The Association

by A. K. Caggiano

  Alone, Ivy strode up to the bookcases filled with lots of fiction with cracked spines, titles worn away. There was another shelf, higher up, dedicated to hardcover, academic-looking books, with titles like 200 Cures for Common Wicked Ailments and How to Kraft Almost Anything. Her gaze continued toward the ceiling when she saw it, and she was struck still.

  The box, the blue one from Rufus’s office, was sitting at the top of one of the units. Ivy listened for a moment, and when she didn’t hear him coming, she reached as high as she could, but her fingers only crested the edge of the bookcase.

  No—she swore under her breath—there was no way it was the same one. Ivy scrambled with her burnt hand, really feeling the sting, and pulled out her phone. That box was in Rufus’s office, she’d just seen it the other night for a second time and—her heart sank. In the last photo she’d taken trying to capture the intruder, she could see Rufus’s desk clearly, and where the box had been? An empty space.

  “Found it!” Hunter came from around the corner, and Ivy nearly dropped her phone shoving it back into her pocket.

  She put on a stupid grin and blinked a few times. “Awesome. It, like, really hurts.”

  He motioned for her to follow him to the sink in the kitchen where he washed his hands and instructed her to do the same. The cool water only intensified the pain as the rush of excitement from the forest melted away, replaced with anxiety from seeing that damned box.

  “So this stuff,” he explained as he unscrewed the lid, “works pretty good on its own, but,”—he scooped out a blob of fluorescent green goop with his thumb and held out his other hand expectantly—“it’s better with a little help.”

  Ivy laid her hand into his, palm up. He pressed the ointment against the burn and spread it evenly across her palm. The skin instantly cooled, and Ivy almost let a sigh escape but held back.

  Hunter was focusing intently on her, rubbing his thumb over the spot in the goop. The warmth from his other hand under hers contrasted the cool of the gel, and then her palm started to prickle, the feeling crawling out into her fingers then up her arm, making her heart race. Her cheeks flushed when she flicked her eyes up to his face. He was fixated on her, working magic on her body, and her mouth went dry. All side effects of whatever he was doing, she told herself, watching him covertly as the tingles crawled up over her shoulders, tickled at her neck, and then it all shot away.

  “Okay!” he announced loudly, voice hoarse as he snapped back into consciousness. “How does it feel?”

  Ivy couldn’t exactly respond, at least not in a way that didn’t sound like rutting noises, but she managed to just nod her head a little as she looked up at him under the bright kitchen lights.

  He guided her hand under the running tap again, and as the goop washed off, so did any sign of a burn. Her hand was soft and like new.

  Ivy opened and closed a fist several times and flipped her hand over to see if the wound had just been moved around—and to be fair that would have probably excited her just as much—but no, it had vanished. “That was amazing!”

  “You sure are easy to impress.” He smirked, capping the tub and dropping it into a random drawer that he bumped shut with his hip.

  “Well, it’s not every day a warlock heals my cockatrice burns. But you should, um,”—she gestured to the drawer—“You should put that back where you found it so you know where it is next time.”

  “Oh, right.” Hunter fished it back out and hurried through the hall and away. Ivy innocently wandered back into the living room. She tried to look in other directions, but she was drawn to the box with a ferocity.

  “Cool, huh?”

  Ivy jumped, nearly knocking into him. Hunter had appeared behind her, looking up at the box as well. “Yeah, it’s really beautiful. Where did you get it?”

  She held her breath. She almost didn’t want to know.

  “My mother brought it over yesterday. She’s having me hold onto it.” He easily plucked it off the top of the bookcase where Ivy never would have been able to reach. “I think it’s a gift for someone, maybe my father, but I hope not: it’s definitely not his taste.”

  Either Hunter Proctor was an amazing liar, or he’d just told her a truth that made Ivy both totally relieved and a whole new brand of anxious. “Do you happen to know where she got it?”

  “No clue.” Hunter showed her the bottom, and when he flipped it, something inside rattled. There were no markings to suggest a maker. “And it’s stuck.” He tried to lift the lid, and it gave way only the tiniest amount before snapping back shut as if magnetic. “I think it’s jinxed or something.” He chuckled and placed it back on the bookcase, this time at eye level. “Guess my mom doesn’t trust me to see what’s inside.”

