, too," I said, dropping to crouch beside the island counter and pick out a spell book. There was the sound of sliding plastic. Book in hand, I turned to find he had pushed the bottle away. He wouldn't meet my eyes as I sat down at the table. "Mind if I check on something before we leave?" I asked, opening to the index.

  "Go ahead."

  His voice had turned cold again, and deciding it was the spell book, I sighed and leaned over the faded print. "I want to stir a spell for the Howlers to change their mind about not paying me," I said, hoping he would relax if he knew what I was doing. "I thought I might pick up what I don't have in the garden while I'm out. You don't mind an extra stop, do you?"

  "No." It was marginally less cold, and I took that as a good sign. He was noisily stirring the ice with his straw, and I purposely edged closer so he could see.

  "Look," I said, pointing at the blurring print. "I was right. If I want to send their pop flies foul, I need a noncontact spell." For an earth witch such as myself, noncontact meant wands. I'd never made one before, but my eyebrows rose at the ingredients. I had everything but the fern seed and the wand. How much could a dowel of redwood cost?

  "Why do you do it?"

  His voice had a touch of belligerence, and blinking, I closed the book. Disappointed, I went to put it away, turning to face him with my back against the island counter. "Make spells? It's what I do. I'm not going to hurt anyone. Not with a spell, anyway."

  Glenn set his super-sized cup down. His dark fingers loosened their grip and slid away. Leaning back in his chair, he hesitated. "No," he said. "How can you live with someone like that? Ready to explode with no warning?"

  "Oh." I reached for my drink. "You just caught her on a bad day. She doesn't like your dad, and she took it out on you." And you did ask for it, dickhead. I slurped the last of my drink and threw the cup away. "Ready?" I said as I got my bag and coat from a chair.

  Glenn stood and adjusted his suit coat before crossing in front of me to throw his stuff away under the sink.
"She wants something," he said. "And every time she looks at you, I see guilt. Whether she means to or not, she's going to hurt you, and she knows it."

  Affronted, I gave him an up-and-down look. "She's not hunting me." Trying to keep a lid on my anger, I headed down the hallway at a fast pace.

  Glenn was close his hard-soled shoes a heartbeat behind mine. "Are you telling me yesterday was the first time she attacked you?"

  My lips pursed, and the thumps of my boots went all the way up my spine. There had been lots of almosts before I figured out what pushed her buttons and quit doing it.

  Glenn said nothing, clearly hearing the answer in my silence. "Listen," he said as we emerged into the sanctuary, "I may have looked like the dumb human last night, but I was watching. Piscary bespelled you easier than blowing out a candle. She pulled you from him by simply saying your name. That can't be normal. And he called you her pet. Is that what you are? It sure looks like it to me."

  "I'm not her pet," I said. "She knows it. I know it. Piscary can think what he wants." Shoving my arms into my coat, I pushed my way out of the church and stormed down the steps. His car was locked, and I yanked at the handle. Angry, I waited for him to unlock it. "And it's none of your business," I added.

  The FIB detective was silent as he opened his door, then paused to look at me over the roof of the car. He put on his shades, hiding his eyes. "You're right. It's not my business."

  The door unlocked, and I got in, slamming it to make the car shake. Glenn slid softly in behind the wheel and shut his door.

  "Damn right it isn't your business," I muttered in the closeness of his car. "You heard her last night. I'm not her shadow. She wasn't lying when she said that."

  "I also heard Piscary say if she didn't get control of you, he would."

  A flash of real fear tightened me, unwanted and unsettling. "I'm her friend," I asserted. "All she wants is a friend that isn't after her blood. Ever think of that?"

  "A pet, Rachel?" he said softly as he started the car.

  I said nothing, tapping my fingers on the armrest. I wasn't Ivy's pet. And not even Piscary could make her turn me into one.