For a Few Demons More
Chapter 3~5

Chapter Three
"Hi, Glenn," I said as I slumped barefoot into my chair. "Who's pinching your ass today?"
The clearly uncomfortable, rather tall FIB detective was in a suit, which didn't bode well. He had Jenks's kids all over him, which was really weird. And Ivy was glaring at him from her computer, which was mildly troubling. But considering that the first time she met him, she almost bit him in anger and he almost shot her, I guessed we were doing okay.
Jenks scraped his wings, and his kids scattered, rising up through my rack of spelling supplies and herbs in a swirl of silk and shouts that hurt my eyeballs before flowing into the hall and probably out the chimney in the living room. I hadn't seen him on the sill until now, standing by his pet sea monkeys. How come a pixy has more pets than I do?
I smiled tiredly at Glenn across the table, trying to make up for my roommate's stellar attitude. There was a paperboard tray with two cups steaming between us, and the warm breeze coming in from the garden was pushing the heavenly aroma of freshly brewed coffee right to me. I wanted one in the worst way.
Ivy's fingers hit her keyboard aggressively as she weeded out her spam. "Detective Glenn was just leaving. Weren't you?"
The tall black man silently clenched his jaw. Since I'd seen him last, he had gotten rid of his goatee and mustache and replaced them with stud earrings. I wondered what his dad thought about that, but personally, I thought it added to his carefully maintained, polished image of young and capable law enforcer.
His suit was still off-the-rack, but it fit his very nice physique as if made for him. The tips of his dress shoes poking out from under the hems looked comfortable enough to run in if he had to. His trim body certainly seemed up to it, with that wide chest and narrow waist. The butt of a weapon glinted from a holster on his belt to give him a nice hint of danger.
Not that I'm in the market for a new boyfriend, I thought. I had a damn fine boyfriend, Kisten, and Glenn wasn't interested, though I'm sure if he "tried a witch, he'd never switch." And since I knew that his lack of interest wasn't born of prejudice, that was cool.
I exhaled, my fingers shaking from fatigue. My eyes went from his expressive brown ones pinched in worry and annoyance to the coffee. "Is one of these mine, by chance?" I asked, and when he nodded, I reached forward, saying, "Bless you back to the Turn." Pulling off the plastic lid, I took a gulp. My eyes closed, and I held the second swallow in my mouth for a moment. It was a double shot: hot, black, and oh so what I needed right now.
Ivy kept typing, and while Jenks excused himself to help the forgotten toddler crying in the ladle back to the stump in the garden, I took the time to wonder what Glenn was doing here. And so obscenely early. It was seven in the freakin' morning. I hadn't done anything to tick off the FIB-had I?
Glenn worked for the Federal Inderland Bureau, the human-run institution that functioned on a local and national level. The FIB was way outclassed by the I.S., the Interlander-run side of the coin, when it came to enforcing the law, but during a previous investigation on which I'd helped Glenn, I'd found that the FIB had a scary amount of information on us Inderlanders, making me wish I hadn't written up those species summaries for his dad last fall. Glenn was Gincy's FIB Inderland specialist, which meant that he had enough guts to try working both sides of the street. It had been his dad's idea, and since I owed his dad big time, I helped when he asked.
No one was talking, though, and I figured I'd better say something before I fell asleep at the table. "What's the run, Glenn?" I asked, taking a sip and wishing the caffeine would kick in.
Glenn stood, his thick hands adjusting his ID badge on his belt. Square jaw tightening, he gave Ivy a wary glance. "I left a message last night. Didn't you get it?"
The depth of his voice was as soothing as the coffee he'd brought, but coming back in through the pixy hole in the screen, Jenks did an about-face. "I think I hear Matalina," he said, vanishing to leave behind a sifting ribbon of gold sparkles. My eyes went from the haze of pixy dust to Ivy, and she shrugged. "No," I prompted.
Ivy's eyes switched to black. "Jenks!" she called, but the pixy didn't show. I shrugged and gave Glenn an apologetic look.
"Jenks!" Ivy yelled. "If you're going to hit the message button, you'd damn well better write it down!"
I took a slow breath, but Ivy interrupted me. "Glenn, Rachel hasn't been to bed yet. Can you come back about four?"
"The morgue will have changed shifts by then," he protested. "I'm sorry you didn't get my message, but will you look anyway? I thought that's why you were up."
Annoyance tightened my shoulders. I was tired and cranky, and I didn't like Ivy trying to field my business. In a sudden wash of bitchiness, I stood.
Framed by her new haircut, Ivy's oval face looked questioning. "Where are you going?"
I grabbed my bag, already packed with a variety of spells and charms, then snapped the top back onto my coffee. "To the morgue, apparently. I've been up this late before."
"But not after a night like you just had."
Silent, I pulled my bracelet from around Mr. Fish and wrangled the clasp. Glenn slowly stood, his posture holding a wary slant. He had once asked me why I lived with Ivy and the threat she posed to my life and free will, and though I knew why now, telling him would make him worry more, not less. "Jeez, Ivy," I said, aware he was analyzing us professionally. "I'd rather do it now. Consider it my bedtime story."
I headed into the hall, trying to remember where I'd left my sandals. The foyer. From the kitchen Ivy said, "You don't have to go running whenever the FIB crooks their finger."
"No!" I shouted back, fatigue making me stupid. "But I do have to come up with some money to resanctify the church."
Glenn's steps behind me faltered on the hardwood floor. "It isn't holy anymore?" he asked as we emerged into the brighter sanctuary. "What happened?"
"We had an incident." The darkness of the foyer was soothing when I found it, and I sighed when I scuffed into my sandals and pushed open the heavy door to the sanctuary. Good Lord, I thought, squinting at the bright glare of a late-July morning. No wonder I slept through this. It was noisy with shrieking birds, and already hot. If I had known I was going out, I would have put on shorts.
Glenn took my elbow when I stumbled on the step, and I would have spilled my coffee if I hadn't replaced the top. "Not a morning person, eh?" he teased, and I jerked away.
"Jenks!" I shouted when my sandals reached the cracked sidewalk. The least he could do was come with me. Seeing Glenn's cruiser parked at the curb, I hesitated. "Let's take two cars," I offered, not wanting to be seen riding in a FIB cruiser when I could be driving my red convertible. It was hot; I could put the top down.
Glenn chuckled. "With your suspended license? Not a chance."
The scuffing of my sandals slowed, and I looked askance at him, bothered at the amusement in his dark eyes. "Crap, how did you find out about that?"
He opened the passenger-side door for me. "Duh, I work for the FIB? Our street force has been running interference for you every time you go out for groceries. If you get caught driving with a suspended license, the I.S. is going to jail your ass, and we like your ass on the street where it can do some good, Ms. Morgan."
I got into the front seat and set my bag on my lap. I hadn't known the FIB had even heard about that, much less had been distracting the I.S. "Thanks," I said softly, and he shut the door with a grunt of acknowledgment.
Glenn crossed in front while I buckled myself in. It was stuffy, and I fiddled with the window control to put it down. The car wasn't on yet, but I was irritated. I jammed my coffee in the cup holder and kept messing with the window until Glenn folded his height into the front seat and gave me a look. My brow furrowed in frustration. "It's not fair, Glenn," I complained. "They had no right to take my license. They're picking on me."
"Just take the driver's-ed class and get it over with."
"But it's not fair! They're intentionally making my life difficult."
"Golly, imagine that?" The key slid into the ignition, and Glenn paused to tug a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on to up his cool factor by about ten. Face easing in relief, he looked down the quiet street shaded with trees almost eighty years old. "What do you expect?" he said. "You gave them an excuse. They took it."
I drew a frustrated breath, holding it. So I ran a red light. It was yellow most of the way. And I went a little fast on the interstate once. But I suppose letting my ex-boyfriend run into me with a Mack truck to help a vampire start his undead existence might be cause for a few points. No one had died but the vampire, though - and he wanted to.
I fiddled with the button again, and Glenn took the hint. Warm air sifted in as the window whined down, replacing the scent of my perfume with the aroma of cut grass. "Jenks!" I called as he started the car. "Let's go!"
