Every Which Way But Dead (20 page)

Not acknowledging he heard me, he tucked my coat in out of the door and shut it.

The sharp tang of blood drew my attention down, and I forced my hand open. The dice were sticky. My gut twisted, and I held a winter-cold fist to my mouth. They were the pair I had used in the casino. The entire room had seen me kiss them; he tried to use them as a focal object. But I hadn't made a link to them and so the black charm swung back to its maker instead.

I stared out the window trying not to hyperventilate. That was supposed to be me there, limbs contorted and sprawled in a smear of blood-melted snow. I had been a wild card in Saladan's game, and he had been prepared to take me out to tip the balance back to his men. And I had done nothing, too frozen by my lack of charms and shock to even make a circle.

There was a flash of brighter light as Kisten stepped in front of the car's headlights, bending to come up with the weapon. His eyes met mine—tired and weary—until a soft movement behind him brought him spinning around. Someone was trying to leave.

I made a small moan as Kisten took incredibly long, fast steps and had him, jerking him upright, feet dangling. A whimper came from the man, going right to my core as he pleaded for his life. I told myself that to pity him was foolish, that they had planned worse for me and Kisten. But all Kisten did was talk to him, faces touching as the vampire whispered into his ear.

In a splurge of motion, Kisten threw him onto the hood of the Cadillac, wiping the weapon off on the hem of the witch's coat. Finished, he dropped the gun and turned away.

Kisten's back was hunched when he stomped back to the car, making him a bad mix of anger and worry. I said nothing as he got in and turned the wipers on. Still silent, he jerked the gearshift back and forth, maneuvering the car to get out of the box the two cars had made.

I held onto the door handle and said nothing as our momentum shifted, stalled, and shifted again. Finally there was only clear road ahead of us, and Kisten floored it. My eyes widened as the wheels spun and we started to drift on the ice to the left, but then the tires caught and we lurched forward. We left the way we had come, in a sliding sound of racing engine.

I kept silent as Kisten drove, his motions quick and sudden. The lights abruptly brightened around us, falling onto his face, lined with stress. My stomach was tense and my back hurt. He knew I was trying to figure out how to react.

Watching him had been both exhilarating and scary as all hell. Living with Ivy had taught me vamps were as changeable as a serial killer, fun and captivating one moment, aggressive and dangerous the next. I knew it, but seeing it had been a shocking reminder.

Swallowing hard, I looked at my posture, seeing I was wound up tighter than a chipmunk on speed. Immediately I forced my clasped hands apart and my shoulders down. I stared at the bloody dice in my hand and Kisten muttered, “I wouldn't do that to you, Rachel. I wouldn't.”

The rhythm of the wipers was slow and steady.
Maybe I should've stayed in the car.

“There're hand wipes in the console.”

His voice carried the softness of an apology. Dropping my eyes before he could meet them, I flipped open the console and found some tissues. My fingers were shaking as I wrapped the dice up and, after a moment of hesitation, dropped them into my clutch purse.

Digging deeper, I found the wipes. Unhappy, I handed Kisten the first, then cleaned my hands with the second. Kisten easily drove the snowy, busy streets and meticulously cleaned his cuticles at the same time. When finished, he held out his hand for my used wipe, and I gave it to him. There was a little trash bag hanging behind my seat, and he effortlessly reached back and threw them both away. His hands were as steady as a surgeon's, and I curled my fingers under my palms to hide their trembling.

Kisten resettled himself, and I could almost see him force the tension from him as he exhaled. We were halfway across the Hollows, the lights of Cincinnati sharp before us.

“Snap, crackle, pop,” he said lightly.

Bewildered, I looked at him. “I beg your pardon?” I said, glad my voice was even. Yeah, I had watched him down a coven of black art witches with the effortless grace of a predator, but if he wanted to discuss breakfast cereals now, I'd go along with it.

