by Kim Harrison
My usual healthy distrust of undead vamps sank to a wary caution. “Piscary?” I asked. “As in Pizza Piscary’s?”
The vampire smiled, showing his teeth. They were longer than Ivy’s—he was a true undead—and looked very white next to his dusky completion. “Yes, Pizza Piscary’s is mine.” His voice was deep for such a small frame, and it seemed to carry the strength of sand and wind. The faint remnants of an accent made me wonder how long he had been speaking English.
Ivy cleared her throat, jerking my attention away from his quick, dark eyes. Somehow the sight of his teeth hadn’t instilled my usual knee-jerk alarm. “Piscary,” Ivy said, “this is Rachel Morgan and Jenks, my business associates.”
Jenks had flitted down to the hot-pepper shakers, and Piscary gave him a nod before turning to me. “Rachel Morgan,” he said slowly and with care. “I’ve been waiting for my Ivy girl to bring you to see me. I think she’s afraid I’ll tell her she can’t play with you anymore.” His lips curved into a smile. “I’m charmed.”
I held my breath as he took my hand with a high gentility that stood in sharp contrast to his looks. He lifted my fingers, bringing them close to his lips. His dark eyes were fixed on mine. My pulse quickened, but I felt as if my heart were somewhere else. He inhaled over my hand, as if scenting the blood humming within them. I stifled a shiver by clenching my jaw.
Piscary’s eyes were the color of black ice. I boldly returned his gaze, intrigued at the hints beyond their depths. It was Piscary who looked away first, and I quickly pulled my hand from him. He was good. Really good. He had used his aura to charm rather than frighten. Only the old ones could do that. And there hadn’t been even a twinge from my demon scar. I didn’t know whether to take that as a good sign or bad.
Laughing good-naturedly at my sudden, obvious suspicion, Piscary sat down on the bench beside Ivy as three waiters struggled to get by with round platters. Glenn didn’t seem at all upset Ivy hadn’t introduced him, and Jenks kept his mouth shut. My shoulder pressed into Glenn as he shoved me down until I was nearly hanging off the edge to make room for Piscary.
“You should have told me you were coming,” Piscary said. “I’d have saved you a table.”
Ivy shrugged. “We got one okay.”
Half turning, Piscary looked to the bar and shouted, “Bring up a bottle of red from the Tamwood cellar!” A sly grin came over him. “Your mother won’t miss one.”
Glenn and I exchanged a worried look. A bottle of red? “Uh, Ivy?” I questioned.
“Oh, good God,” she said. “It’s wine. Relax.”
Relax, I thought. Easier said than done with my rear hanging half off the seat and surrounded by vampires.
“Have you ordered?” Piscary asked Ivy, but his gaze was on me, suffocating. “I have a new cheese that uses a just-discovered species of mold to age. All the way from the Alps.”
“Yes,” Ivy said. “An extra large—”
“With everything but onions and peppers,” he finished, showing his teeth in a wide smile as he turned from me to her.
My shoulders slumped as his gaze left me. He looked like nothing more than a friendly pizza chef, and it was setting off more alarm bells than if he had been tall, thin, and slunk about seductively in lace and silk.
“Ha!” he barked, and I stifled my jump. “I’m going to make you dinner, Ivy girl.”
Ivy smiled to look like a ten-year-old. “Thank you, Piscary. I’d like that.”
“ ’Course you would. Something special. Something new. On the house. It will be my finest creation!” he said boldly. “I will name it after you and your shadow.”
“I’m not her shadow,” Glenn said tightly, shoulders hunched and his eyes on the table.
“I wasn’t talking about you,” Piscary said, and my eyes widened.
Ivy stirred uneasily. “Rachel … isn’t my shadow … either.”
She sounded guilty, and an instant of confusion crossed the old vamp’s face. “Really?” he said, and Ivy visibly tensed. “Then what are you doing with her, Ivy girl?”
She wouldn’t look up from the table. Piscary caught my eye again. My heart pounded as a faint tingle rippled across my neck at my demon bite. Suddenly the table was too crowded. I felt pressed upon at all sides, and the claustrophobic feeling beat at me. Shocked at the change, my breath left me and I held the next one. Damn.
“That’s an interesting scar on your neck,” Piscary said, his voice seeming to scour my soul. It hurt and felt good all at the same time. “Is it vamp?”
