A Fistful of Charms (43 page)

“There isn't going to
be
a next time.” Stoic and unmoving, Ivy sat deathly still. The streetlight glinted on her short hair, and she stared at the shadowy pavement, intermittently lit from yellow bulbs. Abruptly she turned to look at me. “You say you want to find a blood balance, but you just refused to take more Brimstone. You can't have your cake and eat it too, witch. You want the blood ecstasy? You need the Brimstone to stay alive.”

She thought this was about the ecstasy?
Insulted she thought me that shallow, my lips pressed together. “This isn't about you being Ms. Good Feeling and filling me with that…that euphoria,” I said angrily. “I can get that from any vamp on the riverfront. This is about me being your friend!”

Emotion poured over her face. “You made it very clear you don't want to be that kind of a friend!” she said loudly. “And if you aren't, then there's no way I can do this! I tried to fix myself, but I can't. The only way I can keep from killing people now is if I shackle the hunger with love, damn it! And you don't want me to touch you that way!”

I'd never seen her show her feelings like this, but I wasn't going to back down—even though she was starting to scare me. “Oh, get off it, Ivy,” I said, sliding a few inches from her. “It's obvious from yesterday that you can share blood without sleeping with someone.” She gaped at me, and I
flushed. “Okay, I admit it—it didn't turn out all that well, but God! It kind of surprised both of us. We just need to go slow. You don't have to have sex to find a feeling of closeness and understanding. Lord knows I feel that way about you. Use that to shackle your hunger.” My face flushed hot in the cool night air. “Isn't that what love is?”

She continued to look at me, hiding her emotions again behind her black eyes.

“So you almost killed me,” I said. “I let you do it! The point is, I saw you. For one instant you were the person you want to be, strong and comfortable with who she is and what she needs, with no guilt and at peace with herself!”

Ivy went pale in the streetlight. Terrified. Embarrassed, I looked away to give her time to cover her raw emotions.

“I liked being able to put you there,” I said softly. “It's a hell of a good feeling. Better than the euphoria. I want to put you there again. I…liked seeing you like that.”

Ivy stared at me, her hope so fragile, it hurt to see it. There was a sheen of moisture to her eyes, and she didn't say anything, just sat with a stiff, frightened posture.

“I don't know if I can do this,” I admitted, talking because she wasn't. “But I don't want to pretend it didn't happen. Can we just agree that it did and play it day by day?”

Taking a breath, Ivy broke out of her stance. “It happened,” she said, voice shaking. “It's not going to happen again.” I leaned forward to protest, but she interrupted me with a quick, “Why didn't you use your magic to stop me?”

Surprised, I sat back. “I—I didn't want to hurt you.”

She blinked fast, and I knew she was trying not to cry. “You trusted that I wouldn't kill you, even by accident?” she asked. Her perfect face was again blank of emotion, but I knew it was the only way she had to protect herself.

Remembering what Kisten had once said about living vampires craving trust nearly as much as they craved blood, I nodded. But the memory was followed by fear. He also said Piscary had warped her into something capable of mindlessly killing what she loved so he could lap up her despair when she
came to him, shamed and broken. But she was not that same person. Not anymore. “I trusted you,” I whispered. “I still do.”

A truck was approaching, the headlights shining on her face to show a shiny track of moisture. “That's why we can't do this, Rachel,” she said, and I was afraid that Piscary might own her still.

The approaching panel truck drove past too slowly. A sliver of warning brought me still, and I watched it without appearing to, taking the cold night air smelling of diesel fuel deep into me. The truck braked too long and was hesitant when it made the turn.

“Yes, I saw it,” Ivy said when my shoes scraped the cement. “We should get back to the room. Peter will be here by sunup.”

She was ending the conversation, but I wasn't going to let her go that easy. “Ivy,” I said as I rose, gathering my bag from beside hers, wanting to try again. “I—”

She jerked to her feet, shocking me to silence. “Don't,” she said, eyes black in the streetlight. “Just don't. I made a mistake. I just want everything to be the way it was.”

But I didn't.