The rumble of the big car hid the clatter of Jenks's wings as he zipped in. "Sorry about the message, Rache," he muttered as he landed on the rearview mirror.
"Don't sweat it." I stretched my arm along the length of the open window, not wanting to ream him out over it. I'd taken enough flak from my brother for doing the same thing, and I knew it hadn't been intentional.
I settled into the leather seats as Glenn pulled onto the empty street. It would stay empty until about noon, when most of the Hollows started to wake up. My pulse was slow from the early hour, and the heat of the day made me sleepy. Glenn kept his car as tidy as himself; not an old coffee-stained cup or clutter of paperwork marred the floor or backseat. "So-o-o-o," I drawled around a yawn, "what's at the morgue besides the obvious?"
Glenn glanced at me as he yielded to a stop sign. "Suicide, but it's murder."
Of course it is. Nodding, I waved at the I.S. cruiser behind an overgrown bush, then made a bunny-eared "kiss-kiss" to the small Were in fatigues dozing on a bench in the sun watching them. It was Brett. The militant Were had been kicked out of his pack for having failed at kidnapping me a few months ago, so of course I was the one he wanted to pack up with next. It made sense in a warped sort of way. I had bested his alpha; therefore I was stronger.
David, my alpha, wasn't having anything to do with it, seeing as he hadn't wanted a pack in the first place. It was why he'd bucked the system and started one with a witch in order to keep his job. And so Brett was reduced to lurking on the outskirts of my life, looking for a way in. It was flattering as all hell, but depressing. I was going to have to talk to David. Having a militant Were attached to my chaotic life wasn't a bad idea, and Brett truly wanted someone to look to. It was how most Weres were put together. David's protest that Brett was trying to get in good with his original alpha by spying on me to see if I had the Were artifact that had instigated the kidnapping attempt was crap. Everyone believed that it had gone over the Mackinac Bridge, though in truth it was hidden in David's cat box.
Jenks cleared his throat, and when I glanced at him, he rubbed his thumb and fingers together in the universal indication of money. My eyes followed his to Glenn.
"Hey," I said, shifting in my seat, "this pays, right?" Glenn smiled, and, irritated, I sharpened my voice. "It does pay, right?"
Chuckling, the FIB detective glanced in the rearview mirror at Brett and nodded. "Why - " he started, and I interrupted.
"He wants into my pack, and David is balking," I said. "What's so important about this body that you need me to look at it? I'm a lousy detective. It's not what I do."
Glenn's square face was heavy with concern as he looked back at me from the Were behind us. "She's a Were. The I.S. says suicide, but I think it's murder and they're covering it up."
I let the air pressure push my hand up and then down, enjoying the breeze in my shower-damp hair and the feel of my bracelet sliding against my skin. The I.S. is covering up a murder? Big surprise there. Jenks looked happy, silent now that we were working and the question of money had been raised, though not settled. "Standard consultant fee," I said.
"Five hundred a day plus expenses," Glenn said, and I laughed.
"Try double that, ketchup boy. I have insurance to pay." And a church to sanctify, and a living room to repair.
Glenn's attention on the road went distant. "For two hours of your time, that would be what? Two-fifty?"
Crap. He wanted to go hourly. I frowned, and Jenks's wings slowed to nothing. That might pay for the paneling and the guys to put it in. Maybe.
"'Okay," I said, digging through my bag to find the calendar datebook that Ivy had given me last year. It wasn't accurate anymore, but the pages were blank and I needed somewhere to keep track of my time. "But you can expect an itemized bill."
Glenn grinned. "What?" I said, squinting from the come-and-go sun.
He lifted one shoulder and let it fall. "You look so... organized," he said, and when Jenks snickered, I flung my hand out and bopped Glenn on the shoulder with the back of my fist.
"Just for that, no more ketchup for you," I muttered, slouching. His grip on the wheel tightened, and I knew I'd hit a sore spot.
"Aw, don't worry, Glenn," Jenks teased. "Christmas is coming. I'll get you a jar of belly-buster jalapeño that will knock your socks off if Rachel won't pimp tomatoes to you anymore."
Glenn shot me a sideways look. "Um, actually, I've got a list," he said, fumbling in an inner coat pocket to bring out a narrow strip of paper with his distinctive, precise handwriting on it. My eyebrows rose as I took it: hot ketchup, spicy BBQ sauce, tomato paste, salsa. His usual.
"You need a new pair of cuffs, right?" he said nervously.
"Yeah," I said, suddenly a lot more awake. "But if you can get a hold of some of those zip-strips the I.S. uses to keep ley line witches from invoking their magic, that'd be great."
"I'll see what I can do," he said, and I bobbed my head, satisfied.
Though Glenn's stiff neck said he was uncomfortable bartering law-enforcement tools for ketchup, I thought it funny that the stoic, straitlaced human was too embarrassed to walk into a store that sold tomatoes. Humanity avoided them like the plague, which was understandable, seeing as a tomato had carried the virus that killed a sizable portion of their population four decades ago and revealed the supernatural species previously hidden by the sheer numbers of humans. But he had been forced into eating pizza, real pizza, not the Alfredo crap that humans serve, and it had been all downhill from there.
I wasn't going to give him a hard time about it. We all had our fears. The fact that Glenn's was that he craved something every other human on the planet shunned was the least of my worries. And if it got me some zip-strips that might someday save my life, I thought as I settled back into the leather seats, then it's a secret well kept.
Chapter Four
The morgue was quiet and cool, a quick shift from July to September, and I was glad I had jeans on. My sandals popped against the dirty cement steps as I descended sideways, and the fluorescent light in the stairway only added to the bleak feeling. Jenks was on my shoulder for the warmth, and Glenn made a quick turn to the right when he reached the landing, following the big blue arrows painted on the walls past wide elevators and to the double doors cheerfully proclaiming CINCINNATI MORGUE, AN EQUAL-OPPORTUNITY SERVICE SINCE 1966.
Between the underground dimness and Glenn's coffee still in my grip, I was feeling better, but most of my good mood was from the honest-to-God temp name tag Glenn had handed me when we started down the steps. It wasn't the bent, nasty, yellow laminated four-by-six card everyone else got but a real heavyweight plastic tag embossed with my name. Jenks had one, too, and he was obnoxiously proud of it even though I was the one wearing it, right under mine. It would get me into the morgue when nothing else would. Well, besides being dead.
I didn't do much for the FIB, but somehow I had become their darling, the poor little witch girl who fled the I.S. tyranny to make her own way. They were the ones who had given me my car in lieu of monetary compensation when the I.S. called foul after I helped the FIB solve a crime that I.S. hadn't been able to. It had since been ruled that because I wasn't on the FIB's payroll, the FIB could hire me much as any corporation or individual could. Na-na, na, na-a-a, na.
It was the small things that really made your day.
Glenn pushed open one of the double doors, standing aside so I could go in first. Flip-flops plopping, I scanned the large reception room, more rectangle than square, half of it empty floor, half upright file cabinets and an ugly steel desk that should have been thrown away in the seventies. A college-age kid wearing a lab coat was behind it, his feet on the paper-cluttered desk and a handheld game in his hands. A sheet-draped gurney holding a body waited for attention, but apparently some space aliens needed taking care of first.
The blond kid looked up at our entrance and, after giving me the once-over, set his game down and stood. It smelled in here: pine and dead tissue. Yuck.
"Yo, Iceman," Glenn said, and Jenks grunted in surprise when the straitlaced FIB detective exchanged a complicated arm-, fist-, elbow-slapping... thing with the guy at the desk.
"Glenn," the blond kid said, still giving me glances. "You've got about ten minutes."
Glenn slipped him a fifty, and Jenks choked. "Thanks. I owe you."
"You cool. Just make it fast." He handed Glenn a key chained to a naked Bite-Me-Betty doll. No way would anyone be walking out with the morgue key.
I gave him an ambiguous smile and headed for another set of double doors.
"Miss!" the kid called, his adopted colorful accent dissolving into farm-boy Americana.
Jenks snickered. "Someone wants a date."
