Ким Харрисон - Every Witch Way But Dead

Much as I didn't want to admit it, I really liked him, and that I could have gone from fear to dislike to attraction and interest in less than a year left me concerned and embarrassed. It wasn't like me to overlook my healthy distrust of vampires because of a tight butt and a charming demeanor.

Living with a vampire might have something to do with it, I thought, dipping my hand into the nearby bowl of popcorn and eating a piece because it was there, rather than out of any need to satisfy hunger. I didn't think my new attitude was because of my scar; I had liked Kisten before the sex, or there wouldn't have been any—and he hadn't played upon it to influence me, either.

Wiping my fingers free of the salt, I stared into nothing. I had been thinking of Kisten differently since he'd dressed me up and made me feel good. Maybe, I thought, picking out another kernel. Maybe I could find something with a vampire that I'd never been able to hold on to with a witch, war-lock, or human.

Chin in the cup of my palm, I sent my fingers lightly over the demon scar as I recalled his careful attention as he shampooed my hair and soaped my back, and how good it felt to be able to return the favor. He had let me hog the shower-head most of the time. That kind of stuff was important.

The sound of the front door opening jerked my attention to the clock. Ivy was home? Already? I had wanted to be tucked in bed pretending sleep when she came in.

"You up, Rachel?" she said, loud enough to be heard and soft enough to not wake me.

"Kitchen," I called back. Nervous, I glanced at the potpourri. It was enough. Kisten had said it was. Standing, I flicked on the overhead light and resettled myself. As the fluorescent bulbs flickered on, I tucked my amulets behind my sweater and listened to her thump about in her room. Her steps in the hall were quick and stilted.

"Hi," I said when she walked in, a vision of tight leather and tall boots. A black satchel was over one arm, and a silk-wrapped package about the size of a broken fishing pole was in her hand. My eyebrows rose as I realized she had put on makeup. Her image was both professional and sexy. Where was she going this late? And dressed like that?

"What happened with dinner with the folks?" I prompted.

"Change of plans." Setting her stuff beside me on the table, she crouched to dig in a lower drawer. "I came to get a few things, then I'm gone." Still at knee level, she smiled at me to show teeth. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

"Okay," I said, slightly confused. She looked happy. She actually looked happy.

"It's cold in here," she said as she pulled out three of my wooden stakes and set them clattering on the counter by the sink. "It smells like you had the windows open."

"Um, it must be from our plywood door." My brow furrowed as she stood, tugging the hem of her leather jacket down. Crossing the room with a speed just shy of eerie, she unzipped the satchel and jammed the stakes into it. I silently watched her, wondering.

Ivy hesitated. "Can I use them?" she asked, mistaking my silence for disapproval.

"Sure. Keep them," I said, wondering what was up. I hadn't seen her in this much leather since she took that run to liberate a vamp child from a jealous ex. And I really didn't want a stake back if it had been used.

"Thanks." Boot heels clacking on the linoleum, she went to the coffeemaker. Her oval face creased in annoyance as she peered at the empty carafe.

"You have a run?" I asked.

"Sort of." Her enthusiasm dimmed, and I watched her throw the old grounds away.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I flicked back the silk covering to see what was under it. "Holy crap!" I exclaimed as I found a shiny length of steel smelling faintly of oil. "Where did you get a sword!"

"Nice, isn't it." Not turning, she added three scoops of coffee to the filter and set it to brew. "And you can't trace it like bullets or charms."

Oh, such a warm and fuzzy thought. "Can you use it?"

Ivy pushed herself from the counter. I leaned back in my chair as she shook the wrap off, grasping the handle of the thin sword and pulling it from the back sheath. It came free with a whisper of ringing steel that tickled my inner ear. Like collapsing silk, her posture melted into a classic pose, her free arm arched over her head and her sword arm bent and extended. Her face was empty as she looked at the wall, her black hair swinging to a slow stop.

I had a freaking vampire samurai warrior for a roommate. This was getting better and better. "And you know how to use it, too," I said faintly.

She flashed me a smile as she stood and wedged it back into its sheath. "I took lessons from fifth grade through high school," she said as she set it on the table. "I grew so fast that it was hard to keep my balance. I kept running into things. Mostly people who irritated me. Adolescence is when the faster reflexes kick in. The practice helped, and I stuck with it."

I licked the salt off my fingers and pushed the popcorn away. I was willing to bet the classes had a good section devoted to self-control. Feeling more relaxed since the candles seemed to be working, I stretched my legs out under the table, wanting some of the coffee. Ivy rummaged in an upper cupboard to bring out her thermos. I eyed the dripping coffee, hoping she wasn't going to take it all.

"Well," she said as she filled the metal vacuum bottle with hot water to warm it up. "You look like the vamp who bled the cat."

"Beg pardon?" I said, stomach clenching.

She turned and dried her hands off on a dishcloth. "Did Nick call?"

"No," I said flatly.

Her smile widened. Swinging her hair out of her way, she said, "Good." Then, softly, she repeated, "That's good."

This was not where I wanted the conversation to go. Rising, I wiped my palms on my jeans and padded in my bare feet to turn the flame up under the potpourri. Ivy yanked open the fridge and came out with the cream cheese and a bag of bagels. The woman ate as if calories couldn't stick to her. "No Jenks?" I asked, though the answer was obvious.

"No Jenks. He did talk to me, though." Her eyes were pinched with frustration. "I told him I knew what Trent was, too, and to get over it. Now he won't talk to me, either." She popped the lid on the cream cheese and scraped a knifeful across her bagel. "Do you think we should put an ad in the paper?"

My head rose. "To replace him?" I stammered.

Ivy took a bite and shook her head. "Just shake him up," she said around her full mouth. "Maybe if he sees our ad for pixy backup, he'll talk to us."

Frowning, I sat down in my spot and slouched, extending my legs to put my bare feet on her unused chair. "I doubt it. It would be just like him to tell us to take a flying leap."

Ivy lifted one shoulder and let it fall. "It's not like we can do anything until spring."

"I suppose." God, this was depressing. I had to find a way to apologize to Jenks. Maybe if I sent him a clown-delivered telegram. Maybe if I was the clown. "I'll talk to him again," I said. "Take him some honey. Maybe if I get him drunk, he'll forgive me for being such an ass."

"I'll pick some up while I'm out," she offered. "I saw some gourmet honey made from Japanese cherry blossoms." Dumping the water from the thermos, she refilled it with the entire carafe of coffee, sealing the heavenly scent in metal and glass.

Biting back my disappointment, I pulled my feet off her chair. Obviously she had been thinking about how to soothe Jenks's pride as well. "So where are you going this late with a thermos of coffee, a bag of stakes, and that sword?" I asked.

Ivy leaned against the counter with the sleek grace of a black panther, the half-eaten bagel perched on her finger tips. "I have to lean on some uppity vamps. Keep them up past their bedtime. The sword is for show, the stakes to remember me by, and the coffee is for me."