A Fistful of Charms th-4

by Ким Харрисон

  He wouldn't look at me while he opened the cream cheese and spread a thick layer on the toast. "It's sort of brown. Why? Is that a problem?"

  Dropping my hands to his waist, I turned him around. Pinning him to the counter, I leaned until our hips touched. "God, no. I just wondered."

  "Oh." His hands went about my waist, and clearly relieved, he inhaled slowly, seeming to take my very soul in with him. A spark of desire jumped from him to me, going right to my core to catch my breath. I knew he was scenting me, reading in the slight tension of my body pressing into him my willingness to turn our embrace into something more. I knew our natural scents mixing was a potent blood aphrodisiac. I also knew Ivy would kill him if he broke my skin even by accident. But this was all old news, and I'd be a fool if I didn't admit that part of Kisten's allure was the mix of deep intimacy he offered along with the potential danger of him losing control and biting me. Yeah, I was a stupid, trusting girl, but it made for great sex.

  And Kisten is very careful, I thought, pulling coyly away at the low growl rumbling up through him. He wouldn't have come over if he wasn't sure of his control, and I knew he teased himself with my off-limits blood as much as I tested my will against the supposedly better-than-sex carnal ecstasy that a vampire bite could bring.

  "I see you're making friends with your neighbors," he said, and I eased from him to reopen the window and wash my hands. If I didn't stop, Ivy would sense it and be out here glowering like a shunned lover. We were roommates and business partners—that was all—but she made no attempt to hide that she wanted more. She had asked me once to be her scion, which was sort of a number-one helper and wielder of vampire power when the vamp in question was limited by sunlight. She wasn't dead yet and didn't need a scion, but Ivy was a planner.

  The position was an honor, but I didn't want it, even though, as a witch, I couldn't be turned vampire. It involved an exchange of blood to cement ties, which was why I had flatly refused her the first time she'd asked, but after meeting her old high school roommate, I thought she was after more than that. Kisten could separate the drive for blood from the desire for sex, but Ivy couldn't, and the sensations a blood-lusting vamp pulled from me were too much like sexual hunger for me to think otherwise. Ivy's offer that I become her scion was also an offer to be her lover, and as much as I cared for her, I wasn't wired that way.

  I turned off the tap and dried my hands on the dish towel, frowning at the butterfly wings drifting closer to the garden. "You could have helped me out there," I said sourly.

  "Me?" Blue eyes glinting in amusement, he set the orange juice on the counter and shut the fridge. "Rachel, honey, I love you and all, but what do you think I could have done?"

  Tossing the dish towel to the counter, I turned my back on him, crossing my arms while I gazed out at the cautiously approaching wings. He was right, but that didn't mean I had to like it. I was lucky Matalina had shown up, and I wondered again what she wanted.

  A warm breath touched my shoulder and I jerked, realizing Kisten had snuck up on me, unheard with his vamp-soft steps. "I would have come out if you needed it," he said, his rumbly voice going right into me. "But they were only garden fairies."

  "Yeah," I said with a sigh. "I suppose." Turning, my eyes went over his shoulder to the three books on the table. "Are those for me?" I asked, wanting to change the subject.

  Kisten reached past me to pluck an early daisy from the vase beside Mr. Fish. "Piscary had them behind glass. They look like spell books to me. I thought you might find something to Were in them. They're yours if you want them. I'm not going to tell him where they went."

  His eyes were eager for the chance to help me, but I didn't move, standing beside the sink with my arms crossed, eyeing them. If the master vampire had them under glass, then they were probably older than the sun. Even worse, they had the look of demon magic, making them useless since only demons could work it. Generally.

  Uncrossing my arms, I considered them again. Maybe there was something I could use. "Thanks," I said, moving to touch the top book and stifling a shudder when I felt a slight sponginess, as if my aura had gone from liquid to syrup. My torn skin tingled, and I wiped my hand on my jeans. "You won't get in trouble?"

  The faint tightening of his jaw was the only sign of his nervousness. "You mean in more trouble than trying to kill him?" he said, flicking his long bangs from his eyes.

  I gave him a sick smile. "I see your point." I went to get myself a cup of coffee while Kisten poured a small glass of orange juice and set it on a tray he pulled from behind the microwave. The plate of toast went on it, shortly followed by the daisy he'd taken from the windowsill. I watched, my curiosity growing when he gave me a sideways smile to show his sharp canines and hustled into the hallway with it all. Okay, so it wasn't for me.

