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He grinned. “You do know him.” He glanced at Jenks, quivering and unable to open his mouth. “I thought he was pissing in my daisies.”
My eyes closed as I gathered my strength. Kisten. Why didn’t that surprise me? “Yeah, I know him,” I muttered as I opened my eyes, not sure if I should be angry or flattered that the living vampire had recommended me to Takata. “I didn’t know his last name was Felps.”
Disgusted, I gave up on my attempt at being professional. Throwing my datebook back into my bag, I slouched in the corner, my movement less graceful than I hoped, as it was pushed along by the car’s motion as we shifted lanes. “So what can I do for you?” I asked.
The older warlock straightened, tugging the soft orange of his slacks straight. I’d never known anyone who could look good in orange, but Takata managed it. “It’s about the upcoming concert,” he said. “I wanted to see if your firm was available for security.”
“Oh.” I licked my lips, puzzled. “Sure. That’s no problem, but don’t you have people for that already?” I asked, remembering the tight security at the concert I’d met him at. Vamps had to cap their teeth, and no one got in with more than a makeup spell. ‘Course, once past security, the caps came off and the amulets hidden in shoes were invoked… .
He nodded. “Yes, and therein lies the problem.”
I waited as he leaned forward, sending the scent of redwood to me. Long musician hands laced, he eyed the floor. “I arranged security with Mr. Felps as usual before I got into town,” he said when his attention came back to me. “But a Mr. Saladan came to see me, claiming he’s handling security in Cincinnati and that all monies owed to Piscary should be directed to him instead.”
My breath came out in understanding. Protection. Oh. I got it. Kisten was acting as Piscary’s scion since very few people knew that Ivy had displaced him and now held the coveted title. Kisten continued to handle the undead vampire’s affairs while Ivy refused to. Thank God.
“You’re paying for protection?” I said. “You want me to talk to Kisten and Mr. Saladan to get them to stop blackmailing you?”
Takata tilted his head back, his beautiful, tragic voice ringing out in laugher that was soaked up by the thick carpet and leather seats. “No,” he said. “Piscary does a damned-fine job of keeping the Inderlanders in line. My concern is with Mr. Saladan.”
Appalled, but not surprised, I tucked my red curls behind my ear, wishing I had done something with them that afternoon. Yeah, I used blackmail, but it was to keep myself alive, not make money. There was a difference. “It’s blackmail,” I said, disgusted.
He went solemn. “It’s a service, and I don’t begrudge a dime of it.” Seeing my frown, Takata leaned forward to send his gold chains swinging, his blue eyes fixing on mine. “My show has an MPL, just like a traveling circus or fair. I wouldn’t keep it one night if it wasn’t for arranging protection at every city we play in. It’s the cost of doing business.”
MPL was short for Mixed Population License. It guaranteed that there was security in place to prevent bloodletting on the premises, a necessity when Inderlanders and humans mixed. If too many vampires gathered and one succumbed to his or her blood lust, the rest were hard-pressed to not follow suit. I was never sure how a slip of paper was enough to keep hunger-driven vampires’ mouths to themselves, but establishments worked hard to keep an A rating on their MPLs since humans and living Inderlanders would boycott any place that didn’t have one. It was too easy to end up dead or mentally bound to a vampire you didn’t even know. And personally, I’d rather be dead than be a vampire’s toy, my living with a vampire aside.
“It’s blackmail,” I said. We had just passed the bridge to cross the Ohio River. I wondered where we were going if it wasn’t the Hollows.
Takata’s thin shoulders moved. “When I’m touring, I’m at any one place for one night, maybe two. If someone starts trouble, we won’t be around long enough to track them down, and every goth out there knows it. Where’s the incentive for an excited vamp or Were to behave him-or herself? Piscary puts the word out that anyone causing trouble will answer to him.”
I looked up, not liking that it made beautiful, simplistic sense.
“I have an incident-free show,” Takata said, smiling, “and Piscary gets seven percent of the ticket sales. Everyone wins. Up to now, I’ve been very satisfied with Piscary’s services. I didn’t even mind he upped his cost to pay for his lawyer.”
Snorting, I dropped my eyes. “My fault,” I said.
“So I hear,” the lanky man said dryly. “Mr. Felps was very impressed. But Saladan?” Takata grew concerned, his expressive fingers drumming out a complicated rhythm as his gaze went to the passing buildings. “I can’t afford to pay both of them. There would be nothing left to rebuild the city’s shelters, and that’s the entire point to the concert.”