Sandals scuffing, I turned to find Iceman following us. "Ms. Morgan," the guy said, his eyes dropping to my twin name tags. "If you don't mind. Could you leave your coffee out here?" At my blank look, he added, "It might wake someone up early, and with the vamp orderly out getting lunch, it would..." He winced. "It might be bad."
My lips parted in understanding. "Sure," I said, handing it to him. "No problem."
Immediately he relaxed. "Thanks." He turned back to his desk, then hesitated. "Ah, you aren't Rachel Morgan, the runner, are you?"
From my shoulder Jenks sniggered. "My, aren't we the famous one."
But I beamed, facing the kid fully as Glenn fidgeted. He could wait. I wasn't often recognized - and it was even more rarely that I didn't have to run away when I was. "Yes, I am," I said, enthusiastically shaking his hand. "Pleased to meet you."
Iceman's hands were warm, and his eyes gave away his delight. "Ace," he said, jiggling on his feet. "Wait here. I've got something for you."
Glenn's grip on the Bite-Me-Betty doll tightened until he realized where his fingers were, and he shifted his grip to the tiny key. Iceman had gone back to his desk and was rummaging in a drawer. "It's here," he said. "Give me a sec." Jenks started humming the tune to Jeopardy!, finishing when the kid slammed the drawer triumphantly. "Got it." He jogged back to us, and I felt my face lose its expression when I saw what he was extending proudly to me . A toe tag?
Jenks left my shoulder, shocking Iceman out of a year's growth when he landed on my wrist so he could see it. I don't think he'd even known that Jenks was here. "Holy crap, Rachel!" Jenks exclaimed. "It's got your name on it! In ink, even." He lifted into the air, laughing. "Isn't that sweet?" he mocked, but the guy was too flustered to notice.
A toe tag? I held it loosely in my hand, bemused. "Uh, thanks," I managed.
Glenn made a derisive noise from deep in his chest. I was starting to feel like the butt of a joke when Iceman grinned and said, "I was working the night that boat exploded last Christmas? I made it up for you, but you never came in. I kept it as a souvenir." His clean-cut face suddenly went nervous. "I... uh, thought you might want it."
Relaxing in understanding, I tucked it in my bag. "Yes, thank you," I said, then touched his shoulder so he'd know it was okay. "Thank you very much."
"Can we go in now?" Glenn grumbled, and Iceman gave me an embarrassed smile before returning to his desk, steps fast to make his open lab coat furl. Sighing, the FIB detective pushed open one of the double doors for me.
Actually, I was really glad to have the toe tag. It had been made with the intent for use and therefore was imbued with a strong connection that a ley line charm could use to target me. Better I have it than someone else. I'd get rid of it safely when I had the time.
Past the door was another, to make an airlock of sorts. The smell of dead things grew, and Jenks landed on my shoulder, standing right by my ear and the dab of perfume I'd put on earlier. "Spend a lot of time down here?" I asked Glenn as we entered the morgue proper.
"Fair amount." He wasn't looking at me, more interested in the numbers and index cards slid into the holders fastened to the people-size drawer doors. I was getting the creeps. I'd never been to the city morgue before, and I dubiously eyed the arrangement of comfortable chairs around a coffee table at the far end that looked like a reception area at a doctor's office.
The room was long, having four rows of drawers on either side of the wide middle space. It was storage and self-repair only, no autopsies, necropsies, or assisted tissue repair. Humans on one side, Inderlanders on the other, though Ivy had told me they all had pull tabs inside in case of accidental misfiling.
I followed Glenn to midway down the Inderland side, watching him double-check the card against a slip of paper before unlocking the door and yanking it open. "Came in Monday," he said over the sound of sliding metal as the tray slid out. "Iceman didn't like the attention given to her, so he gave me a call."
Monday. As in yesterday? "The full moon isn't until next week," I said, avoiding the sheet-draped body. "Isn't that early for a Were suicide?"
I met his deep brown eyes, reading a sad understanding. "That's what I thought, too."
Not knowing what I would see, I looked down as Glenn folded the sheet back.
"Holy crap!" Jenks exclaimed. "Mr. Ray's secretary?"
A sour expression fixed on me. When had being a secretary become a high-risk position? No way had Vanessa committed suicide. She wasn't an alpha, but she was pretty damn close.
Glenn's surprise turned to understanding. "That's right," his low voice rumbled. "You stole that fish from Mr. Ray's office."
Irritation flickered through me. "I thought I was rescuing it. And it wasn't his fish. David said Mr. Ray stole it first."
Eyebrows bunched, Glenn seemed to think it made no difference. "She came in as a wolf," he was saying, his manner professional as his eyes lit on only the bruised and torn parts of her naked body. A small but gorgeous koi tattoo swam in orange and black across a high patch of her upper chest, a permanent sign of her inclusion into the Ray pack. "Standard procedure is to turn them back after the first look. It's easier to find the cause of death on a person than on a wolf."
The smell of dead things in a pine forest was getting to me. It didn't help that I was running on empty. The coffee wasn't sitting well anymore. And I'd known the SOP, having briefly dated a guy who made the charms to force a shift back to human. He was a geek, but he had lots of money - it wasn't an easy job, and no one wanted it.
Jenks was making a cold spot on my neck, and not seeing anything out of the ordinary - other than her being dead and her arm torn to the bone - I murmured, "What am I looking at?"
Nodding, Glenn went to a low drawer at the end of the room and, after checking the tag, pulled it open. "This is a Were suicide that came in last month," he said. "You can see the differences. She would have been cremated by now, but we don't know who she is. Two additional Jane Wolfs came in on the same night, and they're giving them a little extra time."
"They all came in together?" I asked, going over to look.
"No," he said softly, gazing down at her in pity. "There's no connection other than the timing and that none of them can be found in the computer. No one's claimed them, and they don't match any missing-persons report - U.S.-wide."
From my shoulder came Jenks's muffled voice saying, "She don't smell like a Were. She smells like perfume."
I winced when Glenn unzipped the bag to show that the woman's entire side had been ravaged. "Self-inflicted," he said. "They found tissue between her teeth. It's not uncommon, though they're usually a lot less brutal than this and simply open a vein and bleed out. A jogger found her in an alley in Cincinnati. He called the pound." The faint wrinkles around Glenn's eyes deepened with anger. He didn't have to say that the jogger had been human.
Jenks was quiet, and I searched for cool detachment as I examined her. She was tall for a Were, but not overly so. Big up top, with shoulder-length hair that curled gently where it wasn't matted. Pretty. No tattoos that I could see. Mid-thirties? She took care of herself, given the definition. I wondered what had been so bad that she thought the answer was to end it.
Seeing me satisfied, Glenn opened a third drawer. "This one was hit by a car," he said as he unzipped the sturdy bag. "The officer recognized her as being a Were, and she made it to the hospital. They actually had her turned back to treat her, but she died." Creases appeared in his brow as he looked at her damaged body. "Her heart gave out. Right on the table."
I forced my gaze down, flinching at the bruises and skin split by the accident. IV tips were still in her, evidence of the efforts to save her life. Jane Wolf number two had brown hair as well, longer this time, but it curled the same way. She looked the same age and had the same narrow chin. Apart from a scrape on her cheekbone, her face was untouched, and she seemed professional and collected.
Running in front of a car wasn't uncommon, the Were equivalent of a human jumper. Most times they weren't successful, landing under a doctor's care, where they should have been in the first place.
I followed Glenn to a fourth drawer, finding out why Jenks was being so quiet when he gagged and flew to the trash can. "Train," Glenn said simply, his voice soft with regret.
Coffee and lack of sleep were warring in me, but I'd seen a demon slaughter, and this was like dying in your sleep compared to that. I think I was earning points with Glenn as I looked her over, trying not to breathe in the scent of decay the chill of the room couldn't stop. It appeared as if Jane Wolf number three was as tall as the first woman and possessed the same athletic body build. Brown hair to her shoulders. I couldn't tell if she had been pretty or not.
Seeing me nod, Glenn zipped up the bag and shut the drawer, closing all of them on his way back to Vanessa. Not entirely sure why he had wanted me to see this, I trailed behind him.
