Every Witch Way But Dead th-3

by Ким Харрисон

  Ignoring me, he pushed all the way to the back where I put everything I didn't like. "I saw something here the other day," he said, making a small exclamation as he leaned to tug at something. "Here," he said, holding out a pair of drab black boots. "Start with these."

  "Those?" I complained as he set them aside and stuck his arms back into my closet. "There's no heel to those at all. And they're four years old and out of style. And what were you doing in my closet?"

  "That's a classic boot," Kisten said, affronted. "It never goes out of style. Put them on." He shuffled about again, pulling something out by feel, as he couldn't possibly see anything back there. My face warmed when I saw an old suit I'd forgotten I had. "Oh, this is just ugly," he said, and I snatched it out of his hands.

  "It's my old interview suit," I said. "It's supposed to be ugly."

  "Throw it away. But keep the pants. You're wearing them tonight."

  "I am not!" I protested. "Kisten, I am fully capable of picking out my own clothes!"

  Silently he raised his eyebrows, then went right back in to get a black long-sleeve shirt, from my don't-go-there section, that my mother bought for me three years ago. I hadn't the heart to give it away as it was silk, even though it was so long it hung mid-thigh on me. The neckline was too low, and it made my small chest look even flatter.

  "This too," he said, and I shook my head.

  "No," I said firmly. "It's too long, and it's something my mother would wear."

  "Then your mother has better taste than you," he said in good humor. "Wear a camisole under it, and for God's sake, don't tuck it in."

  "Kisten, get out of my closet!"

  But he reached back in, bowing his head over something small in his hands as he rocked back. I thought it might be that ugly purse with the sequins I wished I had never bought, but I went mortified when he turned with an innocuous looking book. It had no title and was bound with a soft brown leather. The glint in Kisten's eyes told me he knew what it was.

  "Give me that," I said, reaching out for it.

  A wicked grin on him, Kisten held it up over his head. I could probably still get it, but I'd have to climb him. "Well, well, well…" he drawled. "Ms. Morgan. You have shocked and delighted me. Where did you get a copy of Rynn Cormel's guide to dating the undead?"

  I pressed my lips together and fumed, stymied. Hip cocked, I could do nothing as he took a distancing step back and flipped through it.

  "Have you read it?" he asked, then made a surprised Mmmm sound as he paused at a page. "I forgot about that one. I wonder if I can still do that."

  "Yes, I've read it." I extended my hand. "Give it here."

  Kisten pulled his attention from the pages, his long masculine hands cradling the book open. His eyes had gone black just a wee bit, and I cursed myself as a thrill of excitement went through me. Damn vamp pheromones.

  "Ooooh, it's important to you," Kisten said, glancing out the door when Ivy banged something in the kitchen. "Rachel…" he said, his voice softer as he moved a step closer. "You know all my secrets." Without looking, his fingers dog-eared a page. "What drives me crazy. What instinctively tips me over—the—edge…"

  He said the last word carefully, and I stifled a delicious shudder.

  "You know how to…manipulate me," he murmured, the book dangling from an inattentive hand. "Do witches have a manual?"

  He had somehow gotten within two feet of me, and I didn't remember him moving. The smell of his wool coat was strong, and under that was the heady scent of leather. Flustered, I snatched the book away, and Kisten dropped back a step. "Don't you wish," I muttered. "Ivy gave it to me so I would stop pushing her buttons. That's all it is." I shoved it under my pillow, and his smile widened. Damn it, if he touched me, I was going to slug him.

  "That's where it belongs," he said. "Not a closet. Keep it close for quick reference."

  "Get out," I said, pointing.

  Long coat drifting about his shoe tops, he moved to the door, his every motion holding a confident seductive grace. "Put your hair up," he said as he sauntered through the arch-way. A grin came over him, showing me his teeth. "I like your neck. Page twelve, third paragraph down." He licked his lips, hiding the flash of fang even as I saw it.

  "Out!" I shouted, taking two steps and slamming the door.

  Fuming, I turned to what he had laid out on my bed, glad I'd made it that afternoon. A faint tingling at my neck drew my hand up, and I pressed my palm into it, willing it away. I stared at my pillow, then hesitantly pulled the book out. Rynn Cormel had written it? Cripes, the man had single-handedly run the country during the Turn, and he had enough time to write a vampire sex manual, too?

