by Ким Харрисон
Immediately Ceri stood. "That's not necessary."
Ire flickered in Ivy's eyes. "I know it's not necessary."
Ivy's plate of steaming cookies hit the desktop before me in a harsh clatter. My eyebrows rose, and I swung my feet to the floor. Ivy wanted to talk to Ceri alone—about me. Bothered, I tapped my fingernails in a sharp staccato. "I'm not eating those," I said flatly.
"It's medicinal, Rachel," she said, her voice heavy with threat.
"It's Brimstone, Ivy," I shot back. Ceri shifted from foot to foot in obvious discomfort, but I didn't care. "I can't believe you gave me Brimstone," I added. "I arrest people who do Brimstone; I don't share rent with them." I was not going to tag Ivy. I didn't care if she broke every law in the I.S. handbook. Not this time.
Ivy's stance went aggressive, her hip cocked and her lips almost bloodless. "It's medicinal," she said sharply. "It's specially processed and the amount of stimulant in it is so low you can't even smell it. You can't smell Brimstone, can you? Can you?"
The ring of brown about her pupils had shrunk, and I dropped my gaze, not wanting to trip her into pulling an aura. Not now, with the sun almost down. "There was enough in it to jerk the bane into play," I said sullenly.
Ivy, too, calmed, knowing she had reached her limits. "That wasn't my fault," she said softly. "I never gave you enough to even trigger a Brimstone dog."
Ceri raised her narrow chin. There was no remorse in her green eyes. "I apologized for that," she said tightly. "I didn't know it was illegal. It wasn't the last time I gave it to someone."
"See?" Ivy said, gesturing to Ceri. "She didn't know, and that insurance guy was only trying to help. Now shut up, eat your cookies, and stop making us feel bad. You've got a run tomorrow and you need your strength."
Leaning back in my swivel chair, I pushed the plate of vamp cookies away. I wasn't going to eat them. I didn't care that what I had kept down yesterday had upped my metabolism so my black eye was already turning yellow and my cut lip was healed. "I'm fine."
Ivy's usually placid face clouded over. "Fine," she said sharply.
"Fine," I shot back, crossing my legs and turning so I was eyeing her askance.
Ivy's jaw clenched. "Ceri, I'll walk you home."
Ceri glanced between us. Face empty of emotion, she bent to get her teapot and cup. "I'll take care of my dishes first," she said.
"I can do that," I rushed to say, but Ceri shook her head, watching her feet so as not to spill as she made her way to the kitchen. I frowned, not liking her doing domestic work. It was too much like what I imagined Algaliarept had forced on her.
"Let her do it," Ivy said when the sound of Ceri's steps ended. "It makes her feel useful."
"She's royalty," I said. "You do know that, don't you?"
Ivy glanced into the dark hallway as the sound of running water filtered out. "Maybe a thousand years ago. Now she's nothing, and she knows it."
I made a puff of air. "Don't you have any compassion? Doing my dishes is degrading."
"I have a lot of compassion." A flicker of anger set Ivy's thin eyebrows high. "But the last time I looked, there weren't any openings for princesses in the want ads. What is she supposed to do to give her life meaning? There aren't any treaties for her to make, no rulings to judge, and her biggest decision is to have eggs or waffles for breakfast. There's no way to give herself a feeling of worth with her old royalty crap. And doing dishes isn't degrading."
I leaned back in my chair in a show of acquiescence. She was right, but I didn't like it. "So you have a run?" I prompted when the silence stretched.
Ivy sent one shoulder up and down. "I'm going to talk to Jenks."
"Good." I met her eyes, relieved. Something we could talk about without arguing. "I stopped at that Were's house this afternoon. The poor guy wouldn't let me in. The pixy girls had been at him. His hair was solid cornrows." I had woken up one morning with my hair braided into the fringe of my afghan. Matalina had made them apologize, but it took me forty minutes to untangle myself. I would give just about anything to wake up like that again.
"Yeah, I saw him," Ivy said, and I sat up from my slouch.
"You've been over there?" I asked, watching Ivy get her coat from the foyer and return. She slipped it on, the short leather jacket making a soft hush of silk against silk.