  Chapter 19

  Ivy’s first week at Avalon Estates couldn’t come to a close without one more big ask from Safiya, though she knew it wouldn’t be the last. The witch had organized a dinner for the association’s board members and the presidential candidates, most of whom overlapped, and technically Ivy was on the board too, in an interim capacity at least. And wouldn’t it just be so very interesting to have so many of Rufus’s possible killers in one room?

  Ivy’s stomach squirmed at the thought.

  Not helping her guts settle was the conversation they’d had about the blue box as they were setting up. “The one from Rufus’s office. I found it in Hunter’s condo.”

  Safiya peered over the frame of her glasses as she placed silverware on the massive, round table in the clubhouse. “What were you doing in Hunter’s condo?”

  “Wound care. Now listen—that’s what was stolen the night of the funeral, it has to be. I looked back at the photos, and it was missing after that person in the cloak disappeared.”

  “So, do you think—”

  “He said his mom gave it to him,” Ivy interrupted the proposal she didn’t want to hear, shaking out a cloth napkin. “I think it might have been Mae Proctor who broke in that night.”

  “Mae?” Safiya screwed up her face. “Well, I guess she could be helping Alastair. If he succeeds, so does she, so maybe we have two murderers on our hands? Or even three! Hunter could be in on it too!”

  “No,” Ivy was quick to counter. “He had no idea the box was ever Rufus’s. He can’t even open it—says there’s a…a jinx keeping it closed.”

  “Hmm.” Safiya chewed a nail then pointed a butter knife at her. “Or that’s what he wants you to think.”

  Ivy bristled and hurried off to the kitchenette to get the catered trays from Enrico’s, the normally enticing smell of garlic making her queasy. She set them up on metal stands, and as she placed the last one, the warmers beneath them flashed to life with blue flames all at once.

  Safiya was standing by her side, holding out a cookie. “This is for you, specifically.” She gestured back to the far end of the buffet table where a familiar tray full of baked goods had been placed. “Pauline said it’s a gift from Penny.” It wasn’t decorated quite as crisply as the others, but it did have extra frosting mounded on top. Ivy grabbed it and immediately stuck it in her mouth.

  Safiya laughed. “Life is short, I suppose, may as well eat dessert first.” And she took a bite from another cookie on the tray.

  Joining them were Calla Bicchieri, dressed in burgundy and black and carrying a bottle of wine, Victoria Jiang whose mood seemed improved from when she’d last been spotted around the pool, Tharman Beryleaxe and his wife, Bryony, who was at least a foot taller than him, both of the Proctors but no son in tow, and Evan Vlcek looking dashing as ever. Safiya was surprised they were all on time.

  They chose from the buffet and mingled for a while, Tharman engaging Ivy in lively introductions with his wife. She tried to keep an eye on the others, but only noticed Calla and Mae embracing awkwardly and Safiya turning sharply away from Evan when he tried to approach her. The group then took seats carefully, though it seemed no one was completely pleased with who they ended up beside. Safiya and Ivy found themselves across th
e table from one another in a surprising turn of events, as Ivy took the last empty seat between Mrs. Jiang and Alastair.

  Calla made her way around the table and poured them each a glass of wine. Ivy noted it was the same brand as what had been in Rufus’s refrigerator, memorable because she didn’t recognize it at all otherwise. Calla leaned over her shoulder and gave her a wink, not allowing her to protest. “Trust me, sweetheart, you’ll need it,” she purred in her ear, and Ivy pulled her hand away. The vampire made it back to her seat, holding up her own glass. “To Rufus.”

  The rest raised their glasses solemnly and repeated the toast, a murmur with as much enthusiasm as a group of people who probably hated a dead man could give. Alastair, Tharman, and Bryony seemed to be in a race to see who could finish first, while the rest took more delicate sips. It was sweet, Ivy noted, though she didn’t plan on having much more until Tharman slapped his hand onto the table. “So, who’s gonna replace the old dog, ya think?”