  The scent of lilac rose as I opened it at the dog-eared page. I was prepared for anything, having been through the book twice and finding myself more appalled than turned on, but it was only about the use of necklaces to send messages to your lover. Apparently the more you covered your neck, the more you were inviting him or her to rip it open. The gothic metallic lace that was so popular lately was like walking around in a teddy. Going completely bare at the neck was almost as bad—a delicious claim of vampiric virginity and a complete and utter turn-on.

  "Huh," I muttered, closing the book and dropping it on my new bedside table. Maybe a reread was in order. My gaze went to the outfit Kisten had chosen for me. It looked frumpy, but I'd try it on, and when Ivy told him I looked like I was forty, he could wait another ten minutes while I changed back.

  Motions quick, I took off my boots and tossed them thumping aside. I had forgotten that the gray slacks were lined with silk, and they made a pleasant sensation slipping over my legs. I chose a black halter top—without Kisten's help—and put the long shirt on over it. It didn't do a thing to show off my curves, and I turned to my mirror, frowning.

  I froze at my reflection, shocked. "Damn," I whispered. I had looked good before in my black dress and boots. But in this? In this I looked…sophisticated. Remembering page twelve, I fumbled for my longest gold chain and looped it over my head. "Double damn," I breathed, shifting to see myself from a different angle.

  My curves were gone, hidden behind the simple straight lines, but the subdued statement of the modest slacks, silk shirt, and gold chain screamed confidence and casual wealth. Now my pale skin was softly alabaster instead of sickly white, and my athletic build appeared sleek. It was a new look for me. I didn't know I could do high-class wealthy.

  I hesitantly pulled my hair up off my neck and held it atop my head. "Whoa," I breathed, when it turned me from sophisticated to elegant. Looking this good outweighed the embarrassment of letting Kisten know he could dress me better than I could dress myself.

  Digging in a drawer, I found and invoked my last amulet to tame the frizz of my hair, then put my hair up, pulling a few strands to drape artfully before my ears. I dabbed on a bit more of my new perfume, checked my makeup, hid my hair-taming amulet behind my shirt, then grabbed a small clasp purse, as my shoulder bag would ruin everything. The lack of my usual charms gave me a moment of pause, but it was a date, not a run. And if I had to fight Kisten off, I'd be using ley line magic anyway.

  My flat-heeled boots were subdued as I left my room and followed the soft give-and-take murmurs of Kisten and Ivy into the amber-lit sanctuary. I hesitated at the doorway, looking in.

  They had woken the pixies, who were flitting everywhere, concentrating about Ivy's grand piano as they played tag among the wires and stops. There was a faint hum of sound shifting the air, and I realized the vibrations from their wings were making the strings resonate.

  Ivy and Kisten stood by the archway to the foyer. She had that same uneasy, defiant look on her that she'd been wearing earlier when she refused to talk to me. Kisten was bent close, clearly concerned, with his hand on her shoulder.

  I cleared my throat for their attention, and Kisten's hand fell. Ivy's posture shifted back to her usual equanimity, but I could see her shattered confidence underneath.

  "Oh, that's better,"
Kisten said as he turned, his eyes lighting briefly on my necklace.

  He had unbuttoned his coat, and I ran my eyes appreciatively over him as I approached. No wonder he had wanted to dress me. He looked fabulous: navy Italian pinstripe suit, shiny shoes, hair slicked back and smelling faintly of soap…and smiling at me with an attractive self-assurance. His usual chain was a quick flash hidden behind the collar of his starched white shirt. A tasteful tie was snugged up to his neck, and a watch fob ran from a vest pocket through a buttonhole and then to the other vest pocket. Looking at his trim waist, broad shoulders, and slender hips, there was nothing to argue with. Nothing at all.

  Ivy blinked as she took me in. "When did you buy that?" she asked, and I smiled widely.

  "Kist picked it out of my closet," I said brightly, and that would be the only admission of my lack of polish he was going to get.

  It was a date, so I went to stand beside Kisten; Nick would have gotten a kiss, but as Ivy and Jenks were hovering—and in Jenks's case, literally—a little discretion was in order. More importantly, he wasn't Nick.

