A Fistful of Charms (52 page)

Jenks exchanged a sorrowful glance at Ivy. “Rache,” he said softly. “You heard the man. I read the place mat about how many people they lost building the bridge. He wouldn't survive hitting the water. And even if he did, he'd be unconscious and drown. Nick is gone.”

We passed the news crews, and I took a shallow breath, finding comfort in that my ribs hurt. I was alive, and I was going to stay that way. “Nick knew that too,” I admitted in the dimmer light. “And yeah, he's gone, but he's not dead.”

Jenks took a breath to protest, and I interrupted.

“Jax was here,” I said, and Jenks pulled us all to a stop in the middle of the closed northbound lane. People swirled around us, but we were forgotten.

“Jax!” Jenks exclaimed, yanked into silence by Ivy.

“Shut up,” she snarled.

“He had an inertia-dampening amulet,” I said, and Jenks's face went from hope to a heartbreaking look of understanding. “Jax was here to fly it down to the water before the tow truck hit.”

“And the NOS,” I continued as Jenks paled. “It never exploded. He used the charges to blow the tires, knowing the truck was heavy enough to go through the temporary railing.”

Ivy's face was empty, but her eyes were starting to go black with anger.

Shaking my head, I looked away before she scared me. “I'll give Marshal a call, but I bet he's missing some equipment. I never looked to see what Nick had in that truck locker he's got. He's swimming out of here, and I bet Jax is with him.”

A pained sound came from Jenks, and I wished I could have said it wasn't true. Feeling his pain, I met his eyes. They showed a deep betrayal he would never talk about. Jenks had taught Jax all he could in the last few days with the idea that the pixy would take his place. And Jax had taken that and used it to burn us. With Nick.

“I'm sorry, Jenks,” I said, but he turned away, shoulders hunched and looking old.

Ivy tried to tuck a strand of too-short hair behind her ear. “I'm sorry too, Jenks, but we have a big problem. As soon as Nick gets himself safely settled as a nonentity, he's going to sell that thing and all hell is going to break loose between the vamps and the Weres.”

Something in me hardened, and the last of my feelings for Nick died. I smiled at Ivy without showing my teeth, hiking my bag farther up my bruised shoulder. “He won't sell it.”

“And why not?” she asked, snarky.

“Because he doesn't have the real one.” I looked for Kisten's Corvette, finding it standing by a pylon. Maybe we could splurge and move to the Holiday Inn tonight. I could use a hot tub. “I didn't move the curse to the wolf statue,” I added, remembering I was in the middle of a thought. “I moved it to the totem Jenks was going to give Matalina.”

Ivy stared at us, reading in Jenks's lack of response that she was the only one who hadn't known. He was staring at nothing, pain still etched in his posture that his son had just buried in the dirt everything he cared about. “When
were you going to tell me?” she accused, blush coloring her cheeks. She looked good when she was mad, and I smiled. A real one this time.

“What,” I said, “and risk spending the next two days trying to convince you to change your plan?” She huffed, and I touched her arm. “I tried to tell you,” I said. “But you stormed off like you were an avenging angel.”

Ivy eyed my fingers on her arm, and I pulled them away, hesitating a bare instant.

“Nick's an ass,” I said. “But he's smart. If I had told you, you would have acted differently and he would have known.”

“But you told Jenks,” she said.

“It's hiding in his jockey shorts!” I said in exasperation, not wanting to talk about it anymore. “God, Ivy. I'm not going to mess with Jenks's underwear unless he knows about it.”

Ivy pouted. The six-foot sexy vampire in scraped black leather crossed her arms before her and pouted. “I'm probably going to have to do more community service for hitting all those I.S. officers,” she grumbled. “Thanks a hell of a lot.”

I slumped, hearing forgiveness in her words. “At least he didn't get it,” I offered, and Ivy threw a hand in the air and tried to look disgusted, but I could tell she was relieved.

Jenks found a thin smile, his gaze going to Kisten's Corvette. “Can I drive?” he asked.

Lips pressed, Ivy frowned. “We're not going to all fit in that. Maybe we can bum a ride from Ralph. Give me a moment, okay?”

“We can fit,” Jenks said. “I'll move the seat back and Rachel can sit on my lap.”