T
here was an unfamiliar car next to Nick's dented pickup when we pulled into the motel's lot. Ivy was driving, and I watched her eyes go everywhere before she turned the wheel and stopped in an open spot. It was a black BMW with a rental sticker. At least it appeared black; it was hard to tell in the streetlight. Engine still running, Ivy looked at it, her gaze giving nothing away. Thinking Walter had changed his mind, I went to get out.

“Wait,” Ivy said, and I tensed.

From our room, a shaft of light spilled from a curtain being pulled aside. Nick's long face peered out, and upon seeing us, he let the fabric fall. Ivy cut the engine, the low rumble dying to leave only the memory of it echoing. “Okay,” she said. “Now you can get out.”

I would have gotten out even if it had been Water, but relieved, I yanked the door open and eased from the leather seats. Our cut-short conversation at the trolley stop had left me unsettled. I'd let her think all she had to do was say no and everything was settled, but she would be replaying the conversation in her head for days. And when the time was right, I was going to bring it up again. Maybe over a carton of red curry takeout.

I got our bags from the back, their soft rattle mixing with the aggressive rumble of the street-racer escort we had to the motel. “I hate plastic,” Ivy said, taking the bags from me and rolling them so they quit rattling.

The door to our room opened and I squinted at the light.
So that's why Ivy always used canvas bags
. It wasn't because she was especially ecominded. They were quiet.

The light cut off as Nick slipped out and eased the door shut behind him. The street Weres in the lot across the road revved their cars, and I waved sarcastically to them. They didn't wave back, but I saw the flicker of a lighter when they lit up and settled in.

Nick looked more than a little concerned as he came to meet us, his eyes fixed on the Weres. His tall, gaunt stature still leaned slightly, and he favored his left foot. “Your vampire friends are here,” he said, pulling his attention from the Weres to touch on the black BMW. “They flew in from Chicago on a puddle jumper soon as the sun was down.”

My attention jerked to the motel room door and I stopped moving.
Great. I looked like warmed-up crap
. “What are they doing here already?” I asked no one in particular. “They aren't supposed to be here until almost dawn. I don't have any of my spells made up yet.”

Ivy looked bothered too. “Apparently they wanted some time to settle in before sunrise,” she said, running her hands down her leather pants and tugging her coat straight.

Rudely knocking Nick's shoulder, she pushed past him. I fell into place behind her, ignoring Nick trying to get my attention. Jenks had been running interference for me, telling Nick I was tired from too much spelling and the scuffle with the Weres. He didn't know Ivy and I had had a blood tryst, and though I didn't give a fig leaf what the bastard thought, I was guiltily glad that the collar of my jacket made it hard to see my tiny stitches.

Ivy walked in without preamble, dropping the bags just inside the door and moving to the three people at the table by the curtained window. They looked terribly out of place in the low-ceilinged room full of beds and our suitcases, and it would have been obvious who was in charge even if Ivy hadn't stopped before the oldest, gracefully executing a soft bow that was reminiscent of a martial arts student to
her instructor. He smiled to show a slip of teeth and no warmth.

I took a slow breath. This might be a little hairy.

DeLavine was one of Chicago's higher master vampires, and he looked it, dressed in dark slacks and a linen shirt. He had trimmed and styled sand-colored hair, a youthful face, and a sparse frame that gave him an ageless look. It was probably a charm that kept him looking a late thirty-something. Most likely he was wrinkled and twisted. Vampires usually spent every last penny of their first life, using a yearly witch potion to look as young as they wanted.

His eyes were dark, showing only the slightest widening of pupils. A twinge came from my neck when his gaze traveled lightly over me in dismissal. His attention returned to Ivy, making me both relieved and ticked; he thought I was her shadow. How nice was that?

DeLavine sat like a king surrounded by his court, a glass of water on the scratched table beside him and his legs confidently crossed. Atop the back of an empty chair was a carefully folded, long cashmere coat; everyone else was still wearing theirs. He had the air of someone who had taken time out of his busy schedule to personally take his child to the doctor's office and was waiting to see how they were going to help his little boy get over the chicken pox.

