by Kim Harrison
She made a short gasp of pained laugher. “He said he understood about wanting a friend,” she said to the wall, her face hidden behind her hair. “He told me he had been looking for centuries for someone strong enough to survive with him, that my mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother were all too weak but that I had the will to survive. I told him I didn’t want to live forever, and he shushed me, telling me I was his chosen, that I would stay with him forever.”
Her shoulders shook under the coverlet. “He held me, soothing my fears of the future. He said he loved me and was proud of me. And then he took my finger and drew blood from himself.”
Stomach acid bubbled up, and I swallowed it down.
Her voice had gone wispy, her hunger and need a hidden ribbon of steel. “Oh God, Rachel. He’s so old. It was like liquid electricity, welling up from him. I tried to leave. I wanted it, and I tried to leave, but he wouldn’t let me. I said no, and then I ran. But he caught me. I tried to fight, but it didn’t matter. Then I begged him no, but he held me and forced me to taste him.”
Her voice was husky and her body shook. I moved to sit on the edge of the bed, horrified. Ivy went still, and I waited, unable to see her face, afraid to.
“And then I didn’t have to think anymore,” she said, the flat sound of her voice shocking. “I think I passed out for a moment. I wanted it. The power, the passion. He’s so old. I pulled him to the floor and straddled him. I took everything he had as he clutched me to him, urging me to go deeper, to draw more. And I took it, Rachel. I took more than I should have. He should have stopped me, but he let me take it all.”
I couldn’t move, riveted by the terror of it.
“Kist tried to stop us. He tried to get between us, to stop Piscary from letting me take too much, but with every swallow, I lost more of myself. I think I—hurt Kist. I think I broke him. All I know is he went away, and Piscary …” A soft, pleasure-filled sound escaped her as she said his name again. “… Piscary drew me back.” She moved languorously beneath the black sheets, suggestively. “He gentled my head against him and pressed me closer until I was sure he wanted me and I found he had more to give.”
A harsh breath shook her, and she clenched into a huddled knot, the sated lover flashing into a beaten child. “I took everything. He let me take everything. I knew why he let me, and I did it anyway.”
She was silent, but I knew she wasn’t done yet. I didn’t want to hear anymore, but she had to say it or she would drive herself slowly insane.
“With every pull, I could feel his hunger growing,” she said, whispering. “With my every swallow his need swelled. I knew what would happen if I didn’t stop, but he said it was all right, and it had been so long,” she almost moaned. “I didn’t want to stop. I knew what would happen, and I didn’t want to stop. It was my fault. My fault.”
I recognized the phrase from rape victims. “It wasn’t your fault,” I said, resting my hand upon her covered shoulder.
“It was,” she said, and I pulled away as her voice became low and sultry. “I knew what would happen. And when I had everything he was, he asked for his blood back—like I knew he would. And I gave it to him. I wanted to, and I did. And it was fantastic.”
I forced myself to breathe.
“God help me,” she whispered. “I was alive. I hadn’t been alive for three years. I was a goddess. I could give life. I could take it away. I saw him for what he was, and I wanted to be like him. And with his blood burning in me as if it was mine, his strength wholly mine, and his power wholly mine, burning into me the ugly, beautiful truth of his existence, he asked me to be his scion. He asked me to take Kisten’s place, that he had been waiting for me to understand what it meant before he offered it to me. And that when I died, I would be his equal.”
I kept my hand moving over her head in a soothing motion as her eyes closed and her shaking stopped. She was getting drowsy, her face going slack as her mind unwound her nightmare, finding a way to deal with it. I wondered if it had anything to do with the sky past her curtains brightening with the coming dawn.
“I went to him, Rachel,” she whispered, color starting to come back into her lips. “I went to him, and he tore into me like a beast. I welcomed the pain. His teeth were God’s truth, cutting clean into my soul. He savaged me, out of control from the joy of getting his power back after giving it to me so freely. And I gloried in it even as he bruised my arms and tore my neck open.”
I forced my hand to keep moving.
