Every Which Way But Dead (10 page)

I
pulled my car carefully into the tiny garage, turning off the lights and then the engine. Depressed, I stared at the spackled wall two feet in front of the grille. Silence soaked in, broken by the ticking of the engine cooling off. Ivy's bike rested quietly against the side wall, covered in a canvas tarp and stored for the winter. It was going to be dark soon. I knew I should get Jenks inside, but it was hard to find the will to unbuckle my belt and get out of the car.

Jenks dropped to the steering wheel with an attention-getting hum. My hands fell into my lap, shoulders slumping. “Well, at least you know where you stand now,” he offered.

My frustration flared, then died, overwhelmed by a wave of apathy. “He said he's coming back,” I said glumly, needing to believe the lie until I hardened myself to the truth.

Jenks wrapped his arms about himself, dragonfly wings still. “Rache,” he cajoled. “I like Nick, but you're going to get two calls. One where he says he misses you and is feeling better, and the last when he says he's sorry and asks you to give his key to his landlord for him.”

I looked at the wall. “Just let me be stupid and believe him for a while, okay?”

The pixy made a sound of wry agreement. He looked positively chilled, his wings almost black as he hunched, shivering. I'd pushed him past his limits by detouring to Nick's. I was definitely going to make cookies tonight. He shouldn't go to sleep cold like that. He might not wake up until spring.

“Ready?” I asked as I opened my bag, and he awkwardly jumped down into it instead of flying. Worried, I debated if I should tuck my bag inside my coat. I settled on putting it in the department store bag and rolling the edges down as far as I could.

Only now did I open the door, being careful not to hit the edge of the garage. Bag in hand, I made my way on the shoveled path to the front door. A sleek black Corvette was parked at the curb, looking out of place and unsafe in the snowy streets. I recognized it as Kisten's, and my face tightened. I'd been seeing too much of him lately for my liking.

The wind bit at my exposed skin, and I glanced up at the steeple, sharp against the graying clouds. Mincing on the ice, I passed Kisten's mobile icon of masculinity and rose up the stone steps to the thick wooden double doors. There was no conventional lock, though there was an oak crossbar inside which I set every sunrise before I went to bed. Bending awkwardly, I scooped out a cup of pelletized de-icer from the open bag sitting beside the door and sprinkled it on the steps before the afternoon's snowmelt had a chance to freeze.

I pushed open the door, my hair drifting in the warm draft that billowed out. Soft jazz came with it, and I slipped inside to latch it softly behind me. I didn't particularly want to see Kisten—no matter how nice he was on the eyes—though I thought I should probably thank him for recommending me to Takata.

It was dark in the small foyer, the glow of dusk slipping in from the sanctuary beyond doing little to light it. The air smelled like coffee and growing things, sort of a mix between a plant nursery and coffeehouse. Nice. Ceri's things went atop the small antique table Ivy had swiped from her folks, and I opened up my bag, peering down to see Jenks looking up.

“Thank God,” he muttered as he slowly lifted into the air. Then he hesitated, head cocked as he listened. “Where is everyone?”

I shrugged out of my coat and hung it up on a peg. “Maybe Ivy yelled at your kids again and they're hiding. Are you complaining?”

He shook his head. He was right, though. It was really quiet. Too quiet. Usually there were head-splitting shrills of pixy children playing tag, an occasional crash from a hanging utensil hitting the kitchen floor, or the snarls of Ivy chasing them out of the living room. The only peace we got were the four hours they slept at noon, and four hours again after midnight.

The warmth of the church was soaking into Jenks, and already his wings were translucent and moving well. I decided to leave Ceri's things where they were until I could get them across the street to her, and after stomping the snow off my boots beside the melting puddles Kisten had left, I followed Jenks out of the dark foyer and into the quiet sanctuary.

My shoulders eased as I took in the subdued lighting coming in through the knee-to-ceiling-high stained-glass windows. Ivy's stately baby grand took up one corner in the front, dusted and cared for but played only when I was out. My plant-strewn, rolltop desk was kitty-corner to it, way up in the front on the ankle-high stage where the altar once sat. The huge image of a cross still shadowed the wall above it, soothing and protective. The pews had been removed long before I moved in, leaving an echoing wooden and glass space redolent of peace, solitude, grace, and security. I was safe here.