  Most of the faces blanched, though Mae snickered uncomfortably, and Bryony laughed outright. Ivy took another, longer drink.

  “I think you all have a pretty good shot,” Safiya swooped in. “Except Mrs. Jiang since she’s decided not to run.”

  The siren sighed, an overwhelmingly pleasant sound, while twirling pasta around a fork. “Well, I wouldn’t want to split the vote too terribly. Give the rest of you a fighting chance, you know.”

  “Plus we’d be back here in a few years,” Tharman laughed, and Bryony slapped his arm as Mrs. Jiang stared daggers back. “What? Not everyone lives as long as we do, songbird.”

  Ivy wondered what that meant exactly, then her eyes found Calla who was peering over her wine glass, already staring at Ivy. She was held in her gaze for a moment, then averted her eyes to her plate to push a piece of chicken around on it.

  “New administration isn’t a bad thing,” Mrs. Jiang began, but Evan cut her off.

  “Exactly.” He pointed at her with his knife then began to cut into his meal. “The lot of you have been serving for quite a while. Perhaps it’s time for some new blood.”

  “Tempting.” Calla drummed her fingernails up the stem of her wine glass. Her eyes had found Ivy again, and she was smirking like they were both in on some joke the others weren’t privy to.

  “There will be an open spot on the board once someone is elected. Perhaps you’d be a suitable fit, Evan.” Alastair was sipping at a different drink now, something clear and iced.

  “Actually, I doubt it.” Evan winked at him. “But I was thinking that once I’m elected we should make a little more room on the board, add in a member or two, and I’ve got a few ideas for who might be best.”

  Ivy felt her stomach flip; she did not like this tension, and she tried to catch Safiya’s eye from across the table. Why did you do this? she tried to ask telepathically, but Safiya had never indicated having that skill, and anyway the witch seemed absorbed with glaring at Evan.

  “Imagine that, Alastair, two lycans on the board,” Tharman said with a full mouth. “That’d make you bout as happy as a dead pig in sunshine, I’d bet.”

  The warlock downed the rest of his drink and placed it firmly on the table. He nodded but said nothing.

  Ivy reached for her wine, then pivoted and went for her water glass instead, trying to drown out the sounds of the others playing at being cordial. She drained half of it easily, then moved to get up and retrieve the full pitcher from the buffet table. Anything to step away.

  “Allow me, dear.” Mrs. Jiang tapped Ivy on the shoulder. With a wave of her hand, the level in Ivy’s glass began to rise, and when she looked, the pitcher lost a bit of its volume. She stared at the cup, then unblinking looked to Mrs. Jiang. “Thanks,” she sputtered, and took another, big gulp.

  “Which reminds me,” Mrs. Jiang raised her voice, the sound flowing over the table and arresting the conversation. “Have you caught that monster yet?”

  Calla’s lips creased with a frown. “Monster?”

  “What else would you call that horrible, little bird?”

  “Oh!” She smiled again. “I thought you meant Marie.”

  Mrs. Jiang raised her brows. “Oh, is she missing? You know I always adored that fine arachnid.”

  “Of course she’s talking about the damn chickens!” Tharman pounded the table then pointed at Ivy. “You said they’d be taken care of.”

  “Sugarbutt.” Bryony pat his arm, and the redness in his face lessened. “I’m sure she’s doing her darndest.”

  “We are,” Safiya insisted. “Rounded up another one this morning.”

  “Well, Marie is on the lam, if anyone’s interested.” Calla lifted her fork and leveled it at the group. “I’m sure she’ll come back eventually, before it’s too cold, but in the meantime watch out for the pincers. They can make you go a bit woozy in full doses, but she only bites when she’s scared.”

  “A bit woozy?” Mae snorted. “I’ve milked Marie. That venom could put you out for a week if you’re not careful.”

  “Have you?” Tharman leaned back and pat his belly. “You and Calla got that in common, eh?”

  Calla smirked, and Mrs. Jiang made a little offended noise in the back of her throat. Mae grabbed her wine glass and threw her head back. Safiya eyed Ivy, and Evan tipped his glass toward Alastair who was focused hard down on the table.