“It hurt,” she whispered, sounding like a child as her eyelids fluttered. “No one has enough vamp saliva in them to transmute that much pain, and he lapped up my misery and anguish along with my blood. I wanted to give him more, prove my loyalty to him, prove that though I failed by not taming you, that I would be his scion. Blood tastes better during sex,” she said faintly. “The hormones make it sweet, so I opened myself to him. He said no, even as he moaned for it, that he might kill me by mistake. But I worked him until he couldn’t stop himself. I wanted it. I wanted it even as he hurt me. He took it all, bringing us to climax even as he killed me.” She shuddered, her eyes closed. “Oh God, Rachel. I think he killed me.”
“You aren’t dead,” I whispered, frightened because I wasn’t sure. She couldn’t be in a church if she was dead, yes? Unless she was still in transition. The space of time when the chemistry shifted over had no hard and fast rules. What the hell was I doing?
“I think he killed me,” she said again, her voice starting to slur as she fell asleep. “I think I killed myself.” Her voice grew childlike. Her eyelids fluttered. “Am I dead, Rachel? Will you watch over me? Make sure the sun doesn’t burn me while I sleep? Will you keep me safe?”
“Shhhh,” I whispered, scared. “Go to sleep, Ivy.”
“I don’t want to be dead,” she mumbled. “I made a mistake. I don’t want to be Piscary’s scion. I want to stay here with you. Can I stay here with you? Will you watch over me?”
“Hush,” I murmured, running a hand over her hair. “Go to sleep.”
“You smell good … like oranges,” she whispered, setting my pulse pounding, but at least I didn’t smell like her. I kept my hand moving until her breathing slowed and grew deep. I wondered if, when she fell asleep, it would stop. I wasn’t sure Ivy was alive anymore.
My gaze went to the stained-glass window, the hint of dawn leaking around the edges. The sun would be up soon, and I didn’t know anything about vampires crossing over except they had to be six feet under or in a light-tight room. That, and that they woke hungry the next sunset. Oh God. What if Ivy was dead?
I looked at the jewelry box on her mahogany dresser that held her “in case of death” bracelet that she refused to wear. Ivy had good insurance. If I called the number engraved on the silver band, an ambulance would be there in a guaranteed five minutes, whisking her away to a nice dark hole in the ground to emerge when darkness fell as a beautiful reborn undead.
My stomach churned and I rose to go to my room for my tiny cross. If she was dead, there would be some reaction, even if she was in transition. Passing out in a church is one thing; having a consecrated cross touch your skin is another.
Nauseated, I returned. Charms jingling, I held my breath and dangled my bracelet over Ivy. There was no response. I brought the cross close to her neck behind her ear, breathing easier when again there was no reaction. Silently asking for her forgiveness if I was wrong, I touched the cross to her skin. She didn’t move, her pulse at her neck staying slow and sedate. Her skin, when I pulled the cross away, was white and unblemished.
I straightened, saying a silent prayer. I didn’t think she was dead.
Slowly I crept from Ivy’s room, shutting the door behind me. Piscary had raped Ivy for one reason. He knew I had figured it out. Ivy said he wanted to talk to me. If I stayed in my church, he would go for my mother next, then Nick, and then probably track down my brother.
My thoughts returned to Ivy, huddled under her covers in a shock-induced slee
p. My mother would be next. And she would die not even knowing why she was being tortured.
Shaking inside, I went into the living room for the phone. My fingers were trembling so badly, I had to dial it twice. It took a precious three minutes of arguing to get to Rose.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Morgan,” the woman said, her voice so politically correct I could freeze an egg on it. “Captain Edden is not available, and Detective Glenn left word that he is not to be disturbed.”
“Not to be—” I stammered. “Listen. I know who murdered them. We have to go out there now. Before he sends someone after my mother!”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Morgan,” the woman said politely. “You are no longer a consultant. If you have a complaint or death threat, please hold and I’ll transfer you back to the front desk.”
“No! Wait!” I pleaded. “You don’t understand. Just let me talk to Glenn!”
“No, Morgan.” Rose’s calm, reasonable voice was suddenly thick with an unexpected anger. “You don’t understand. No one here wants to talk to you.”