Though concerned, he wasn't worried. He reminded me of Trent, but where Trent moved on logic, DeLavine clearly moved out of hunger or a forgotten sense of responsibility. Rex sat in the middle of the floor before him, head cocked as if trying to figure out what he was.

I'm right there with you, cat
.

Standing behind DeLavine was a living vampire. The woman was nervous, an unusual emotion for a high-blood vampire. She was thin and graceful, which was a trick since she was kind of big on top and hippy. Her straight, unstyled long hair was graying, though she looked no older than me. If not for her worry, she would have been beautiful. Haunted-looking, her eyes constantly moved, landing on me more
often than not. Clearly she wasn't comfortable with this. Her hands were on the shoulders of a second, seated vampire.
Peter?

He was obviously ailing, sitting as if trying to pull himself straight but not quite able to manage it. His vivid blue eyes were surprising against his black hair and dark complexion. Pain showed in the tension his pleasant expression carried, and I could smell an herb that should have been prescription only but wasn't because humans didn't know it was a massive painkiller when mixed with baking powder.

His slacks and casual shirt were as expensive looking as his mentor's, but they and his coat hung on him as if he had lost a lot of weight. He seemed in full control of his faculties despite the painkiller, his gaze meeting mine with the look of someone seeing their savior.

I didn't like that. If things went as planned, I was going to kill him.
Shades of gray. Just this once. Gotta save the world and all that
.

Nick edged in behind me, moving furtively to the kitchen, where he leaned against the sink with his arms crossed, the bulb over the stove making him even more gaunt. I imagined he was trying to stay unnoticed, but no one wanted to acknowledge his existence anyway.

Between Nick and the vampires, Jenks sat cross-legged on the couch beside the artifact. I had put the ugly thing in his keeping, and he took the task seriously. He looked odd sitting like that, but the hard slant to his eyes balanced out his prissy-boy image. Ivy's sword across his knees helped too. The vampires were ignoring him. If I was lucky, they'd ignore me.

“DeLavine,” Ivy said respectfully, dropping her coat on the bed and inclining her head. She had the air of a favored messenger that was to be treated well. The undead vampire lifted a hand in acknowledgment, and she turned to Peter. “Peter,” she said more casually, gesturing for him to remain seated as she shook his hand.

“Ivy Tamwood,” the ailing vampire said pleasantly, his
voice resonant for his narrow, disease-thin body. “I've heard much about your good works. Thank you for seeing me.”

Good works?
I thought, then remembered the missing-person runs that had populated her schedule during the first three months of our firm's existence.

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” he continued, releasing her hand. “You can imagine the uproar you put my house in when you called.” He smiled, but I saw a tinge of fear.

“Shhhh,” the undead vampire admonished, sensing it and patting his knee. “It's a moment of pain. Nothing you haven't lived your entire life with.” It was the first time he had spoken, and his voice carried an accent so faint it showed only in a soft lengthening of vowels.

Peter dropped his eyes, head bobbing. I thought I was going to be sick. This was wrong. I didn't want to do it. I hadn't wanted to from the first. We could find another way.

“DeLavine, Peter,” Ivy said, motioning for me to come forward. “This is my partner, Rachel Morgan. It will be her spells that will make this work.”

I couldn't help but notice that the woman behind them was being disregarded and didn't seem to have a problem with that. Feeling like a prize mule, I took off my cap and shambled forward, conscious of my hat-flattened hair, my faded jeans, and my
STAFF
T-shirt. At least it was clean.

“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” I said, not offering my hand to DeLavine. No freaking way. “Peter,” I added, shaking his.

He smiled to show me his teeth, his hand cold as it slipped into mine. There was a strength to his grip, but I could see the fear in his eyes.
I couldn't do this
.

“Rachel Morgan,” the ailing vampire said, his gaze touching upon my neck and politely rising back to my eyes. “I'd like to talk to you about why I—”

“Rachel,” DeLavine interrupted softly, and I started. “I want to see you. Come here.”

My gaze jerked to Ivy and my pulse leapt. Her face was blank of emotion, and with that comfortable thought, I turned to him. When dealing with an unfamiliar vampire, it
was always better to acknowledge their existence, then talk to their subordinates unless they showed an interest.
Oh God, I didn't want to be interesting
.