"I've been over there twice," she said. "The Were won't let me in, either, but one of my friends is taking him out on a date so Jenks will have to answer the door, the little prick. Typical little man. He has an ego the size of the Grand Canyon."
I chucked, and Ceri came in from the back. Her borrowed coat was over her arm and the shoes that Keasley bought her were in her grip. I wasn't going to tell her to put them on. She could walk in the snow barefoot as far as I was concerned. Ivy, though, gave her a pointed look.
"You going to be all right for a while?" Ivy asked as Ceri dropped her shoes to the floor and snugged her feet into them.
"Good God," I muttered, twisting the chair back and forth. "I'll be fine."
"Stay on holy ground," she added as she gestured for Ceri to head out. "Don't tap a line. Eat your cookies."
"Not going to happen, Ivy," I said. Pasta. I wanted pasta in alfredo sauce. That's what Nick had cooked up for me the last time Ivy was bent on shoving these things down my throat. I couldn't believe she'd been slipping me Brimstone. Yes, I could.
"I'll call you in about an hour to make sure you're all right."
"I won't answer," I said, irritated. "I'm going to take a nap." I stood and stretched until my sweater and halter top rose to show my belly button. It would have gotten a wolf whistle from Jenks, and the silence in the rafters was depressing.
Ceri came forward with her cushion to give me a hug good-bye. It startled me, and I hesitantly returned it. "Rachel can take care of herself," she said proudly. "She's been holding enough ever-after to blow a hole in the roof for the last five minutes and has forgotten about it."
"Holy crap!" I exclaimed, feeling my face warm. "I am, aren't I!"
Ivy sighed as she strode to the church's front door. "Don't wait up for me," she called over her shoulder. "I'm having dinner with my folks and won't be home until after sunup."
"You should let it go," Ceri said as she edged after Ivy. "At least when the sun is down. Someone else might summon him, and if they don't banish him properly, he'll come looking for you. He might try to knock you out by adding to what you're holding now." She shrugged in a very modern gesture. "But if you stay on holy ground, you should be all right."
"I'll let it go," I said absently, my thoughts whirling.
Ceri smiled shyly. "Thank you, Rachel," she said softly. "It's good to feel needed."
I jerked my attention back to her. "You're welcome."
The scent of cold snow filtered in. I looked up seeing Ivy standing impatiently in the threshold of the open door, the fading light making her a threatening silhouette in tight leather. " 'By-y-y-y-ye, Rachel," she prompted mockingly, and Ceri sighed.
Turning, the slender woman made her unhurried way to the door, kicking off her shoes at the last moment and going barefoot out onto the icy cement steps.
"How can you stand the cold?" I heard Ivy say before the door shut behind them.
I soaked in the silence and the dusky light. Reaching over, I clicked off the desk lamp and it seemed to brighten outside. I was alone—for what was probably the first time—in my church. No roommate, no boyfriend, no pixies. Alone. My eyes closed, and I sat on the slightly raised stage and breathed. I could smell plywood over the almond scent of Ivy's stupid cookies. A soft pressure behind my eyes reminded me I was still holding that ball of ever-after, and with a nudge of my will, I broke the three-dimensional circle in my thoughts and the energy flowed back to the line in a warm wash.
I opened my eyes and headed for the kitchen, my sock feet soundless. I wasn't going to take a nap; I was going to make brownies as part of Ivy's present. There was no way I could compete with thousand-dollar perfume:
I had to take the handmade-goodie track.
Detouring into the living room, I searched for the remote. The smell of plywood was almost an assault, and I glanced at the window Ivy had sketched on the panel, freehanding the view of the graveyard. I clicked on the stereo and Offspring's "Come Out and Play" spilled out. Grinning, I cranked it. "Wake the dead," I said, tossing the remote and dancing into the kitchen.
While the bouncy music lured me into a better mood, I pulled out my dented spell pot, which I couldn't use for spelling anymore, and the recipe book I had swiped from my mom. Thumbing through it, I found Grandma's fudgy brownie recipe penciled in beside the gourmet recipe that tasted like cardboard. Timing my motions with the music, I got out the eggs, sugar, vanilla, and dumped them on the center island counter. I had the chocolate chips melting on the stove and the evaporated milk measured out when the air shifted and the front door slammed. The egg in my hand slipped, cracking as it hit the counter.