“But I know who the witch hunter is!” I exclaimed, and the connection clicked off.
“You sorry-assed idiots!” I shouted, throwing the phone across the room. It hit the wall, the back coming off and the batteries rolling over the floor. Frustrated, I stomped into the kitchen, spilling Ivy’s pens over the table as I reached for one. Heart pounding, I scratched a note to thumbtack to the door of the church.
Nick was coming. Glenn would talk to Nick. He could convince them I was right, tell them where I’d gone. They’d have to come out, if only to arrest me for interfering. I would have told him to call the I.S., but Piscary probably owned them. And though humans had as much chance of besting a master vampire as I did, perhaps just the interruption might be enough to save my butt.
Spinning, I reached for the cupboard, pulling amulets from hooks and jamming them into my bag. I yanked open a bottom drawer and grabbed three wooden stakes. I added the big butcher cleaver from the knife block. My splat gun was next, loaded with the strongest spell a white witch would have: sleepy-time charms. From the island counter I took a bottle of holy water. Thinking for a moment, I pulled up the valve top, took a swallow, recapped it, then shoved it in with the rest. Holy water wasn’t much good unless it was all you’d been drinking for the last three days, but I’d take all the deterrent I could scrape together.
Not slowing, I strode into the hall for my boots. I slipped them on and headed for the front door, laces flapping. Jerking to a halt in the hallway, I spun, returning to the kitchen. Grabbing a handful of change for the bus, I left.
Piscary wanted to talk to me? Good. I wanted to talk to him.
Twenty-Six
The bus was crowded at five in the morning. Living vamps, mostly, and vamp wannabes on their way home to take stock of their sorry existence. They gave me a wide birth. It could have been that I stank of holy water. It could have been that I looked like hell warmed over in my ugly, heavy winter coat with the fake fur around the collar that I had worn so the driver wouldn’t recognize me and pick me up. But I was betting it was the stakes.
Face tight, I got off the bus at Piscary’s restaurant. I stood where my feet hit the pavement and waited while the door shut and the bus drove away. Slowly the noise faltered until it melted into the background hum of swelling morning traffic. My eyes pinched as I looked straight up at the brightening sky. The mist from my breath obscured the fragile-looking, pale blue. I wondered if it was going to be the last sky I’d ever see. It would be dawn soon. If I were smart, I would wait until the sun was up before I went in.
I pushed myself into motion. Piscary’s was two stories tall, and all the windows were dark. The yacht was still tied to the quay, and the water lapped softly. There were only a few cars in the lot at the outskirts. Employees, probably. As I walked, I swung my bag around. Pulling out the stakes, I flung them away. Their harsh clatters on the asphalt shocked my ears. Bringing them had been stupid. Like I could stake an undead vampire. The splat gun at the small of my back was probably a futile gesture, too, since I was sure I would be searched before they took me to Piscary. The master vampire said he wanted to talk, but I’d be a fool to think it would stop there. If I wanted to meet him with all my spells and charms, I’d have to fight my way to him. If I let them take away everything I had, I’d get to him unscathed but pretty much helpless.
I opened the bottle of holy water and chugged it, spilling the last drops into my hands and patting my neck. The empty bottle clattered after the stakes. I strode forward in my soundless boots, my fear for my mother and my anger at what he had done to Ivy keeping my feet moving. If there were too many of them, I’d go in charmless. Nick and the FIB were my ace in the hole.
My stomach knotted as I pushed open the heavy door. The faint hope that there might be no one died as half a dozen people looked up from their scattered work, all of them living vamps. The human staff was gone. I’d be willing to bet that the pretty, scarred, adoring humans had gone home with favorite customers.
The lights were up high while the wait staff cleaned, and where the large room with it log-cabin walls had looked mysterious and exciting, now it looked dirty and tired. Kind of like me. The shoulder-high wall of stained glass that divided the room was broken. A petite woman with hair to her waist was sweeping the shards of green and gold toward the wall. She stopped to lean on the broom as I came in. There was an odd smell at the back of my throat, rich and cloying. My feet faltered as I realized the vamp pheromones were so thick I could taste them.