Ivy went one way and Jenks went the other. My protest froze when I found a point of stillness in the swirling mess of reporters, officers, and watchers. My lips parted. It was Brett, standing on a cement barrier so he could look over the crowd. He was watching me, and when our eyes met, he touched the brim of his cap in salute. There was a rip in it where the emblem had been removed, and with a significant motion he
took it off and let it fall. Turning away, he started to walk for the Mackinaw City end of the bridge. And he was gone.

I realized he thought I had done it, and went cold. He thought I'd blown out the tires of the wrecker and killed Nick for trying to do a double run on me. Damn. I didn't know if that kind of reputation would save my life or get me killed.

“Rache?” Jenks returned from pushing the passenger's seat back as far as it would go. “What is it?”

I put a hand to my cold face and met his worried eyes. “Nothing.” Determined to figure it out later, I sent my thoughts instead to the bath I was going to take. I had beaten Nick at his own game. The question was, would I survive it?

M
y boot heel slipped on the uneven sidewalk, and the sound of me catching my step was dull in the air heavy from the evening's rain. The faint twinge in my leg reminded me that it wasn't quite right yet. The sun was long gone, and clouds made the night darker than it ought to be, close and warm. I splashed through a puddle, in too good a mood to care if my ankles got wet. Pizza dough was rising in my kitchen, and I had a grocery sack of toppings.

Lunch was going to be early tonight; Ivy had a run, and Kisten was taking me to a movie and I didn't want to fill up on popcorn. Passing under a lamp-lit, pollution-stunted maple, I reached to touch its leaves in passing, smiling at the green softness brushing my skin. They were damp, and I let my hand stay wet and cool in the night air. The street was quiet. The only human family living there was inside watching TV, and everyone else was at work or school. The hum of Cincinnati was far away and distant, the rumble of sleeping lions.

I adjusted the strap of my new canvas grocery bag, thinking that in the time we'd been gone, spring had shifted into high gear. It was almost a year since I'd quit the I.S. “And I'm alive,” I whispered to the world. I was alive and doing well. No, I was doing great.

A soft clearing of a throat zinged through me, but I managed not to jerk or alter my pace. It had come from across the street, and I searched the shadows until I found a
well-muscled Were in jeans and a dress shirt. He had been shadowing me all week. It was Brett.

I forced my jaw to unclench and gave him a respectful nod, receiving a snappy salute in return. Free arm swinging, I continued down the street, hitting the puddles that were in my way. Brett wouldn't bother me. That he was looking for the focus had occurred to me—either wanting to confirm that it was truly gone, or use it to buy his way back into Walter's good graces if it wasn't—but I didn't think so. It looked like he was going loner when he dropped his cap on the Mackinac Bridge and walked away. But he was just watching now. David had done the same for months before he finally made his presence known. When unsure of their rank, Weres were patient and wary. He'd come to me when he was ready.

And I was in far too good a mood to worry about it. I was so glad to be home. My stitches were out and the scars were thin lines easily hidden. My limp was fading, and thanks to that curse I used to Were, I had absolutely no freckles. The soft air slipped easily in and out of my lungs as I walked, and I felt sassy. Sassy and badass in my vamp-made boots and Jenks's aviator jacket. I was wearing the cap Jenks had stolen from the island Weres, and it added a nice bit of bad girl. The guy behind the counter at the corner store had thought I was cute.

I passed my covered car in the open garage and my mood faltered. The I.S. had suspended my license. It just wasn't fair. I had saved them a dump truck of political hassle, and did I get even a thank-you? No. They took my license.

Not wanting to lose my good mood, I forced my brow smooth. The I.S. had publicly announced on the back page of the Community Section of the paper that I was cleared of all suspicion of any wrongdoing in the accidental deaths that had taken place on the bridge. But behind closed doors some undead vamp had given me a hard time for trying to handle such a powerful artifact instead of bringing it to them. He didn't back off until Jenks threatened to cut off his
balls and give them to me to make a magic bola. You gotta love friends like that.

The undead vampire didn't get me to confess that I'd meant to kill Peter, and that cheesed him off to no end. He had been beautifully dangerous, with snow-white hair and sharp features, and even though he whipped me up to the point where I would have had his baby, he couldn't scare me into forgetting I had rights. Not after I'd survived Piscary—who didn't care about them. The entire nationwide I.S. was pissed at me, believing the focus had gone over the edge with Nick instead of being turned over to them.