"Forget something, Ivy?" I shouted. Adrenaline stabbed through me as my gaze went from the broken egg to everything scattered over the kitchen. I'd never get it hidden before she made it back here. Couldn't that woman stay away for even an hour?
But it was Kisten's voice that answered.
Twenty-one
"It's me, Rachel," Kisten called, his voice faint over the music blaring from the living room. I froze, the memory of the kiss he'd given me keeping me where I stood. I must have looked like an idiot when he turned the corner and stopped in the threshold.
"Ivy's not here?" he said, his eyes giving me the onceover. "Shoot."
I took a breath to settle myself. "Shoot?" I questioned, sliding the cracked egg off the counter and into the bowl. I didn't think anyone said shoot anymore.
"Can I say shit?"
"Hell, yes."
"Shit, then." His gaze went from me to the kitchen, lacing his hands behind his back as I picked the bigger chunks of shell out.
"Hey, would you, ah, turn the music down for me?" I said, sneaking a glance at him when he nodded and walked out. It was Saturday, and he was dressed casually in leather boots and faded jeans that were nice and tight. His short leather coat was open, and a burgundy silk shirt showed a wisp of chest hair. Just enough, I thought as the music softened. I could smell his coat. I was a sucker for the scent of leather. This might be a problem.
"Are you sure Ivy didn't send you over to baby-sit?" I questioned as he returned and I wiped the egg slime off on a damp dishcloth.
He chuckled and sat in Ivy's chair. "No." He hesitated. "Is she going to be gone for a while, or can I wait?"
I didn't look up from the recipe, not liking how he had said that. There had been more inquiry in his voice than the question warranted. "Ivy went to talk to Jenks." I ran my finger down the page without looking at the words. "Then she's having dinner with her folks."
"Sunup," he murmured, and I felt my warning flags go up. All of them.
The clock above the sink ticked, and I took the melted chocolate off the stove. I wasn't about to stand with my back to him, so I set it on the counter between us, crossing my arms in front of me and putting my backside against the sink. Watching me, he tossed his hair out of his eyes. I took a breath to tell him to go, but he interrupted.
"Are you all right?"
I stared blankly at him, then remembered. "Oh! The demon—thing," I muttered, embarrassed as I touched the pain charms about my neck. "You heard about that, huh?"
He smiled with half his mouth. "You made the news. And I had to listen to Ivy for three solid hours while she bitched about not being here at the time."
Going back to my recipe, I rolled my eyes. "Sorry. Yeah. I'm okay. A few scrapes and bruises. Nothing major. But I can't tap a line after sundown anymore." I didn't want to tell him I wasn't entirely safe after dark either, unless I was on holy ground…which the kitchen and living room weren't. "It's really going to put a crimp in my runs," I said sourly, wondering how I was going to get around this latest mountain. Oh well. It wasn't as if I relied on ley line magic. I was an earth witch after all.
Kisten didn't seem to think it mattered much either, if his casual shrug meant anything. "I'm sorry to hear Jenks left," he said, stretching his legs out and crossing his boots at his ankles. "He was more than an asset to your company. He's a good friend."
My face screwed up into an unpleasant expression. "I should have told him what Trent was when I figured it out."
Surprise cascaded over him. "You know what Trent Kalamack is? No shit?"
Jaw clenched, I dropped my eyes to the recipe book and nodded, waiting for him to ask it.
"What is he?"
I stayed silent, my eyes fixed on the page. The soft sound of him moving pulled my gaze up.
"Never mind," he said. "It doesn't matter."
Relieved, I gave the chocolate a clockwise stir. "It matters to Jenks. I should have trusted him."
"Not everyone needs to know everything."
"You do if you're four inches tall with wings."
He got up, drawing my attention as he stretched. With a soft, satisfied sound, his shoulders eased and he collapsed in on himself. Taking his coat off, he headed to the fridge.
I tapped the spoon on the side to flick most of the chocolate off. My brow furrowed. Sometimes it was easier to talk to a stranger. "What am I doing wrong, Kisten?" I said, frustrated. "Why do I drive the people I like away?"
