For a Few Demons More (43 page)

“Jenks…” I said nervously. My bag with my splat gun was out of reach in my car.

“It'll be okay,” he said, his voice high, but I didn't believe him. “Stay out of it.”

“Jenks?” I said louder, then jumped when Kisten shifted his grip and swung his pool stick at Sam. Sam blocked it without slowing down. Smiling to show fangs, he followed it with a hop-step and a side kick to Kisten's middle.

Kisten took it, turning his body into a roundhouse. His face was ugly with hatred: I'd never seen it raw in him before, and I backed up, a fist to my chest.
Do they really expect me to just stand here and let them beat him up?

Almost too fast to see, Kisten and Sam exchanged blows, the other vampires ringing them. No one was paying any attention to me, but I couldn't get to my car.

“Kisten, behind you!” I shouted when one of them grabbed Kisten as he rocked back.

Teeth bared, Kisten took the second vampire's arm. A soft pull and a savage twist, and a scream of pain ripped from the vampire's throat.
Kisten licked his lips before smacking the butt end of the pool cue into the vamp's throat. Black eyes intent, he snarled and shoved the downed vampire to the pavement, kicking the writhing man as he tried to breathe.

Sam charged him, and Kisten swung his broken cue like a knife. Sam danced back, taunting until Kisten followed, coming away from the downed vampire. I didn't think he was breathing yet, still convulsing on the pavement.

A third vampire wearing a backward cap came forward, hunched and cautious with that chair leg in his grip. Lost in battle lust, Kisten jumped at him, fangs bared.

The vampire sprang sideways, and Kisten shifted, falling to the ground for a leg sweep.

The metal chair leg pinged as it hit the ground right before the vampire holding it. I gasped when Kisten moved too fast to see, covering the man for the span of a breath. His cry of pain cut off with a frightening quickness, and Kisten rolled away, the metal leg in his hands now. It was aimed at Sam, and the vampire cautiously backed up. Howling like a mad thing, Kisten attacked, his movements blurred and fast.

The twitching of the vampire Kisten had left on the pavement stopped. His eyes stared unseeing at the faultlessly blue sky. His hair shifted in the wind. But the man was dead. I could tell. And I hadn't even seen what Kisten had done to him.

“Kisten, stop!” I shouted, then leapt to the side when the fourth vampire smashed into the pool table beside me. He hit it hard, his eyes going blank and his limbs spread-eagle for a breathless moment until he slid to hit the pavement.

I turned to Kisten, my heart pounding. I wanted it to stop, but he was out of control and I was afraid to interfere. His face was twisted and ugly. His motions were sharp and aggressive. And when Sam came at him with the same look, I could do nothing.

Grunting, Sam spun, his hair flaring as he smashed a roundhouse into Kisten's head.

Kisten stumbled back, a hand coming up to touch the blood leaking from a cut under his eye. As if not feeling it, he took a back kick, then another, each one moving him closer to me.

The third one, Kisten caught. Sam's face went still, and with a savage
smile, Kisten wrenched his ankle. Sam cried out in anger to drop back in a controlled fall and keep Kisten from snapping it. Kisten moved to follow up with a deathblow, and Sam spun on his back for momentum, flinging his unhurt foot at Kisten's knee in a sweep.

Kisten went down, his foot knocked out from under him. I reached out, then gasped when two of the other vampires he had previously downed fell on him. Grunts of pain and silent thuds of fists into flesh turned my stomach as they attacked Kisten. One vampire, Kisten could hold his own against, but two? It had turned into a mauling.

Sam staggered to his feet, wiping a ribbon of blood from his chin. “Get him up,” he breathed heavily, and Jenks got in my way, stopping me from interfering. Frustrated, I jerked back. This was enough. He'd had enough!

But when Sam looked at me and pointed for me to stay, I did, frightened by the dark depth of hatred in him. “Don't worry, chicky witch,” he said, breathing heavy. “We're almost done. Piscary gave him to someone else to kill, or he'd be dead already.”

