Every Which Way But Dead
Chapter Twenty-two

I smiled as the music ended, to leave a comfortable silence. The ticking of the clock above the sink became loud in the candlelit air. My eyes went to the hand jerking about the dial. It was creeping up on four in the morning, and I had nothing to do but sit and daydream about Kisten. He had left about three to handle the crowd at Piscary's, leaving me warm, content, and happy.
We had spent the entire early evening together eating BLTs and junk food, ransacking Ivy's and my music collection and then using her computer to burn a CD of our favorites. In retrospect, I think it had been the most enjoyable evening of my entire adult life as we laughed over each other's memories and I realized I enjoyed sharing more than my body with him.
Every candle I owned was lit as insurance that I'd be able to pick the time I told Ivy about my new arrangement with Kisten, and their glow added to the peace instilled by the soft burble of potpourri over the stove and the slight lethargy from the pain amulet about my neck. The air smelled of ginger, popcorn, and brownies, and as I sat at Ivy's table with my elbows to either side of me, I played with my amulets and wondered what Kisten was doing.
Much as I didn't want to admit it, I really liked him, and that I could have gone from fear to dislike to attraction and interest in less than a year left me concerned and embarrassed. It wasn't like me to overlook my healthy distrust of vampires because of a tight butt and a charming demeanor.
Living with a vampire might have something to do with it, I thought, dipping my hand into the nearby bowl of popcorn and eating a piece because it was there, rather than out of any need to satisfy hunger. I didn't think my new attitude was because of my scar; I had liked Kisten before the sex, or there wouldn't have been any - and he hadn't played upon it to influence me, either.
Wiping my fingers free of the salt, I stared into nothing. I had been thinking of Kisten differently since he'd dressed me up and made me feel good. Maybe, I thought, picking out another kernel. Maybe I could find something with a vampire that I'd never been able to hold on to with a witch, war-lock, or human.
Chin in the cup of my palm, I sent my fingers lightly over the demon scar as I recalled his careful attention as he shampooed my hair and soaped my back, and how good it felt to be able to return the favor. He had let me hog the shower-head most of the time. That kind of stuff was important.
The sound of the front door opening jerked my attention to the clock. Ivy was home? Already? I had wanted to be tucked in bed pretending sleep when she came in.
"You up, Rachel?" she said, loud enough to be heard and soft enough to not wake me.
"Kitchen," I called back. Nervous, I glanced at the potpourri. It was enough. Kisten had said it was. Standing, I flicked on the overhead light and resettled myself. As the fluorescent bulbs flickered on, I tucked my amulets behind my sweater and listened to her thump about in her room. Her steps in the hall were quick and stilted.
"Hi," I said when she walked in, a vision of tight leather and tall boots. A black satchel was over one arm, and a silk-wrapped package about the size of a broken fishing pole was in her hand. My eyebrows rose as I realized she had put on makeup. Her image was both professional and sexy. Where was she going this late? And dressed like that?
"What happened with dinner with the folks?" I prompted.
"Change of plans." Setting her stuff beside me on the table, she crouched to dig in a lower drawer. "I came to get a few things, then I'm gone." Still at knee level, she smiled at me to show teeth. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."
"Okay," I said, slightly confused. She looked happy. She actually looked happy.
"It's cold in here," she said as she pulled out three of my wooden stakes and set them clattering on the counter by the sink. "It smells like you had the windows open."
"Um, it must be from our plywood door." My brow furrowed as she stood, tugging the hem of her leather jacket down. Crossing the room with a speed just shy of eerie, she unzipped the satchel and jammed the stakes into it. I silently watched her, wondering.
Ivy hesitated. "Can I use them?" she asked, mistaking my silence for disapproval.
"Sure. Keep them," I said, wondering what was up. I hadn't seen her in this much leather since she took that run to liberate a vamp child from a jealous ex. And I really didn't want a stake back if it had been used.
"Thanks." Boot heels clacking on the linoleum, she went to the coffeemaker. Her oval face creased in annoyance as she peered at the empty carafe.
"You have a run?" I asked.
"Sort of." Her enthusiasm dimmed, and I watched her throw the old grounds away.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I flicked back the silk covering to see what was under it. "Holy crap!" I exclaimed as I found a shiny length of steel smelling faintly of oil. "Where did you get a sword!"
"Nice, isn't it." Not turning, she added three scoops of coffee to the filter and set it to brew. "And you can't trace it like bullets or charms."
