Читать книгу The Hollows Series Books 1-4 - Kim Harrison, Ким Харрисон - Страница 19

“I’ve got to get a car,” I whispered as I lurched off the bus steps. I snatched my coat out of the closing doors and held my breath as the diesel engine roared to life and the bus lumbered off. “Soon,” I added, pulling my bag closer.

I hadn’t slept well in days. Salt had dried all over me and I itched everywhere. It seemed I couldn’t go five minutes without accidentally hitting the blister on my neck. Coming off the caramel-induced sugar high, Jenks was cranky. In short, we were very good company.

A false dawn had brightened the eastern sky, giving the thin blue a beautiful translucence. The birds were loud and the streets were hushed. The chill in the air made me glad for my coat. I would guess the sun was only an hour from rising. Four in the morning in June was a golden hour when all good vampires are tucked into bed and wise humans hadn’t yet poked their noses out to find the early edition of the paper. “I am so ready for bed,” I whispered.

“Evening, Ms. Morgan,” came a gravely voice, and I spun, falling into a crouch.

Jenks made a snuff of sarcastic laughter from my earring. “It’s the neighbor,” he said dryly. “Jeez, Rache. Give me some credit.”

Heart pounding, I slowly stood, feeling as old as I was supposed to be under my age spell. Why wasn’t he in bed? “’Morning, rather,” I said, stepping even with Keasley’s gate. He was unmoving in his rocker, his face shadowed and unseen.

“Been shopping?” He wiggled his foot to tell me he noticed my boots were new.

Tired, I leaned on the top of the chain-link fence. “Would you like a chocolate?” I asked, and he motioned for me to enter.

Jenks hummed in worry. “A splat ball’s range is longer than my sense of smell, Rache.”

“He’s a lonely old man,” I whispered as I unlatched the gate. “He wants a chocolate. Besides, I look like an old hag. Anyone watching will think I’m his date.” I eased the lock down quietly, and I thought I saw Keasley hide a smile behind a yawn.

A tiny, dramatic sigh slipped from Jenks. I settled my bag on the porch and sat down on the uppermost stair. Twisting, I pulled a paper sack from my coat pocket and extended it.

“Ah …” he said, his gaze on the horse-and-rider trademark. “Some things are worth risking your life for.” As I expected, he chose a dark piece. A dog barked in the distance. Jaw moving, he looked past me into the silent street. “You’ve been to the mall.”

I shrugged. “Among other places.”

Jenks’s wings fanned my neck. “Rachel …”

“Cool your jets, Jenks,” I said, peeved.

Keasley got to his feet with a pained slowness. “No. He’s right. It’s late.”

Between Keasley’s obtuse comments and Jenks’s instincts, I became decidedly wary. The dog barked again, and I lurched to my feet. My thoughts returned to that pile of splat balls outside my door. Maybe I should have hiked in through the graveyard, disguised or not.

Keasley moved with a pained slowness to his door. “Watch your step, Ms. Morgan. Once they know you can slip past them, they’ll change tactics.” He opened the door and went inside. The screen shut without a sound. “Thank you for the chocolate.”

“You’re welcome,” I whispered as I turned away, knowing he could hear me.

“Creepy old man,” Jenks said, making my earring swing as I crossed the street and headed for the motorbike parked in front of the church. The false dawn glinted on its chrome, and I wondered if Ivy had gotten her bike back from the shop.

“Maybe she’ll let me use it,” I mused aloud, eyeing it appreciatively in passing. It was all shiny and black, with its gold trim and silky leather; a Nightwing. Yummy. I ran an envious hand across the seat, leaving a smear where I wiped the dew away.

“Rache!” Jenks shrilled. “Drop!”

I dropped. Heart pounding, my palms hit the pavement. There was the hiss of something overhead where I had stood. Adrenaline surged, making my head hurt. I shoved myself into a roll, putting the bike between me and the opposite street.

I held my breath. Nothing moved among the shrubs and overgrown bushes. I pushed my bag in front of my face, my hands searching inside.

“Stay down,” Jinks hissed. His voice was tight, and a purple glow laced his wings.

The prick of the finger stick jolted me to my toes. My sleep charm was invoked in 4.5 seconds; my best time yet. Not that it would do me much good if whoever it was stayed in the bushes. Maybe I could throw it at him. If the I.S. was going to make a habit of this, I might want to invest in a splat gun. I was more of a confront-them-directly-and-knock-them-unconscious kind of a gal. Hiding in the bushes like a sniper was cheesy, but when in Rome …

I gripped the charm by the cord so it wouldn’t affect me and waited.