He laughed then, chilling me to my soul. He knew who it was. He knew who Piscary had given Kisten to. I wondered if it was whoever had summoned Al to arrange the entire con to get Piscary out of jail. “Who is it!” I shouted, but he only laughed harder.

Using the support of my car, the vampire with the broken arm and the one stunned by hitting the pool table struggled to drag Kisten upright. Blood leaked from Kisten's mouth, and there was a cut under his eye, which was swollen almost closed. His blond hair glinted in the sunlight as his head hung. Sam limped closer, grabbing his hair and jerking his head up.

Kisten squinted to see him. Anger simmered in him still, and Sam smiled tauntingly. “Thought you were such a bad-ass,” he said, then punched him in the gut.

I lurched forward as Kisten sagged, almost pulling down the vampires who held him. “You're nothing!” Sam shouted, furious. “You never were! Everything was Piscary!”

Balance bobbling, Sam punched him again, and Kisten groaned.

“That's enough!” I shouted, ignored, and Jenks's wings hummed.

The angry vampire wiped the blood from his nose, marking Kisten's hair when he yanked his head up again. Kisten's eyes were shut, and I
could see the breath passing his bloodied lip and his chest moving as he breathed. “You were never anything, Felps. Remember that when you die. You were nothing alive, and you'll be less when you're dead.”

“I said that's enough!” I shouted, hearing the wail of distant sirens.

Sam glanced at me and smiled to show his teeth. “Come see me when you need a little something, chicky witch. I'd love to give it to you.”

I took a breath to tell him to shove it, but the two vampires let Kisten go, and he slid down the side of my car. Balancing to keep the weight off his broken ankle, Sam leaned toward Kisten. Kisten jerked, and horror hit me when Sam straightened with the diamond stud earring from Kisten's ear.

“Piscary says you're going to be dead twice by sunup,” Sam said, head tilted as he put the earring in his own lobe. “He doesn't think you've got the guts to see it through and redeem yourself. Says you've gone soft. Me? I think you never had it in you to be undead.”

The other two vampires started to hobble away, and after giving Kisten a last look, Sam headed after them, leaving the last of them to stare at the sun.

Kisten barely moved, curling in on himself. Pulse fast, I went to him. This had been stupid. God! How stupid could men be? Beating each other up had done a
helluva
lot of good. “Kisten,” I said, kneeling beside him. I glanced behind me at the road, wondering why no one had stopped. Kisten was a mess, his head hanging, bleeding all over from scrapes and contusions. His expensive slacks were scuffed, and his silk shirt was torn. Fingers fumbling, I got my pain amulet off my neck and around his, hearing him take a clean breath when I tucked it behind his shirt and it connected with his skin.

“It's going to be okay,” I said, wishing I could see the restaurant, but my car was in the way. “Come on, Kisten. Help me get you up.” At least I wouldn't have to drag him to the car.

He pushed me off him, then leaned back and used his legs to push himself against my car to get himself upright. “I'm okay,” he said, squinting at my worried face, then spitting blood onto the gravel. “Give me…my…lucky stick.”

His eyes were on the broken cue, and my lips pressed together. “Just get in the damn car,” I swore. “We have to get out of here. It sounds like
the I.S. is coming.” I fumbled for the door, Jenks getting in the way as he tried to help, dusting Kisten's cuts.

“I want my stick,” Kisten said again as he fell into the passenger seat, his bloodied hair smearing the window. “I'm going to…shove it…up Piscary's ass.”

Yeah, that sounds likely.
But after I put both of his feet into the car and yanked him upright, I scooped up the broken cue and set it next to him. I slammed the door shut, only now glancing at the restaurant. Fear hit me, and I held my arms around myself, feeling the wind tug at my hair. Ivy was down there, lost in the madness that was Piscary. And I was going to have to deal with him for Kisten as well as myself. My gaze went to Kisten, slumped in the front seat. I had to get Ivy out of there. This was insane. Stuff like this shouldn't happen.

The howl of sirens lifted through me, and as traffic passed at a hurried forty-five miles per hour, I paced to my side of the car. “Rachel,” Jenks said, getting in my way, “this isn't safe.”

“Gee, you think?” I said bitterly, reaching for the handle, but he got in my way again.