Oh, such a warm and fuzzy thought. "Can you use it?"
Ivy pushed herself from the counter. I leaned back in my chair as she shook the wrap off, grasping the handle of the thin sword and pulling it from the back sheath. It came free with a whisper of ringing steel that tickled my inner ear. Like collapsing silk, her posture melted into a classic pose, her free arm arched over her head and her sword arm bent and extended. Her face was empty as she looked at the wall, her black hair swinging to a slow stop.
I had a freaking vampire samurai warrior for a roommate. This was getting better and better. "And you know how to use it, too," I said faintly.
She flashed me a smile as she stood and wedged it back into its sheath. "I took lessons from fifth grade through high school," she said as she set it on the table. "I grew so fast that it was hard to keep my balance. I kept running into things. Mostly people who irritated me. Adolescence is when the faster reflexes kick in. The practice helped, and I stuck with it."
I licked the salt off my fingers and pushed the popcorn away. I was willing to bet the classes had a good section devoted to self-control. Feeling more relaxed since the candles seemed to be working, I stretched my legs out under the table, wanting some of the coffee. Ivy rummaged in an upper cupboard to bring out her thermos. I eyed the dripping coffee, hoping she wasn't going to take it all.
"Well," she said as she filled the metal vacuum bottle with hot water to warm it up. "You look like the vamp who bled the cat."
"Beg pardon?" I said, stomach clenching.
She turned and dried her hands off on a dishcloth. "Did Nick call?"
"No," I said flatly.
Her smile widened. Swinging her hair out of her way, she said, "Good." Then, softly, she repeated, "That's good."
This was not where I wanted the conversation to go. Rising, I wiped my palms on my jeans and padded in my bare feet to turn the flame up under the potpourri. Ivy yanked open the fridge and came out with the cream cheese and a bag of bagels. The woman ate as if calories couldn't stick to her. "No Jenks?" I asked, though the answer was obvious.
"No Jenks. He did talk to me, though." Her eyes were pinched with frustration. "I told him I knew what Trent was, too, and to get over it. Now he won't talk to me, either." She popped the lid on the cream cheese and scraped a knifeful across her bagel. "Do you think we should put an ad in the paper?"
My head rose. "To replace him?" I stammered.
Ivy took a bite and shook her head. "Just shake him up," she said around her full mouth. "Maybe if he sees our ad for pixy backup, he'll talk to us."
Frowning, I sat down in my spot and slouched, extending my legs to put my bare feet on her unused chair. "I doubt it. It would be just like him to tell us to take a flying leap."
Ivy lifted one shoulder and let it fall. "It's not like we can do anything until spring."
"I suppose." God, this was depressing. I had to find a way to apologize to Jenks. Maybe if I sent him a clown-delivered telegram. Maybe if I was the clown. "I'll talk to him again," I said. "Take him some honey. Maybe if I get him drunk, he'll forgive me for being such an ass."
"I'll pick some up while I'm out," she offered. "I saw some gourmet honey made from Japanese cherry blossoms." Dumping the water from the thermos, she refilled it with the entire carafe of coffee, sealing the heavenly scent in metal and glass.
Biting back my disappointment, I pulled my feet off her chair. Obviously she had been thinking about how to soothe Jenks's pride as well. "So where are you going this late with a thermos of coffee, a bag of stakes, and that sword?" I asked.
Ivy leaned against the counter with the sleek grace of a black panther, the half-eaten bagel perched on her finger tips. "I have to lean on some uppity vamps. Keep them up past their bedtime. The sword is for show, the stakes to remember me by, and the coffee is for me."
I made a face, imagining just how nasty it could be to have Ivy keep you up. Especially if she applied herself. But then my eyes widened as I put two and two together. "You're doing this for Piscary?" I said, sure I was right when she turned to look out the window.
"Yup."
Silently I waited, hoping she'd say something. She didn't. I ran my attention over her, taking in her closed posture. "Your dad worked something out?" I hinted.
She sighed and turned to me. "As long as I handle Piscary's affairs, the bastard won't be dipping into my head." She looked at her half-eaten bagel. Frowning, she clacked her boots to the trash and threw it away.
I said nothing, surprised she had capitulated so easily. Apparently hearing in my silence an accusation that wasn't there, her smooth face went ashamed. "Piscary agreed to let me continue using Kisten as my frontman," she said. "He likes the notoriety, and anyone who is important will know that whatever he says is really coming from me - I mean, Piscary. I don't have to do anything unless Kisten runs into something he can't handle. Then I'll go in as the muscle to bail him out."