“You want me to make sure nothing happens,” I said, and he nodded. My eyes tracked the Jim Beam bottler just off the expressway while I took that in. Saladan was trying to muscle in on Piscary’s turf now that the undead master vampire was put away for murder. Murders that I staked to him.
I tilted my head in a vain attempt to see Jenks on my shoulder. “I have to talk to my other partner, but I don’t see a problem,” I said. “There will be three of us. Me, a living vamp, and a human.” I wanted Nick to go, even if he wasn’t officially part of our firm.
“Me,” Jenks squeaked. “Me too. Me too.” “I didn’t want to speak for you, Jenks,” I said. “It might be cold.”
Takata chuckled. “With all that body heat and under those lights? No way.”
“Then it’s settled,” I said, terribly pleased. “I’m assuming we get special passes?”
“Yes.” Takata twisted to reach under the folder that held his band’s pictures. “These will get you past Clifford. From there it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Super,” I said, delighted as I dug in my bag for one of my cards. “Here’s my card in case you have to get in touch with me between then and now.”
Things were starting to happen fast, and I took the wad of thick cardboard he gave me in return for my black business card. He smiled as he looked at it, and tucked it away in a front shirt pocket. Turning with that same soft look, he tapped a thick knuckle on the glass between the driver and us. I clutched my bag to me when we swerved to the shoulder.
“Thank you, Rachel,” he said as the car stopped right there on the freeway. “I’ll see you on the twenty-second about noon at the Coliseum so you can go over our security with my staff.”
“Sounds good,” I stammered as Jenks swore and dove for my bag when the door opened. Cold air blew in, and I squinted in the afternoon glare. Behind us was my car. He was going to leave me right here?
“Rachel? I mean it. Thank you.” Takata extended his hand. I took, giving it a firm shake. His grip was tight, feeling thin and bony in mine. Professional. “I really appreciate it,” he said as he released my hand. “You did good by quitting the I.S. You look great.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you,” I said, letting the driver help me out of the limo. The vamp driving my car slipped past me and vanished into the darkest corner of the limo as I tightened the tie of my coat and draped my scarf about my neck again. Takata waved his good-bye as the driver shut the door. The small, tidy man nodded to me before turning around. I stood with my feet in the snow as the limo eased into the fast traffic and disappeared.
Bag in hand, I timed the traffic and slipped into my car. The heater was on full, and I breathed the scent of the vamp who had been driving it, pulling it deep into me.
My head hummed with the music Takata had shared with me. I was going to be working security at his solstice concert. It didn’t get any better than that.
Six
I had gotten myself turned around and back over the Ohio River and into the Hollows, and still Jenks hadn’t said anything. The starstruck pixy had parked himself on his usual spot atop the rearview mirror, watching the encroaching snow clouds turn the bright afternoon dark and depressive. I didn’t think it was the cold that had turned his wings blue, as I had the heater cranked. It was embarrassment. “Jenks?” I questioned, and his wings blurred to nothing. “Don’t say anything,” he muttered, barely audible. “Jenks, it wasn’t that bad.”
He turned, a look of self-disgust on him. “I forgot my name, Rache.”
I couldn’t help my smile. “I won’t tell anyone.”
The pink returned to his wings. “Really?” he asked, and I nodded. It didn’t take a genius to realize it was important to the ego-driven pixy to be self-assured and in control. I was sure that’s where his bad mouth and short temper came from.
“Don’t tell Ivy,” I said, “but the first time I met him, I fawned all over him. He could have taken advantage of me; used me like a tissue and thrown me away. He didn’t. He made me feel interesting and important, even though I was working peon runs at the I.S. at the time. He’s cool, you know? A real person. I bet he didn’t think twice about you forgetting your name.”
Jenks sighed, his entire body moving as he exhaled. “You missed your turn.”
I shook my head, breaking at a red light behind an obnoxious SUV I couldn’t see around. The salt-stained bumper sticker read, some of my best friends are humans, yum, and I smiled. Only in the Hollows. “I want to see if Nick is awake yet, as long as we’re out,” I explained. My eyes went to Jenks. “You’ll be all right for a little longer?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m okay, but you’re making a mistake.”