My hand rose unbidden to hide it. Jenks’s wife had sewn me up, and the tiny stitches were almost invisible. I didn’t like that he had noticed them. “It’s demon,” I said, not caring if Glenn told his dad. I didn’t want Piscary thinking I’d been bitten by a vamp, Ivy or otherwise.
Piscary arched his eyebrows in a mild surprise. “It looks vampiric.”
“So did the demon at the time,” I said, my stomach tightening in the memory.
The old vamp nodded. “Ah, that would explain it.” He smiled, chilling me. “A ravaged virgin whose blood has been left unclaimed. What a delectable combination you are, Ms. Morgan. No wonder my Ivy girl has been hiding you from me.”
My mouth opened, but I could think of nothing to say.
He stood with no warning. “I’ll have your dinner out in a moment.” Leaning to Ivy, he murmured, “Talk to your mother. She misses you.”
Ivy dropped her eyes. With a casual grace, Piscary snagged a stack of plates and breadsticks from a passing tray. “Enjoy your evening,” he said as he set them on our table. He made his way back to the kitchen, stopping several times to greet the more well-dressed patrons.
I stared at Ivy, waiting for an explanation. “Well?” I said bitingly. “You want to explain why Piscary thinks I’m your shadow?”
Jenks snickered, taking his hands-on-hips Peter Pan poseatop the pepper shaker. Ivy shrugged in obvious guilt. “He knows we live under the same roof. He just assumed—”
“Yeah, I got it.” Annoyed, I chose a breadstick and slumped against the wall. Ivy’s and my arrangement was odd no matter what angle you looked at it. She was trying to abstain from blood, the lure to break her fast almost irresistible. As a witch, I could fend her off with my magic when her instincts got the better of her. I had dropped her once with a charm, and it was that memory that helped her master her cravings and keep her on her side of the hallway.
But what bothered me was that it was shame that made her let Piscary believe what he wanted—shame for turning her back on her heritage. She didn’t want it. With a roommate, she could lie to the world, pretending she had a normal vamp life with a live-in source of blood yet remain true to her guilty secret. I told myself I didn’t care, that it protected me against other vamps. But sometimes … Sometimes it rankled me that everyone assumed I was Ivy’s toy.
My sulk was interrupted by the arrival of the wine, slightly warm, as most vamps liked it. It had been opened already, and Ivy took control of the bottle, avoiding my look as she poured three glasses. Jenks made do with the drop on the mouth of the bottle. Still peeved, I settled back with my glass and watched the other guests. I wouldn’t drink it because the sulfur it broke down into tended to wreak havoc with me. I’d have told Ivy, but it was none of her business. It wasn’t a witch thing, just my own personal quirk that gave me headaches and made me so light sensitive that I had to hide in my room with a washcloth over my eyes. It was an oddly related lingering remnant of a childhood affliction that had me in and out of the hospital until puberty kicked in. I’d take the developed sulfur sensitivity any day in exchange for my misery as a child, weak and sickly as my body tried to kill itself.
The music had started again, and my unease at Piscary slowly filtered away, driven out by the music and background conversations. Everyone could ignore Glenn now that Piscary had talked to us. The rattled human downed his wine as if it were water. Ivy and I exchanged glances as he refilled his glass with shaking hands. I wondered if he was going to drink
until he passed out or try to tough it out sober. He took a sip of his next glass, and I smiled. He was going to split the difference.
Glenn gave Ivy a wary glance and leaned close to me. “How could you meet his eyes?” he whispered, hard to hear above the surrounding noise. “Weren’t you afraid he’d be-spell you?”
“The man is over three hundred years old,” I said, realizing Piscary’s accent was Old English. “If he wanted to be-spell me, he wouldn’t have to look into my eyes.”
Face going sallow behind his short beard, Glenn pulled away. Leaving him to mull that around for a bit, I jerked my head to get Jenks’s attention. “Jenks,” I said softly. “Why don’t you take a quick peek in back? Check out the employees’ break room? See what’s up?”
Ivy topped her glass off. “Piscary knows we’re here for a reason,” she said. “He’ll tell us what we want to know. Jenks will only get himself caught.”