My memories returned to Kisten taking down seven witches with the ease and nonchalance of breaking a candy bar. I couldn't imagine anything he couldn't handle, but then again, he wouldn't be able to go up against undead vampires without leaning on Piscary's strength. "And you're okay with this?" I said stupidly.
"No," she said, crossing her arms before her. "But it's what my dad came up with, and if I can't accept how he helped me, I shouldn't have asked for it."
"Sorry," I muttered, wishing I had kept my mouth shut.
Apparently mollified, Ivy crossed the kitchen and put the thermos in with the stakes. "I don't want Piscary in my head," she said, giving her satchel a shake to settle everything before zipping it closed. "As long as I do what he says, he'll stay out; and he'll leave Erica alone. Kisten should be his scion, not me," she muttered. "He wants it."
I absently agreed, and her fingers on the bag went still, her face carrying a shadow of the pain I recognized from the night Piscary had raped her in more ways than one. A chill struck through me as her nostrils flared and her focus went distant. "Kisten was here," she said softly.
My skin tightened. Damn. I hadn't been able to keep it from her for even a night. "Uh, yeah," I said as I pulled myself straighter in my chair. "He was here looking for you." About half the day ago. The chill inside me deepened when her focus narrowed, reading my unease. Her head shifted to look at the potpourri on the stove. Double damn.
Lips pressed tight, she walked out, heels clacking.
The wood chair scraped loudly as I stood. "Um, Ivy?" I called, following her out.
My breath caught and I jerked to a stop when I almost ran into her in the dark hallway on her way back from the sanctuary. "Excuse me," she muttered, shifting around me with a vamp's speed. Her posture was tense, and in the light leaking in from the kitchen, I could see her eyes were dilated. Crap. She was vamping out.
"Ivy?" I said to the empty hall, as she had walked into the living room. "About Kisten - "
My words choked off and I halted, my feet edging the gray carpet in the candlelit living room. Ivy stood with a ridged stiffness before the couch. The couch Kisten and I had had sex on. Emotions cascaded over her, frightening in their rapidity: dismay, fear, anger, betrayal. I jumped when she jerked into motion, jabbing at the CD-check button.
The five CDs came rolling halfway out. Ivy stared at them, stiffening. "I'll kill him," she said, her fingers touching Jeff Buckley.
Shocked, I opened my mouth to protest, finding my words dying to nothing at the anger, black and heavy, in her tight expression.
"I'll kill him twice," she said. She knew. Somehow she knew.
My heart pounded. "Ivy," I started, hearing the fear in my voice. And with that, I jerked her instincts into play. Gasping, I backpedaled, far too slow.
"Where is it?" she hissed, her eyes wide and wild as she reached for me.
"Ivy..." My back hit the wall of the hallway, and I knocked her hand aside. "He didn't bite me."
"Where is it!"
Adrenaline surged. Smelling it, she jerked her hand out, reaching. Her eyes were black and lost. It was only our former sparring that kept her grip from landing as I blocked her reach and dove under her arm to come to a stand in the middle of the candlelit living room.
"Back off, Ivy!" I exclaimed, trying not to fall into a defensive crouch. "He didn't bite me!" But I didn't have time to breathe before she was on me, jerking the collar of my sweater.
"Where did he bite you?" she said, her gray voice trembling. "I'll kill him. I'll freaking kill him! I can smell him all over you!"
Her hand jerked to the hem of my sweater.
It tripped me over the panic line, and instinct took over. "Ivy! Stop!" I shouted. Frightened, I tapped the line. She reached for me, face twisted in anger. The line filled my chi, wild and out of control. A burst of energy flamed from my hands, burning them, as I hadn't harnessed it with a charm.
We both cried out as a black and gold sheet of ever-after expanded from me, knocking Ivy back into the plywood door. She slid to the floor in an awkward heap, her arms over her head and her legs askew. The windows shook at the boom. I rocked back, then caught my balance. Anger replaced my fear. I didn't care if she was all right or not.
"He didn't bite me!" I shouted, spitting my hair out of my mouth as I stood over her. "Okay? We had sex. All right? God help you, Ivy. It was only sex!"
Ivy coughed. Red-faced and gasping, she found her breath. The plywood sheet behind her was cracked. Shaking her head, she peered up at me, clearly not focusing yet. She didn't get up. "He didn't bite you?" she rasped, her face shadowy in the candlelight.