The light changed, and I almost stalled my car. We lurched through the intersection, slipping on the slush when I gunned it. “We talked today at the zoo,” I said, feeling warm inside. “I think we’re going to be okay. And-I want to show him the backstage passes.”
His wings made an audible hum. “You sure, Rachel? I mean, that was a big scare when you pulled that ley line through him. Maybe you shouldn’t push it. Give him some space.”
“I’ve given him three months,” I muttered, not caring that the guy in the car behind me thought I was flirting with him as my eyes were on the rearview mirror. “Any more space and he’d be on the moon. I’m not going to rearrange his furniture, just show him the passes.”
Jenks said nothing, his silence making me nervous. My worry shifted to puzzlement when I turned into Nick’s parking lot and stopped beside his beat-up blue truck. There was a suitcase in the passenger seat. It hadn’t been there this morning.
Lips parted, I glanced at Jenks, and he shrugged, looking unhappy. A cold feeling slipped into me. My thoughts flitted over our conversation at the zoo. We were going to the movies tonight. And he was packed? He was going somewhere?
“Get in my bag,” I said softly, refusing to believe the worst. This wasn’t the first time I had come over to find Nick gone or leaving. He had been in and out of Cincinnati a lot the last three months, me usually being unaware of it until he returned. And now his phone was disconnected and there was a packed bag in his truck? Had I misread him? If tonight was supposed to be a dump date, I was going to just die. “Rachel …”
“I’m opening the door,” I said as I stiffly put my keys into my bag. “You want to stay here and wait and hope it doesn’t get too cold?”
Jenks flitted to hover before me. He looked worried despite his hands being on his hips. “Let me out as soon as we’re inside,” he demanded.
My throat tightened as I nodded, and he dropped down with a reluctant slowness. I carefully snugged the ties shut on my bag and got out, but a swelling feeling of hurt made me slam the door, and my little red car shook. Glancing into the bed of the truck, I realized it was dry and empty of snow. It seemed likely that Nick hadn’t been in Cincinnati the last few days, either. No wonder I hadn’t seen him last week.
Thoughts spinning, I paced up the slippery walk to the common door, yanking it open and taking the stairs, to leave successively smaller chunks of snow on the gray carpet. I remembered to let Jenks out at the top of the third-floor landing, and he hovered silently as he took in my anger.
“We were going out tonight,” I said as I pulled my gloves off and jammed them in a pocket. “It’s been staring at me in the face for weeks, Jenks. The hurried phone calls, the trips out of town without telling me, the lack of any intimate contact for God knows how long.”
“Ten weeks,” Jenks said, easily keeping up with me.
“Oh, really,” I said bitterly, “thank you so much for that update.”
“Easy, Rache,” he said, spilling a trace of pixy dust in his wake from worry. “It might not be what you think.”
I’d been dumped before. I wasn’t stupid. But it hurt. Damn it, it still hurt.
There was nowhere for Jenks to land in the barren hallway, and he reluctantly lighted on my shoulder. Jaw clenched so hard it hurt, I made a fist to hammer on Nick’s door. He had to be home—he didn’t go anywhere without his truck—but before I could, the door swung open.
My arm dropped and I stared at Nick, my surprise mirrored on his long face. His coat was unzipped and a homemade hat of soft blue yarn was pulled tight to his ears. He took it off as I watched, shifting it and the keys in his grip to his other hand, which held a slick-looking briefcase at odds with his otherwise ragtag attire. His hair was tousled, and he smoothed it with a deft hand while he regained his composure. There was snow on his boots. Unlike his truck.
Keys jingling, he set the briefcase down. He took a breath, then let it slowly out. The guilt in his eyes told me I was right. “Hi, Ray-ray.”
“Hi, Nick,” I said, hitting the k with an excessive force. “I guess our date is off.”
Jenks buzzed a greeting, and I hated the apologetic look he gave Nick. Four inches or six-foot-four, they were all in the same club. Nick didn’t move to invite me in.
“Was tonight a dump dinner?” I asked abruptly, just wanting to be done with it.
His eyes widened. “No!” he protested, but his gaze flicked to the briefcase.
“Is it someone else, Nick? ‘Cause I’m a big girl. I can take it.”
“No,” he repeated, his voice softer. He shifted, looking frustrated. He reached out, stopping just shy of my shoulder. His hand fell. “No.”