  Leaning against the counter, I sipped my coffee and listened to a door creak open. Kisten's voice called out cheerfully, "Good afternoon, Ivy. Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!"

  "Shove it, Kist," came Ivy's slurred mumble. "Hey!" she cried louder. "Don't open those! What the hell are you doing?"

  A smile curved over my face and I snickered, taking my coffee and sitting at the table.

  "There's my girl," Kisten coaxed. "Sit up. Take the damn tray before I spill the coffee."

  "It's Saturday," she snarled. "What are you doing here so early?"

  As I listened to Kisten's soothing voice rise and fall in an unrecognizable patter, I wondered what was going on. From families of wealth, Kisten and Ivy had grown up together, tried the cohabitation thing, and parted as friends. Rumor had it Piscary planned for them to get together and have a passel of children to carry on his living-vamp line before one of them died. I was no expert in relationships, but even I could tell that wasn't going to happen. Kisten cared deeply for Ivy, and she for him, but seeing them together always gave me the feeling of a close brother/sister relationship. Even so, this breakfast in bed thing was unusual.

  "Watch the coffee!" Kisten exclaimed, shortly followed by Ivy's yelp.

  "You aren't helping. Get out of my room!" she snarled, her gray-silk voice harsh.

  "Shall I lay out your clothes, love?" Kisten said, his fake British accent on full and laughter in his voice. "I adore that pink skirt you wore all last fall. Why don't you wear that anymore?"

  "Get out!" she exclaimed, and I heard something hit the wall.

  "Pancakes tomorrow?"

  "Get the hell out of my room!"

  The door clicked shut, and I met Kisten's grin with my own when he came in and went to the coffeemaker. "Lose a bet?" I guessed, and he nodded, his thin eyebrows high. I pushed out a chair kitty-corner from me with my foot and he settled in with his mug, his long legs going out to encircle mine under the corner of the table.

  "I said you could go on a run with David and come home without turning it into a slugfest. She said you couldn't." He reached for the sugar bowl and dumped two spoonfuls in.

  "Thanks," I said, glad he had bet against her.

  "I lost on purpose," he said, crushing my vindication before it had taken its first breath.

  "Thanks a lot," I amended, pulling my feet from between his.

  Setting his mug down, he leaned forward and took my hands in his. "Stop it, Rachel. How else could I find an excuse to come over here every morning for a week?"

  I couldn't be mad at him now, so I smiled, dropping my gaze to our twined hands, mine thin and pale beside his tan, masculine fingers. It was nice seeing them there together like that. The past four months he had not lavished attention on me, but rather was there and available whenever the mood struck either of us.

  He was incredibly busy running Piscary's affairs now that the undead master vampire was in jail—thanks to me—and I was occupied with my end of Ivy's and my runner firm, Vampiric Charms. As a result, Kisten and I spent spontaneous snips of intense time together that I found both extremely satisfying and curiously freeing. Our brief, nearly daily conversations over coffee or dinner were more enjoy
able and reassuring than a three-day weekend backpacking in the Adirondacks dodging weekend-warrior Weres and slapping mosquitoes.

  He felt no jealousy about the time I spent pursuing my career, and I felt only relief that he slaked his blood lust elsewhere—it was a part of him I was ignoring until I found a way to deal with it. There were problems brewing in our future, as blood-chaste witches and living vampires were not known for making long-term commitments. But I was tired of being alone, and Kisten met every emotional need I had raised and I met all of his but one, allowing someone else to do that with no distrust on my part. Our relationship was too good to be true, and I wondered again how I could find comfort with a vampire when I'd never been able to hold onto it with a witch.

  Or with Nick, I thought, feeling the expression leave my face.

  "What?" Kisten said, more aware of my mood shift than if I had painted my face blue.

  I took a breath, hating myself for where my thoughts had gone. "Nothing." I smiled thinly. "Just thinking how much I like being with you."

  "Oh." His bristly face creased into a worried smile. "What are you doing today?"