The small pixy bristled. “Get Turned, Tamwood,” he snarled. “Why am I here if not to sneak around? The day I can’t evade a baker is the day I—” He cut his thought short. “Uh,” he reiterated, “yeah. I’ll be right back.” Pulling a red bandanna from a back pocket, he put it around his waist like a belt. It was a pixy’s version of a white flag of truce, a declaration to other pixies and fairies that he wasn’t poaching should he stumble into anyone’s jealously guarded territory. He buzzed off just below the ceiling, headed for the kitchen.
Ivy shook her head. “He’s going to get caught.”
I shrugged and edged the breadsticks closer. “They won’t hurt him.” Settling back, I watched the contented people enjoy themselves, thinking of Nick and how long it had been since we’d been out. I’d started on my second breadstick when a waiter appeared. Already silent, the table went expectant as he cleared away the crumbs and used plates. The man’s neck from behind the blue satin shirt was a mass of scars, the newest still red-rimmed and sore looking. His smile at Ivy was a little too eager, a little too much like a puppy. I hated it, wondering what his dreams had been before he became someone’s plaything.
My demon bite tingled, and my gaze roved across the crowded room to find Piscary himself bringing our food. Heads turned as he passed, drawn by the fabulous smell that had to be emanating from the elevated platter. The level of conversation notably dropped. Piscary settled the platter before us, an eager smile hovering about him, his need for his cooking skills to be recognized looking odd on someone with so much hidden power. “I call it Temere’s need,” he said.
“Oh my God!” Glenn said in disgust, clear over the hush. “It’s got tomatoes on it!”
Ivy elbowed him in the gut hard enough to knock the wind out of him. The room went silent except for the noise filtering down from upstairs, and I stared at Glenn. “Uh, how wonderful,” he wheezed.
Sparing Glenn a glance, Piscary cut it into wedges with a professional flourish. My mouth watered at the smell of melted cheese and sauce. “That smells great,” I said admiringly, my earlier distrust lulled by the prospect of food. “My pizzas never come out like this.”
The short man raised his thin, almost nonexistent eyebrows. “You use sauce from a jar.”
I nodded, then wondered how he knew.
Ivy looked to the kitchen. “Where is Jenks? He should be here for this.”
“My staff is playing with him,” Piscary said lightly. “I imagine he’ll be out soon.” The undead vamp slid the first piece onto Ivy’s plate, then mine, then Glenn’s. The FIB detective pushed his plate away with one finger in disgust. The other patrons whispered, waiting to see our reaction to Piscary’s latest creation.
Ivy and I immediately picked our slices up. The smell of cheese was strong, but not enough to hide the odor of spice and tomatoes. I took a bite. My eyes closed in bliss. There was just enough tomato sauce to carry the cheese. Just enough cheese to carry the toppings. I didn’t care if it had Brimstone on it, it was so good. “Oh, burn me at the stake now,” I moaned, chewing. “This is absolutely wonderful.”
Piscary nodded, the light shining on his shaven head. “And you, Ivy girl?”
Ivy wiped her chin free of sauce. “It’s enough to come back from the dead for.”
The man sighed. “I’ll rest easy this sunrise.”
I slowed my chewing, turning with everyone else to Glenn. He was sitting frozen between Ivy and me, his jaw clenched with a mix of determination and nausea. “Uh,” he said, glancing down at the pizza. He swallowed, looking as if the nausea was winning out.
Piscary’s smile vanished, and Ivy glared at him. “Eat it,” she said loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear.
“And start at the point, not the crust,” I warned him.
Glenn licked his lips. “It has tomatoes on it,” he said, and my lips pursed. This was exactly what I had been hoping to avoid. One would think we had asked him to eat live grubs.
“Don’t be an ass,” Ivy said caustically. “If you really think the T4 Angel virus skipped forty tomato generations and appeared in an entirely new species for your benefit, I’ll ask Piscary to bite you before we leave. That way you won’t die but just turn vamp.”
Glenn scanned the waiting faces, realizing he was going to have to eat some pizza if he wanted to walk out under his own power. Visibly swallowing, he awkwardly picked the slice up. His eyes screwed up and he opened his mouth. The noise from upstairs seemed loud as everyone downstairs watched, their breath held.
He took a bite, his face distorting wildly. The cheese made twin bridges from him to the pizza. He chewed twice before his eyes cracked open. His jaw slowed. He was tasting it now. His eye caught mine, and I nodded. Slowly he pulled the pizza away until the cheese separated.