“No,” he said, hovering so close I was almost cross-eyed. “I mean I don't think you're safe. With Kisten.”

I looked at Kisten slumped against the blood-smeared window, then yanked open my door. “This isn't the time for pixy paranoia,” I said tightly.

Shedding a bright coppery dust that landed on my hand to make it tingle, he refused to move. “I think Piscary told him to kill you,” he pleaded softly so Kisten couldn't hear. “And when Kisten refused, he threw him out. You heard what Kisten said about Ivy saying no and getting praised and him getting kicked out.”

I stopped, my hand on the open door. I felt cold. Jenks landed on the window before me, his wings never slowing. “Think, Rachel,” he said, gesturing. “He's been dependent upon Piscary for his entire life. Ivy isn't the only one Piscary's been screwing over, but Kisten has always been pliant, so it doesn't show. Killing you is the only way he might get back in with Piscary. Rache, this isn't safe. Don't trust this.”

Jenks's face was pinched in fear. The sound of sirens grew closer. I remembered what Keasley had said about vampires needing someone stronger than they were to protect them against the undead, and my
resolve strengthened. I couldn't just walk away. “Watch my back, okay?”

At that, Jenks nodded as if expecting it. “Like you were my last seedling in the garden,” he said, then swooped into the car. Taking a last look at the restaurant, I gathered my resolve. I got in, feeling light and unreal. Beside me Kisten groaned.

“Where's my stick?” he breathed, and I jumped when the starter ground as I tried to turn the already-running car over again.

“It's at your feet,” I muttered, frustrated. I jammed it into first and lurched forward. I reached the exit before I remembered my seat belt, and I screeched to a halt at the entrance to fasten it. Sitting there watching the traffic pass, I felt my chest clench. I didn't have anywhere to go. In a sudden decision, I pulled out to go the opposite way from the church.

“Where are we going?” Jenks asked, dropping to land on my shoulder as the car settled into its new direction.

I glanced at my keys and Nick's apartment key. Nick had said he'd paid rent through August, and I was willing to bet the place was empty. “To Nick's. I can't take him home,” I said, lips barely moving. “Everyone knows that's where I'd take him.”

I snuck a glance at Kisten, his eyes swollen shut as he mumbled, “I shouldn't have put in the light display. I should have left the kitchen menu alone.”

Jenks was silent. Then in a very small, panicked voice, he said, “I have to go home.”

My breath caught, and I exhaled in understanding. Matalina was there alone. If someone showed up at the church looking for Kisten, Jenks's family might be in danger. “Go,” I said.

“I can't leave you.”

Twisting, I grabbed my bag from the back and fumbled until I had my splat gun on my lap. Eyeing Jenks's expression, torn with indecision, I pulled to the curb and hit the brakes. Kisten weakly braced himself as he shifted forward and back. Horns blew, and I ignored them.

“Get your little pixy ass out of the car and get home,” I said, voice even and level as I rolled the window down. “Take care of your family.”

“But you're my family, too,” he said.

My throat tightened. Every time I screwed up big-time, Jenks was gone. “I'll be fine.”

“Rache—”

“I'll be fine!” I shouted, frustrated, and Kisten turned to us, squinting and breathing hard. “I'm a witch, damn it! I'm not helpless. I can handle this. Go!”

Jenks lifted into the air. “Call me if you need me. I'll have my phone on.”

I managed a smile. “Deal.”

He nodded, his face looking old and young all at the same time, and I froze when he flew close, his wings brushing my cheek for an instant. “Thank you,” he said.

And then he was gone.

As expected, I had found Nick's place empty. I didn't think anyone had noticed me helping Kisten inside and up the steps to the one-bedroom apartment. Kisten had revived somewhat on the way, and he had gotten himself into a warm tub of water without my help. There was no shower curtain, and I thought a soak would be better anyway. He was still in there, and if I didn't hear some water draining soon, I was going to go check on him.

The sound of the street noise coming through the open windows was nice. It had smelled musty when I hesitantly opened the door to find empty walls and barren carpet. Clearly, Nick had packed up everything on the solstice, leaving very little to return to if he ever found himself in Cincy again. Where all his stuff was now, I didn't know or care. His mom's, maybe?

