Читать книгу The Hollows Series Books 1-4 - Kim Harrison, Ким Харрисон - Страница 22

I yanked at the pizza dough, taking my frustrations concerning my fabulous afternoon out on the helpless yeast and flour. A crackle of stiff paper came from Ivy’s wooden table. My attention jerked to her. Head bowed and brow furrowed, she kept her attention on her map. I’d be a fool not to recognize that her reactions had quickened with sunset. She moved with that unnerving grace again, but she looked irate, not amorous. Still, I was aware of her every move.

Ivy had a real run, I thought sourly as I stood at the center island and made pizza. Ivy had a life. Ivy wasn’t trying to prove the city’s most prominent, beloved citizen was a biodrug lord and play head cook at the same time.

Three days on her own, and Ivy had already got a run to find a missing human. I thought it odd a human would come to a vamp for help, but Ivy had her own charms, or scary competence, rather. Her nose had been buried in her map of the city all night, plotting the man’s usual haunts with colored markers and drawing out the paths he would likely take while driving from home to work and such.

“I’m no expert,” Ivy said to the table, “but is that how you’re supposed to do that?”

“You want to make dinner?” I snapped, then looked at what I was doing. The circle was more of a lopsided oval, so thin in places it almost broke through. Embarrassed, I pushed the dough to fill in the thin spot and tugged it to fit the baking stone properly. As I fussed with the edges, I surreptitiously watched her. At her first sultry glance or overly quick move, I was going out the door to hide behind Jenks’s stump. The jar of sauce opened with a loud pop. My eyes flicked to Ivy. Seeing no change, I dumped most of it onto the pizza and recapped the jar.

What else should go on it? I wondered. It would be a miracle if Ivy let me top it with everything I usually did. Deciding not to even attempt the cashews, I pulled out the mundane toppings. “Peppers,” I muttered. “Mushrooms.” I glanced at Ivy. She looked like a meat kind of a gal. “Bacon left from breakfast.”

The marker squeaked as Ivy drew a purple line from the campus to the Hollow’s more hazardous strip of nightclubs and bars by the riverfront. “So,” she drawled. “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you, or am I going to have to order pizza in after you burn that one?”

I put the pepper in the sink and leaned against the counter. “Trent runs biodrugs,” I said, hearing the ugliness anew as I said it. “If he knew I was going to try and tag him with that, he’d kill me quicker than the I.S.”

“But he doesn’t.” Ivy drew another line. “All he knows is you think he runs Brimstone and had his secretary murdered. If he was worried, he wouldn’t have offered you that job.”

“Job?” I said, turning my back to her as I washed the pepper. “It’s in the South Seas—running his Brimstone plantations, no doubt. He wants me out of the way, that’s all.”

“How about that,” she said as she capped her pen by pounding it on the table. Startled, I spun, flinging drops of water everywhere. “He thinks you’re a threat,” she finished, making a show of brushing away the water I had accidentally hit her with.

I gave her a sheepish smile, hoping she couldn’t tell she had me on edge. “I hadn’t thought about it that way,” I said.

Ivy went back to her map, frowning as she dabbed at the stains the water had made on her crisp lines. “Give me some time to check around,” she said in a preoccupied voice. “If we can get ahold of his financial records and a few of his buyers, we can find a paper trail. But I still say it’s just Brimstone.”

I yanked open the fridge for the Parmesan and mozzarella. If Trent didn’t run biodrugs, then I was a pixy princess. There was a clatter as Ivy tossed one of her markers into the cup beside her monitor. My back was to her, and the noise startled me.

“Just because he has a drawer full of discs labeled with diseases once helped by biodrugs doesn’t mean he’s a drug lord,” Ivy said, throwing another. “Maybe they’re client lists. The man is big into philanthropy. Keeps half a dozen country hospitals running alone with his donations.”

“Maybe,” I said, unconvinced. I knew about Trent’s generous contributions. Last fall he had been auctioned off in Cincinnati’s For the Children charity for more money than I used to make in a year. Personally, I thought his efforts were a publicity front. The man was dirt.

“Besides,” Ivy said as she leaned back in her chair and tossed another one of her markers into the cup in an unreal show of hand-eye coordination. “Why would he be running biodrugs? The man is independently wealthy. He doesn’t need any more money. People are motivated by three things, Rachel. Love …” A red marker clattered in with the rest. “Revenge …” A black one landed next to it. “And power,” she finished, tossing in a green one. “Trent has enough money to buy all three.”

“You forgot one,” I said, wondering if I should just keep my mouth shut. “Family.”

