Every Which Way But Dead (21 page)

“Not when you put it like that.” He opened the cupboard under the sink and pulled out the dish detergent. I briefly wondered how he knew it was there. “But Piscary is being a pain in the ass only because she's resisting him. He likes her fighting him.”

I took the bottle from him and filled the little cup in the door of the dishwasher.

“I keep telling her that being Piscary's scion doesn't make her less, but more,” he said. “She doesn't lose any of herself, and gains so much. Like the vampire track, and having almost the full strength of an undead without any of the drawbacks.”

“Like a soul to tell you it's wrong to view people as walking snack bars,” I said tartly, snapping the door shut.

A sigh slipped from him, the fine fabric of his suit bunching at his shoulders when he took the bottle of soap from me and set in on the counter. “It's not like that,” he said. “Sheep are treated like sheep, users are used, and those who deserve more receive everything.”

Arms crossed over my chest, I said, “And who are you to make that decision?”

“Rachel.” He sounded weary as he cupped my elbows in his hands. “They make the decision themselves.”

“I don't believe that.” But I didn't pull away, and I didn't push his hands off me. “And even if they do, you take advantage of it.”

Kisten's eyes went distant, falling from mine as he gently pulled my arms into a less aggressive posture. “Most people,” he said, “are desperate to be needed. And if they don't feel good about themselves or think they're undeserving of love, some will fasten upon the worst possible way to satisfy that need to punish themselves. They're the addicts, the shadows both claimed and unclaimed, passed like the fawning sheep they make themselves into as they search for a glimmer of worth, knowing it's false even as they beg for it. Yes, it is ugly. And yes, we take advantage of those who let us. But which is worse, taking from someone who wants you to, knowing in your soul that you're a monster, or taking from an unwilling person and proving it?”

My heart pounded. I wanted to argue with him, but everything he had said, I agreed with.

“And then there are those who relish the power they have over us.” Kisten's lips thinned from a past anger, and he dropped his hands from me. “The clever ones who know that our need to be accepted and trusted runs so deep it can be crippling. Those who play upon that, knowing we will do almost anything for that invitation to take the blood we desperately crave. The ones who exalt in the hidden domination a lover can exert, feeling it elevates them to an almost godlike status. Those are the ones who want to be us, thinking it will make them powerful. And we use them, too, casting them aside with less regret than the sheep unless we grow to hate them, upon which we make them one of us in cruel restitution.”

He cupped my jaw with his hand. It was warm, and I didn't pull away. “And then there are the rare ones who know love, who understand it. Who freely give of themselves, demanding only a return of that love, that trust.” His faultless blue eyes never blinked, and I held my breath. “It can be beautiful, Rachel, when there is trust and love. No one is bound. No one loses his or her will. No one becomes less. Both become more than they can be alone. But it is so rare, so beautiful when it happens.”

I shivered, wondering if he was lying to me.

The soft touch of his hand down my jaw as he pulled away sent my blood humming. But he didn't notice, his attention on the coming dawn visible out the window. “I feel bad for Ivy,” he whispered. “She doesn't want to accept her need for belonging, even as it charts her every move. She wants that perfect love but thinks she isn't deserving of it.”

“She doesn't love Piscary,” I whispered. “You said there was no beauty without trust and love.”

Kisten's eyes met mine. “I wasn't talking about Piscary.”

His attention went to the clock above the sink, and when he took a backward step, I knew he was leaving. “It's getting late,” he said, his distant voice telling me he was already mentally somewhere else. Then his eyes cleared and he was back. “I enjoyed our date,” he said as he drew away. “But next time, there isn't going to be a limit on what I can spend.”

“You're assuming there's going to be a next time?” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

He met my smile with his own, the new bristles on his face catching the light. “Maybe.”

Kisten started for the front door, and I automatically followed to see him out. In my stockings, my feet were as soundless as his on the hardwood floor. The sanctuary was quiet, not a peep from my desk. Still not having said anything, Kisten shrugged into his wool coat.