  Jenks landed on Ivy's shoulder. "Do I need to say anything?" the pixy asked Kisten, his hands on his hips to look like a protective father.

  "No, sir," Kisten said, entirely serious, and I fought to keep a smile from me. The picture of a four-inch pixy threatening a six-foot living vampire would have been ridiculous if Kisten weren't taking him seriously. Jenks's warning was real and very enforceable. The only thing more unstoppable than fairy assassins were pixies. They could rule the world if they wanted.

  "Good," Jenks said, apparently satisfied.

  I stood by Kisten and rocked back and forth on my flat heels twice, staring at everyone. No one said a word. This was really weird. "Ready to go?" I finally prompted.

  Jenks snickered and flitted off to corral his kids back into the desk. Ivy gave Kisten a last look, and walked out of the sanctuary. Sooner than I would have expected, the TV blared. I ran my eyes over Kisten, thinking he looked as far away from his biker image as a goat is to a tree.

  "Kisten," I said, putting a hand to my necklace. "What does this…say?"

  He leaned close. "Confidence. Not looking for anything, but naughty behind closed doors."

  I stifled a thrill-invoked shudder when he pulled away. Okay. That…works.

  "Let me help you with your coat," he said, and a sound of dismay came from me as I followed him into the foyer. My coat. My ugly, ugly coat with the fake fur around the collar.

  "Ouch," Kisten said, his brow furrowed in the dim light seeping in from the sanctuary as he saw it. "Tell you what." He shrugged out of his coat. "You can wear mine. It's unisex."

  "Now wait up," I protested, taking a step back before he could put it on me. "I'm smarter than that, fang-boy. I'll end up smelling like you. This is a platonic date, and I'm not going to break rule number one by mixing our scents before I even step out of my church."

  He grinned, his white teeth glinting in the dim light. "Got me dead to rights," he admitted. "But what are you going to wear? That?"

  A wince pulled my face tight while I looked at my coat. "All right," I agreed, not wanting to ruin my new facade of elegance with fake fur and nylon. And there was my new perfume…"But I'm not putting this on to intentionally mix our scents. Understand?"

  He nodded, but his smile made me think otherwise, and I let him help me slip into it. My gaze went distant as its heavy weight eased over my shoulders, comforting and warm. Kisten might not be able to smell me, but I could smell Kisten, and his lingering body warmth sank into me. Leather, silk, and the barest hint of a clean-scented after-shave made a mix I was hard-pressed not to sigh into. "Will you be okay?" I asked, seeing he had only his suit jacket.

  "The car is already warm." He intercepted my reach for the door, his hand touching mine atop the handle. "Allow me," he said gallantly. "You're my date. Let me act like it."

  Thinking he was being silly, I nevertheless let him open the door and take my arm as he helped me down the steps lightly dusted with snow. The snow had started shortly after sundown, and the ugly gray splotches kicked up by the snowplows were covered in pristine white. The air was crisp and cold, and there was no wind.

  I wasn't surprised when he maneuvered to open the car door for me, and I couldn't help but feel special as I arranged myself. Kisten shut the door and hustled around to the front. The leather seats were warm, and there was no cardboard tree hanging from the rearview mirror. I took a quick look at the discs in the console as he got in. They ranged from Korn to Jeff Beck, and he even had one of singing monks. He listened to singing monks?

  Kisten settled himself. As soon as the car started, he flipped the heater on full. I sank into the seat, relishing the deep rumble of the engine. It was markedly stronger than my little car, vibrating through me like thunder. The leather, too, was of a higher quality, and the mahogany on the dash was real, not fake. I was a witch; I could tell.

  I refused to compare Kisten's car to Nick's drafty, ugly truck, but it was hard not to. And I liked being treated special. Not that Nick didn't make me feel special, but this was different. It was fun to get dressed up, even if we ended up eating at Mickey-d's. Which was a very real possibility as Kisten had only sixty dollars to spend.

  Glancing at him sitting beside me, I realized I didn't care.

  Eleven

  "So," I said slowly as I fought to keep myself from reaching for the handle of the door to keep it from swinging open when we went over a railroad track. "Where are we going?"

  Kisten gave me a sideways smile, the lights from the car behind us illuminating him. "You'll see."