Jenks's wings were silent as he returned, and I gave him a sympathetic smile. "Don't tell Ivy I lost it," he asked, and I nodded. "They all smell the same," he said, and I felt him hold on to my ear for balance as he stood as close as he could to my perfumed neck.
"Jeez, Jenks, they all look the same to me." But I don't think he appreciated my attempt at humor.
Glenn's steps slowed to a halt, and we gazed at Mr. Ray's secretary.
"Those three women were suicides," he said, "the first one dying by self-mutilation, as Mr. Ray's secretary appears to have died. I think she was murdered, then doctored up to mimic suicide."
I glanced at him, wondering if he was looking for ghosts in the fog. Seeing my doubt, he ran a hand over his short, curly hair. "Look at this," he said, leaning over Vanessa and picking up a limp hand. "See?" he said, his dark fingers circling her thin wrist in sharp contrast to her pale skin. "That looks like a bruise caused by restraints. Soft restraints, but restraints. They aren't on the woman who made it to the hospital, and I know they had to tie her down."
Okay. Now I was interested. Maybe Vanessa had been into sex games and it went too far? Leaning forward, I agreed that the soft red ring could have resulted from a restraint, but it was her nails that caught my attention. They had been professionally manicured, but the tips were split and ragged. A woman considering suicide doesn't pay beaucoup bucks to get her nails done, then tear them up before she can end her life properly. "Where was she found?" I asked softly.
Glenn heard my interest and flicked me a grin that quickly sobered. "Under a dock in the Hollows. A tour group spotted her before she could get cold."
Not wanting to be left out, Jenks flew from my shoulder to hover over her. "She smells like a Were," he proclaimed. "And fish. And rubbing alcohol."
Glenn twitched the sheet with which she'd been covered in lieu of a bag all the way off. "Her ankles have pressure marks, too."
My brow furrowed. "So someone held her against her will and then killed her?"
Jenks's wings clattered. "There's a strand of medical tape caught in her teeth."
The breath Glenn had taken to answer me exploded out of him. "You're kidding."
Adrenaline pinged, and feeling woozy, I looked to see. "I'm not trained for this," I said when Glenn took a penlight from his pocket and motioned for me to hold her mouth open. Gingerly I took her jaw in my hands. "I'm not going to take a knife to her and poke around."
"Good." He trained the light on her teeth. "I don't have authorization for that."
The squeak of the double doors pulled my head up. Jenks swore as I let go of Vanessa's jaw, my swinging hand almost smacking him. Tension flashed to fear for an instant as I saw Denon, my old boss from the I.S., standing in the middle of the floor like the king of the dead.
"This is an Inderland matter. You don't have clearance to even look at her," he said, his honey-smooth voice rippling over my spine like water over rocks.
Damn it all to hell, I thought, jerking my fear back. He wasn't my boss anymore. He wasn't anything. But I was too deep underground to tap a line, and I didn't like it.
The low-blood living vampire smiled to show his human teeth, a startling white beside his oh-so-beautiful mahogany skin. Iceman was behind him along with a second living vampire, high-blood this time by his small but sharp canines. The scent of burgers and fries had come in with them, and it looked like Glenn's fifty dollars had bought less time than he'd hoped.
Jenks rose in a hum of wings. "Look what the cat dragged in and puked up," he snarled. "It smells like it used to be something, but I can't tell what, Rache. Fuzzy rat balls, maybe?"
Denon ignored him, as he ignored everyone he thought beneath his notice, but I caught a twitch of an eye as he kept smiling, trying to impress me with his mere presence.
Glenn clicked off his penlight and tucked it away, his jaw tensed, unrepentant. Denon wasn't anything to be afraid of. Not that he ever had been, and especially not now. He was probably the reason I had lost my license, though, and that ticked me off.
With a practiced swagger, the large muscular man came forward on cat-light feet. He was technically a ghoul, a rude term for a human bitten by an undead and intentionally infected with enough of the vamp virus to partially turn him. And whereas living high-blood vampires like Ivy were born to their status and envied for having a portion of the undead's strengths without the drawbacks, a low-blood vampire was little more than a source of blood as they tried to curry the favor of the one who had promised them immortality.
Denon clearly worked hard to build up his human strength, and though his biceps strained his polo shirt and his thighs were heavy with iron-pumping muscle, he still fell short of his brethren and would until he died and became a true undead. And that was contingent upon his "sponsor" remembering and/or bothering to finish the job. With Denon taking the blame for Ivy's leaving the I.S. with me, that likelihood was looking slim. His master had turned a blind eye, and Denon knew it. It made him unpredictable and dangerous, since he was trying to ingratiate himself back into his master's good graces. The fact that he was working the morning shift spoke volumes.
Though still beautiful, he had lost the ageless look of one who feeds upon the undead. It was likely they were still feeding on him, though. He had once overseen an entire floor of runners, but this was the second time I'd seen him working the streets since leaving.
"How's your car, Morgan?" his beautiful voice taunted, and I bristled.
"Fine." Anger overpowered my fatigue to make me stupid. The two techs slipped quietly out, and I heard a soft conversation and the metallic clinks of a gurney being set up.
Denon's pupil-black eyes rose from the dead secretary. "Come to see your handiwork?" he mocked, and Jenks lit us with a burst of light.
"Move off the corpse, Jenks," I muttered, coming out from behind the drawer to give myself room to move. "You're getting dust all over it."
Denon smirked, hiding his human-size teeth like the joke they were. I put my hands on my hips and tossed my hair. "Are you saying this isn't a suicide?" I taunted, seeing a chance to irritate him. " 'Cause if you say I'm responsible for her murder, I'm going to sue your little brown candy ass from here to the next Turn."
In a smooth motion, Glenn yanked the sheet over Vanessa. He hadn't said anything yet, which I thought was remarkable since it had been only a year ago that he thought he didn't owe vampires any respect at all. Leave the needling to those who might survive it.
"The evidence speaks for itself." Denon moved forward to force Glenn and Jenks back. "I'm releasing her to her next of kin for cremation. Move."
Damn it back to the Turn, in a few hours everything would be gone. Even the paper and computer files. That's why he was doing this at such an insane hour. By the time everyone was at work, it'd be too late. Eyes narrowing, I forced a laugh. It was bitter, and I didn't like the sound of it. "Is that what you're doing now?" I mocked. "You been bumped to clerk?"
Denon's eyes tried to go black. It was stupid pushing him like this, but I felt the lack of sleep keenly, and I did have Glenn beside me. What was Denon going to do?
The rattle of the gurney intruded, and Denon swaggered forward, trying to shove Glenn away with his presence. Glenn wasn't moving. "You can't take her," the FIB detective said, putting a possessive hand on the top of the door. "This has become a murder investigation."
Denon laughed, but the two guys with the gurney hesitated and exchanged knowing looks. "It's been ruled a suicide. You have no jurisdiction. The body is mine."
Crap. We didn't have anything yet, and if we didn't find it, we'd look like fools.
"Until it's been ruled a human didn't murder her, I have all the jurisdiction I need," Glenn said. "She has pressure marks on her wrists. She was held against her will."
"Circumstantial." Denon's brown fingers reached for the drawer handle. Glenn didn't back down, and the tension rose until Jenks's wings were making a high whine.
I shuffled around in my bag and brought out my cell phone. Not that I could actually reach a tower down here. "We can have a court order in four hours. Your enthusiasm to destroy the evidence will be on it. Still want to release her?"
Jenks landed on my shoulder. "You can't get a court order that fast," he whispered, and sweat broke out on me. Yeah, I knew it would take a day, if I could get one at all, but I couldn't just let Denon walk out of here with the body.
Denon's jaw was gritted. "Pressure marks don't mean shit."
Jenks flew from me to hover over Vanessa. "How about needle marks?" he said.
"Where?" I blurted, crossing the room to look. "I don't see them."
The small pixy was smug. " 'Cause they're small. Pixy-size needles. Like fiber-optics. You can see the welt on the torn skin. Whoever drugged her tried to cover it up by tearing her arm as if it was a suicide. But they're there. You'll need a microscope to see them."