“So you will free my Peter of his mortal pain,” he said, his voice going right to the bottom of my lungs and making it hard for me to breathe.

“Yes, sir.” I looked him in the eye and fought the familiar rising pull of tingles.

He gazed back, more than a hint of testing seduction in his widening pupils. Behind me, I felt Ivy step forward, and from the corner of my sight, Jenks slowly uncrossed his legs to put his feet on the floor. Tension pulled through me, and though DeLavine's focus never moved from me, I knew he was becoming aware that I wasn't for casual use and discard, despite what I looked like.

The refined man stood in a soft rustle, and I retreated a step, common sense overpowering my desire to appear cavalier. Rex, too, got to her feet, stretching before going to twine about the vampire's feet. I forced myself to breathe, and Ivy's presence behind me imparted a feeling of security I knew was false. My legs felt questionable, and his pupils widened when he sensed it.
I'm not afraid,
I thought, lying to myself. Well, not any more than would help keep me alive.

“I know you,” DeLavine said, and I steeled myself against the pheromones he was kicking out. He reached forward, and I stifled my jerk when he arranged a strand of wild hair. “Your youth distracted me. I almost didn't see since you're all but ignorant of yourself. You're Kalamack's witch.”

“I'm not his. I don't work for him. Much,” I protested, putting little weight behind it, then stiffened when he distinctly pushed Ivy out of the way and circled behind me. I heard her fall back, catching herself but not protesting. In the kitchen, Nick paled. Jenks stood, his sword gripped tightly. Peter looked distressed, and the woman tensed. DeLavine was aware of everyone, but focused entirely on me.

“You are a remarkable woman,” the undead vampire said from behind my shoulder. There were no tingles, no hint of
passion, but it was coming, I could feel it simmering under his silky voice. “And your skin…so perfect, not a mark from the sun. But, bless my soul,” he said with a mocking slowness. “Someone…has bitten you.”

He exhaled, and my eyes closed when a wash of bliss rose from my new wound, melting my fear like spun sugar. He was bespelling me. I knew it. I couldn't fight it. And God help me, I wanted to. All I could manage was a small sound in protest when his fingers moved the collar of my leather jacket aside.

“No,” Ivy whispered, fear in her voice. My eyes opened, only to be caught by DeLavine's. He was before me now, a hand raised against Ivy behind me. Rex twined about my feet, purring.
This wasn't supposed to happen. This is
not
what was supposed to
happen!

Jenks's face was drawn tight. He had been told not to interfere, knew it would make matters worse. Beyond him, Nick was stiff with horror. I didn't think it stemmed from DeLavine. I think it was from the new stitches on my neck and what they meant. Ivy had bitten me, and my face warmed at his unvoiced accusation. He thought I had failed, that I had let my passions rule me and let Ivy take advantage of it.

My jaw clenched and my chin rose. It was none of Nick's business what I did with whom. And I hadn't given in because of passion; I had tried to understand her, or maybe myself.

But DeLavine took it as defiance and gently caressed the sore edges of my bite.

Adrenaline jerked through me. My weakened pulse tried to absorb it, and failed. I gasped when feeling raced from his soft brush against the healing wound, streaming through me, both familiar and alien since it came from an unfamiliar vampire. The difference struck a chord in me I hadn't known was there, and my vision darkened when my blood loss couldn't cope with the new demand.

Jenks moved. From the edge of my sight I saw Ivy crash into him. “Sorry,” she grunted, making a mallet of her hands by covering her fist with another and slamming it into his head.

Mouth open, Nick stood in the kitchen, watching the pixy's eyes roll up and him drop like a stone, unconscious. The human backed up until he could back up no more. He thought Ivy had given me to DeLavine. What she had done was save Jenks's life, and probably everyone else's, since a pitched fight would set DeLavine off. This way, only I would die.

“Let me…” DeLavine whispered for me alone, and he circled with Rex trailing happily behind him, the vampire scenting everything, weighing, calculating.