“Yes?” Piscary leaned to put his expressive hands atop the table, genuinely interested in what a human thought of his cooking. Glenn was probably the first in four decades to sample it.
The man’s face was slack. He swallowed. “Uh,” he grunted from around a partially full mouth. “It’s uh … good.” He looked shocked. “It’s really good.”
The restaurant seemed to heave a sigh. Piscary straightened to all of his short height, clearly delighted as the conversations started up with a new, excited edge to them. “You’re welcome here anytime, FIB officer,” he said, and Glenn froze, clearly worried that he had been made.
Piscary grabbed a chair behind him and swung it around. Hunched over the table across from us, he watched us eat. “Now,” he said as Glenn lifted the cheese to look at the tomato sauce under it. “You didn’t come here for dinner. What can I do for you?”
Ivy set her pizza down and reached for her wine. “I’m helping Rachel find a missing person,” she said, flicking her long hair needlessly back. “One of your employees.”
“Trouble, Ivy girl?” Piscary asked, his resonate voice surprisingly gentle with regret.
I took a sip of wine. “That’s what we want to find out, Mr. Piscary. It’s Dan Smather.”
Piscary’s few wrinkles folded into a soft frown as he gazed at Ivy. With telltale motions so slight they were almost undetectable, she fidgeted, her eyes both worried and defiant.
My attention jerked to Glenn. He was pulling the cheese off his pizza. Appalled, I watched him gingerly pile it into a mound. “Can you tell us the last time you saw him, Mr. Piscary?” the man asked, clearly more interested in denuding his pizza than our questioning.
“Certainly.” Piscary eyed Glenn, his brow furrowed as if not sure whether to be insulted or pleased as the man ate the pizza, now nothing more than bread and tomato sauce. “It was early Saturday morning after work. But Dan isn’t missing. He quit.”
My face went slack in surprise. It lasted for three heartbeats, then my eyes narrowed in anger. It was starting to fall together, and the puzzle was a lot smaller than I had thought. A big interview, dropping his classes, quitting his job, standing his girlfriend up at a “we have to talk” dinner. My eyes flicked to Glenn, and he gave me a brief, disgusted look as he came to the same conclu
sion. Dan hadn’t disappeared; he had gotten a good job and ditched his small-town girlfriend.
Pushing my glass away, I fought off a feeling of depression. “He quit?” I said.
The innocuous-looking vamp looked over his shoulder to the front door as a rowdy group of young vamps swirled in and what looked like the entire wait staff flocked to them with loud calls and hugs. “Dan was one of my best drivers,” he said. “I’m going to miss him. But I wish him luck. He said it was what he was going to school for.” The slight man brushed the flour from the front of his apron. “Security maintenance, I think he said.”
I exchanged weary looks with Glenn. Ivy straightened on the bench, her usual aloof mien looking strained. A sick feeling went through me. I didn’t want to be the one to tell Sara Jane she had been dumped. Dan had gotten a career job and cut all his old ties, the cowardly sack of crap. I would have bet he had a second girlfriend on the side. He was probably hiding out at her place, letting Sara Jane think he was dead in an alley and laughing as she fed his cat.
Piscary shrugged, his entire body moving with the slight motion. “If I had known he was good at security, I might have made him a better offer, though it would be hard to give more than Mr. Kalamack. I’m just a simple restaurant owner.”
At Trent’s name, I started. “Kalamack?” I said. “He got a job with Trent Kalamack?”
Piscary nodded as Ivy sat stiffly on the bench, her pizza sitting untouched but for the first bite. “Yes,” he said. “Apparently his girlfriend works for Mr. Kalamack, too. I believe her name is Sara? You might want to check with her if you are looking for him.” His long-toothed smile went devious. “She’s probably the one that got him the job, if you know what I mean.”
I knew what he meant, but from the sound of it, Sara Jane hadn’t. My heart pounded and I started to sweat. I knew it. Trent was the witch hunter. He lured Dan with a promise of employment and probably nacked him when Dan tried to back out, realizing what side of the law Trent worked. It was him. Damn him back to the Turn, I had known it!
“Thanks, Mr. Piscary,” I said, wanting to leave so I could start cooking up some spells that night. My stomach tightened, the pleasant slurry of pizza and my gulp of wine going sour in my excitement. Trent Kalamack, I thought bitterly, you are mine.