My legs trembled from adrenaline. "No!" I exclaimed. "You think I'm stupid?"
Clearly shaken, she looked askance at me. Taking a slow breath, she wiped her lower lip with the back of her hand. My gut tightened as it came away red with blood. Ivy stared at it, then gathered her legs under her and got to her feet. I breathed easier when she reached for a tissue, wiping her hand off and crumpling it into a ball.
She reached out, and I sprang back. "Don't touch me!" I said, and she raised a hand in acquiescence.
"Sorry." She looked at the cracked plywood, then winced as she felt her back. Carefully she tugged her coat down. Eyes going to mine, she took a slow breath. My heart pounded in time to the pain in my head. "You slept with Kisten and he didn't bite you?" she asked.
"Yes. And no, he didn't bite me. And if you ever touch me again, I'm walking out the front door, forever. Damn it, Ivy. I thought we were clear on this!"
I expected an apology or something, but all she did was eye me speculatively and ask, "Are you sure? You might not even notice if he cut your inner lip."
Goose bumps rose, and I ran my tongue across the inside of my mouth. "He wore caps," I said, feeling ill for how easily he could have tricked me. But he hadn't.
Ivy blinked. Slowly she sat on the edge of the couch, her elbows on her knees and her forehead cupped in the cradle of her hands. Her thin body looked vulnerable in the light from the three candles on the table. Crap. It suddenly occurred to me that not only did she want a closer relationship with me, but that Kisten was her old boyfriend. "Ivy? Are you okay?"
"No."
I cautiously sat on the chair across from her, the corner of the table between us. By any standards, this was a complete shitfest. I cursed silently, then reached out. "Ivy. God, this is awkward."
She jumped at the weight of my hand on her arm, looking up with frighteningly dry eyes. I pulled back, laying my hand like a dead thing in my lap. I knew I shouldn't touch her when she wanted more. But to sit and do nothing was so cold.
"It just kind of happened."
Ivy touched her lip to see that it had stopped bleeding. "It was just sex? You didn't give him your blood?"
The vulnerability in her voice struck me. My head bobbed. I felt like a doll, my eyes wide and my thoughts empty. "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't think you and Kisten..." I hesitated. This wasn't about the sex, but the blood she thought I had given him. "I didn't think you and Kisten had a formal relationship anymore," I fumbled, unsure if I was putting it right.
"I don't share blood with Kisten but for the rare occasion when he's been dumped and needs some TLC," she said, her gray silk voice soft. Still she wouldn't look up. "Blood is not sex, Rachel. It's a way to show you care for someone. A way to show...you love them."
It was barely a whisper. My breath grew fast. I felt we were balanced on a knife's edge, and it scared the crap out of me. "How can you say sex isn't blood, when you'll have sex with anyone?" I said, adrenaline making my voice harsher than I intended. "Good God, Ivy, when was the last time you had sex without blood?"
Only now did she bring her head up, shocking me with the fear in her eyes. She was afraid, and not because she thought I'd given my blood to Kisten. She was afraid of the answers I was demanding. I don't think she had faced them before, even in the chaos her desires had left her in. I felt hot, then cold. Pulling my knees to my chin, I tucked my bare heels against me.
"Okay," she said with the last of her exhaled breath, and I knew the next thing she said would be stark honesty. "You have a good point. I usually include blood with sex. I like it that way. It's a rush. Rachel, if you would only..." she said, her hands coming up from her knees.
I felt myself pale. I shook my head, and she changed her mind about what she was going to say. She seemed to de-flate, all the tension pooling out of her. "Rachel, it's not the same," she finished weakly, brown eyes pleading.
My thoughts went to Kist. The twinge from my scar dove to my groin and brought my breath even faster. Swallowing, I forced the feeling from me. I pulled back, glad the table was between us. "That's what Kisten says, but I can't separate it. And I don't think you can either."
Ivy's face went red, and I knew I was right.
"Damn it, Ivy. I'm not saying it's wrong they're the same," I said. "Hell, I've been living with you for seven months. Don't you think by now you'd know if I thought it was? But that's not the way I'm put together. You're the best friend I've ever had, but I'm not going to share a pillow with you, and I'm never going to let anyone taste my blood." I took a breath. "I'm not put together that way, either. And I can't live my life avoiding a real relationship with someone because it might hurt your feelings. I told you it's not going to happen between us, and it's not. Maybe..." I felt sick. "Maybe I should move out."