“Save it,” Jenks said, relaxing as we were abruptly surrounded by a host of darting pixy children. They swirled over us, talking so fast and high I couldn’t keep up. “They’re gone,” Jenks added. “Sorry about that. I knew they were there, but—”

“You knew they were there?” I exclaimed, my neck hurting as I peered up at him. A dog barked, and I lowered my voice. “What the hell were you doing?”

He grinned. “I had to flush them out.”

Peeved, I got to my feet. “Great. Thanks. Let me know next time I’m bait.” I shook out my long coat, grimacing as I realized I’d squished my chocolates.

“Now, Rache,” he cajoled, hovering by my ear. “If I had told you, your reactions would have been off and the fairies would have just waited until I wasn’t watching.”

My face went slack. “Fairies?” I said, chilled. Denon must be off his rocker. They were expe-e-e-e-ensive. Perhaps they gave him a discount because of the frog incident.

“There’re gone,” Jenks said, “but I wouldn’t stay out here for long. The word is the Weres want another crack at you.” He took off his red bandanna and handed it to his son. “Jax, you and your sisters can have their catapult.”

“Thanks, Papa!” The small pixy rose up two feet in excitement. Wrapping the red scarf around his waist, he and about six other pixies broke from the group and zipped across the street.

“Be careful!” Jenks shouted after them. “It might be booby-trapped!”

Fairies, I thought as I clutched my arms about me and looked over the quiet street. Crap.

The remainder of Jenks’s kids was clustered around him, all talking at once as they tried to drag him around back. “Ivy’s with someone,” Jenks said as he started to drift upward, “but he checks out okay. You mind if I call it a night?”

“Go ahead,” I said, glancing at the bike. It wasn’t Ivy’s after all. “And, uh, thanks.”

They rose like a swarm of fireflies. Close behind them were Jax and his sisters, working together to carry a catapult as small as they were. With a dry clattering of wings and shouts, they flew up and beyond the church, leaving a hard silence in the morning street.

I turned my back and shuffled up the stone stairs. Glancing across the road, I saw a curtain fall against the single lit window. Show’s over. Go to sleep, Keasley, I thought, tugging open the heavy door and slipping inside. Easing it shut, I slid the oiled dead bolt in place behind me, feeling better despite knowing most of the I.S.’ s assassins wouldn’t use a door. Fairies? Denon must be royally ticked.

Blowing wearily, I leaned back against the thick timbers, to shut out the coming morning. All I wanted was to take a shower and go to bed. As I slowly crossed the empty sanctuary, the sound of soft jazz and Ivy’s voice raised in anger filtered out from the living room.

“Damn it, Kist,” I heard as I entered the dark kitchen. “If you don’t get your butt out of that chair right now, I’m going to sling you halfway to the sun.”

“Aw, lighten up, Tamwood. I’m not gonna do anything,” came a new voice. It was masculine, deep but with a hint of a whine, as if whomever it came from was indulged in almost everything. I paused to dump my used amulets into the pot of saltwater beside the refrigerator. They were still good, but I knew better than to leave active amulets lying around.

The music snapped off with a jarring suddenness. “Out,” Ivy said softly. “Now.”

“Ivy?” I called loudly, curiosity getting the better of me. Jenks said whoever it was had the all clear. Leaving my bag on the kitchen counter, I headed for the living room. My exhaustion spilled into a tinge of anger. We had never discussed it, but I assumed that until the price was off my head, we would try to keep a low profile.

“Ooooh,” the unseen Kist mocked. “She’s back.”

“Behave yourself,” Ivy threatened him as I entered the room. “Or I’ll have your hide.”

“Promise?”

I took three steps into the living room and jerked to a halt. My anger vanished, washed away in a surge of primal instinct. A leather-clad vamp sprawled in Ivy’s chair, looking like he belonged. His immaculate boots were on the coffee table, and Ivy shoved them off in disgust. She moved quicker than I’d ever seen before. She took two steps from him and fumed, her hip cocked and her arms crossed aggressively. The mantel clock ticked loudly.