He smiled with his lips closed, a hint of an apology, or perhaps guilt, in the back of his blue eyes. “Snap, crackle, pop,” he said. “Bringing them down sounded like a bowl of cereal.”

My eyebrows rose and a wry smile came over me. With a small movement, I stretched my feet to the floor vent. If I didn't laugh, I was going to cry. And I didn't want to cry.

“I haven't done too well tonight, have I?” he said, his eyes back on the road.

I didn't say anything, not sure what I felt.

“Rachel,” he said softly. “I'm sorry you had to see that.”

“I don't want to talk about it,” I said, recalling the man's terrified, agony-laced screams. I had known Kisten did ugly things because of who he was and who he worked for, but seeing it left me both repelled and fascinated. I was a runner; violence was part of my existence. I couldn't blindly label what happened as bad without casting my own profession into darkness.

Though his eyes had been black and his instincts wound tight, he had acted quickly and decisively, with a grace and succinct movement that I envied. Even more, throughout it all, I had felt Kisten's attention lightly on me, always aware of where I was and who was threatening me.

I had frozen, and he had kept me safe.

Kisten accelerated smoothly into the intersection before us when the light turned green. He sighed, clearly unaware of my thoughts as he took the turn to head to the church. The glowing clock on the dash read three-thirty. Going out didn't sound like fun anymore, but I was still shaking, and if he didn't feed me, I was going to end up eating cheese crackers and leftover rice for dinner. Yuck. “Mickey-d's?” I prompted.
It was just a date, for God's sake. One platonic…date.

Kisten's head jerked up. Lips parted in wonder, he almost rammed the car ahead of us, slamming on the brakes at the last moment. Used to the way Ivy drove, I simply braced myself and rocked forward and back.

“You still want to have dinner?” he asked while the guy before us shouted unheard insults through his rearview mirror.

I shrugged. I was coated in dirty snow slime, my hair was falling down about my ears, my nerves were shot—if I didn't get something in my stomach, I was going to get snippy. Or sick. Or worse.

Kisten settled back, a thoughtful expression smoothing his pinched features. A wisp of his usual, cocky self glimmered in his slumping posture. “Fast food is all I can afford—now,” he grumbled lightly, but I could see he was relieved I wasn't demanding he take me home. “I was planning on using some of those winnings to take you up to Carew Tower for a sunrise dinner.”

“The orphans need the money more than I need an over-priced dinner at the top of Cincinnati,” I said. Kisten laughed at that, the sound making it easy to stifle my last thread of lingering caution. He kept me alive when I had frozen. It wasn't going to happen again. Ever.

“Hey, uh, is there any way you might see to not tell Ivy about…that?” he asked.

I smiled at the unease in his voice. “It'll cost you, fang-boy.”

A small noise escaped him and he turned, his eyes wide in mock concern. “I'm in the position to offer you a supersized shake for your silence,” he intoned, and I stifled a shiver at the play menace he had put in it. Yeah, color me stupid. But I was alive, and he had kept me safe.

“Make it chocolate,” I said, “and you've got yourself a deal.”

Kisten's smile widened, and he gripped the wheel with more surety.

I settled back into the heated leather cushions, stifling the small, oh-so-small, thought of concern.
What. Like I was going to tell Ivy anyway?

T
he crunch of ice and salt was loud as Kisten escorted me to my door. His car was parked at the curb in a puddle of light, diffuse from the falling snow. I rose up the steps, wondering what would happen in the next five minutes. It was a platonic date, but it was a date. That he might kiss me had me nervous.

I turned as I reached the door, smiling. Kisten stood beside me in his long wool coat and shiny shoes, looking good with his hair falling over his eyes. The sifting snow was beautiful, and it was gathering on his shoulders. The ugliness of the night's trouble drifted in and out of my thoughts. “I had a good time,” I said, wanting to forget it. “Mickey-d's was fun.”

Kisten's head drooped and a small chuckle escaped him. “I've never pretended to be health inspectors to get a free meal before. How did you know what to do?”