“Thank you,” I said as I handed him the long leather coat that he had let me borrow.

His teeth were a glimmer in the dark foyer. “My pleasure.”

“For the night out, not the coat,” I said, feeling my nylons go wet from the snowmelt. “Well, thanks for letting me use your coat, too,” I stammered.

He leaned closer. “Again, my pleasure,” he said, the faint light a glimmer in his eyes. I stared, trying to tell if his eyes were black from desire or shadow. “I
am
going to kiss you,” he said, his voice dusky, and my muscles tensed. “No shirking.”

“No biting,” I said, deadly serious. Anticipation bubbled up inside me. But it was from me, not my demon scar, and accepting that was both a relief and a fear—I couldn't pretend it was the scar. Not his time.

His hands enfolded my lower jaw, both rough and warm. I inhaled as he drew closer, his eyes closing. The scent of leather and silk was strong, the hint of something deeper, primal, tugging at my instincts making me not know what to feel. Eyes open, I watched him lean in, my heart pounding with the anticipation of his lips on mine.

His thumbs shifted, following the curve of my jaw. My lips parted. But the angle was wrong for a full kiss, and my shoulders eased when I realized he was going to kiss the corner of my mouth.

Relaxing, I leaned forward to meet him, flashing into a near panic when his fingertips moved farther back, burying themselves in my hair. Adrenaline pounded through me in a cold wash as I realized he wasn't headed for my mouth at all.

He was going to kiss my neck!
I thought, freezing.

But he stopped just shy, exhaling when his lips found the soft hollow between my ear and jaw. Relief mixed with fear, making me incapable of anything. The remnants of the adrenaline scouring through me made my pulse thunder. His lips were gentle, but his hands about my face were firm with restrained need.

A cool warmth took the place of his lips when he pulled away, yet he held himself poised for a moment, then another. My heart beat wildly, and I knew he could feel it almost as if it were his own. His breath came in a slow exhalation that I mirrored.

In the sound of rustling wool, Kisten stepped back. His eyes found mine, and I realized my hands had risen and were about his waist. They fell from him reluctantly, and I swallowed hard, shocked. Though he hadn't touched my lips or neck, it had been one of the most exhilarating kisses I'd ever experienced. The thrill of not knowing what he was going to do had put me in a tizzy that a full-mouthed kiss never could have.

“That's the damnedest thing,” he said softly, a puzzled arch to his eyebrow.

“What?” I questioned breathily, still not having shaken off the feeling.

He shook his head. “I can't smell you at all. It's kind of a turn-on.”

I blinked, unable to say a word.

“ 'Night, Rachel.” A new smile hovered about him as he shifted another step back.

“Good night,” I whispered.

He turned and opened the door. The chill air shocked me out of my daze. My demon scar hadn't made a single twinge, dormant.
That,
I thought,
was frightening. That he could do this to me without even playing upon my scar. What in hell was wrong with me?

Kisten gave me a final smile from the landing, the snowy night a beautiful backdrop. Turning, he walked down the icy steps, his footsteps crunching on the salt.

Bewildered, I shut the door behind him, wondering what had happened. Still feeling unreal, I dropped the locking bar, then reopened it upon remembering Ivy was out.

Arms clasped about myself, I headed for my bedroom. My thoughts were full of what Kisten had told me about how people dictated their own fate when letting a vampire bind them. That people paid for the ecstasy of vampire passion with different levels of dependency ranging from food to equal.
What if he was lying?
I thought.
Lying to trick me into letting him bind me to him?
But then a more frightening thought pulled my feet to a halt and made my face go cold.

What if he was telling the truth?

B
oots thumping in the hallway, I followed Ivy to the front door. Her tall frame moved with a preoccupied grace, predatorial as always in her tasteful leather pants. She might get away solstice shopping in leather, but I had opted for jeans and a red sweater. Even so, we both looked good. Shopping with Ivy was fun. She always treated for cookies, and dodging the offers for dates took on a delicious sense of danger, as she attracted
all
sorts of people.