Kist couldn’t be a dead vamp—he was on holy ground and it was almost sunup—but burn my britches if he didn’t come close. His feet hit the floor with an exaggerated slowness. The indolent look he gave me went right to my core, settling over me like a wet blanket to tighten my gut. And yeah, he was pretty. Dangerously so. My thoughts jerked back to Table 6.1, and I swallowed.

His face was lightly stubbled, giving him a rugged appearance. Straightening, he tossed his blond hair out of his eyes in a movement of artful grace that must have taken him years to perfect. His leather jacket was open to show a black cotton shirt pulled tight over an attractively muscled chest. Twin stud earrings glittered from one ear. The other had a single earring and a long-healed tear. Otherwise, he hadn’t a visible scar anywhere. I wondered if I would be able to feel them if I ran my finger down his neck.

My heart pounded, and I dropped my gaze, promising myself I wouldn’t look again. Ivy didn’t scare me as much as this one did. He moved on feral instinct, governed by whim.

“Aw,” Kist said, scooting himself up in the chair. “She’s cute. You should have told me she was such a dar-r-r-rling.” I felt him take a deep breath, as if tasting the night. “She reeks of you, Ivy love.” His voice dropped in pitch. “Isn’t that the sweetest?”

Cold, I clutched the collar of my coat closed and backed up until I was in the threshold.

“Rachel,” Ivy said dryly. “This is Kisten. He’s leaving. Aren’t you, Kist.”

It wasn’t a question, and my breath caught as he got to his feet with a fluid, animal grace. Kist stretched, his hands reaching for the ceiling. His lean body moved like a cord to show every gorgeous curve of muscle on him. I couldn’t look away. His arms fell and our eyes met. They were brown. His lips parted in a soft smile as he knew I had been watching him. His teeth were sharp like Ivy’s. He wasn’t a ghoul. He was a living vamp. I looked away even though living vamps couldn’t bespell the wary. “You have a taste for vamps, little witch?” he whispered.

His voice was like wind over water, and my knees went loose at the compulsion he put in it. “You can’t touch me,” I said, unable to resist looking at him as he tried to bespell me. My voice sounded like it was coming from inside my head. “I haven’t signed any papers.”

“No?” he whispered. His eyebrows were raised in sultry confidence. He eased close, his steps soundless. Heart pounding, I looked at the floor. I felt behind me to touch the doorframe. He was stronger than me, and faster. But a knee in the groin would drop him like any man.

“The courts won’t care,” he breathed as he drifted to a stop. “You’re already dead.”

My eyes widened as he reached for me. His scent washed over me, the musty scent of black earth. My pulse pounded, and I stepped forward. His hand cupped my chin, warm. A shock went through me, buckling my knees. He gripped my elbow, supporting me against his chest. Anticipation of an unknown promise made my blood race. I leaned into him, waiting. His lips parted. A whisper of words I couldn’t understand came from him, beautiful and dark.

“Kist!” Ivy shouted, startling both of us. A flash of ire filmed his eyes, then vanished.

My will flowed back with a painful swiftness. I tried to jerk away, finding myself held. I could smell blood. “Let go,” I said, almost panicking when he didn’t. “Let go!”

His hand dropped. He turned to Ivy, completely dismissing me. I fell back to the archway, shaking, but unable to voluntarily leave until I knew he was gone.

Kist stood before Ivy calm and collected, a study in opposites to Ivy’s agitation. “Ivy, love,” he persuaded. “Why do you torment yourself? Your scent covers her, but her blood still smells pure. How can you resist? She’s asking for it. She’s screaming for it. She’ll bitch and moan the first time, but she’ll thank you for it in the end.”

Expression going coy, he gently bit his lip. Crimson ran, wiped away with a slow, taunting, deliberate tongue. My breath sounded harsh even to me, and I held it.

Ivy went furious, her eyes going to black pits. The tension wouldn’t let me breathe. The crickets outside chirped faster. With an exaggerated slowness, Kist cautiously leaned toward Ivy. “If you don’t want to break her in,” he said, his voice low with anticipation, “give her to me. I’ll give her back to you.” His lips parted to show his glistening canines. “Scout’s honor.”

Ivy’s breath came in a quick pant. Her face was an unreal mix of lust and hatred. I could see her struggle to overcome her hunger, and I watched in a horrid fascination as it slowly vanished until only the hatred was left. “Get out,” she said, her voice husky and wavering.

Kist took a slow breath. The tension flowed out of him as he exhaled. I found I could breathe again. I took quick, shallow breaths as my gaze darted between them. It was over. Ivy had won. I was—safe?