I couldn't help but feel betrayed all over again, though there was nothing here to trigger the memories but worn carpet and empty shelves. I tried not to feel bitter as I drank the coffee Nick had left along with a sleeping bag, three cans of stew, and the pan to heat it up in. There was one plate, one bowl, and one set of silverware—nothing he would miss if he never came back, but there if he found himself on the run and needed somewhere to hide for a night or two.

“Bastard,” I mumbled, not putting much emotion behind it. If he had just been a thief, I might have been able to see past it, what with my
new and improved outlook on life,
but he had been buying demon favors from Al with pieces of me. Innocent things, he'd said, worthless. But if they were worthless, why had Al agreed to it?

So I sat at the metal and Formica table that came with the apartment, drinking stale coffee and staring at the stains on the matted carpet. The traffic sounds were both soothing and unfamiliar. Nick's apartment wasn't in a residential area but what passed for downtown Hollows. There was no scent of Nick in the air, yet I could almost feel the stale magic.

I looked at the scratched linoleum for the circle Nick had said was there, scribed with a black-light marker. The memory of standing in Nick's closet to summon Al lifted through me. God, I should've walked away right then, even if calling up Al for information had been my idea. But I hadn't thought anyone who claimed to love me could willingly betray me like that.

The water in the bathroom sloshed, and the gurgle as it left the tub intruded into my thoughts. I sat up. Feeling bitter and stupid, I scooted my chair back and went to warm up a can of stew. The can opener was one of those cheap, flimsy things, and I was still fighting it when a soft breath and hesitant steps turned me around.

I smiled when I saw Kisten, wearing a towel, his hair damp. He had his torn and scuffed clothes in his hands, as if he didn't want to put them back on. Ugly bruises brought out by the warm water splotched his torso, and his eye was swollen bigger than before. Red-rimmed scratches marked his arms and face. His hair had been washed, and despite his beating, he still looked good—standing there in the kitchen wrapped in a towel, the definition of his muscles all damp and glistening….

“Rachel,” he said, looking relieved as he set his wad of clothes on a vacant chair, “you're still here. Um, don't take this the wrong way, but where are we?”

“Nick's old apartment.” The can's lid finally popped off. Angst spiked though me at Jenks's warning, but I had to trust Kisten. Otherwise what was the point of loving him?

Kisten's blue eyes widened, and I licked a spot of cold gravy off my thumb. “Your old boyfriend's?” he said, turning to the empty living
room with only the curtains moving in the slight breeze. “Kind of spartan with the decorating, wasn't he?”

Snorting, I dumped the stew into the pot and set the dial to warm. “I'm guessing he hasn't been here since the solstice, but he's paid up to August and I had a key, so here we are. No one knows but Jenks. You're safe,” I said hesitantly.
For the moment.

Exhaling, Kisten sat and put an elbow on the table. “Thank you,” he said fervently. “I have to get out of Cincinnati.”

I had my back to him as I stirred the stew, and a shiver rose through me. “Maybe not.” The soft hush of the cotton towel as he straightened brought me around, and, seeing his wonder, I said, “I'm going to give Piscary the focus to put into hiding, if he will leave me alone and keep anyone else from knocking me or you off.”

Kisten's lips parted, and I wished his towel would slip a little more. God! What was wrong with me? We were both teetering on death, and I was looking at his legs?

“You want to buy protection from Piscary?” Kisten said in disbelief. “After what he did to me? He gave my last blood to someone outside the camarilla! Do you know what that means? He's abandoning me, Rachel! It's not so much the dying I'm worried about, but being shunned. No one will risk his anger to keep me undead now except maybe Ivy, and if she's his scion, that's not going to happen.”

He was scared. I didn't like seeing him like that. Taking a miserable breath, I leaned against the stove and crossed my arms. “It's going to be okay. No one is going to kill you, so you'll be fine. Besides, I've been getting protection from him by way of Ivy,” I said, thinking I would cheerfully be a hypocrite if it meant we both would survive. “This is just making it more official. I'm going to ask that he leave you alone, too. Take you back. It will be okay.”