  I sat back, pulling my hand from his and putting my sock feet to either side of his lap so he wouldn't think I was drawing away. My eyes drifted to my shoulder bag and my checkbook. I wasn't desperate for money—wonder of wonders, since the calls for my services had dropped dramatically after the six o'clock news last winter had featured me being dragged down the street on my ass by a demon. And because I was heeding David's advice to take a few days off to mend, I knew I ought to spend the time in research, or balancing my bank account, or cleaning my bathroom, or doing something constructive.

  But then I met Kisten's eyes, and the only idea that came to me was…ah, not the least bit constructive at all. His eyes were not calm. There was the faintest rising of black in them, the faintest thinning of blue. Gaze riveted to mine, he reached for one of my feet, bringing it onto his lap and starting to rub it. The intent behind his action strengthened when he sensed my pulse quickening, and his massage took on a rhythm that spoke of…possibilities.

  My breath came and went. There was no blood lust in his eyes, only a desire that made my gut tighten and a tingle start at my demon scar.

  "I need to…domy laundry?" I said, arching my eyebrows.

  "Laundry." He never looked from me as his hands left my foot and started creeping upward. Moving, pressing, hinting. "That sounds like it involves water and soap. Mmmm. Could be slippery. And messy. I think I have a bar of soap somewhere. Want some help?"

  Uh-huh, I thought, my mind pinging over the possible ways he could "help" me, and how I could get Ivy out of the church for a few hours.

  Seeing my—well…willingness might be too weak a word—enthusiasm in my inviting smile, Kisten reached out and pulled my chair bumping and scraping around the corner of the table, snuggling it up to his with a living vampire's strength. My legs opened to put my knees to either side of him, and he leaned forward, the blue of his eyes vanishing to a thin ribbon.

  Tension rising, I put my lips beside his torn ear. The scent of leather and silk crashed over me, and I closed my eyes in anticipation. "You have your caps?" I whispered.

  I felt him nod, but I was more interested in where his lips were going. He cupped a hand along my jaw and tilted my face to his. "Always," he said. "Always and forever with you."

  Oh God, I thought, just about melting. Kisten wore caps on his sharp canines to keep from breaking my skin in a moment of passion. They were generally worn by adolescent living vampires still lacking control, and Kisten risked a severe ribbing should anyone find out he wore them when we slept together. His decision was born from his respect for my desire to withhold my blood from him, and Ivy's threat to stake him twice if he took my blood. Kisten claimed it was possible to be bound and not become a vampire's shadow, but everything I had seen said otherwise. My fear remained. And so did his caps.

  I inhaled, bringing the vamp pheromones deep into me, willing them to relax me, wanting the tingling promise that was humming in my demon scar to race through my body. But then Kisten stiffened and drew away.

  "Ivy?" I whispered, feeling my eyes go worried as his gaze went distant.

  "Pixy wings," he said, pushing my chair out.

  "Matalina," I answered, sending my gaze to the open archway to the hall.

  There was a distant thump. "Jenks?" came Ivy's muffled call from her room.

  My lips parted in surprise. She had heard Matalina's wings through a closed door? Great. Just freaking great. Then she'd heard our conversation, too.

  "It's Matalina!" I shouted, not wanting her to burst out thinking it was Jenks.

  But it was too late, and I stood awkwardly when her door thumped open. Matalina zipped into the kitchen a heartbeat before Ivy staggered in, halting in an undignified slump with one hand supporting herself against the open archway.

  She was still in her skimpy nightgown, her black silk robe doing next to nothing to hide her tall lanky build, trim and smooth-limbed from her martial arts practice. Her straight black hair, mussed from sleeping, framed her oval face in an untidy fashion. She'd had it cut not too long ago, and it still surprised me to see it bumping about just under her ears. It made her long neck look longer, the single scar on it a smooth line, now faint from cosmetic surgery. Wide-eyed from being jerked from her bed, her brown, somewhat almond-shaped eyes looked larger than usual, and her thin lips were open to show small teeth.

  Head cocked, Kisten spun in his chair. Taking in her lack of clothes, his grin widened.

  Grimacing at her less than suave entrance, Ivy pulled herself straight, trying to find her usual iron hold on her emotions. Her pale cheeks were flushed, and she wouldn't meet my eyes as she closed her robe with an abrupt motion. "Matalina," she said, her voice still rough from sleep. "Is Jenks okay? Will he talk to us?"