I winced. “I, uh, flipped burgers during high school until I dropped a charm into the fry vat.” His eyebrows rose and I added, “I got fired. I don't know what the big deal was. Nobody got hurt, and the woman looked better with straight hair.”

He laughed, turning it into a cough. “You dropped a potion in the fry vat?”

“It was an accident. The manager had to pay for a day at a spa, and I got pushed off the broomstick. All she needed was a salt bath to break the spell, but she was going to sue.”

“I can't imagine why…” Kisten rocked to his toes and down, his hands behind his back as he looked up through the snow at the steeple. “I'm glad you had a good time. I did, too.” He took a step back, and I went still. “I'll stop by sometime tomorrow night to pick up my coat.”

“Hey, um, Kisten?” I said, not knowing why. “Do you…want a cup of coffee?”

He came to a graceful halt with one foot on the next step down. Turning back, he smiled, his pleased expression reaching all the way to his eyes. “Only if you let me make it.”

“Deal.” My pulse was just a shade faster as I opened the door and preceded him in. The sound of slow jazz met us, drifting up from the living room. Ivy was home, and I hoped she had already been out and back from her twice-weekly fix. A soulfully sung “Lilac Wine” made a soft mood, accentuated by the darkness of the sanctuary.

I shuffled off Kisten's coat, the sound of the silk lining a soft hush as it slid from me. The sanctuary was dim and silent, the pixies snug in my desk though they ought to have been up by now. Wanting to preserve the mood, I slipped off my boots while Kisten hung his coat beside the one he had let me borrow.

“Come on back,” I whispered, not wanting to wake the pixies. Kisten's smile was soft as he followed me into the kitchen. We were quiet, but I knew Ivy had heard us when she turned the music down a shade. Tossing my clutch purse to my side of the table, I felt like someone else as I padded in my stocking feet to the fridge for the coffee. I caught sight of my reflection in the window. If you ignored the snow stains and falling hair, I didn't look too bad.

“I'll get the coffee,” I said, searching the fridge as the sound of tinkling water intruded on the jazz. Grounds in hand, I turned to find him looking relaxed and comfortable in his pin-striped suit as he stood at the sink and cleaned the new coffee carafe. His mind was entirely on his task, seemingly unaware that I was in the same room while he threw out the old grounds and pulled a filter from the cupboard with a smooth, unthinking motion.

After an entire four hours with him without one flirting comment or sexual/blood innuendo, I felt comfortable. I hadn't known he could be like this: normal. I watched him move, seeing him with his thoughts on nothing. I liked what I saw, and I wondered what it would be like to be this way all the time.

As if feeling my eyes on him, Kisten turned. “What?” he asked, smiling.

“Nothing.” I glanced at the black hallway. “I want to check on Ivy.”

Kisten's lips parted to show a glimpse of teeth as his smile widened. “Okay.”

Not sure why that seemed to please him, I gave him a last, high-eyebrow look and headed into the candlelit living room. Ivy was sprawled across her cushy suede chair, her head on one arm, her legs draped over the other. Her brown eyes flicked to mine as I entered, taking in the smooth, elegant lines of my clothes all the way to my feet in their nylons.

“You've got snow all over you,” she said, her expression and position unchanging.

“I, uh, slipped,” I lied, and she accepted that, taking my nervousness as embarrassment. “Why are the pixies still asleep?”

She snorted—sitting up to put her feet on the floor—and I sat on the matching couch across from her with the coffee table between us. “Jenks kept them up after you left so they wouldn't be awake when you got home.”

A thankful smile came over me. “Remind me to make him some honey cakes,” I said, leaning back and crossing my legs.

Ivy slumped into her chair, mirroring my posture. “So…how was your date?”

My eyes met hers. Very aware of Kisten listening from the kitchen, I shrugged. Ivy often acted like a cloying ex-boyfriend, which was really, really weird. But now that I knew it stemmed from her need to keep my trust, it was a bit easier to understand, though still odd.