Ivy grabbed the pens out of the cup. Leaning back in her chair to balance on two legs, she started tossing them again. “Doesn’t family come in with love?” she asked.

I watched her from the corner of my sight. Not if they were dead, I thought, my memories turning to my dad. In that case, it might come under revenge.

The kitchen went silent as I sprinkled a thin dusting of Parmesan on the sauce. Only the clacks of Ivy’s pens broke the stillness. Every single one went in, the sporadic rattles getting on my nerves. The pens stopped, and I froze in alarm. Her face was shadowed. I couldn’t see if her eyes were going black. My heartbeat quickened, and I didn’t move, waiting.

“Why don’t you just stake me, Rachel?” she said in exasperation as she flipped her hair aside to show me irate brown eyes. “I’m not going to jump you. I said Friday was an accident.”

Shoulders easing, I rummaged loudly in the drawer for a can opener for the mushrooms. “A pretty freaking scary accident,” I muttered under my breath as I drained them.

“I heard that.” She hesitated. A pen landed in the cup with a rattle. “You, ah, did read the book, right?” she asked.

“Most of it,” I admitted, then went alarmed. “Why, am I doing something wrong?”

“You’re ticking me off, that’s what you’re doing wrong,” she said, her voice raised. “Stop watching me. I’m not an animal. I may be a vampire, but I still have a soul.”

I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t even mouth an answer to that. There was a clatter as she dropped her remaining markers in the pencil cup. The silence grew heavy as she pulled her maps to her. I turned my back on her to prove I trusted her. I didn’t, though. Putting the pepper on the cutting board, I yanked open a drawer and banged noisily about until I found a huge knife. It was too big to cut peppers, but I was feeling vulnerable and that was the knife I was going to use.

“Uh …” Ivy hesitated. “You’re not putting peppers on that, are you?”

My breath slipped from me and I set the knife down. We probably wouldn’t have anything on our pizza but cheese. Silently, I put the pepper back in the refrigerator. “What’s a pizza without peppers?” I whispered under my breath.

“Edible,” was her prompt response, and I grimaced. She wasn’t supposed to hear that.

My eyes traveled over the counter and my assembled goodies. “Mushrooms okay?”

“Can’t have pizza without them.”

I layered slices of slimy brown atop the Parmesan. Ivy rattled her map, and I snuck an unhelped glance at her.

“You never did tell me what you did with Francis,” she said.

“I left him in his open trunk. Someone will douse him in saltwater. I think I broke his car. It doesn’t accelerate anymore, no matter what gear I put it in and how loud I race it.”

Ivy laughed and my skin crawled. As if daring me to object, she rose, coming to lean against the counter. My tension flowed back. It doubled when she eased herself up with a controlled slowness to sit on the counter beside me. “So,” she said, opening the bag of pepperoni and provocatively placing a slice in her mouth. “What do you think he is?”

She was eating. Great.

“Francis?” I asked, surprised she had to ask. “He’s an idiot.”

“No, Trent.”

I held my hand out for the pepperoni and she set the bag on my palm. “I don’t know, but he isn’t a vamp. He thought my perfume was to cover up my witch smell, not—uh—yours.” I felt awkward with her that close, and I dealt the pepperoni like cards onto the pizza. “And his teeth aren’t sharp enough.” Finished, I put the bag in the refrigerator, out of Ivy’s reach.

“They could be capped.” Ivy stared at the refrigerator and the unseen pepperoni. “It would be harder to be a practicing vamp, but it’s been done.”

My thoughts went back to Table 6.1, with its too helpful diagrams, and I shuddered, disguising it in my reach for the tomato. Ivy bobbed her head in agreement as my hand hovered over it in question. “No,” I said confidently, “he doesn’t have that lack of understanding of personal space every living vamp I’ve met besides you seems to have.”

As soon as I said it, I wished I could take it back. Ivy stiffened, and I wondered if the unnatural distance she put between herself and everyone had everything to do with her being a nonpracticing vamp. It must be frustrating, second-guessing your every move, wondering if your head prompted it or your hunger. No wonder Ivy had a tendency to fly off the handle. She was fighting a thousand year instinct with no one to help her find her way. I hesitated, then asked, “Is there a way to tell if Trent is a human scion?”

“Human scion?” she said, sounding surprised. “There’s a thought.”

I sent the knife through the tomato to make little red squares. “It sort of fits. He has the inner strength, grace, and personal power of a vampire but without the touchy feely. And I’d stake my life that he’s not a witch or warlock. It’s more than him lacking even the barest hint of a redwood smell. It’s the way he moves, the light in the back of his eyes.…” I went still as I recalled his unreadable green eyes.