There was a continuous twenty-four-hour search going on for the artifact on the bottom of the straits. The locals thought they were stupid since the current had put it in Lake Huron shortly after the truck hit the water, and I thought they were stupid because the real artifact was hidden in Jenks's living room. With their official stand being what it was, the I.S. couldn't lock me up, but with the added points after the accident with Peter, they
could
suspend my license. My choices were riding the bus for six months or gritting my teeth and taking driver's ed. God no. I'd be the oldest one in the class.

My mood tarnishing, I took the church's stairs two at a time, and felt my leg protest. I pulled the heavy wooden door open, slipped inside and breathed deeply, relishing the scent of tomato paste and bacon. The pizza dough was probably ready, and Kisten's sauce had been simmering for the better part of the day. He had kept me company in the kitchen all afternoon while I finished restocking my charm cupboard. Even helped me clean my mess.

I shut the door with hardly a thump. All the windows in the church were open to let in the moist night. I couldn't wait to get into the garden tomorrow, and even had a few seeds I wanted to try out. Ivy was laughing at me and the stack of seed catalogs that somehow found me despite my address change, but I'd caught her looking at one.

Tucking a stray curl behind my ear, I wondered if I might
splurge for the ten-dollar-a-seed packet of black orchids she'd been eyeing. They were wickedly hard to get and even more difficult to grow, but with Jenks's help, who knew?

Slipping off my wet boots and coat, I left them by the door and padded in my socks through the peaceful sanctuary. The hush of a passing car came in through the high transom windows above the stained-glass windows. The pixies had worked for hours chiseling the old paint off and oiling the hinges so I could open them with the long pole I'd found in the belfry stairway. There were no screens, which was why the lights were off. There were no pixies either. My desk was again my desk.
Thank all that was holy.

My wandering attention touched on the potted plants Jenks had left behind on my desk, and I jerked to a halt, seeing a pair of green eyes under the chair, catching the light. Slowly my breath slipped from me. “Darn cat,” I whispered, thinking Rex was going to scare the life out of me if she didn't break my heart first. I crouched to try to coax her to me, but Rex didn't move, didn't blink, didn't even twitch her beautiful tail.

Rex didn't like me much. She liked Ivy just fine. She loved the garden, the graveyard, and the pixies that lived in it, but not me. The little ball of orange fluff would sleep on Ivy's bed, purr under her chair during breakfast for tidbits, and sit on her lap, but she only stared at me with large, unblinking eyes. I couldn't help but feel hurt. I think she was still waiting for me to turn back into a wolf. The sound of Kisten and Ivy's voices intruded over the slow jazz. Hiking the canvas bag higher, I awkwardly inched closer to Rex, hand held out.

Ivy and I had been home a week, and we were all still in emotional limbo. Three seconds after Ivy and I walked in the door, Kisten looked at my dental floss stitches, breathed deeply, and knew what had happened. In an instant, Ivy had gone from happy-to-be-home to depressed. Her face full of an aching emptiness, she'd dropped her bags and took off on her bike to get it “checked over.”

Just as well. Kisten and I had a long, painful discussion where he both sorrowed after and admired my new scars. It felt good to confess to someone that Ivy had scared the crap out of me, and even better when he agreed that in time she might forget her own fear and try to find a blood balance with me.

Since then he'd been his usual self. Almost. There was a sly hesitancy in his touch now, as if he was holding himself to a limit of action to see if I would change it. The unhappy result was the mix of danger and security that I loved in him was gone. Not wanting to interfere in anything Ivy and I might find, he had put me in charge of moving our relationship forward.

I didn't like being in charge. I liked the heart pounding rush of being lured into making decisions that might turn bad on me. Realizing as much was depressing. It seemed that Ivy and Jenks were right that not only was I an adrenaline junkie, but I needed a sensation of danger to get turned on.

Thinking about it now, my mood thoroughly soured, I crouched beside my desk, arm extended to try to get the stupid cat to like me. Her neck stretched out and she sniffed my fingers, but wouldn't bump her head under my hand as she would Ivy's. Giving up, I stood and headed for the back of the church, following the sound of Kisten's masculine rumble. I took a breath to call out and tell them I was there, but my feet stilled when I realized they were talking about me.

“Well, you did bite her,” Kisten said, his voice both lightly accusing and coaxing.

“I bit her,” Ivy admitted, her voice a whisper.

“And you didn't bind her,” he prompted.

