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From the sanctuary came a thump and a light laugh, reminding me I wasn't alone. Ivy had galvanized her old high-school roommate, Skimmer, into moving the living-room furniture to the sanctuary, partly to make room for Three Guys and a Toolbox to put the paneling up, partly to put space between Skimmer and me. Though Skimmer was frustratingly nice, she was Piscary's lawyer—as if being a living vampire wasn't scary enough—and I wasn't keen on being nice back to her.
Dropping the saucepan on the stove, I dug around under the counter until I remembered that Jenks's kids were using the big pot as a fort in the garden. Bothered, I filled my largest spell pot with water and set it on the stove. Mixing food prep and spell prep wasn't a good idea, but I didn't use this one for spells anymore—now that it had a dent the size of Ivy's head in it.
I melted the butter for the sauce while the water warmed. There was a burst of noise from the sanctuary, and my shoulders eased at NIN's belligerent music. The volume dropped, and Skimmer's cheerful voice made a pleasant counterpoint to Ivy's soft response. It struck me that though a living vampire, Skimmer was a lot like me in that she was quick to laugh and didn't let bad things bother her on the outside—a quality Ivy seemed to need to balance herself out.
Skimmer had been in Cinci
My motions to push the pat of butter around the saucepan slowed, and I forced my hand from my neck, not liking that I'd tried to cover the scar hidden there under my perfect skin. The jolt of desire the woman had given me had been heady and shocking, surpassed only by the embarrassment that she had misunderstood the relationship Ivy and I had. Hell, I didn't understand it. Expecting Skimmer to in the first thirty seconds of meeting me was ridiculous.
I knew that Ivy and Skimmer had picked up where they'd left off, which I think was the reason Piscary agreed to take Skimmer into his own camarilla if the pretty vampire could win his case. And as I mixed the butter, milk, and sauce powder, I wondered if Piscary was starting to rue his leniency in letting Ivy maintain a friendship with me that was based not on blood but on respect. He probably expected Skimmer to lure Ivy back to a proper vampiric frame of mind.
Ivy, though, had been a lot easier to live with the last few months as she slaked her blood lust with someone she loved who could survive her attentions. She was happy. Guilty, but happy. I didn't think Ivy could be happy if she didn't slather it with guilt. And in the interim we could pretend that I wasn't feeling the first lure of blood ecstasy, not pushing the issue because Ivy was afraid. Our roles were reversed, and I didn't have as much practice as Ivy did at telling myself I couldn't have something I wanted.
The wooden spoon rattled against the pan as my hand trembled, the thrill of adrenaline zinging through me at the memory of her teeth sliding cleanly into me, fear and pleasure mixing in an unreal sensation, filling me with the rush of ecstasy.
As if the memory had called her, Ivy's lanky silhouette appeared in the hallway. Dressed in tight jeans and a shirt cut high to show her belly-button ring, She went to the fridge for a bottled water. Her motions to open it slowed as she scented the air, realizing I'd been thinking about her, or at least about something that would get my rush flowing and my pulse up. Pupils swelling, she eyed me from across the kitchen. "That perfume isn't working anymore," she said.
I hid my smile, thinking I should just stop wearing it, but pushing her into biting me again was a bad idea. "It's an old one," I said. "I didn't have anything else in the bathroom."
Much to my surprise, she shook her head and chuckled. She was in a good mood, and I wondered what she and Skimmer had been doing in there besides rearranging the furniture. Not my business, I thought, turning back to my sauce.
Ivy was silent as she took another swig, leaning against the counter with her ankles crossed. I felt her eyes rove the kitchen, landing on the kettle shining dully on a back burner. "Is Ceri coming over?" she asked.
Nodding, I looked into the damp garden, shadowed into an early dusk from the clouds. "She's going to help me with my calling glyph." I glanced at her, my spoon still circling. Clockwise, clockwise… never widdershins. "What's your schedule tonight?"
"I'm out and won't be back until almost sunup. I've got a run." In a motion of powerful grace, she used one hand to ease herself up to sit on the counter.
"You going to take Jenks?" I asked, wanting him here with me, but my scaredy-cat fears came in second after a real job.
"No." Ivy ran her fingers up through the downward spikes of her shorter hair in a show of nervousness, telling me she was doing something for Piscary, not her bank account. She was the master vampire's scion, and that came first—when it didn't involve me. "Do you think that ugly statue is what that demon was after?"
"The focus?" Ru
The water was boiling, and I shook in enough macaroni for three.
Leaning, Ivy dragged the open box of pasta to her. "What did Gle
Breaking apart the clumps of macaroni, I turned the flame down. "My opinion of a Were murder. It was Mr. Ray's secretary. Whoever did it tried to make it look like a suicide."
Defined eyebrows high, Ivy's gaze went to the calendar pi
I nodded. "I don't think they expected the FIB to take an interest. She had pressure marks from restraints and needle marks. Denon was covering it up."
Ivy's reach into the box for another piece of pasta hesitated. "You think it has something to do with the focus?"
"Why not?" I said, exasperated. Damn it. I'd only had the ugly statue for two months, and already word was out that it hadn't been lost going over the Mackinac Bridge. Tucking a strand of hair out of the way, I stirred my pasta and tried to remember if I'd gone to see or even called David in all that time. Apart from the night I gave it to him, I didn't think I had. He was my alpha, but it wasn't like we were married or anything. Crap, this wasn't safe. I needed to get it back from him, like today.
"I can ask around if you want," Ivy said, swinging her boots up onto the counter to sit cross-legged with the box of pasta.
My thoughts jerked back to her. "Absolutely not," I said. "The less I dig, the safer I'll be. Besides, we'll never get paid for it if you do find something."
She laughed, and my mood eased. Ivy didn't laugh often, and I loved the sound of it.
"Is that why you're thinking about Nick?" she asked, shocking me. "You never make pasta in Alfredo sauce unless you are."