“It’s stupid, Tamwood,” Kist said as he adjusted his black leather jacket in a careful show of ease. “A waste of a good span of darkness for something that doesn’t exist.”

With swift, abrupt steps, Ivy went to the back door. Sweat trickled down the small of my back as the breeze from her passage touched me. Cold morning air spilled in, displacing the blackness that seemed to have filled the room. “She’s mine,” Ivy said as if I wasn’t there. “She’s under my protection. What I do or don’t do with her is my business. You tell Piscary if I see one of his shadows at my church again, I’ll assume he’s making a bid of contention to what I hold. Ask him if he wants a war with me, Kist. You ask him that.”

Kist passed between Ivy and me, hesitating on the sill. “You can’t hide your hunger from her forever,” Kist said, and Ivy’s lips pressed together. “Once she sees, she’ll run, and she’ll be fair prey.” In a clock-tick he slumped, a bad-boy look softening his features. “Come back,” he cajoled with a sultry innocence. “I’m to tell you that you can have your old place again with only a minor concession. She’s just a witch. You don’t even know if she—”

“Out,” Ivy said, pointing at the morning.

Kist stepped through the door. “An offer shunned makes dire enemies.”

“An offer that really isn’t one shames the one who makes it.”

Shrugging, he pulled a leather cap from his back pocket and put it on. He glanced at me, his gaze going hungry. “Good-bye, love,” he whispered, and I shuddered as if he had run a slow hand across my cheek. I couldn’t tell if it was revulsion or desire. And he was gone.

Ivy slammed the door behind him. Moving with that same eerie grace, she crossed the living room and dropped into a chair. Her face was dark with anger, and I stared at her. Holy crap. I was living with a vampire. Nonpracticing or not, she was a vamp. What had Kist said? That Ivy was wasting her time? That I’d run when I saw her hunger? That I was hers? Shit.

Moving slowly, I edged backward out of the room. Ivy glanced up, and I froze. The anger drained from her face, replaced with what looked like alarm when she saw my fear.

Slowly, I blinked. My throat closed and I turned my back on her, going into the hallway.

“Rachel, wait,” she called after me, her voice cajoling. “I’m sorry about Kist. I didn’t invite him. He just showed up.”

I strode into the hall, tensed to explode if she put a hand on me. Was this why Ivy had quit with me? She couldn’t legally hunt me, but as Kist had said, the courts wouldn’t care.

“Rachel …”

She was right behind me, and I spun. My stomach tightened. Ivy took three steps back. They were so quick it was hard to tell she had moved. Her hands were raised in placation. Her brow was pinched in worry. My pulse hammered, giving me a headache. “What do you want?” I asked, half hoping she would lie and tell me it was a mistake. From outside came the noise of Kist’s bike. I stared at her as the sound of his departure faded.

“Nothing,” she said, her brown eyes earnestly fixed to mine. “Don’t listen to Kist. He’s just jerking you around. He flirts with what he can’t have.”

“That’s right!” I shouted so I wouldn’t start shaking. “I’m yours. That’s what you said, that I’m yours! I’m not anyone’s, Ivy! Stay the hell away from me!”

Her lips parted in surprise. “You heard that?”

“Of course I heard that!” I yelled. Anger overpowered my fear, and I took a step forward. “Is that what you’re really like?” I shouted, pointing to the unseen living room. “Like that—that animal? Is it? Are you hunting me, Ivy? Is this all about filling your gut with my blood? Does it taste better when you betray them? Does it?”

“No!” she exclaimed in distress. “Rachel, I—”

“You lied to me!” I shouted. “He bespelled me. You said a living vamp couldn’t do that unless I wanted him to. And I sure as hell didn’t!”

She said nothing, her tall shadow framed by the hallway. I could hear her breath and smell the sweet-sour tang of wet ash and redwood: our scents dangerously mingling. Her stance was tense, her very stillness sending a shock through me. Mouth dry, I backed up as I realized I was screaming at a vampire. The adrenaline spent itself. I felt nauseous and cold. “You lied to me,” I whispered, retreating into the kitchen. She had lied to me. Dad was right. Don’t trust anyone. I was getting my things and leaving.

Ivy’s steps were overly loud behind me. It was obvious she was making an effort to hit the floor hard enough to make a sound. I was too angry to care.