“I've got to be back by eleven,” she said as we entered the sanctuary and she swung her long hair back. “I've got a run tonight. Someone's underage daughter was lured into a bloodhouse, and I'm going in to get her out.”

“You want some help?” I asked, buttoning my coat and hitching my bag higher up my shoulder while I walked.

Pixies were clustered at the stained-glass windows, hovering at the lighter colors and squealing at something outside. A harsh smile came over Ivy. “No. It won't take much.”

The hard anticipation on her pale oval face worried me. She had come back from visiting Piscary in a very bad mood. Clearly it hadn't gone well, and I had a feeling she was going to take her frustration out on whoever had abducted that girl. Ivy was rough with vampires who preyed on the underage. Someone was going to spend their holiday in traction.

The phone rang, and Ivy and I froze, looking at each other. “I'll get it,” I said. “But if it's not a run, I'll let the machine pick it up.”

She nodded, heading out the door with her purse. “I'll warm up the car.”

Taking a quick breath, I jogged to the back of the church. On the third ring the machine engaged. The outgoing message spewed its spiel, and my face tightened. Nick had recorded it for me—I thought it posh for it to appear that we employed a male secretary. Though now, seeing as we were listed with professionals of another sort, it probably only added to the confusion.

My frown deepened when the outgoing message cut off and Nick's voice continued. “Hey, Rachel?” he said hesitantly. “Are you there? Pick up if you are. I…I was hoping you'd be home. It's what, about six there?”

I forced my hand to pick up the phone.
He was in a different time zone?
“Hi, Nick.”

“Rachel.” The relief was thick in his voice, in stark contrast to my flat tone. “Good. I'm glad I caught you.”

Caught me. Yeah.
“How are you doing?” I asked, trying to keep the sarcasm from my voice. I was still stinging, hurt and confused.

He took a slow breath. I could hear water in the background and a hiss of something cooking. The soft clink of glasses and the murmur of conversation intruded. “I'm doing okay,” he said. “I'm doing good. I slept really well last night.”

“That's great.”
Why in hell didn't you tell my ley line practice I was waking you up? You could have been sleeping well here, too.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

My jaw hurt, and I forced my teeth apart.
I'm confused. I'm hurt. I don't know what you want. I don't know what I want.
“Fine,” I said, thinking of Kisten. At least I knew what he wanted. “I'm fine.” My throat hurt. “Want me to get your mail, or will you be home soon?”

“I've got a neighbor picking it up. But thanks.”

You didn't answer my question.
“Okay. Do you know if you'll be back by the solstice, or should I give your ticket to…someone else?” I hadn't meant to hesitate. It just happened. It was obvious Nick had heard it, too, given his silence. A seagull cried in the background. He was on a beach? He was at a bar on a beach and I was dodging black charms in cold slush?

“Why don't you do that,” he said finally, and I felt as if someone punched me in the gut. “I don't know how long I'm going to be here.”

“Sure,” I whispered.

“I miss you, Rachel,” he said, and I closed my eyes.

Please don't say it,
I thought.
Please.

“But I'm feeling much better. I'll be home soon.”

It was exactly what Jenks had told me he would say, and my throat closed up. “I miss you, too,” I said, feeling betrayed and lost all over again. He said nothing, and after three heartbeats, I stepped into the breach. “Well, Ivy and I are going shopping. She's in the car.”

“Oh.” He sounded relieved, the bastard. “I won't keep you. Um, I'll talk to you later.”

Liar.
“All right. 'Bye.”

“I love you, Rachel,” he whispered, but I hung up as if I hadn't heard. I didn't know if I could answer him anymore. Miserable, I pulled my hand from the receiver. My red nail polish looked bright against the black plastic. My fingers were trembling and my head hurt.

“Then why did you leave instead of telling me what's wrong?” I asked the empty room.

I exhaled with a measured slowness to try to wash the tension from me. I was going shopping with Ivy. I wouldn't ruin it by brooding about Nick. He was gone. He wasn't coming back. He felt better when he was a time zone away from me; why would he come back?