A grim smile twitched Glenn's lips, and together we turned to Denon. The word of a pixy didn't mean squat in court, but knowingly destroying evidence did. The vampire looked ticked. Good. I'd hate to think I was the only one having a bad morning.
"Get her arm looked at," he said brusquely, muscles hard with tension. "I want the report before the ink dries."
Oh, God, I thought, rolling my eyes. Could he have picked a more trite analogy?
Glenn shoved the drawer closed, locking it before handing the key to Iceman. Jenks was hovering beside me, and I said nothing, smiling because I knew we were right and Denon was wrong, and the I.S. was going to come out looking like idiots.
But Denon chuckled, surprising me. "You keep pissing people off, Morgan, and before long the only people who will want to hire you are those homeless bridge trolls and miscreants dealing in black magic. It's your fault she died. No one else's."
The blood drained from my face, and Jenks snapped his wings aggressively. Not only did Denon know she had been murdered and was trying to cover it up, but he was blaming me for it. "You son of a bitch," Jenks seethed, and I moved my fingers to tell him to stay out of it. I couldn't catch a pixy, but maybe a ticked vampire could.
Giving me a beautiful smile, Denon turned, as confident and power-hungry as when he had come in. Jenks was a blur of wings and anger. "Don't listen to him, Rachel. This wasn't your fault. It couldn't have been."
I looked at the covered corpse. Please, God. Let it have nothing to do with me. "Yeah, I know," I said, hoping he was right. There was no way. My only connection to her was that fish, and that had been settled. She had been Mr. Ray's secretary, not responsible for it at all. And besides, the fish hadn't been Mr. Ray's to begin with.
Glenn put a comforting hand on my shoulder, and we walked slowly to the double doors to allow Denon time to leave. The reception room held only Iceman and a fading conversation filtering in from the hall. I waited while Glenn exchanged a few words with the orderly, promising to come back for the paperwork after escorting me home. Vanessa's body wouldn't be released now until murder had been ruled out, but I wasn't finding any satisfaction in it. The I.S. was going to be really ticked if I blew one of their cover-ups. Goody, goody.
Tugging my bag back up my shoulder, I waved to the edgy Iceman and headed out with Glenn. Jenks was silent. Glenn had my coffee in one hand, my elbow in the other. My thoughts were on Vanessa while he guided me unseeing through the upper levels of the building and back into the sun. I didn't say a word all the way home, and the conversation between Jenks and Glenn lagged. In their silence I thought I heard agreement that I might have been responsible in some way for the woman's death. But I couldn't. I just couldn't have been.
I didn't look up from the dash until I felt the soothing shade of my street. Jenks muttered something and slipped out the open window before Glenn brought the car to a stop. I glanced up then, finding the hazy morning slipping into the time of day I was usually just waking.
"Thanks for coming out with me," Glenn said, and I turned to him, surprised at the honest relief in his eyes. "Officer Denon gives me the creeps," he added, and I managed a smile.
"He's a pushover," I said, gathering my bag onto my lap.
Glenn pulled his eyebrows up. "If you say so. At least Vanessa's body won't be destroyed. And now I'll have access to any record I want until human involvement is ruled out. I think I can take it from here."
I huffed. "Then why did you have me come out, Mr. FIB Agent?"
He grinned to show his teeth. "Jenks found the needle marks, and you distracted Denon and got him to back down. A court order?" he said, chuckling. I shrugged, and Glenn added, "He's afraid of you, you know."
"Me? I don't think so." I fumbled for the door handle. Crap, I was tired. "I'm still sending you a bill," I said, checking the time on the dash's clock.
"Uh, Rachel," Glenn said before I got out, "I've another reason I came over."
My motion to leave hesitated, and, looking unhappy, he reached under the seat and handed me a thick folder held closed with a rubber band.
"What is it?" I questioned, and he gestured at me to open it. Setting it atop my lap, I rolled the rubber band off and leafed through the file. It was mostly photocopied newspaper clippings and reports from the FIB and I.S. concerning theft crimes spanning the entire North American continent and a few overseas in the UK and Germany: rare books, magical artifacts, jewelry with historical significance... I felt myself go cold despite the July heat as I realized that this was Nick's file.
"Call me if he contacts you," Glenn said, his voice with a curious tightness to it. He didn't like asking me, but he was.
I swallowed, unable to look at him. "He went off the Mackinac Bridge," I said, feeling unreal. "You think he survived that?" I knew he had. He had called me when he realized he'd swiped the fake Were artifact from me and I had the real one.
A band fixed around my chest and squeezed. Crap. That's what Newt was looking for. Shit, shit, shit - this was why Vanessa was murdered? The I.S. knew I'd possessed the focus once, but they and everyone else thought it had gone over the bridge with Nick Sparagmos. Did the someone know that it had survived and was now killing Weres to find out who had it? Oh, God. David.
"I want this one, Rachel," Glenn said, jerking me back to reality. "I know it's Nick."
I felt like I was wrapped in cotton, and I knew my eyes were too wide when I turned to him. "I guessed he was a thief. I didn't know until he left. I didn't want to believe it," I said.
Soft pity was in his eyes. "I know you didn't."
My pulse leapt, and I took a fast breath. Glenn touched my shoulder, probably thinking it was the shock of finding out for sure that Nick was a thief that had my hands shaking, not that I knew what Newt wanted and why Vanessa had been murdered. Damn it, she'd been drugged and then murdered because she hadn't known anything about it. Telling Glenn wouldn't do any good. This was an Inderland concern, and he would only get himself killed. I had to call David. Take it back before Newt tracked it to him. He couldn't fight a demon.
Like I can?
I reached for the door latch, my mind whirling. "Thanks for the ride, Glenn," I said, my manners on autopilot.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said, putting a dark hand on my arm. "Are you going to be okay?"
I forced myself to meet his eyes. "Yeah, I'll be fine," I lied. "This threw me, is all."
His hand slipped away, and I slid the folder onto the seat between us and got out to stand unsteadily on the sidewalk. My eyes went to the house where Ceri lived. She was probably asleep, but as soon as she woke up, I was going to talk to her.
"Rachel..."
Maybe she knew a way to destroy the focus.
"Rachel?"
Sighing, I leaned to look back into the car. Glenn was extending the folder to me, shoulder muscles bunched from the weight of it. "Keep it," he said, and when I moved to protest, he added, "They're copies. You should know what he's done... in any case."
Hesitating, I took them, feeling its heavy bulk pulling me down into the sidewalk. "Thanks," I said, not caring. I shut the door and headed for the church.
"Rachel!" he called, and I jerked to a stop and turned. "The visitor tags?" he prompted.
Oh, yeah. I came back and set the file on the roof of the car while I removed the tags and handed them to him through the window.
"Promise me you won't drive until you finish your driver's ed," he said in parting.
"Sure thing," I muttered, walking away. It was out again. The world knew the focus hadn't been lost, and as soon as someone realized I still had it, I was going to be in seriously deep shit.
Chapter Five
The hot morning had turned to rain by the time I'd gotten up again, and it felt odd rising so close to sunset. I'd gone to bed in a bad mood, and I awoke with the same, having been startled into consciousness by Skimmer ringing the front bell at about four in the afternoon. I'm sure Ivy had answered it as fast as she could, but going back to sleep was too much an effort. Besides, Ceri was coming over tonight, and she wasn't going to find me in my underwear again.
My arm ached as I stood at the sink in my shorts and camisole and polished the copper teakettle; Ceri's silent disgust at my kettle this morning had galvanized me into cleaning it. She was going to help me sketch out another calling circle. Maybe in chalk this time, so it wasn't as gross. I was starting to look forward to Minias's visit. He might destroy the focus in exchange for my finding Newt for him, and after watching Ceri bargain with Al, I wanted her help with Minias. That woman was more devious with her turns of phrase than Trent.
I had called David before falling asleep, and after a heated discussion that had emptied the church of every last pixy, he flatly told me that if the murderer hadn't tracked the focus to him by now, whoever it was probably wouldn't, and moving it out of his freezer would only draw attention to it. I wasn't convinced, but if he wouldn't bring it to me, I'd have to go get it. Meaning I'd be bringing it home on the bus or the back of Ivy's cycle. Neither of which was a good idea.