  My eyebrows rose, and I took a breath to press for details when a soft chirping came from his pocket. My playful mood faltered into one of exasperation as he gave me an apologetic look and reached for his phone.

  "I hope this isn't going to happen all night," I muttered, putting my elbow on the door handle and staring at the dark. "Just turn around and take me home if it is. Nick never took a call when we were on a date."

  "Nick wasn't trying to run half the city, either." Kisten flipped the silver top up. "Yes," he said, his sharp annoyance pulling my elbow from the door and my attention back to him. The muted, tiny sound of pleading filtered out. In the background I could hear thumping music. "You're kidding." Kisten flicked his attention from the road to me and back to the road. His eyes held a mix of hassle and disbelief. "Well get out there and open the floor."

  "I tried that!" the tiny voice shouted. "They're animals, Kist. Bloody savages!" The voice subsided into an unrecognizable high-pitched panic.

  Kisten sighed as he looked at me. "Okay, okay. We'll stop in. I'll take care of it."

  The voice on the other end gushed in relief, but Kisten didn't bother to listen, flipping the phone closed and tucking it away. "Sorry, love," he said in that ridiculous accent. "One quick stop. Five minutes. I promise."

  And it had started off so well, too. "Five minutes?" I questioned. "Something's got to go," I threatened, half serious. "Either the phone or that accent."

  "Oh!" he said, putting his hand to his chest dramatically. "Wounded to the quick." He looked askance at me, clearly relieved I was taking this as well as I was. "I can't do without my phone. The accent goes…" He grinned. "…my love."

  "Oh, please," I moaned, enjoying the light banter. I had been walking on eggshells around Nick so long, afraid to say anything lest I make things worse. Guess I didn't have to worry about that anymore.

  I wasn't surprised when Kisten turned toward the water-front. I had already surmised the trouble was at Piscary's Pizza. Since losing its Mixed Public License last fall, it had gone to a strictly vamp cliental, and from what I heard, Kisten was actually turning a profit. It was the only reputable establishment in Cincinnati without an MPL to do so. "Savages?" I questioned when we pulled into the parking lot of the two-story restaurant.

  "Mike is being histrionic," Kisten said as he parked in a reserved spot. "It's only a bunch of women."
He got out of the car and I sat tight, my hands in my lap as his door shut. I would have expected him to leave the car running for me. My head jerked up when he opened my door, and I stared blankly at him.

  "Aren't you coming in?" he said, hunched as the cold breeze off the river shifted his bangs. "It's freezing out here."

  "Ah, should I?" I stammered, surprised. "You lost your MPL."

  Kisten reached for my hand. "I don't think you need to be worried."

  The pavement was icy, and I was glad that I was wearing flat boots as I got out of his car. "But you don't have an MPL," I said again. The parking lot was full, and watching vampires bleeding each other couldn't be a pleasant sight. And if I willingly went in there knowing it lacked an MPL, the law wouldn't help me if anything went wrong.

  Kisten's coat was long, dragging while he held my arm and escorted me to the canopy covered entrance. "Everyone in there knows you beat Piscary into unconsciousness," he said softly, inches from my ear to make me very aware of his breath on my cheek. "None of them would dare even think to do that. And you could have killed him but you didn't. It takes more guts to let a vampire live than to kill one. No one will mess with you." He opened the door, and light and music spilled out. "Or is it the blood you're worried about?" he questioned as I balked.

  I fixed my eyes on his and nodded, not caring if he saw my apprehension.

  Expression distant, Kisten gently led me forward. "You won't see any," he said. "Everyone here came to relax, not feed the beast. This is the only place in Cincinnati where vampires can go in a public setting and be themselves without having to live up to some human's, witch's, or Were's idea of what they should be and how they should act. There won't be any blood unless someone cuts a finger opening a beer."

  Still unsure, I let him guide me in, stopping just inside the door while he knocked the snow from his dress shoes. The heat of the place struck me first, and I didn't think it was all coming from the fireplace at the far end of the room. It had to be pushing eighty, the warmth carrying the pleasant aroma of incense and dark things. I breathed deeply as I untied Kisten's coat, and it seemed to settle in my brain, relaxing me the way a hot bath and a good meal did.