Ivy slipped off the counter, pilfering a pepperoni off the pizza. I casually moved it to the other side of the sink and away from her. She followed, taking another. There was a soft buzz as Jenks flew in through the window. He had a mushroom in his arms almost as large as himself, bringing the smell of dirt into the kitchen. I glanced at Ivy, and she shrugged.

“Hey, Jenks,” Ivy said as she moved back to her chair in the corner of the kitchen. Apparently we’d passed the “I can stand right next to you and not bite you” test. “What do you think? Is Trent a Were?”

Jenks dropped the mushroom, his tiny face shifting with anger. His wings blurred to nothing. “How should I know if Trent is a Were?” he snapped. “I didn’t get close enough. I got caught. Okay? Jenks got caught. Happy now?” He flew to the window. Standing beside Mr. Fish with his hands on his hips, he stared into the dark.

Ivy shook her head with a look of disgust. “So you got caught. Big freaking deal. They knew who Rachel was, and you don’t see her whining over it.”

Actually, I had thrown my tantrum on the way home, which might have accounted for the odd noise Francis’s car was making when I left it in the mall parking lot in the shade of a tree.

Jenks darted to hover three inches before Ivy’s nose. His wings were red in anger. “You have a gardener trap you in a glass ball and see if it doesn’t give you a new outlook on life, Little Miss Merry Sunshine.”

My bad mood slipped away as I watched a four-inch pixy confront a vamp. “Knock it off, Jenks,” I said lightly. “I don’t think he was a real gardener.”

“Really?” he said sarcastically, flying to me. “You think?”

Behind him, Ivy pretended to squish Jenks between her finger and thumb. Rolling her eyes, she returned to her maps. A silence grew, not comfortable, but not awkward, either. Jenks flitted down to his mushroom and brought it to me, dirt and all. He was dressed in a loose, very casual outfit. The flowing silk was the color of wet moss, and the cut of it made him look like a desert sheik. His blond hair was slicked back and I thought I smelled soap. I’d never seen a pixy relaxing at home. It was kind of nice.

“Here,” he said awkwardly, rolling the mushroom to a stop beside me. “I found it in the garden. I thought you might want it. For your pizza tonight.”

“Thanks, Jenks,” I said, brushing off the dirt.

“Look,” he said as he backed away three steps. His wings were a confusing flash of motion and stillness. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I was supposed to back you up, not get caught.”

How embarrassing, I thought. Having someone no bigger than a dragonfly apologizing for not protecting me. “Yeah, well, we both screwed up,” I said sourly, wishing Ivy wasn’t witnessing this. Ignoring her puff of noise, I rinsed off his mushroom and sliced it. Jenks seemed satisfied and went to make annoying circles around Ivy’s head until she swatted at him.

Abandoning her, he came back to me. “I’m going to find out what Kalamack smells like if it kills me,” Jenks said as I placed his contribution on the pizza. “It’s personal now.”

Well, I thought, why not? I took a deep breath. “I’m going back tomorrow night,” I said, thinking about my death threat. Eventually I was going to make a mistake. And unlike Ivy, I couldn’t come back from the dead. “Want to go with me, Jenks? Not as a backup, but as a partner.”

Jenks rose up, his wings shifting to purple. “You can bet your mother’s panties I will.”

“Rachel!” Ivy exclaimed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I tore open the bag of mozzarella and dumped it over the pizza. “I’m making Jenks a full partner. Got a problem with that? He’s been working too much overtime for anything less.”

“No,” she said, staring at me across the kitchen. “I mean going back to Kalamack’s!”

Jenks hovered next to me to make a united front. “Shut your mouth, Tamwood. She needs a disc to prove Kalamack is a biodrug runner.”

“I don’t have a choice,” I said, pushing the cheese so hard it spilled over the edge.

Ivy leaned back in her chair with an exaggerated slowness. “I know you want him, but think it through, Rachel. Trent can accuse you of everything from trespassing to impersonating I.S. personnel to looking at his horses cross-eyed. If you get caught, you’re toast.”

“If I accuse Trent without solid proof, he will slide through the courts on a technicality.” I couldn’t look at her. “It has to be fast and idiot proof. Something the media can get their teeth into and run with.” My motions were jerky as I picked up the cheese I had spilled and put it back on the pizza. “I have to get one of those discs, and tomorrow I will.”

A small noise of disbelief came from Ivy. “I can’t believe you’re rushing back, no plans, no preparations. Nothing. You already tried the no-thinking approach and you got caught.”