He came out from behind the fridge door with the bag of almonds I'd bought last week. "Ivy's not leaving."
"Those are mine," I said, and he paused until I gestured sourly that he could have them.
"I'm not leaving," he added, mouth gently moving as he ate one.
I exhaled noisily, dumping the measured sugar into the chocolate. He looked really good over there, and memories kept intruding: thoughts of us dressed up and enjoying ourselves, the spark his black eyes drew through me when Saladan's heavies lay broken in the street, Piscary's elevator with me wrapped around him wanting to feel him taking everything I had….
The crunch of the sugar against the pan was loud as I stirred. Damn vamp pheromones.
"I'm glad Nick left," Kisten said. "He wasn't good for you."
I kept my head down, but my shoulders tensed. "What do you know about it?" I said, tucking a long red curl behind my ear. I looked up, finding him calmly eating my almonds. "Nick made me feel good. I made him feel good. We had fun together. We liked the same movies, the same places to eat. He could keep up with me when we ran at the zoo. Nick was a good person, and you have no right to pass judgment on him." I snatched a damp dishcloth, wiping up my spilled sugar and shaking it into the sink.
"You may be right," he said as he jiggled a handful of nuts into his palm and rolled the bag shut. "But I find one thing fascinating." He put a nut between his teeth and crunched through it noisily. "You put him in the past tense."
My mouth dropped open. Torn between anger and shock, my face went cold. In the living room, the music changed to something fast and bouncy—and totally inappropriate.
Kisten cracked the fridge open, set the nuts back into the door, and closed it. "I'll wait for Ivy for a while. She might come back with Jenks—if you're lucky. You have a tendency to demand more of a person than most are willing to give." He shook the nuts still left in his hand as I sputtered. "Kind of like a vampire," he added as he picked up his coat and walked out.
My hand was dripping, and I realized I was squeezing the dishcloth so hard that water was seeping out. I threw it into the sink, furious and depressed. Not a good combination. From the living room, happy pop music bounced and skittered. "Will you turn that off!" I shouted. My jaw ached where I was clenching it, and I forced my teeth to part when the music stopped. Fuming, I measured out the sugar and dumped it in. I reached for the spoon, a sound of frustration coming from me as I remembered I had already added the sugar. "Damn it back to the Turn," I muttered. Now I'd have to make a double batch.
Spoon held tightly, I tried to stir it in. Sugar went
everywhere, spilling over the edge. My teeth gritted, and I stomped back to the sink for the dishcloth.
"You don't know squat," I whispered as I scraped the spilled sugar into a little pile. "Nick might come back. He said he was. I have his key."
I pushed the gathered sugar into the cup of my hand, hesitating before I dumped it into the bowl with the rest. Brushing the last of the grit from my fingers, I looked at the dark hallway. Nick wouldn't give me his key if he wasn't coming back.
Music started up, soft with a steady beat. My eyes narrowed. I never said he could put something else in. Angry, I took a step toward the living room, then jerked to a halt. Kisten had left in the middle of a conversation. He had taken food with him. Crunchy food. According to Ivy's dating book, that was a vampiric invitation. And following him would be saying I was interested. Even worse, he knew I knew.
I was still staring at the hallway when Kisten walked past. He backpedaled to a stop as he saw me there with a blank look on my face.
"I'll wait in the sanctuary," he said. "Is that okay with you?"
"Sure," I whispered.
His eyebrows rose, and with that same little smile, he ate an almond. "Okay." Kisten vanished down the dark hallway, his boots silent on the hardwood floor.
I turned away and stared at the night-blackened window. I counted to ten. I counted to ten again. I counted to ten a third time, finding myself in the hallway by the time I reached seven. I'll go in, say my piece, and leave, I promised myself when I found him at the piano, his back to me as he sat on the bench. He pulled himself straight as my feet scuffed to a halt.
"Nick is a good man," I said, my voice shaking.
"Nick is a good man," he agreed, not turning around.
"He makes me feel wanted, needed."
Kisten slowly spun. His stubble caught the faint light filtering in from the street. The outline of his wide shoulders tapered down to his slim waist, and I mentally shook myself at how good he looked. "He used to." His low, smooth voice sent a shiver through me.
"I don't want you to talk about him anymore," I said.