I wanted to believe him. I really did. “Then what?” I demanded. Why didn’t he invite me in? Why did we have to do this in the freaking hallway?
“Ray-ray,” he whispered, his brow furrowed. “It’s not you.”
My eyes closed as I gathered my strength. How many times had I heard that?
His foot shoved the expensive briefcase into the hall, and my eyes flew open at the scraping sound. I stepped aside as he came out, shutting the door behind him. “It’s not you,” he said, his voice suddenly hard. “And it wasn’t a dump dinner. I don’t want to call it quits between us. But something came up, and frankly it’s none of your business.”
Surprised, my lips parted. Jenks’s words flashed through me. “You’re still afraid of me,” I said, pissed that he didn’t trust me to not pull a line through him again.
“I am not,” he offered angrily. Motions stiff, he locked his door from the outside, turning to hold the key up between us. “Here,” he said belligerently. “Take my key. I’ll be out of town for a while. I was going to give it to you tonight, but since you’re here, it will save me the trouble. I’ve stopped my mail, and the rent is paid up through August.”
“August!” I stammered, suddenly afraid.
He glanced at Jenks. “Jenks, can Jax come over and watch my plants for me until I get back? He did a good job last time. It might only be a week, but the heat and electricity are on automatic draw in case it’s longer.”
“Nick …” I protested, my voice sounding small. How had this turned around so fast?
“Sure,” Jenks said meekly. “You know, I think I’ll go wait downstairs.”
“No, I’m done.” Nick picked up the briefcase. “I’m going to be busy tonight, but I’ll swing by later to pick him up before I leave town.”
“Nick, wait!” I said. My stomach clenched and I felt lightheaded. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I should’ve ignored the packed bag and played the stupid girlfriend. I should’ve gone to dinner and ordered lobster. My first real boyfriend in five years, and finally when things were starting to get back to normal, here I was, scaring him off. Just like all the others.
Jenks made an embarrassed sound. “Uh, I’ll be by the front door,” he said, vanishing down the stairwell to leave a trail of glowing pixy dust all the way to the next landing.
Long face tight in unhappiness, Nick pushed the key into my hand. His fingers were cold. “I can’t—” He took a breath, meeting and holding my eyes. I waited, frightened at what he was going to say. Suddenly, I didn’t want to hear it.
“Rachel, I was going to tell you this over dinner, but … I tried. I really did. I just can’t do this right now,” he said softly. “I’m not leaving you,” he rushed to add before I could open my mouth. “I love you, and I want to be with you. Maybe for the rest of my life. I don’t know. But every time you tap a line, I feel it, and it’s as if I’m back in that FIB cruiser having an epileptic seizure from the line you pulled through me. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t do anything. When I’m farther away, it’s easier. I need to be away for a while. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to feel bad.”
Face cold, I could say nothing. He never told me I had made him seize. God help me, I hadn’t known. Jenks had been with him. Why hadn’t he told me?
“I have to catch my breath,” he whispered, giving my hands a squeeze. “To go a few days without remembering that.”
“I’ll stop,” I said, panicking. “I won’t tap a line again. Nick, you don’t have to leave!”
“Yes, I do.” Dropping my hands, he touched my jawline. His smile was pained. “I want you to pull on a line. I want you to practice. Ley line magic is going to save your life someday, and I want you to become the best damned ley line witch Cincinnati has.” He took a breath. “But I have to put some distance between us. Just for a while. And I have some business of out of state. It has nothing to do with you. I’ll be back.”
But he had said August. “You’re not coming back,” I said, my throat closing. “You’ll come for your books, and then you’ll be gone.”
“Rachel—”
“No.” I turned away. The key was cold in my hand, cutting into my palm. Breathe, I reminded myself. “Just go. I’ll bring Jax over tomorrow. Just go.”
I shut my eyes when he put a hand on my shoulder, but I wouldn’t turn. They flashed open when he leaned closer and the scent of musty books and new electronics filled me. “Thank you, Rachel,” he whispered, and there was the lightest touch of lips on mine. “I’m not leaving you. I’ll be back.”
I held my breath and stared at the ugly gray carpet. I wouldn’t cry, damn it. I wouldn’t.
I heard him hesitate, then the soft thumps of his boots on the stairs. My head started to hurt as the muted rumble of his truck vibrated the window at the end of the hall. I waited until I couldn’t hear it anymore before I turned to follow him out, my steps slow and unseeing.