Hope lit his blue eyes, then died. “He won't,” he said in a flat tone.

“Sure he will,” I coaxed, coming to sit beside him.

“No he won't.” Kisten looked worse for having seen hope for an instant. “He can't. It's done. You'd have to make arrangements with whoever he gave me to, and I don't know who that is. I won't until they show up. It's part of the mind game.”

His eyes darted nervously, and I drew back. It wasn't that cut-and-
dried. I knew how vamps worked. Until the coffin was nailed shut, there were options. “Then
I'll
find out who he gave you to,” I said.

Kisten took my hands, his eyebrows furrowing over lost chances. “Rachel…it's too late.”

“I can't believe you're giving up!” I said, angry as I pulled from him.

He took my hand and kissed the top of it. “I'm not giving up. I'm accepting it. Even if you could find out who it was, or if you were here when they came for me—which you won't be—that would leave you with nothing to buy protection from Piscary with.” His hand rose to touch my jawline. “I won't do that to you.”

“Damn it, it isn't too late!” I exclaimed, standing up and going to stir the stew before it burned. I couldn't look at him anymore. The pot slopped over in my agitation, and I got mad. “All you have to do is lay low until I get this sorted out. Can you do that for me, Kisten?” I turned, angry. “Just hide and do nothing for a day or two?”

His sigh was heavy, and I wasn't certain I believed him when he nodded. Sure that I'd be able to buy both our safeties with a five-thousand-year-old artifact, I kept stirring the stew. There were a couple of packets of hot chocolate in Nick's emergency store, and my jaw clenched. I was
not
going to make hot chocolate. “Is Ivy okay?” I asked, reminded.

His feet squeaked against the floor. “Of course she is,” he said flatly. “He loves her.”

I couldn't tell if he was angry. I set the spoon aside and turned down the burner, spinning to find he had dropped his forehead into his cupped hand. Worry went through me, then pity. “Piscary was ticked about the embalming fluid, huh?” I said, trying to be light.

“I have no idea,” he said in a monotone. “It never came up. He was angry about what I did to the restaurant.” His blue eyes held the pain of memory when he lifted them to me. “He was…like an animal,” he said, fear and betrayal staining his voice. “He ripped out my chairs and tables, unshuttered the windows, burned the new menus, and punished my waitstaff. He almost killed Steve.” His eyes closed, and the faint wrinkles on his face deepened as if a lifetime of pain had fallen on him in an instant. “I couldn't stop him. I thought he was going to kill me, too. I would have been happy if he had, but he threw me out with everything else.”

As if he were an old menu or a used napkin.
“Why, Kisten?” I whispered. I had to hear it. It hadn't been what Kisten did to the bar that caused Piscary to do what he did. Afraid, I stayed where I was, hands holding my elbows. I needed to hear it. I needed to hear Kisten tell me the truth so I could trust him. “Why did he kick you out?” I asked again.

His free hand rubbing at a sore rib, Kisten looked at me. He hesitated as if waiting for me to guess it before saying it. “He told me to kill you,” he said, and fear pinged through me. “He said it was the only way I could prove that I loved him. He didn't ask
Ivy
to prove herself,” he said, his voice cracking and his need for my forgiveness pouring from him. “I said no. I told him anything but that…and he laughed.”

The heat from the burner against my back wasn't enough to stop a shudder rippling through me. Kisten's expression shifted to fear, but it was the terror of realization, not madness. “I'm sorry, Rachel. I couldn't do it,” he rushed. “I'm going to die. He gave my last blood to someone as a gift. They're going to kill me—and no one will hold them accountable. They're going to get away with it. I could handle that,” he said, his quickening breath giving away his fear. “But he kicked me out of the camarilla, and no one will cross Piscary to keep me undead. It's a double death sentence. One done quickly by a stranger who will suck me dry for his or her pleasure, the other slow by madness.”

His gaze met mine, and I froze at the controlled panic in his gradually widening pupils.

“It's not a good way to die, Rachel,” he whispered, chilling me. “I don't want to go insane.”