Blowing a red curl out of the way, I rinsed the kettle, dried it, and set it on the back burner. It wasn't gleaming, but it was better. The cloying scent of polish was thick in the close air, and since the rain had stopped, I shoved the window open with two gritty fingers.
Cool damp drifted in, and I looked out onto the dark, soggy garden as I washed my hands. A frown settled as I saw my nails, the polish ruined and green in the cuticles. Crap. I just did them, too.
Sighing, I set the dish towel aside and turned to the pantry. I was starved, and if I didn't eat something before Ceri got here, I'd look like a pig when I ate the entire bag of cookies intended for the occasion. I stood in the walk-in pantry, staring at the cans of fruit, bottles of ketchup, and cake mixes in the tidy rows into which Ivy organized our groceries. She'd probably label them if I let her. I reached for the elbow macaroni and an envelope of powdered sauce - quick, fast, full of carbs. Just what the witch doctor ordered.
From the sanctuary came a thump and a light laugh, reminding me I wasn't alone. Ivy had galvanized her old high-school roommate, Skimmer, into moving the living-room furniture to the sanctuary, partly to make room for Three Guys and a Toolbox to put the paneling up, partly to put space between Skimmer and me. Though Skimmer was frustratingly nice, she was Piscary's lawyer - as if being a living vampire wasn't scary enough - and I wasn't keen on being nice back to her.
Dropping the saucepan on the stove, I dug around under the counter until I remembered that Jenks's kids were using the big pot as a fort in the garden. Bothered, I filled my largest spell pot with water and set it on the stove. Mixing food prep and spell prep wasn't a good idea, but I didn't use this one for spells anymore - now that it had a dent the size of Ivy's head in it.
I melted the butter for the sauce while the water warmed. There was a burst of noise from the sanctuary, and my shoulders eased at NIN's belligerent music. The volume dropped, and Skimmer's cheerful voice made a pleasant counterpoint to Ivy's soft response. It struck me that though a living vampire, Skimmer was a lot like me in that she was quick to laugh and didn't let bad things bother her on the outside - a quality Ivy seemed to need to balance herself out.
Skimmer had been in Cincinnati for a good six months, out from California and a sympathetic vampire camarilla to get Piscary out of prison. She and Ivy had met their last two years of high school on the West Coast, sharing blood and their bodies both, and that, not Piscary, was what had pulled Skimmer from her master vampire and family. I had met her last year, when she started our relationship off firmly on the wrong foot by mistaking me for Ivy's shadow and, as was polite, making a courteous bid for my blood.
My motions to push the pat of butter around the saucepan slowed, and I forced my hand from my neck, not liking that I'd tried to cover the scar hidden there under my perfect skin. The jolt of desire the woman had given me had been heady and shocking, surpassed only by the embarrassment that she had misunderstood the relationship Ivy and I had. Hell, I didn't understand it. Expecting Skimmer to in the first thirty seconds of meeting me was ridiculous.
I knew that Ivy and Skimmer had picked up where they'd left off, which I think was the reason Piscary agreed to take Skimmer into his own camarilla if the pretty vampire could win his case. And as I mixed the butter, milk, and sauce powder, I wondered if Piscary was starting to rue his leniency in letting Ivy maintain a friendship with me that was based not on blood but on respect. He probably expected Skimmer to lure Ivy back to a proper vampiric frame of mind.
Ivy, though, had been a lot easier to live with the last few months as she slaked her blood lust with someone she loved who could survive her attentions. She was happy. Guilty, but happy. I didn't think Ivy could be happy if she didn't slather it with guilt. And in the interim we could pretend that I wasn't feeling the first lure of blood ecstasy, not pushing the issue because Ivy was afraid. Our roles were reversed, and I didn't have as much practice as Ivy did at telling myself I couldn't have something I wanted.
The wooden spoon rattled against the pan as my hand trembled, the thrill of adrenaline zinging through me at the memory of her teeth sliding cleanly into me, fear and pleasure mixing in an unreal sensation, filling me with the rush of ecstasy.
As if the memory had called her, Ivy's lanky silhouette appeared in the hallway. Dressed in tight jeans and a shirt cut high to show her belly-button ring, She went to the fridge for a bottled water. Her motions to open it slowed as she scented the air, realizing I'd been thinking about her, or at least about something that would get my rush flowing and my pulse up. Pupils swelling, she eyed me from across the kitchen. "That perfume isn't working anymore," she said.
I hid my smile, thinking I should just stop wearing it, but pushing her into biting me again was a bad idea. "It's an old one," I said. "I didn't have anything else in the bathroom."
Much to my surprise, she shook her head and chuckled. She was in a good mood, and I wondered what she and Skimmer had been doing in there besides rearranging the furniture. Not my business, I thought, turning back to my sauce.
Ivy was silent as she took another swig, leaning against the counter with her ankles crossed. I felt her eyes rove the kitchen, landing on the kettle shining dully on a back burner. "Is Ceri coming over?" she asked.
Nodding, I looked into the damp garden, shadowed into an early dusk from the clouds. "She's going to help me with my calling glyph." I glanced at her, my spoon still circling. Clockwise, clockwise... never widdershins. "What's your schedule tonight?"
"I'm out and won't be back until almost sunup. I've got a run." In a motion of powerful grace, she used one hand to ease herself up to sit on the counter.
"You going to take Jenks?" I asked, wanting him here with me, but my scaredy-cat fears came in second after a real job.
"No." Ivy ran her fingers up through the downward spikes of her shorter hair in a show of nervousness, telling me she was doing something for Piscary, not her bank account. She was the master vampire's scion, and that came first - when it didn't involve me. "Do you think that ugly statue is what that demon was after?"
"The focus?" Running a finger over the spoon, I licked it and set it in the sink. "What else could it be? Ceri says if Newt knew that David had it, she would have shown up at his apartment, not here, but I'm going to bring it back anyway. Someone in Cincy knows it's surfaced again." My gaze went distant, and a nasty feeling of betrayal settled into my belly. Besides Ivy, Jenks, and Kisten, the only person who knew I still had the focus was Nick. I couldn't believe he would have betrayed me like that, but he had sold information about me to Big Al before. And now he was pissed at me.
The water was boiling, and I shook in enough macaroni for three.
Leaning, Ivy dragged the open box of pasta to her. "What did Glenn want?" she asked, crunching through a dry piece.
Breaking apart the clumps of macaroni, I turned the flame down. "My opinion of a Were murder. It was Mr. Ray's secretary. Whoever did it tried to make it look like a suicide."
Defined eyebrows high, Ivy's gaze went to the calendar pinned to the wall beside her computer. "A week from the full moon? No way was it a suicide, and the I.S. knows it."
I nodded. "I don't think they expected the FIB to take an interest. She had pressure marks from restraints and needle marks. Denon was covering it up."
Ivy's reach into the box for another piece of pasta hesitated. "You think it has something to do with the focus?"
"Why not?" I said, exasperated. Damn it. I'd only had the ugly statue for two months, and already word was out that it hadn't been lost going over the Mackinac Bridge. Tucking a strand of hair out of the way, I stirred my pasta and tried to remember if I'd gone to see or even called David in all that time. Apart from the night I gave it to him, I didn't think I had. He was my alpha, but it wasn't like we were married or anything. Crap, this wasn't safe. I needed to get it back from him, like today.
"I can ask around if you want," Ivy said, swinging her boots up onto the counter to sit cross-legged with the box of pasta.
My thoughts jerked back to her. "Absolutely not," I said. "The less I dig, the safer I'll be. Besides, we'll never get paid for it if you do find something."
She laughed, and my mood eased. Ivy didn't laugh often, and I loved the sound of it.
"Is that why you're thinking about Nick?" she asked, shocking me. "You never make pasta in Alfredo sauce unless you are."
My mouth dropped open in protest, then snapped shut. Crap. She's right. "Mmmm," I said, peeved as I stirred the pasta. "Glenn gave me his file today. It's four inches thick."
"Really?" she drawled, and I frowned. She hadn't liked Nick from day one.