“What are you doing?” she asked as I opened a cupboard and pulled a handful of charms off a hook, to put them in my bag.

“Leaving.”

“You can’t! You heard Kist. They’re waiting for you!”

“Better to die knowing my enemies then to die sleeping innocently beside them,” I retorted, thinking it was the stupidest thing I’d ever said. It didn’t even make sense.

I jerked to a halt as she slipped in front of me and shut the cupboard. “Get out of my way,” I threatened, my voice low so she wouldn’t hear it shake.

Dismay pinched her eyes and furrowed her brow. She looked utterly human, and it scared the crap out of me. Just when I thought I understood her, she did something like this.

With my charms and finger sticks out of reach, I was helpless. She could throw me across the room and crack my head open on the oven. She could break my legs so I couldn’t run. She could tie me to a chair and bleed me. But what she did was stand before me with a pained, frustrated look on her pale, perfect, oval face. “I can explain,” she said, her voice low.

I fought off the shakes as I met her gaze. “What do you want with me?” I whispered.

“I didn’t lie to you,” she said, not answering my question. “Kist is Piscary’s chosen scion. Most of the time Kist is just Kist, but Piscary can—” She hesitated. I stared at her, every muscle in my body screaming to run. But if I moved, she would move. “Piscary is older than dirt,” she said flatly. “He’s powerful enough to use Kist to go places he can’t anymore.”

“He’s a servant,” I spat. “He’s a freaking lackey for a dead vamp. Does his daylight shopping for him, brings Papa Piscary humans to snack on.”

Ivy winced. The tension was easing from her, and she took a more relaxed stance—still between me and my charms. “It’s a great honor to be asked to be a scion for a vampire like Piscary. And it’s not all one-sided. Because of it, Kist has more power than a living vamp should have. That’s how he was able to bespell you. But Rachel,” she rushed as I made a helpless noise, “I wouldn’t have let him.”

And I should be happy for that? That you don’t want to share? My pulse had slowed, and I sank down into a chair. I didn’t think my knees would support me anymore. I wondered how much of my weakness was from the spent adrenaline and how much was Ivy pumping the air full of soothing pheromones. Damn, damn, damn! I was in way over my head. Especially if Piscary was involved.

Piscary was said to be one of the oldest vampires in Cincinnati. He didn’t cause trouble and kept his few people in line. He worked the system for all it was worth, doing all the paperwork and making sure every take his people made was legal. He was far more than the simple restaurant owner he pretended to be. The I.S. had a “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy on the master vampire. He was one of the aforementioned people who moved in Cincinnati’s unseen power struggles, but as long as he paid his taxes and kept his liquor license current, there was nothing anyone could—or wanted to—do. But if a vampire looked harmless, it only meant they were smarter than most.

My eyes flicked to Ivy, standing with her arms clasped about herself as if she were upset. Oh, God. What was I doing here?

“What’s Piscary to you?” I asked, hearing my voice tremble.

“Nothing,” she said, and I made a scoffing noise. “Really,” she insisted. “He’s a friend of the family.”

“Uncle Piscary, huh?” I said bitterly.

“Actually,” she said slowly, “that’s more accurate than you might think. Piscary started my mother’s living-vamp bloodline in 1700s.”

“And has been bleeding you slowly ever since,” I said bitterly.

“It’s not like that,” she said, sounding hurt. “Piscary’s never touched me. He’s like a second father.”

“Maybe he’s letting the blood age in the bottle.”

Ivy ran her hand over her hair in an unusual show of worry. “It’s not like that. Really.”

“Swell.” I slumped to put my elbows on the table. Now I had to worry about chosen scions invading my church with the strength of a master? Why didn’t she tell me this before? I didn’t want to play the damn game if the rules kept changing.

“What do you want with me?” I asked again, afraid she might tell me and I’d have to leave.

“Nothing.”

“Liar,” I said, but when I looked up from the table, she was gone.

My breath came in a quick sound. Heart pounding, I stood, my arms clasped about myself as I stared at the empty counters and silent walls. I hated it when she did that. Mr. Fish on the windowsill wiggled and squirmed, not liking it, either.

Slow and reluctant, I put my charms away. My thoughts swirled back to the fairy attack on my front steps, the Were splat balls stacked on my back porch, and then to Kist’s words that the vamps were just waiting for me to leave Ivy’s protection. I was trapped, and Ivy knew it.