"Move out?"
It was a breathy sound of dismay, and the warmth of tears stung my eyes. I stared at the wall, jaw clenched. The last seven months had been the most frightening, scary, and best months of my life. I didn't want to leave - and not just because she was protecting me from another vampire biting and claiming me - but staying here wasn't fair to either of us if she couldn't let it go.
"Jenks is gone," I said, my voice low so it wouldn't shake. "I just slept with your old boyfriend. It's not fair to stay here if there is never going to be anything more than friendship between us. Especially now that Skimmer is back." I looked at the broken door, hating myself. "We should just call everything quits."
God, why was I almost crying? I couldn't give her any more, and she desperately needed it. Skimmer could; Skimmer wanted to. I should leave. But when I looked up, I was shocked to see the candlelight glinting upon a ribbon of moisture under her eye.
"I don't want you to go," she said, and the lump in my throat thickened. "A good friendship is reason enough to stay, isn't it?" she whispered, her eyes so full of pain that a tear leaked out of me.
"Damn it," I said, wiping a finger under my eye. "Look what you made me do."
I jerked when she reached across the table and took my wrist. My eyes were riveted to hers as she pulled it to her and touched my tear-damp fingertips to her lips. Her eyes closed and her lashes fluttered. A zing of adrenaline struck me. My pulse quickened, the memory of vampire-induced ecstasy high in my thoughts. "Ivy?" I said weakly, pulling away.
She let go. My heart pounded as she took a slow breath, tasting the air with her senses, running my emotions through her incredible brain, reading the balance of what I might and might not do. I didn't want to know what her calculations totaled to.
"I'll pack my things," I said, frightened that she might know more about me than I did.
Her eyes opened. I thought I saw a faint glimmer of strength. "No," she said, the first hint of her iron will returning. "We're both crap when we're alone, and I'm not just talking about the stupid firm. I promise I won't ask anything of you except to be my friend. Please..." She took a breath. "Please don't go because of this, Rachel. Do what you want with Kist. He's a good man and I know he won't hurt you. Just..." She held her breath, her determination faltering. "Just be here when I come home tonight?"
I nodded. I knew she wasn't just asking about tonight. And I didn't want to leave. I loved it here: the kitchen, the witch's garden, the cool-factor of living in a church. That she valued our friendship meant a lot to me, and after avoiding true friendship for years because of what had happened to my dad, having a best friend meant a lot to me too. She had once threatened to withdraw her desperately needed protection from me if I left. This time, she hadn't. I was afraid to look for the reason, afraid that it might stem from that tiny thrill I had felt when she had tasted my tears.
"Thank you," she said, and I froze as she leaned forward over the table to give me a quick hug. The scent of almonds and leather filled my senses. "If Kisten can convince you that blood isn't sex," she said, "promise to tell me?"
I stared at her. The memory of Skimmer kissing her flashed through me and was gone.
Apparently satisfied, she let go, stood, and went into the kitchen.
"Ivy," I breathed, too numb and strung out to speak louder, knowing she could hear me. "How many rules are we breaking?"
She hesitated as she appeared in the hallway, satchel and sword in hand, shifting from foot to foot and not answering me. "I'll be back after sunrise. Maybe we can have a late dinner? Gossip about Kisten over lasagna? He's actually a nice guy - he'll be good for you." Giving me an awkward smile, she left.
Her voice had held a faint ribbon of regret, but I didn't know if it was for having lost me or Kisten. I didn't want to know. I stared at the carpet, not seeing the candles or smelling the scent of wax and perfume as the faint boom of the door shifted the air. How had my life gotten this screwed up? All I had wanted to do was quit the I.S., help a few people, make something of myself and my degree. Since then I had found and driven away my first real boyfriend in years, insulted a pixy clan, become Ivy's golden ring, and had sex with a living vampire. That wasn't even counting the two death threats I'd survived or the precarious situation with Trent. What the hell was I doing?
Rising, I stumbled into the kitchen, face cold and legs feeling like rubber. Looking up at the sound of running water, I froze. Algaliarept was at the sink filling the teapot, its tarnished copper beading with condensation.
"Good evening, Rachel," he said, smiling to show me flat teeth. "Hope you don't mind me making a pot of tea. We have a lot to do before the sun comes up."
Oh God. I'd forgotten about that.