My face burned. “Just because I don’t plan out my trips to the bathroom, it doesn’t mean I’m not a good runner,” I said tightly.

Her jaw clenched. “I never said you weren’t a good runner. I only meant a little planning might save you some embarrassing mistakes, like what happened today.”

“Mistakes!” I exclaimed. “Look here, Ivy. I’m a damn fine runner.”

She arched her thin eyebrows. “You haven’t had a clean tag in the last six months.”

“That wasn’t me, that was Denon! He admitted it. And if you are so unimpressed with my abilities, why did you beg that I let you come with me?”

“I didn’t,” Ivy said. Her eyes narrowed and spots of anger appeared on her cheeks.

Not wanting to argue with her, I turned to put the pizza in the oven. The dry whoosh of air made my cheeks tighten and sent wisps of my hair floating into my eyes. “Yes, you did,” I muttered, knowing she could hear me, then said louder, “I know exactly what I’m going to do.”

“Really?” she said from right behind me. I stifled a gasp and whipped around. Jenks was standing on the windowsill next to Mr. Fish, white-faced. “So tell me,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “What’s your perfect plan?”

Not wanting her to know she had scared me, I brushed past her, deliberately showing her my back as I scraped the flour off the counter with that big knife. The hair on the back of my neck rose, and I turned to find her just where I had left her, even if her arms were crossed and a dark shadow was flitting behind her eyes. My pulse quickened. I knew I shouldn’t have been arguing with her.

Jenks darted between Ivy and me. “How are we going to get in, Rachel?” he asked, alighting beside me on the counter.

I felt safer with him watching her, and I purposely turned my back on Ivy. “I’m going in as a mink.” Ivy made a noise of disbelief and I stiffened. Brushing the loosened flour into my hand, I dumped it into the trash. “Even if I’m spotted, they won’t know it’s me. It will be a simple snatch and dash.” Trent’s words about my activities flitted through me, and I wondered.

“Burglarizing the office of a councilman is not a simple snatch and dash,” Ivy said, the tension seeming to ooze from her. “It’s grand theft.”

“With Jenks, I’ll be in and out of his office in two minutes. Out of the building in ten.”

“And buried in the basement of the I.S. tower in an hour,” Ivy said. “You’re nuts. Both of you are bloody nuts. It’s a fortress in the middle of the freaking woods! And that’s not a plan—it’s an idea. Plans are on paper.”

Her voice had become scornful, pulling my shoulders tight. “If I used plans, I’d be dead three times over,” I said. “I don’t need a plan. You learn all you can, then you just do it. Plans can’t take into account surprises!”

“If you used a plan, you wouldn’t have any surprises.”

Ivy stared at me, and I swallowed. More than a hint of black swirled in her eyes, and my stomach clenched.

“I have a more enjoyable path if you’re looking for suicide,” she breathed.

Jenks landed on my earring, jolting my eyes from Ivy. “It’s the first smart thing she’s done all week,” he said. “So back off, Tamwood.”

Ivy’s eyes narrowed, and I took a quick step back as she was distracted. “You’re as bad as her, pixy,” she said, showing her teeth. Vamp teeth were like guns. You didn’t pull them unless you were going to use them.

“Let her do her job!” Jenks shouted back.

Ivy went wire tight. A cold draft hit my neck as Jenks shifted his wings as if to fly. “Enough!” I cried, before he could leave me. I wanted him right were he was. “Ivy. If you have a better idea, tell me. If not—shut up.”

Together Jenks and I looked at Ivy, stupidly thinking we were stronger together than alone. Her eyes flashed to black. My mouth went dry. They were unblinking, alive with a promise as yet only hinted at. A tickle in my belly swirled up to close my throat. I couldn’t tell if it was fear or anticipation. She fixed upon my eyes, not breathing. Don’t look at my neck, I thought, panicking. Oh. God. Don’t look at my neck. “Rot and hell,” Jenks whispered.

But she shuddered, turning away to lean over the sink. I was shaking, and could swear I heard a sigh of relief from Jenks. This, I realized, could have been really, really bad.

Ivy’s voice sounded dead when she next spoke. “Fine,” she said to the sink. “Go get yourself killed. Both of you.” She jerked herself into motion and I jumped. Hunched and pained-looking, she stalked out of the kitchen. Too soon to be believed came the sound of the church’s front door slamming, then nothing.

Someone, I thought, was going to get hurt tonight.

Jenks left my earring, alighting on the windowsill. “What’s with her?” he asked belligerently into the sudden quiet. “You would almost think she cared.”