I’d done it again.
Seven
I pulled my car carefully into the tiny garage, turning off the lights and then the engine. Depressed, I stared at the spackled wall two feet in front of the grille. Silence soaked in, broken by the ticking of the engine cooling off. Ivy’s bike rested quietly against the side wall, covered in a canvas tarp and stored for the winter. It was going to be dark soon. I knew I should get Jenks inside, but it was hard to find the will to unbuckle my belt and get out of the car.
Jenks dropped to the steering wheel with an attention-getting hum. My hands fell into my lap, shoulders slumping. “Well, at least you know where you stand now,” he offered.
My frustration flared, then died, overwhelmed by a wave of apathy. “He said he’s coming back,” I said glumly, needing to believe the lie until I hardened myself to the truth.
Jenks wrapped his arms about himself, dragonfly wings still. “Rache,” he cajoled. “I like Nick, but you’re going to get two calls. One where he says he misses you and is feeling better, and the last when he says he’s sorry and asks you to give his key to his landlord for him.”
I looked at the wall. “Just let me be stupid and believe him for a while, okay?”
The pixy made a sound of wry agreement. He looked positively chilled, his wings almost black as he hunched, shivering. I’d pushed him past his limits by detouring to Nick’s. I was definitely going to make cookies tonight. He shouldn’t go to sleep cold like that. He might not wake up until spring.
“Ready?” I asked as I opened my bag, and he awkwardly jumped down into it instead of flying. Worried, I debated if I should tuck my bag inside my coat. I settled on putting it in the department store bag and rolling the edges down as far as I could.
Only now did I open the door, being careful not to hit the edge of the garage. Bag in hand, I made my way on the shoveled path to the front door. A sleek black Corvette was parked at the curb, looking out of place and unsafe in the snowy streets. I recognized it as Kisten’s, and my face tightened. I’d been seeing too much of him lately for my liking.
The wind bit at my exposed skin, and I glanced up at the steeple, sharp against the graying clouds. Mincing on the ice, I passed Kisten’s mobile icon of masculinity and rose up the stone steps to the thick wooden double doors. There was no conventional lock, though there was an oak crossbar inside which I set every sunrise before I went to bed. Bending awkwardly, I scooped out a cup of pelletized de-icer from the open bag sitting beside the door and sprinkled it on the steps before the afternoon’s snowmelt had a chance to freeze.
I pushed open the door, my hair drifting in the warm draft that billowed out. Soft jazz came with it, and I slipped inside to latch it softly behind me. I didn’t particularly want to see Kisten—no matter how nice he was on the eyes—though I thought I should probably thank him for recommending me to Takata.
It was dark in the small foyer, the glow of dusk slipping in from the sanctuary beyond doing little to light it. The air smelled like coffee and growing things, sort of a mix between a plant nursery and coffeehouse. Nice. Ceri’s things went atop the small antique table Ivy had swiped from her folks, and I opened up my bag, peering down to see Jenks looking up.
“Thank God,” he muttered as he slowly lifted into the air. Then he hesitated, head cocked as he listened. “Where is everyone?”
I shrugged out of my coat and hung it up on a peg. “Maybe Ivy yelled at your kids again and they’re hiding. Are you complaining?”
He shook his head. He was right, though. It was really quiet. Too quiet. Usually there were head-splitting shrills of pixy children playing tag, an occasional crash from a hanging utensil hitting the kitchen floor, or the snarls of Ivy chasing them out of the living room. The only peace we got were the four hours they slept at noon, and four hours again after midnight.
The warmth of the church was soaking into Jenks, and already his wings were translucent and moving well. I decided to leave Ceri’s things where they were until I could get them across the street to her, and after stomping the snow off my boots beside the melting puddles Kisten had left, I followed Jenks out of the dark foyer and into the quiet sanctuary.
My shoulders eased as I took in the subdued lighting coming in through the knee-to-ceiling-high stained-glass windows. Ivy’s stately baby grand took up one corner in the front, dusted and cared for but played only when I was out. My plant-strewn, rolltop desk was kitty-corner to it, way up in the front on the ankle-high stage where the altar once sat. The huge image of a cross still shadowed the wall above it, soothing and protective. The pews had been removed long before I moved in, leaving an echoing wooden and glass space redolent of peace, solitude, grace, and security. I was safe here.