Jenks stiffened, sending my instincts flaming.

“Now!” shrilled a piercing voice.

Jenks shot straight up, leaving a cloud of pixy dust hanging where he had been like an octopus inking. Heart pounding, I hit the hardwood floor, rolling.

Sharp patters of impacts hit the planks beside me. Fear kept me spinning until I found a corner. Heady, the strength of the graveyard's ley line surged through me as I tapped it.

“Rachel! It's my kids!” Jenks cried as a hail of tiny snowballs struck me.

Gagging, I choked on the word to invoke my circle, yanking back the cresting power. It crashed into me, and I groaned as twofold the ley line energy suddenly took up the same space. Staggering, I fell to a knee and struggled to breathe until the excess found its way back to the line. Oh God. It felt like I was on fire. I should have just made the circle.

“What in Tink's knickers do you think you're doing!” Jenks yelled, hovering over me as I tried to focus on the floor. “You should know better than to jump a runner like that! She's a professional! You're going to end up dead! And I'm going to let you rot where you fall. We're guests here! Get to the desk. All of you! Jax, I am
really
disappointed.”

I took a breath. Damn. That really hurt.
Mental note: never stop a ley line spell midcast.

“Matalina!” Jenks shouted. “Do you know what our kids are doing?”

I licked my lips. “It's okay,” I said, looking up to find absolutely no one in the sanctuary. Even Jenks was gone. “I love my life,” I muttered, and I worked myself carefully up from the floor in stages. The flaming tingle in my skin had subsided, and pulse hammering, I let go of the line completely, feeling the remaining energy flow out of my chi to leave me shaking.

With the sound of an angry bee, Jenks flew in from the back rooms. “Rachel,” he said as he came to a halt before me. “I'm sorry. They found the snow that Kist brought in on his shoes, and he told them about snowball fights when he was a kid. Oh, look. They got you all wet.”

Matalina, Jenks's wife, zipped into the sanctuary in a billow of gray and blue silk. Giving me an apologetic wince, she slipped under the crack in my rolltop desk. My head started to hurt and my eyes watered. Her scolding was so high-pitched that I couldn't hear it.

Tired, I straightened to my full height and tugged my sweater straight. Small spots of water showed where I'd been hit. If they had been fairy assassins with spells instead of pixies with snowballs, I'd be dead. My heart slowed, and I snatched up my bag from the floor. “It's okay,” I said, embarrassed and wanting Jenks to shut up. “No biggie. Kids will be kids.”

Jenks hovered in apparent indecision. “Yeah, but they're my kids, and we're guests. They'll be apologizing to you, among a few other things.”

Gesturing it was okay, I stumbled down the dark hallway, following the smell of coffee.
At least no one had seen me rolling on the floor evading pixy snowballs,
I thought. But such commotions had become commonplace since the first hard frost and Jenks's family moved in. There was no way I could pretend I wasn't here now, though. Besides, they had probably smelled the flush of fresh air when I opened the door.

I passed the opposing his-and-her bathrooms that had been converted into a conventional bathroom and a combination bathroom/laundry room. The latter was mine. My room was on the right side of the hallway, Ivy's was directly across from it. The kitchen was next, and I made a left turn into it, hoping to grab some coffee and go hide in my room to avoid Kisten entirely.

I had made the mistake of kissing him in an elevator, and he never missed an opportunity to remind me of it. Thinking at the time I wouldn't live to see the sunrise, I had let my guard down and enjoyed myself, all but giving in to the lure of vampiric passion. Even worse? Kisten knew he had tipped me over the edge and that I had been a breath away from saying yes.

Exhausted, I elbowed the light switch and dropped my shoulder bag on the counter. Fluorescent lights flickered on, sending Mr. Fish into a frenzy of motion. Soft jazz and the rise and fall of conversation filtered in from the unseen living room. Kisten's leather coat was draped over Ivy's chair before her computer. There was a half-full pot of coffee, and after a moment's thought, I poured it into my gigantic mug. Trying to be quiet, I started a new batch. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but Kisten's voice was as smooth and warm as a bubble bath.

“Ivy, love,” he pleaded as I got the grounds out of the fridge. “It's only one night. An hour, maybe. In and out.”

“No.”