She took a slow breath, and I knew she was scenting the air to make sure no one had bitten me at Piscary's. Her shoulders eased, and I rolled my eyes in exasperation.

“Hey, um,” I started. “I'm really sorry about what I said earlier. About Piscary's?” Her eyes jerked to mine and I quickly added, “You want to go sometime? Together, I mean? I think if I stay downstairs, I won't pass out.” My eyes pinched, not knowing why I was doing this except if she didn't find a way to relax soon, she was going to snap. I didn't want to be around for that. And I'd feel better if I was there to keep an eye on her. I had a feeling she would pass out quicker than I had.

Ivy shifted in the chair, moving back where she was when I came in. “Sure,” she said, her voice not giving me a clue to her thoughts as she looked at the ceiling and closed her eyes. “We haven't had a girls' night out in a while.”

“Great.”

I settled back into the cushions to wait for Kisten. From the stereo, a soft-spoken voice dripping sex whispered as the songs changed. The scent of brewing coffee became obvious. A smile came over me as Takata's newest single came on. They were playing it even on the jazz stations. Ivy opened her eyes. “Backstage passes,” she said, smiling.

“Al-l-l-l-l-l the way backstage,” I countered. She had already agreed to work the concert with me, and I was eager to introduce her to Takata. But then I thought of Nick. No chance he'd be going now. Maybe I could ask Kisten to help us. And since he was posing as Piscary's scion, he would be doubly effective as a deterrent. Kinda like a cop car parked in the median. I looked at the black archway, wondering if he'd say yes if I asked, and if I wanted him there.

“Listen.” Ivy held up a finger. “This is my favorite part. That low thrum goes all the way to my gut. Hear the pain in her voice? This has got to be Takata's best CD yet.”

Her voice?
I thought. Takata was the only one singing.

“You're mine, in some small fashion,” Ivy whispered, her eyes closed, the inner pain showing on her brow making me uneasy. “You're mine, though you know it not. You're mine, bond born of passion…”

My eyes widened. She wasn't singing what Takata was. Her words were interlaced with his, an eerie backdrop that set my skin to crawl. That was the chorus he wasn't going to release.

“You're mine, yet wholly you,” she breathed. “By the way of your will—”

“Ivy!” I exclaimed, and her eyes flashed open. “Where did you hear that?”

She looked blankly at me as Takata continued, singing of bargains made in ignorance.

“That's the alternate chorus!” I said, sitting up to the edge of the couch. “He wasn't going to release that.”

“Alternate chorus?” she said as Kisten came in, setting the tray with three cups of coffee on the table beside the thick red candles and pointedly sitting next to me.

“The lyrics!” I pointed to the stereo. “You were singing them. He wasn't going to release those. He told me. He was going to release the other ones.”

Ivy stared at me as if I had gone insane, but Kisten groaned, hunching to put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “It's the vamp track,” he said, his voice flat. “Damn. I thought something was missing.”

Bewildered, I reached for my coffee. Ivy sat up and did the same. “Vamp track?” I said.

Kisten's head came up. His expression was resigned as he brushed his blond bangs back. “Takata puts a track in his music that only the undead can hear,” he said, and I froze, my mug halfway to my lips. “Ivy can hear it because she's Piscary's scion.”

Ivy's face went white. “You can't hear her?” she asked. “Right there,” she said, looking at the stereo as the refrain came back on. “You can't hear her singing between Takata?”

I shook my head, feeling uneasy. “All I can hear is him.”

“The drum?” she asked. “Can you hear that?”

Kisten nodded, leaning back with his coffee and looking sullen. “Yes, but you're hearing a hell of a lot more than we are.” He set his cup down. “Damn it,” he swore. “Now I'll have to wait until I'm dead and hope to find an old copy laying around.” He sighed in disappointment. “Is it good, Ivy? Her voice is the eeriest thing I've ever heard. She's in every CD, but she's never listed in the credits.” He slumped. “I don't know why she doesn't burn her own album.”