Tension pulled through me. Blood. He was talking about blood. He wasn't afraid of dying, he was afraid of not having anyone to keep him undead afterward. And he was looking for me to help him.
Damn it all to the Turn and back. I can't do this.

Fear lay deep in his eyes, the rim of blue shrinking as he sat at the table in an empty apartment and saw his life fall apart and no one willing to risk Piscary's anger to help him. I shifted forward and sat before him, taking his hands on my lap. “Look at me, Kisten,” I demanded, scared.
I can't become his source of blood. I have to keep him alive.
“Look at me!” I repeated, and his darting gaze met mine in agitation. “I am here,” I said slowly, to try to ground him. “They won't find you. I'll work something out with Piscary. The thing is five thousand years old. It's got to be worth both of us.”

The water from his bath glistened on his shoulders, his expression slack in fear as he looked at me as if I stood between himself and insanity. Perhaps at that moment, I was. “I'm okay,” he said huskily, and he took his hands from mine, visibly trying to divorce himself from his emotions. “Where is Jenks?” he asked, changing the subject.

A hint of unease stained my senses. Not knowing why, I leaned back. Jenks's warning resounded in me. “Home,” I said simply. “He went to check on his kids.” But my heart beat hard, and the hair on the back of my neck rose. “Hey…uh, I should probably head home and make sure he's okay,” I said lightly, not knowing why all my instincts said to leave, and leave now. If only for a moment. I had to think. Something told me I had to think.

Kisten's head swung up, panic clear in his eyes. “You're leaving?”

A shiver rose through me and died. “We have two hours before sunset,” I said as I stood, not liking him between me and the door all of a sudden. I loved him, but he was pulled to the breaking point, and I didn't want to have to say no if he asked me to be his scion. “No one knows you're here. I won't be long.” Drawing away from him, I scooped up his clothes. “Besides, you don't want to put these on until they're clean. I'll wash them and be back before sunset. Promise. It will get me some time to make up some spells, too.”

I had to get out. I had to give him time to realize he was going to make it. Otherwise he would assume he wasn't and would ask me something I didn't want to answer.

Kisten's shoulders eased, and he exhaled. “Thanks, love,” he said, making me feel guilty. “I wasn't looking forward to putting them back on. Not in that condition.”

I leaned forward and gave him a kiss from behind, my lips touching his cheek while his hand rose to caress my jawline. “Do you want Jenks's shirt meantime?” I asked, slipping from him when he shook his head. “You want me to stop and pick up anything while I'm out?”

“No,” he repeated, looking worried.

“Kisten, it's going to be okay,” I said, almost pleading. I wished he would stand up so I could give him a proper kiss good-bye.

Hearing my misery, he smiled and stood. We moved to the door together, his scent rising from the armload of limp clothes in my hands. Wet from the bath, he had almost no scent at all. I hesitated at
the door and shifted my splat-gun-heavy shoulder bag up onto my shoulder.

His arms went around me, and I exhaled, letting my entire body meld into him, relaxing and just taking him in. Under the smell of soap was the hint of incense, and my eyes closed as I encircled him, holding him tightly.

For a long moment, we stood there, and I wouldn't let him go when he tried to rock back.

His eyes met mine, and his brow rose at my naked fear for him.

“It's going to be okay,” he said, seeing my doubt.

“Kisten—”

And then he pulled me closer, angling his head to kiss me. I felt the hint of tears prickle as our lips met. My pulse jumped, not from lust but heartache. Kisten's grip on me tightened, and my throat closed in misery. He was going to be okay. He had to be.

But in his kiss I could feel his fear through his tense muscles pressing against mine and his hold on me, a shade too tight. He said it was going to be okay, but he didn't believe it. Though he said he wasn't afraid to die, I could tell he was terrified of being helpless. And he was. A faceless stranger was going to try to end his life, and there would be no pity, no caring, no gentleness. Any sense of belonging or family, however warped, was going to be absent. Kisten would be less than a dog to whoever was coming. It would turn what might be a rite of passage into an ugly act of self-serving murder. It was not the way Kisten should die. But it was how he lived.