"Yes, really." I hesitated, watching the steam rise. "He's been at this awhile."
"I'm sorry."
I forced my face into a bland expression. She hated Nick, but she was genuinely sorry he had cracked my heart. "I'm over it." And I was. Except for the part about feeling used. He'd been selling information to Al about me for favors before we broke up. Ass.
NIN's "Only" went soft, and I wasn't surprised when Skimmer came into the kitchen, probably wanting to know what we were up to. I felt more than saw Ivy's posture shift to a more closed mien when Skimmer's jeans-clad dancer's body breezed in.
Ivy was as open with me as she was with Skimmer, but she wasn't comfortable letting Skimmer know that. We three had an odd dynamic, one I wasn't keen on. Skimmer flatly loved Ivy, having moved here on the promise that if she got Piscary out of prison she'd be accepted into his camarilla and could stay. I was the one who had put him there, and the day he got out, I'd probably find my life not worth troll farts. Ivy was a large part of why I was still alive, which put her in a hard spot whose pressures slowly built with each court success.
Skimmer would do what she had to do to stay with Ivy. I would do what I had to do to keep my body and soul together. And Ivy was going to go quietly insane, wanting both of us to succeed. It would've helped if Skimmer weren't so darn nice.
The perceptive vampire clearly recognized that she'd interrupted something, and, tucking her long, blond, severely straight hair back behind an ear, she settled herself into Ivy's chair at the table. From the corner of my sight, I saw her features scrunch up for a moment when she and Ivy exchanged a look, but then she smoothed them, her small nose and chin easing into a pleasant expression. Beside Skimmer's delicate features, I thought my strong jaw and cheekbones looked Neanderthal. Though sharp as a cracked whip and at the top of her game, the woman looked innocent with her blue eyes and West Cost tan, a trait that probably stood her in good stead in her profession when the competition underestimated her.
"Lunch?" she said brightly, her pleasant voice showing a calculated hint of distress.
"Just white pasta," I said, going to drain the macaroni. "I've got enough for three if you're interested." I turned from the sink, finding that her vivid blue eyes had a shrinking iris of blue to make them even more striking. Her eyelashes were thick and long, accentuating her delicate features. I wondered what they'd been doing in the sanctuary. There was more than one place to bite someone - and most of them were covered by clothes.
"Count me in," she said, glancing at her watch with its diamond-chip numbers. "I've got an hour before I need to be back in the office, and if I'm not there, they can damn well wait for me."
That was cool - seeing as she was the boss - but my blood pressure started clicking upward when she went to the fridge, reaching above it for one of Ivy's Brimstone cookies. God, I hated those things, and I lived in worry that one day the I.S. would have an excuse to search my kitchen and I'd be dragged off.
"Why don't we make it a real meal?" the vampire said, clearly aware I was upset but determined to forge ahead. "Ivy has a run tonight, and I've got to get back to work. It won't take much to make it a sit-down lunch right now."
If my pasta isn't enough for you, then why did you say yes? I thought nastily, but I stifled my first reaction since I knew that the offer had been made out of a genuine attempt at camaraderie. I glanced at the clock, deciding there was plenty of time before Ceri came over, and when Ivy shrugged, I nodded. "Sure," I said. "Why not?"
Skimmer smiled. It was obvious she wasn't used to having anyone dislike her, and it wasn't that I hated her, but every time she came over, she did something that rubbed me the wrong way through no fault of her own. "I'll make garlic bread," she said brightly, hair swinging as she tugged open the cupboard door to the spices.
"Rachel's allergic to garlic," Ivy prompted, and the living vampire hesitated. Her eyes went to mine, and I could almost hear her berate herself.
"Oh. Herb toast, then." With a forced cheerfulness, she went to wash her hands.
I wasn't really allergic, just sensitive to it thanks to that same genetic aberration that would have killed me had Trent's father not intervened. Ivy slid off the counter, and after snapping the box of pasta shut, started gathering salad stuff. She was right next to Skimmer, and when their heads almost touched, I thought I heard soft encouragement.
Standing at the stove with my pasta, I found I was beginning to feel bad for the woman. She was really trying, recognizing that I was important to Ivy and making an effort to be gracious. Skimmer knew that Ivy had once set her sights on me, dropping her play for my blood after she'd finally gotten it, the encounter's ending bad enough to scare her into never doing it again. And it was no secret that I didn't give a flying flip that the two of them were sharing blood and a pillow both. I think that that had a lot to do with Skimmer's attitude. I was one of Ivy's few friends, and Skimmer knew that the quickest way to tick Ivy off was to be mean to me.
Vampires, I thought, shaking the pasta into the white sauce. I'd never understand them.
"How about some wine?" Skimmer asked, standing at the open fridge with a stick of butter in her hand. "Red goes with pasta. I brought some over today."
I couldn't drink red wine without risking migraines, and Ivy didn't drink much - not at all before a run. I opened my mouth to simply say none for me, but Ivy blurted, "Rachel can't tolerate red wine. She's sensitive to sulfur."
"Oh, God." Skimmer's pretty face was creased when she came out from behind the door. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. Is there anything else you can't tolerate?"
Just you. "You know what?" I said, dropping the lid on the finished pasta and turning the flame off. "I'm going to get some ice cream. Anyone else want ice cream?"
Not waiting for an answer, I snatched up my shoulder bag and one of Ivy's canvas sacks and walked out of the kitchen. "I'll be back before the bread's done!" I called over my shoulder.
The echo of my sandals was different in the sanctuary, and I slowed to see the cozy area Ivy and Skimmer had arranged in a front corner as temporary living room. The TV would be lame, since we didn't have cable out here, but all I needed was the stereo. Skimmer must've brought the floor plants, since I hadn't seen them before. Damn vampire was just moving in.
And I'm having a problem with that? Irritated at myself now, I shoved one of the thick doors open, slipping out onto the wide stoop and shutting it hard. The light over the sign was onto make the damp pavement shine. Rain-soft air caressed my bare shoulder, but it didn't soothe me.
Was I bothered because I'd begun to think of the church as mine, or was it because Skimmer was taking some of Ivy's attention?
Do I really want to answer that?
My mood worsened when I passed my car in the carport. Couldn't drive my stupid car to the stupid corner store because of the stupid I.S.
I scanned the street for my pack-hopeful, not finding Brett. Maybe the rain had chased him off. The man did have to work sometime.
The thump of the church's front door shutting cut through the damp air, and I turned with an apologetic look on my face. But it wasn't Ivy.
"I'm coming with you," Skimmer said, shrugging her lightweight cream-colored jacket and taking the steps two at a time.
Swell. I turned and started walking.
Silent, Skimmer held her purse tight to herself as she matched me step for step, a shade too close since the sidewalk wasn't that wide. Our feet splashed through a puddle, and I glanced at her white boots. Though inappropriate for a runner to work in, they looked great on her, showing off her little feet. What in hell does she want?
Skimmer took a slow breath. "Ivy and I met the day she moved into my dorm room."
Whoa. This is not what I had expected. "Skimmer..."
The cadence of her boots never slowed. "Let me finish," she said, her cheeks spotted red in the occasional streetlight. "My old roommate was expelled, and Ivy moved in. Piscary had screwed her mind royally, and her parents managed to get her out from under him for a few years so she could find an identity that didn't hinge on him. I think it saved her life. It damn well made her stronger. She needed someone, and I was there."
My pulse quickened, and my pace slowed. Maybe I should hear this.
Skimmer's posture eased at my response, her slight shoulders losing much of their tension. "We hit it off," she said, the black in her eyes swelling. "She was away from her master and parents with a year of master-vampire techniques at her fangtips. I was looking for trouble. My God, it was fantastic, but she scared me into settling down, and I gave her something to believe in." Skimmer fixed her eyes on me. "She was straight until she met me. Apart from a few latent tendencies. It took me two semesters to convince her that she could love me and Kisten both without betraying him."
My light steps seemed to jar me to my bones. And that was a good thing? Our pace had slowed, becoming less angry. Skimmer was at the top of her class, and I knew that anything she said would be slanted to scare me. Whatever. She couldn't scare me any more than Ivy had.