  “I mean,” Mrs. Jiang sang, her voice flitting up and down a scale with a single word, “That nasty little leader of the pack. The cockatrice.”

  Ivy tried to not roll her eyes.

  “I know fire and water don’t mix, Mrs. Jiang, but like Marie, I’m sure he’ll come home when he’s good and ready,” said Evan, and for once Ivy didn’t hate him quite so vehemently.

  Mrs. Jiang sniffed. “Well, let’s hope so before he goes completely feral.”

  The dinner went on in much the same way. Ivy eventually found a lull to excuse herself to the bathroom, and by the time she returned, the others had left the table to mill about the desserts. She slid back into her seat to finish the last bits of pasta on her plate, and Evan appeared beside her. “Fun night, eh?”

  She nodded, mouth full.

  “All these old geezers,” he sighed, his voice low, watching them pick at the pastries. “They just keep on keeping on, ya know?”

  Ivy looked him over. “Some of them are…immortal?”

  “Seems like it.” He laughed. “But no one’s really immortal, are they? And no one’s immune to fate.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Whatever you’d like it to.” A smile crept over his mouth to reveal those nice teeth of his, but before she could be sucked in by it completely, Ivy looked away, spearing the last pea on her plate. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, his tone a little less brash. “About what you said at dinner, you know, about changing yourself?”

  Ivy didn’t remember saying much.

  “I think it may be worth it. To try.”

  She looked over at him, the sincerity that had made its way into his voice playing at the corners of his eyes. “Are you talking about…the potion?”

  “I’m weighing some options now, and I just want to make sure I make the right choice. Rufus didn’t want us to be monsters.” He snarled a bit. “I hate that word, but it might be apt.”

  “You did say you wanted to carry on Rufus’s legacy.” She lay her fork across her plate, turning to him. “Was he considering something like that?”

  Evan’s eyes were pinging over the others, then settled back on her. “Sort of. In fact, we got into an argument about it that night. A little one, but I feel sort of…”

  “Guilty?” she offered.

  He shrugged. “I’m not sure if I agree with the method he wanted to try, but I like the sentiment.”

  Ivy looked him over, surprised despite not really knowing him that well. He seemed at peace with the partial decision, whatever the hell it was, and she wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. “I hope you can find a way to
make it work,” she said carefully.

  “Thank you, Ivy.” He put a hand over hers, and she froze under it. “That means a lot.”

  Evan got up then, walking over to the others, and Ivy stared at where his hand had been, wanting to shake the feeling off. Instead she looked around the room wondering who had seen. Safiya was staring at her, but quickly looked away.

  Chapter 20

  Ivy pulled into 210’s driveway just in time to feel absolutely awful. She shambled out of the car and to the front door. For a moment she thought the key didn’t work, but it turned out car keys were a whole different shape to house keys, which Oakley pointed out when he came to see what all that ruckus was. Ivy was annoyed to see someone sitting on the couch—a different girl than the last time—but perhaps not as annoyed as the girl when she spied Ivy.

  But Ivy didn’t have time to express her feelings. She didn’t even have time to tell Oakley why she was pushing him out of the way.

  Ivy stumbled down the hall and made it just over the bathroom threshold before vomiting down herself, the floor, and the edge of the toilet bowl. Every garlicky noodle, every chewed up piece of chicken breast, every now grey-green pea, and even the sugary crumb of both cookies she’d inhaled came up all at once, stinging her throat, her nose, and bringing tears to her eyes. Violently, she felt her body convulse as she grabbed at the toilet seat, unable to catch her breath as another wave of vomit hit her.

  “Oh, damn.” Oakley’s voice faded away from behind her, and there was some muffled talking and footsteps between her heaves. Her vision went blurry, and she focused on nothing but gripping the toilet and staying upright as her body expelled whatever was left against her will.

  Ivy managed a staggered breath in through her nose, her tongue hanging out as she slumped down. That had to be it, there couldn’t have been anything left inside her. Eyes closed, she hovered there, afraid to move and trigger another bout.