At least Ivy had put up a fight, I thought, realizing most of the vamps were sporting a bandage or bruise, and all of them, with the exception of the vamp sitting at the bar, were in a bad mood. One had been bit, his neck torn and his uniform ripped at the collar. In the bright light of morning, their glamour and sexual tension had been wiped away, to leave only a tired ugliness. My lip curled in distaste. Seeing them like this, they were repellant. And yet my scar on my neck started to tingle.
“Well, look who showed,” the vamp sitting at the bar drawled. His uniform was more elaborate than the rest, and he took his name tag off as he saw my eyes on it. It read SAMUEL, the vampire that had let Tarra upstairs the night we were there. Samuel got up, leaning to flick a switch behind the counter. The open sign behind me in the window went out. “You’re Rachel Morgan?” he asked, his vamp-confident voice slow and patronizing.
Clutching my bag, I boldly walked past the WAIT HERE FOR HOST sign. Yeah, I was a bad girl. “That’s me,” I said, wishing there were fewer tables. My feet slowed as caution finally worked its way past my anger. I had broken rule number one: going in mad. I would have been okay if I hadn’t also broken the more important rule number two: confronting an undead vamp on his own turf.
The wait staff was watching, and my pulse quickened as Samuel went to the door and locked it. Turning, he casually threw the wad of keys clear across the room. A figure by the unused fireplace raised his arm, and I recognized Kisten, unseen in the shadows until he moved. The keys hit Kist’s palm with a jingle and disappeared. I didn’t know if I should be angry with him or not. He had dumped Ivy and driven off, but he had tried to stop them, too.
“This is what Piscary is worried about?” Samuel said, his beautiful face sneering. “Skinny little thing. Not much on top.” He leered. “Or bottom. I thought you’d be taller.”
He reached for me. Jerking into motion, I stiff-armed him, feeling my fist pop into his open palm. I twisted my wrist, grabbing his. I yanked him forward into my upraised foot. His breath whooshed out as it hit his stomach, knocking him backward. I followed him down, giving him a jab at his crotch before I got to my feet. “And I thought you’d be smarter,” I said, backing away as he writhed on the floor, gasping.
It probably hadn’t been the smartest thing to do.
Dropping their rags and broom, the wait staff converged on me with an unnerving, unhurried pace. My breath came fast, and I shimmied out of my coat, shoving one
of the tables away with my foot to make room to move. Seven spells in my gun. Nine vamps. I’d never get them all. My face went cold and I shivered in the draft on my bare shoulders.
“No,” Kist said from his corner, and they hesitated. “I said no!” he shouted as he got to his feet and started over, his fast pace jerking into a slower one to hide a new limp.
Their faces twisting to an ugly promise, they stopped, making a ring about me a good eight feet back. Eight feet, I thought, feeling ill as I remembered my and Ivy’s workouts. That was a living vamp’s reach.
Crotch-boy got to his feet, his shoulders hunched and his face pained. Kist pushed through the circle to stand opposite him, hands on his hips and feet spread wide. His dark silk shirt and dress pants gave him more sophistication than his usual leather. A bruise spread upward across his lightly stubbled cheek to just miss his eye. By the way he held himself, I guessed his ribs were hurting, but I thought the real damage was to his pride. He had lost his scion status to Ivy.
“He said bring her down, not rough her up,” Kist said, his lips going bloodless as my gaze lingered on the fingernail gouge behind his bangs.
Though Samuel was bigger, Kist’s demand for obedience was unmistakable. A hard, bad temper had replaced his usual mien of casual flirtation, giving him a rough edge that I’d always found attractive in men. Like every manager, Kist had problems with his employees, and somehow the fact that he had to deal with crap just like everyone else made him more appealing. My gaze roved over him, my thoughts following my eyes. Damn vamp pheromones.
Still panting, the larger vamp darted his eyes to me and back to Kist. “She needs to be searched.” He licked his lips, looking at me to make my pulse race. “I’ll do it.”
I stiffened, my thoughts going to my splat gun. There were too many of them.
“I’m doing it,” Kist said, his blue eyes starting to vanish behind a swelling circle of black.
Swell.