"It was a private school," Skimmer said. "Everyone lived on campus. It was expected that, as roommates, Ivy and I would share blood as a matter of convenience, but it wasn't insisted on. That we became lovers only meant... that's the way we were. I needed her to balance me out, and she needed me to feel good about herself after Piscary screwed her over."
The anger in her voice was shockingly hard. "You don't like him," I said.
Skimmer jerked the strap of her purse back up her shoulder as we walked. "I hate him. But I'll do whatever he asks if it means I can stay with Ivy." Her eyes met mine, the light from a nearby streetlamp glowing on her. "I'm going to get him out so I can stay with Ivy. If he kills you afterward, it's not my problem."
The threat was obvious, but we kept moving, her steps meeting mine solidly. That's why she was being nice to me. Why risk getting on Ivy's bad side if Piscary would take care of it?
I was shaking inside, but Skimmer wasn't done yet. Her pretty features knotted in an inner turmoil as she added bitterly, "She loves you. I know she's using me to try and make you jealous. I don't care." Flushed, her eyes dilated. "She wants to share everything with you, and you're kicking it in the dirt. Why do you live with her if you don't want her to touch you?"
Suddenly it was making a lot more sense. "Skimmer, you've got it wrong," I said softly, the night silent but for the wet hush of traffic a street over. "I want to find a blood balance with Ivy. She's the one balking, not me."
Her white boots scuffed to a halt, and I stopped. Skimmer stared at me. "She always mixes sex with her blood," she said. "Uses it to keep control. You won't do that. Ivy said so."
"I won't have sex with her, yeah. But that doesn't mean we can't..." I hesitated. Why am I telling her this?
Shock was clear on Skimmer's pale face, and her outline came into sharp relief as a car passed us, its lights throwing her into a stark reality that left the night darker when it passed. "You love her," Skimmer stammered.
My face flamed. Okay, I loved Ivy, but that didn't mean I wanted to sleep with her.
Skimmer hunched, becoming almost ugly. "Stay away from her," she hissed.
"Ivy's making the decisions here, not me," I said quickly.
"She's mine!" Skimmer shouted, lashing out.
I moved instinctively, without fear, blocking and stepping forward to land a side kick in her middle. She was a dancer, not a martial artist, and the kick landed. It wasn't much, but the vampire sat down hard on the wet sidewalk, eyes watering as she caught her breath.
"Oh, God," I apologized, reaching to help her up. "I'm so sorry."
Skimmer gripped it, yanking me off balance. Yelping, I fell, rolling across the wet grass and getting soaked. The living vampire beat me to my feet, but she was crying, tears silently slipping down her face. "Stay away from her!" she shouted. "She's mine!"
Nearby, a dog barked. Frightened, I tugged my shirt straight. "She isn't anyone's," I said, not caring if the neighbors were listening. "I don't care if you two are sleeping together, or sharing blood, or whatever, but I'm not leaving!"
"You selfish bitch!" she seethed, and I backed up as she came forward. "Staying without letting her touch you is cruel. Why do you live with her if you don't want her to touch you?"
Curtains were being pulled aside in the neighboring houses, and I started to worry that someone might call the I.S. "Because I'm her friend," I said, beginning to get mad. "She's just scared, okay? And a friend doesn't walk away when another friend is scared. I'm willing to wait until she isn't. God knows she waited for me. She needs me, and I need her - so back off!"
Skimmer stopped her advance, pulling herself up to look possessed, calm, and pissed. "You let her taste your blood. What could you do that would scare her?"
I was wet from hitting the grass, and I looked up from my damp legs. "I trusted her so much that I would've let her kill me if Jenks hadn't stopped her."
Skimmer went even whiter.
"Skimmer, I'm sorry," I said, gesturing helplessly. "I didn't plan this."
"But you're sleeping with Kisten," she protested. "I can smell him all over you."
This was as embarrassing as all hell. "You're the one who taught her she could love two people at the same time, not me."
With an abrupt motion, Skimmer turned on a heel and started back the way we came, blond hair swinging and steps sharp.
Actually, that I was sleeping with Kisten while wanting Ivy to bite me was a twinge on my conscience. But I figured between Ivy's fear and the vampiric mentality that multiple blood and bed partners were the norm, I could deal with the issue when it became an issue. I loved Kisten. I wanted Ivy to bite me. It made sense, if I didn't think about it too hard.
Depressed, I scooped up my shoulder bag and Ivy's canvas sack. "If you jump me again, I'll freaking break your damn arm," I muttered as I trailed behind her, knowing she could hear me. I didn't know where we stood, but ice cream now sounded as appealing as eating a hot dog in the snow. Perhaps the encounter had been inevitable. It could have been worse. Ivy could have heard us.
"You okay?" I asked when I caught up to Skimmer on the church steps, the lights in the sanctuary making yellow swaths on the wet concrete.
Giving me a sideways glance, she felt her middle, her expression a mix of sullen mistrust and anger. "I love Ivy, and I'll do anything to protect her. You understand me?"
My eyes narrowed at the implication that I was a threat to Ivy. "I'm not endangering her."
"Yes you are." The woman's narrow chin lifted as she stood a step above me. "If she kills you by mistake because you goad her into something, she will never forgive herself. I know her. She'll end it all to escape the pain. I love Ivy, and I'm not going to let her kill herself."
"Neither am I," I said hotly.
Skimmer's face emptied of emotion, chilling me. A quiet vampire was a plotting vampire. Yanking the door open, she slipped in ahead of me. Great. I think I had just put myself on Skimmer's hit list.
While I leaned against the wall and wedged off my sandals, Skimmer muttered something about the bathroom. Wiping her boots, she clattered into Ivy's bathroom making an obvious amount of noise, and slammed the door. I followed the scent of warm bread into the kitchen, my steps silent from being barefoot. I found Ivy at her computer buying music. "What flavor did you get?" she asked.
"Ah, it started to rain," I ad-libbed, "and we decided it wasn't worth the effort." It wasn't really a lie, just looking at it from an expanded point of view.
Ivy nodded, eyes on the screen. I had expected some sort of reaction, but then I noticed that her boots were wet, and I slumped. Crap, she'd seen the entire thing.
I took a breath to explain, but her brown eyes flicked to mine, halting me. Skimmer came in, her cell phone in hand. "Hey, the office called," she said, the lie coming from her as easily as breathing. "They want me back early, so I'm going to cut out on you. You two go ahead and have lunch. I'll take a rain check."
Ivy sat straighter. "You're headed into Cincy?" Skimmer nodded, and Ivy rose, stretching. "Mind if I get a ride from you?" she asked. "That's where my run is." Ivy glanced at me. "You don't mind, do you, Rachel?"
Like I could really say anything? "Go on," I told her, moving to the stove and stirring the cooling pasta. My eyes drifted to the opened bottle of white wine. "I'll give Ceri a call. Maybe she'll come over early."
Ten to one they were both going to see Piscary. Why didn't they just come out with it?
"See you later, Rachel," Skimmer said tightly, then headed to the front, her boots loud.
Ivy pulled her purse across the table. My gaze dropped to her boots, and when I brought them back up, I saw a wisp of guilt. "I won't do it," she said. "If I bite you, it'll blow everything we have into the ever-after."
I shrugged, thinking she was right, but only if we were stupid about it. If she had been listening, then she also knew I was willing to wait. Besides, to think that I could satisfy all of her blood lust was insane. I didn't even want to try. I only wanted to prove that I accepted her the way she was. I'd just have to wait until she was ready to believe that.
"You'd better get going," I said, not wanting her to be here when Minias showed up.
Ivy hesitated in the threshold. "Lunch was a good idea."
I shrugged without looking up, and after a moment's hesitation she walked out. My eyes followed her wet prints, and I frowned when I heard Ivy say defensively, "I told you she did. You're lucky she didn't hit you with anything other than her foot."
Tired, I slipped into my chair, the scent of cooked pasta, vinegar dressing, and grilled bread heavy in the air. I knew that Ivy wasn't going to move out of the church. Which meant the only way Skimmer was going to get Ivy all to herself was if I was dead.
How nice was that?