Every Which Way But Dead (15 page)

A long Gray Ghost limo idled at the curb. My breath hissed in relief as Jonathan, Trent's number-one lackey, opened the driver's door and emerged. I never thought I'd be happy to see the shockingly tall, distasteful man. They were in this together, working behind Trent's back. This was a badder mistake than usual. I could feel it already.

Quen panted as I helped him lurch down the steps. “Get him out of here,” I demanded.

Jonathan yanked open the passenger-side door. “Are you going to do it?” he said, his thin lips pressed tight as he took in my cookie-smeared hair and wet jeans.

“Yes!” I pushed Quen in. He fell onto the leather seat, collapsing like a drunk. “Go!”

The tall elf shut the door and stared at me. “What did you do to him?” he said coldly.

“Nothing! It's Piscary! Get him out of here!”

Apparently satisfied, he strode to the driver's side. With an odd quietness, the car accelerated. I stood on the icy sidewalk and shivered, watching it speed away until it turned a corner and was gone.

Pulse slowing, I wrapped my arms around myself. The winter sun was cold. Slowly I turned to go inside, not knowing what I'd find curled up on my kitchen floor.

I
watched myself in the mirror above my new, solid-ash dresser as I put my hoop earrings in, the ones big enough for Jenks to ride on. The little black dress looked good on me, and the above-the-knee boots that went with it would keep me warm enough. I didn't think Kisten had planned a snowball fight in the park, as corny and cheap as that was. And he had said wear something nice. I stood sideways and checked myself out. This was nice. This was very nice.

Pleased, I sat on my bed and snapped my boots up, leaving the last few inches open so I could walk easier. I didn't want to get excited about going out with Kisten, but the chance to dress up and have a good time had been so infrequent lately that it was hard not to. I told myself that I could be going out with the girls and still feel like this. It wasn't Kisten; it was just going out.

Wanting a second opinion, I went clattering into the hall in search of Ivy. The memory of her fighting Piscary off in her mind was very real. The undead vampire had given up as soon as Quen was gone, but she had been very subdued the rest of the day, refusing to talk about it as she helped me clean the kitchen. She didn't want me going out with Kisten now, and I was inclined to agree with her that it was a stupid idea. But it wasn't as if I couldn't fight Kisten off. He had said he wouldn't bite me, and I wasn't about to let a moment of passion change my mind. Not now. Not ever.

I ran my hand down my sparkling party dress as I entered the living room, hesitating for Ivy's inspection. Curled up on the couch, she looked up from her magazine. I couldn't help but notice she was on the same page as when I had gone in to change thirty minutes ago.

“What do you think?” I said, making a slow circle and feeling tall in my spike-heeled boots.

She sighed, closing her magazine on her finger to mark the page. “I think it's a mistake.”

My brow furrowed and I looked down at myself. “Yeah, you're right,” I said as my thoughts went to my closet. “I'll put on something else.”

I turned to leave, and she threw her magazine across the room to hit the wall before me. “That's not what I meant!” she exclaimed, and I spun, startled.

Ivy's oval face was creased and her thin eyebrows pinched as she sat up in her chair, fidgeting. “Rachel…” she cajoled, and I knew where this conversation was going.

“I'm not going to let him bite me,” I said, becoming angry. “I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. And after this afternoon, you can be damned sure his teeth aren't going to get anywhere near me.”

Brown eyes worried, she curled her legs up under her to make herself look uncertain. It was a mien I didn't see on her very often. Her eyes closed as she took a breath as if gathering herself. “You look nice,” she said, and I could almost feel my blood pressure drop. “Don't let him bite you,” she added softly. “I don't want to have to kill Kisten if he binds you to him.”

“You got it,” I said, trying to lighten her mood as I walked out, knowing she might. It would be the only way to reliably break his hold on me. Time and distance would do it eventually, too, but Ivy wasn't one to take chances. And being bound to him after I had said no to her would be more than she could take. My heels clacked a little slower as I went back to my room to change into something more subdued. This outfit was asking for trouble.

Standing before my open closet, I pushed hangers around hoping something would jump out and say, “Wear me! Wear me!” I'd already been through everything and was starting to think I didn't have anything that wasn't too sexy and yet attractive enough for a night on the town. With all the money I'd spent filling my closet last month, there ought to have been something. My stomach tightened at the thought of my shrinking bank balance, but Quen had left his ten thousand on the kitchen floor. And I
had
agreed to baby-sit Trent…

The soft knock at my door startled me, and I spun, my hand to my collarbone.