“No.” I heard the creak of her chair as she repositioned herself, guilt making her shift.

“She wants to know what comes next,” Kisten said with a rude laugh. “Hell, I want to know myself.”

“Nothing,” Ivy said shortly. “It's not going to happen again.”

I licked my lips, thinking I should back out of the hallway
and come in making more noise, but I couldn't move, staring at the worn wood by the archway to the living room.

Kisten sighed. “That's not fair. You strung her along until she called your bluff, and now you won't go forward, and she can't go back. Look at her,” he said, and I imagined him gesturing at nothing. “She wants to find a blood balance. God, Ivy, isn't that what you wanted?”

Ivy's breath came harsh. “I could have killed her!” she exclaimed, and I jumped. “I lost control just like always and almost killed her. She let me do it because she trusted me.” Her words were now muffled. “She understood everything and she didn't stop me.”

“You're scared,” Kisten accused, and my eyes widened at his gall.

But Ivy took it in stride as she laughed sarcastically. “You think?”

“No,” he insisted, “I mean you're scared. You're afraid to try to find a balance you can both live with, because if you try and can't, she leaves and you've got nothing.”

“That's not it,” she said flatly, and I nodded. That was part of it, but not all.

Kisten leaned forward; I could hear the chair creak. “You think you don't deserve anything good,” he said, and my face went cold, wondering if there was more to this than I had thought. “Afraid you're going to ruin every decent thing you get, so you're going to stick with this shitty half relationship instead of seeing where it might go.”

“It's not a half relationship,” Ivy protested.

He touched the truth,
I thought.
But that's not what keeps her silent.

“Compared to what you might have, it is,” he said, and I heard someone get up and move. “She's straight, and you're not,” Kisten added, and my pulse quickened. His voice was now coming from where Ivy sat. “She sees a deep platonic relationship, and you
know
that even if you start one, you'll eventually delude yourself into believing it's deeper. She'll be your friend when what you want is a lover. And one night
in a moment of blood passion, you're going to make a mistake in a very concrete way and she'll be gone.”

“Shut up!” she shouted, and I heard a slap, perhaps of a hand meeting someone's grip.

Kisten laughed gently, ending it with a sigh of understanding. “I got it right that time.”

His liquid voice, gray with truth, sent a shiver through me.
Back up,
I told myself.
Back up and go play with the cat.
I could hear my heartbeat in the silence. From the disc player, the song ended.

“Are you going to share blood with her again?”

It was a gentle, hesitant inquiry, and Ivy took a noisy breath. “I can't.”

“Mind if I do?”

Oh God.
This time I did move, pulling the canvas bag tight to me. Kisten already had my body. If we shared blood, it would be too much for Ivy's pride. Something would break.

“Bastard,” Ivy said, pulling my retreat to a halt.

“You know how I feel about her,” he said. “I'm not going to walk away because of your asinine hang-ups about blood.”

My lips parted at his bitter accusation, and Ivy's breath hissed. “Hang-ups?” she said vehemently. “Mixing sex with bloodletting is the only way I can keep from losing control with someone I love, Kisten! I thought I was better, but
obviously
I'm not!”

It had been bitter and accusing, but Kisten's voice was harsh with his own frustration. “I don't understand, Ivy,” he said, and I heard him move away from her. “I never did. Blood is blood. Love is love. You aren't a whore if you take someone's blood when you don't like them, and you aren't a whore for wanting someone you don't like to take your blood.”

“This is where I am, Kisten,” she said. “I'm not touching her, and neither are you.”

My pulse pounded, and I heard in his heavy exhalation the sound of an old argument that had no answer. “Rachel's
worth fighting for,” he said softly. “If she asks me, I won't say no.”

I closed my eyes, seeing where this was heading.

“And because you're a man,” Ivy said bitterly, “she won't have a problem when the blood turns to sex, will she.”

“Probably not.” It was confident, and my eyes opened.

“Damn you,” she whispered, sounding broken. “I hate you.”

Kisten was silent, and then I heard the soft sound of a kiss. “You love me.”

Mouth dry, I stood in the hallway, afraid to move in the silence the last sound track had left.

“Ivy?” Kisten coaxed. “I won't lure her from you, but I won't sit by and pretend I'm a stone either. Just talk to her. She knows where your feelings are, and she still has the room next to yours, not an apartment across the city. Maybe…”