Hitching my bag higher up my shoulder, I headed for the front. The pixies were still clustered at the windows in small knots. Jenks was somewhere else, for which I was grateful. He'd only tell me “I told you so” if he had heard my conversation with Nick.

“Jenks! You have command of the ship!” I shouted as I opened the front door, and a smile, faint but real, crossed me when a piercing whistle emanated from my desk.

Ivy was in the car already, and my eyes were drawn across the street to Keasley's house, pulled by the sound of kids and a dog barking. My steps slowed. Ceri was in his yard, wearing the jeans I had dropped off earlier and an old coat of Ivy's. Bright red mittens and a matching hat made a vivid splash against the snow as she and about six kids ranging from ten to eighteen rolled snowballs around. A mountain was taking shape in the corner of Keasley's small lot. Next door were four more kids doing the same. It looked like there was going to be a snowball fight before too much longer.

I waved to Ceri, then Keasley—who was standing on his porch watching with an intent hunch that told me he'd like to be down there, too. Both of them waved back, and I felt warm. I'd done something good.

I lifted the door latch of Ivy's borrowed Mercedes, slipping in to find it still blowing cold air from the vents. It took forever for the big four-door sedan to warm up. I knew Ivy didn't like driving it, but her mother wouldn't lend her anything else and a cycle in slush was asking for stitches. “Who was it?” Ivy asked as I angled the vent off me and buckled myself in. Ivy drove as if she couldn't be killed, which I thought was a little ironic.

“Nobody.”

She gave me a telling look. “Nick?”

Lips pressed together, I set my bag on my lap. “Like I said, nobody.”

Not looking behind her, Ivy pulled away from the curb. “Rachel, I'm sorry.”

The sincerity in her gray silk voice pulled my head up. “I thought you hated Nick.”

“I do,” she said, not at all apologetic. “I think he's manipulative and withholds information that might get you hurt. But you liked him. Maybe…” She hesitated, her jaw tightening and relaxing. “Maybe he's coming back. He does…love you.” She made an ugly sound. “Oh God, you made me say it.”

I laughed. “Nick isn't that bad,” I said, and she turned to me. My eyes flicked to the truck we were about to rear-end at a stoplight, and I braced myself against the dash.

“I said he loved you. I didn't say he trusted you,” she said, her eyes on me as she braked smoothly to a halt ending with our grille six inches from his bumper.

My stomach clenched. “You don't think he trusts me?”

“Rachel,” she cajoled, inching forward as the light changed but the truck didn't move. “He leaves town without telling you? Then doesn't tell you when he's coming back? I don't think some
one
has come between you, I think some-
thing
has. You scared the hell out of him, and he's not enough of a man to admit it, deal with it, and get over it.”

I said nothing, glad when we started moving again. I hadn't just scared him, I had made him seize. It must have been awful. No wonder he left. Great, now I'd feel guilty all day.

Ivy jerked the wheel and shifted lanes. A horn blew, and she eyed the driver in the rearview mirror. Slowly the car put space between us, pushed back by the force of her gaze. “Do you mind if we stop at my folks' house for a minute? It's on the way.”

“Sure.” I stifled a gasp when she cut a right in front of the truck we'd just passed. “Ivy, you may have lightning reflexes, but the guy driving that truck just had kittens.”

She snorted, dropping back two whole feet off the bumper of the car now ahead of us.

Ivy made an obvious effort to drive normally through the busier areas of the Hollows, and slowly I relaxed my death grip on my bag. It was the first time we'd been together and away from Jenks in about a week, and neither one of us knew what to get him for the solstice. Ivy was tending to the heated doghouse she had seen in a catalog; anything to get him and his brood out of the church. I'd settle for a lockbox we could cover with a rug and pretend was an end table.

As Ivy drove, slowly the yards grew larger and the trees taller. The houses began moving back from the street until only their roofs showed from behind stands of evergreens. We were just inside the city limits, right next to the river. It really wasn't on the way to the mall, but the interstate wasn't far, and with that, the city was wide-open.