“Um,” Ivy said, her closed-lipped smile telling me she found something funny in having surprised me. “I'm sorry. I know you aren't going to let him bite you.” She raised a long hand in a gesture of exasperation. “It's the vamp thing. That's all.”

I nodded, understanding. I'd been living with Ivy long enough that her unconscious vampire instincts thought of me as her property even though her conscious mind knew different. It was why I didn't spar with her anymore, wash my clothes with hers, bring up ties of family and blood, or follow her out of the room if she abruptly left in the middle of a conversation for no apparent reason. All pushed her vampire-instinct buttons and would put us right back where we were seven months ago, fumbling about as we figured out how to live with each other.

“Here,” Ivy said, coming one step into my room and holding out a fist-sized package wrapped in green foil and a purple bow. “It's an early solstice gift. I thought you might like to use it on your date with Kisten.”

“Oh, Ivy!” I exclaimed, taking the elaborate, clearly store-wrapped package. “Thank you. I, ah, haven't wrapped yours yet….”
Wrapped? I hadn't even bought it.

“That's okay,” she said, clearly flustered. “I was going to wait, but I thought you could use it. For your date,” she fumbled. Eyes eager, she looked at the box in my hand. “Go on. Open it.”

“Okay.” I sat on my bed, carefully undoing the fabric and foil ribbon, as I might want to use it next year. The paper was embossed with the Black Kiss logo, and I slowed my fingers, wanting to prolong the suspense. The Black Kiss was an exclusive shop catering to vamps. I didn't even window-shop there. The associates knew by looking that I couldn't afford a hanky.

The paper came away to reveal a small wooden box, and inside that amid a cushion of crushed red velvet was a cut-glass perfume bottle. “Ooooh,” I breathed. “Thank you.” Ivy had been getting me perfume since I'd moved in as we tried to find a scent that covered up her lingering aroma on me and help her curb her vampiric tendencies. It wasn't the romantic gift one might think it was, but kind of a vampire antiaphrodisiac. My dresser was covered in castoffs of varying degrees of effectiveness. Actually, the perfume was more for her than me.

“It's really hard to find,” she said, starting to look discomforted. “You have to special order it. My dad told me about it. I hope you like it.”

“Mmmm,” I said, opening it and dabbing some behind my ear and on my wrists. I breathed deeply, thinking it smelled like a green woods and dash of citrus: clean and crisp, with a hint of darker shadows. Scrumptious. “Oh, this is wonderful,” I said, standing to give her a quick impromptu hug.

She held very still, and I busied myself at my dresser, pretending I didn't notice her surprise. “Huh,” she said, and I turned, finding a bemused expression on her. “It works.”

“What…” I said warily, wondering what I had put on.

Her gaze rove before settling on mine. “It blocks a vampire's sense of smell,” she said. “At least the more sensitive aromas that run to the unconscious.” She gave me a lopsided smile to make her look harmless. “I can't smell you at all.”

“Cool,” I said, impressed. “I should wear it all the time.”

Ivy's expression went subtly guilty. “You could, but I got the last bottle, and I don't know if I could find it again.”

I nodded. She meant it was more expensive than a gallon of water on the moon. “Thank you, Ivy,” I said earnestly.

“You're welcome.” Her smile was genuine. “Happy early solstice.” Her attention went to the front of the church. “He's here.”

The rumble of an idling car filtered in through my thin stained-glass window. I took a deep breath and glanced at my bedside clock. “Right on time.” I turned to her, pleading with my eyes for her to get the door.

“Nope.” She grinned to show an unconscious slip of teeth. “You get it.”

She turned and left. I looked down at myself, thinking what I had on was grossly inappropriate, and now I had to answer the door in it. “Ivy…” I complained as I followed her out. She never slowed, holding her hand up in refusal as she walked into the kitchen.

“Fine,” I muttered, boot heels clicking to the front of the church. I flicked on the lights in the sanctuary in passing, the high, dim glow doing little to brighten the gloom. It was after one in the morning, and the pixies were all safe and snug in my desk until about four, when they would wake up. There was no light in the foyer, and I wondered if we ought to do something about that as I pushed open one side of the heavy wooden door.

With the soft sound of shoes grinding on rock salt, Kisten shifted back.