  "God, I hope so," Kisten said dryly, turning his chair so he didn't have his back to Ivy.

  The agitated pixy flitted to perch on the center island counter. A glittering trail of silver sparkles sifted from her, slowly falling to make a temporary sunbeam, clear evidence of her flustered state. I already knew her answer, but I couldn't help but slump when she shook her head, her wings stilling. Her pretty eyes went wide and she twisted the fabric of her silk dress. "Please," she said, her voice carrying a frightening amount of worry. "Jenks won't come to you. I'm so scared, Rachel. He can't go alone. He won't come back if he goes alone!"

  Suddenly I was a whole lot more concerned. "Go where?" I said, crowding closer. Ivy moved in too, and we clustered before her, almost helpless as the tiny woman who could stand down six fairies started to cry. Forever the gentleman, Kisten carefully tore a tissue and handed her a piece the size of his thumbnail. She could have used it for a washcloth.

  "It's Jax," Matalina said, holding her breath between sobs. Jax was her oldest son.

  My fear quickened. "He's at Nick's apartment," I said. "I'll drive you over."

  Matalina shook her head. "He's not there. He left with Nick on the winter solstice."

  I jerked upright, feeling as if I'd been kicked in the stomach. "Nick was here?" I stammered. "At the solstice? He never even called!" I looked at Ivy, shocked. The freaking human bastard! He had come, cleared out his apartment, and left; just like Jenks said he would. And I thought he cared for me. I had been hurt and half dead from hypothermia, and he just left? As I fumed, the betrayal and confusion I thought long gone swelled to make my head hurt.

  "We got a call this morning," Matalina was saying, oblivious to my state, though Kisten and Ivy exchanged knowing glances. "We think he's in Michigan."

  "Michigan!" I blurted. "What the Turn is he doing in Michigan?"

  Ivy nudged closer, almost coming between Matalina and me. "You said you think. You don't know for certain?"

  The pixy turned her tear-streaked face to Ivy, looking as tragic and strong as a mourning angel. "Nick told Jax they were in Michigan, but they moved him. Jax doesn
't know for sure."

  They moved him?

  "Who moved him?" I said, bending close. "Are they in trouble?"

  The tiny woman's eyes were frightened. "I've never seen Jenks so angry. Nick took Jax to help him with his work, but something went wrong. Now Nick is hurt and Jax can't get home. It's cold up there, and I'm so worried."

  I glanced at Ivy, her eyes dark with widening pupils, her lips pressed into a thin angry line. Work? Nick cleaned museum artifacts and restored old books. What kind of work would he need a pixy for? In Michigan? In the springtime when most pixies were still shaking off hibernation at that latitude?

  My thoughts went to Nick's confidant casualness, his aversion to anything with a badge, his wickedly quick mind, and his uncanny tendency to be able to get ahold of just about anything, given time. I'd met him in Cincy's rat fights, where he had been turned into a rat after "borrowing" a tome from a vampire.

  He had come back to Cincinnati and left with Jax, without telling me he was here. Why would he take Jax with him?

  My face went hot and I felt my knees go quivery. Pixies had other skills than gardening. Shit. Nick was a thief.

  Leaning hard against the counter, I looked from Kisten to Ivy, her expression telling me that she had known, but realized I'd only get mad at her until I figured it out for myself. God, I was so stupid! It had been there all the time, and I hadn't let myself see it.

  I opened my mouth, jumping when Kisten jabbed me in the ribs. His eyes went to Matalina. The poor woman didn't know. I shut my mouth, feeling cold.

  "Matalina," I said softly. "Is there any way to find out where they are? Maybe Jax could find a newspaper or something."

  "Jax can't read," she whispered, dropping her head into her hands, her wings drooping. "None of us can," she said, crying, "except Jenks. He learned so he could work for the I.S."

  I felt so helpless, unable to do anything. How do you give someone four inches high a hug? How do you tell her that her eldest son had been misled by a thief? A thief I had trusted?

  "I'm so scared," the tiny pixy said, her voice muffled. "Jenks is going after him. He's going all the way up north. He won't come back. It's too far. He won't be able to find enough to eat, and it's too cold unless he has somewhere safe to stay at night." Her hands fell away, the misery and heartache on her tiny features striking fear in me.