Ivy pulled unhesitatingly into a gated drive. Twin tracks made a black trail on the dusting of snow that had fallen since it had been plowed. I leaned to look out the window, never having seen her parents' house. The car slowed to a halt before an old, romantic-looking three-story home painted white with hunter green shutters. A little red twoseater was parked out front, dry and free of snow.

“You grew up here?” I asked as I got out. The two names on the mailbox gave me pause until I remembered vampires maintained their names after marriage to keep living blood-lines intact. Ivy was a Tamwood, her sister was a Randal.

Ivy slammed her door and dropped her keys into her black purse. “Yeah.” She looked to holiday lights making a tasteful, subdued display. It was getting dusky. The sun was only about an hour from setting, and I was hoping we would be gone before then. I didn't particularly want to meet her mom.

“Come on in,” she said, her boots thumping on the brushed steps, and I followed her onto the covered porch. She opened the door, shouting, “Hi! I'm home!”

A smile curved over me as I hesitated just outside to stomp the snow off. I liked hearing her voice so relaxed. Coming inside, I shut the door and breathed deeply. Cloves and cinnamon—someone had been baking.

The large entryway was all varnished wood and subtle shades of cream and white. It was as stark and elegant as our living room was warm and casual. A runner of cedar bough made graceful loops up the railing of the nearby stairway. It was warm, and I unbuttoned my coat and stuffed my gloves in the pockets.

“That's Erica's car outside. She's probably in the kitchen,” Ivy said, dropping her purse on the small table beside the door. It was polished so highly that it looked like black plastic.

Taking her coat off, she draped it over an arm and headed for a large archway to the left, coming to a halt at a thumping of feet on the steps. Ivy looked up, her placid face shifting. It took me a moment to realize she was happy. My gaze followed her to a young woman slumping downstairs.

She looked to be about seventeen, dressed in a skimpy goth short skirt to show her midriff, with black fingernails and lipstick. Silver chains and bangles swung everywhere as she hopped down the stairs, bringing that dog-eared page to mind. Her black hair was cut short and styled into wild spikes. Maturity hadn't yet finished filling her out, but I could tell already that she was going to look exactly like her big sister apart from being six inches shorter: lean, sleek, predatory, and with just enough oriental cast to make her exotic. Nice to know it ran in the family. Of course, right now she looked like a teenage vamp out of control.

“Hi, Erica,” Ivy said, reversing her steps and waiting for her at the foot of the stairs.

“My God, Ivy,” Erica said, her high voice heavy on the valley girl accent. “You
have
to talk to Daddy. He's being total Big Brother. Like,
I
don't know the difference between good Brimstone and bad Brimstone? Listening to him, you'd think I was still two, crawling around in diapers trying to bite the dog. God! He was in the kitchen,” she continued, her mouth going as she eyed me up and down, “making Mom her organically grown, earth-friendly, politically correct
stinking
cup of tea, when I can't go out one night with my friends. It's so
unfair
! Are you staying? She'll be up rattling the windows soon.”

“No.” Ivy drew back. “I'm here to talk to Dad. He's in the kitchen?”

“Basement,” Erica said. Mouth finally stopping, she sent her gaze over me again as I stood in a bemused wonder at how fast she talked. “Who's your friend?” she asked.

A faint smile curled up the corners of Ivy's mouth. “Erica, this is Rachel.”

“Oh!” the young woman exclaimed, her brown eyes that were almost hidden behind her black mascara going wide. She stepped forward and grabbed my hand, pumping it up and down enthusiastically with her bangles jingling. “I shoulda known! Hey, I saw you at Piscary's,” she said, giving me a whack on the shoulder that sent me forward a step. “Man, you were sugared up good. Riding the short bus. Walking with the ghost. I didn't recognize you.” Her eyes traveled over my jeans and winter coat. “You had a date with Kisten? Did he bite you?”