“Hi, Rachel,” he said, his eyes taking in my clothes. A faint stiffening of the skin about his eyes told me I had guessed correctly; I wasn't dressed for whatever he had planned. I wished I knew what he had on under the luscious gray wool coat he was wearing. It went all the way to his boot tops and looked classy. He had shaved, too—his usual day-old stubble gone—giving him a polished look I wasn't used to seeing on him.

“This isn't what I'm wearing,” I said by way of greeting. “Come on in. I just need a minute to change.”

“Sure.” Past him at the curb was his black Corvette, the light snow melting as it hit. He edged in past me, and I pulled the door thumping shut behind him.

“Ivy's in the kitchen,” I said, starting back to my room, his soft steps following right behind me. “She had a bad afternoon. She won't talk to me, but she might talk to you.”

“She called me,” he said, the careful cadence of his words telling me he knew about Piscary asserting his dominance over her. “You're going to put on different boots, right?”

I jerked to a stop at the door to my room. “What's wrong with my boots?” I said, thinking they were the only thing that I was going to keep on. Ah…the only thing from this outfit, not the only thing total.

He looked at them, his dyed-blond eyebrows high. “They're what, five inches?”

“Yeah.”

“It's icy. You're going to slip and break your ass.” His blue eyes widened. “I mean your rear end.”

A smile crossed my face at the thought that he was trying to clean up his mouth for me. “They make me as tall as you, too,” I said smugly.

“I noticed.” He hesitated. With a little jiggle, he whisked past me and into my room.

“Hey!” I protested as he went right to my closet. “Get out of my room!”

Ignoring me, he pushed all the way to the back where I put everything I didn't like. “I saw something here the other day,” he said, making a small exclamation as he leaned to tug at something. “Here,” he said, holding out a pair of drab black boots. “Start with these.”

“Those?” I complained as he set them aside and stuck his arms back into my closet. “There's no heel to those at all. And they're four years old and out of style. And what were you doing in my closet?”

“That's a classic boot,” Kisten said, affronted. “It never goes out of style. Put them on.” He shuffled about again, pulling something out by feel, as he couldn't possibly see anything back there. My face warmed when I saw an old suit I'd forgotten I had. “Oh, this is just ugly,” he said, and I snatched it out of his hands.

“It's my old interview suit,” I said. “It's supposed to be ugly.”

“Throw it away. But keep the pants. You're wearing them tonight.”

“I am not!” I protested. “Kisten, I am fully capable of picking out my own clothes!”

Silently he raised his eyebrows, then went right back in to get a black long-sleeve shirt, from my don't-go-there section, that my mother bought for me three years ago. I hadn't the heart to give it away as it was silk, even though it was so long it hung mid-thigh on me. The neckline was too low, and it made my small chest look even flatter.

“This too,” he said, and I shook my head.

“No,” I said firmly. “It's too long, and it's something my mother would wear.”

“Then your mother has better taste than you,” he said in good humor. “Wear a camisole under it, and for God's sake, don't tuck it in.”

“Kisten, get out of my closet!”

But he reached back in, bowing his head over something small in his hands as he rocked back. I thought it might be that ugly purse with the sequins I wished I had never bought, but I went mortified when he turned with an innocuous looking book. It had no title and was bound with a soft brown leather. The glint in Kisten's eyes told me he knew what it was.

“Give me that,” I said, reaching out for it.

A wicked grin on him, Kisten held it up over his head. I could probably still get it, but I'd have to climb him. “Well, well, well…” he drawled. “Ms. Morgan. You have shocked and delighted me. Where did you get a copy of Rynn Cormel's guide to dating the undead?”

I pressed my lips together and fumed, stymied. Hip cocked, I could do nothing as he took a distancing step back and flipped through it.

“Have you read it?” he asked, then made a surprised
Mmmm
sound as he paused at a page. “I forgot about that one. I wonder if I can still do that.”

“Yes, I've read it.” I extended my hand. “Give it here.”

Kisten pulled his attention from the pages, his long masculine hands cradling the book open. His eyes had gone black just a wee bit, and I cursed myself as a thrill of excitement went through me. Damn vamp pheromones.

“Ooooh, it's important to you,” Kisten said, glancing out the door when Ivy banged something in the kitchen. “Rachel…” he said, his voice softer as he moved a step closer. “You know all my secrets.” Without looking, his fingers dog-eared a page. “What drives me crazy. What instinctively tips me over—the—edge…”

He said the last word carefully, and I stifled a delicious shudder.

“You know how to…manipulate me,” he murmured, the book dangling from an inattentive hand. “Do witches have a manual?”