Ivy's voice was cold, the warning obvious. Kisten was pushing her past where I would, but they'd grown up together, the children of wealthy parents who expected them to join their families and have little vamp brats to continue Piscary's living-vampire line before they died and became true undead. It wouldn't happen—the marriage, not the dead part. They had already tried the cohabitation route, and while neither would say what happened, their relationship had cooled until all that was left was more of a warped sibling fondness.

“You don't have to do anything,” Kisten persuaded, laying his fake British accent on heavy. “Just be there. I'll say everything.”

“No.”

Someone snapped off the music, and I silently pulled the silverware drawer open for the coffee scoop. Three pixy girls darted out, shrieking. I bit back my yelp, heart pounding as they vanished down the dark hallway. Motions quick from adrenaline, I poked around to find the scoop missing. I finally spotted it in the sink. Kisten must have made the coffee. If it had been Ivy, her asinine need for order would have had it washed, dried, and put away.

“Why not?” Kisten's voice had taken a petulant tone. “He's not asking for much.”

Tight and controlled, Ivy's voice was seething. “I don't want that bastard in my head at all. Why would I let him see through my eyes? Feel my thoughts?”

The carafe hung from my fingers as I stood over the sink. I wished I wasn't hearing this.

“But he loves you,” Kisten whispered, sounding hurt and jealous. “You're his scion.”

“He doesn't love me. He loves me fighting him.” It was bitter, and I could almost see her perfect, slightly Oriental features tighten in anger.

“Ivy,” Kisten cajoled. “It feels good, intoxicating. The power he shares with you—”

“It's a lie!” she shouted, and I started. “You want the prestige? The power? You want to keep running Piscary's interests? Pretend you're still his scion? I don't care! But I'm not letting him in my head even to cover for you!”

I noisily ran the water into the carafe to remind them I was listening. I didn't want to hear more, and I wished they'd stop.

Kisten's sigh was long and heavy. “It doesn't work that way. If he really wants in, you won't be able to stop him, Ivy love.”

“Shut. Up.”

The words were so full of bound anger that I stifled a shudder. The carafe overflowed, and I jumped as water hit my hand. Grimacing, I shut the tap off and tipped the excess out.

There was a creak of wood from the living room. My stomach clenched. Someone had just pinned someone else to a chair. “Go ahead,” Kisten murmured over the tinkling of the water pouring into the coffeemaker. “Sink those teeth. You know you want to. Just like old times. Piscary feels everything you do, whether you want him to or not. Why do you think you haven't been able to abstain from blood lately? Three years of denial, and now you can't go three days? Give it up, Ivy. He'd love to feel us enjoying ourselves again. And maybe your roommate might finally understand. She almost said yes,” he goaded. “Not to you. To me.”

I stiffened. That had been directed at me. I wasn't in the room, but I might as well have been.

There was another creak of wood. “Touch her blood and I'll kill you, Kist. I swear it.”

I looked around the kitchen for a way to escape but it was too late as Ivy halted in the archway, with a scuff of boots. She hesitated, looking unusually ruffled as she gauged my unease in an instant with her uncanny ability to read body language. It made keeping secrets around her chancy at best. Anger at Kist had pinched her brow, and the aggressive frustration didn't bode well, even if it wasn't aimed at me. Her pale skin glowed a faint pink as she tried to calm herself, bringing the faint whisper of scar tissue on her neck into stark relief. She had tried surgery to minimize Piscary's physical sign of his claim on her, but it showed when she was upset. And she wouldn't accept any of my complexion charms. I had yet to figure that one out.

Seeing me unmoving by the sink, her brown eyes flicked from my steaming mug of coffee to the empty pot. I shrugged and flicked the switch to get it brewing. What could I say?

Ivy pushed herself into motion, setting an empty mug on the counter. She smoothed her severely straight black hair, bringing herself back to at least looking calm and collected. “You're upset,” she said, her anger at Kisten making her voice rough. “What's up?”

I pulled my backstage passes out and clipped them to the fridge with a tomato magnet. My thought went to Nick, then to rolling on the floor evading pixy snowballs. And mustn't forget the joy of hearing her threaten Kisten over my blood that she wasn't ever going to taste.
Golly, so much to choose from.
“Nothing,” I said softly.