“You can't hear her?” Ivy said, her words a sharp staccato. She set the cup down hard enough to spill, and I stared, surprised.

Kisten made a wry face and shook his head. “Congratulations,” he said bitterly. “Welcome to the club. Wish I was still in it.”

My pulse quickened as Ivy's eyes flashed into anger. “No!” she said, standing.

Kisten glanced up, his eyes wide, only now realizing Ivy wasn't pleased.

Ivy shook her head, wire-tight. “No,” she said adamantly. “I don't want it!”

Understanding pulled me straight. That she could hear it meant that Piscary's grip on her was tightening. I looked at Kisten and his expression went worried. “Ivy, wait,” he soothed as her usually placid face went ugly with anger.

“Nothing is mine anymore!” she exclaimed, her eyes flashing to black. “It was beautiful, and now it's ugly because of him. He's taking everything, Kist!” she shouted. “Everything!”

Kisten stood, and I froze as he went around the table and reached for her. “Ivy…”

“This is going to stop,” she said, knocking his hand aside with a quick jerk before he could touch her. “Right now.”

My jaw dropped as she strode from the room with a vampire quickness. The candles flickered, then steadied. “Ivy?” I set my coffee down and stood, but the room was empty. Kisten had darted out after her. I was alone. “Where are you going….” I whispered.

I heard the muffled rumble of Ivy's sedan start, borrowed from her mother for the winter. In an instant she was gone. I went into the hall, the soft thump of Kisten shutting the door and his steps on the hardwood floor clear in the silence.

“Where's she going?” I asked him as he came even with me at the top of the hallway.

He put a hand on my shoulder in a silent suggestion that I go back into the living room. In my stocking feet I felt the difference in our height keenly. “To talk to Piscary.”

“Piscary!” Alarm brought me to a standstill. I pulled out of his light grip and stopped in the hall. “She can't talk to him alone!”

But Kisten gave me a mirthless smile. “She'll be fine. It's high time she talk to him. As soon as she does, he'll back off. That's why he's been bothering her. This is a good thing.”

Not convinced, I returned to the living room. I was very conscious of him behind me, silent, close enough to touch. We were alone, if you didn't count the fifty-six pixies in my desk. “She'll be all right,” he said under his breath as he followed me, shoes silent on the gray carpet.

I wanted him to leave. I was emotionally whipped, and I wanted him to leave. Feeling his eyes on me, I blew out the candles. In the new darkness, I gathered the coffee cups onto the tray in the hopes that he would take the hint. But as my gaze rose to the hallway, a thought stopped me cold. “Do you think Piscary can make her bite me? He almost made her bite Quen.”

Kisten shifted into motion, his fingers brushing mine as he took the tray from me in the smoke-scented air. “No,” he said, clearly waiting for me to go into the kitchen before him.

“Why not?” I padded into the brightly lit room.

Squinting at the new glare, Kisten slid the tray beside the sink and dumped the coffee to make brown puddles in the white porcelain sink. “Piscary was able to exert such an influence on her this afternoon because he caught her off guard. That, and she didn't have any set behavior to fight it. She's been battling her instincts to bite you since you were partners in the I.S. Saying no has gotten easy. Piscary can't make her bite you unless she gives in first, and she won't give in. She respects you too much.”

I opened the dishwasher, and Kisten stacked the cups in the top rack. “Are you sure?” I asked softly, wanting to believe.

“Yes.” His knowing smile made him a bad boy in an expensive suit again. “Ivy takes pride in denying herself. She values her independence more than I do, which is why she fights him. It'd be easier if she'd give it up. He'd stop forcing his dominance then. It's not degrading to let Piscary see through your eyes, channel your emotions and desires. I found it uplifting.”

“Uplifting.” I leaned against the counter in disbelief. “Piscary exerting his will over her and making her do things she doesn't want to is ‘uplifting'?”