Chapter Nine
"Where's my money, Bob?" I whispered as I dropped the stinky pellets into Ivy's bathtub. Jenks had sent his brood out to the nearest park yesterday to bring back a handful of fish food for me. The pretty fish gulped at the surface, and I washed the smell of fish oil off my hands. Fingers dripping, I looked at Ivy's perfectly arranged pink towels. After a moment of hesitation, I dried my hands, then smoothed them out so she couldn't tell I'd used one.
I spent a moment trying to arrange my hair under my leather cap, then strode out into the kitchen, boots thumping. My eyes went to the clock above the sink. Fidgeting, I went to the fridge, opening it to stare at nothing. Where the devil was Glenn?
"Rachel," Ivy muttered from her computer. "Stop. You're giving me a headache."
I shut the fridge and leaned against the counter. "He said he'd be here at one o'clock."
"So he's late," she said, one finger on the computer screen as she jotted down an address.
"An hour?" I exclaimed. "Cripes. I could have been out to the FIB and back by now."
Ivy clicked to a new page. "If he doesn't show, I'll loan you bus fare."
I turned back to the window and the garden. "That's not why I'm waiting for him," I said, even though it was.
"Yeah. Right." She clicked her pen open and shut so fast it almost hummed. "Why don't you make us some breakfast while you wait? I bought toaster waffles."
"Sure," I said, feeling a tug of guilt. I wasn't in charge of breakfast - just dinner - but seeing as we ate out last night, I felt I owed her something. The deal was, Ivy did the grocery shopping if I made supper. Originally the arrangement had been to keep me from running into assassins at the store and creating a new meaning to the phrase "cleanup in aisle three." But now, Ivy didn't want to cook and refused to renegotiate. Just as well. The way things were going, I wouldn't have enough for a can of Spam by week's end. And rent was due Sunday.
I opened the door to the freezer and pushed aside the half-empty cartons of ice cream to find the frozen waffles. The box hit the counter with a hard clunk. Yum, yum. Ivy gave me a raised eyebrow look when I struggled to open the damp cardboard. "So-o-o-o," she drawled as I dug my red nails into the top and tore it completely off when the handy-dandy pull-tab broke. "When are they coming to get the fish?"
My eyes darted to Mr. Fish swimming in his brandy snifter on the kitchen windowsill.
"The one in my bathtub?" she added.
"Oh!" I exclaimed, flushing. "Well..."
Her chair creaked as she leaned back. "Rachel, Rachel, Rachel," she lectured. "I've told you before. You have to get the money up front. Before the run."
Angry that she was right, I jammed two waffles into the toaster and shoved them down. They popped back up, and I smacked them down again. "It wasn't my fault," I said. "The stupid fish was never missing and no one bothered to tell me. But I'll have the rent by Monday. Promise."
"It's due Sunday."
There was a distant pounding at the front door. "There's Glenn," I said, striding out of the kitchen before she could say anything more. Boots clattering, I went down the hall and into the empty sanctuary. "Come on in, Glenn!" I shouted, voice echoing against the distant ceiling. The door remained shut, so I pushed it open, stopping short in surprise. "Nick!"
"Hey. Hi," he said, his lanky height looking awkward on the wide stoop. His long face was slack in question, and his thin eyebrows were high. Tossing his black, enviably straight bangs from his eyes, he asked, "Who's Glenn?"
A smile quirked the corners of my mouth at his hint of jealousy. "Edden's son."
Nick's face went empty, and I grinned, grabbing his arm and pulling him inside. "He's an FIB detective. We're working together."
"Oh."
The volume of emotion behind that one word was better than a year's worth of dates. Nick edged past me, his sneakers hushed on the wooden floor. His blue plaid shirt was tucked into his jeans, and I caught him before he made it to the sanctuary, pulling him back into the dark foyer. The skin about his neck almost seemed to glow in the dusk, nicely tanned and so smooth it begged for my fingers to trace the outline of his shoulders. "Where's my kiss?" I complained.
The worried look pinching his eyes vanished. Giving me a lopsided smile, he put his long hands about my waist. "Sorry," he said. "You kind of threw me there."
"Aw," I gently kidded him. "What're you worried about?"
"Mmmm." He ran his gaze down me and back up. "Plenty." Eyes almost black in the dim light, he pulled me closer, sending the smell of musty books and new electronics to fill my senses. I tilted my head up to find his lips, a warm feeling starting in my middle. Oh yeah. This was how I liked to start my day.
Being narrow of shoulders and somewhat spare, Nick didn't exactly fit the white-knight-on-a-horse mold. But he had saved my life by binding an attacking demon, leading me to think a brainy man could be as sexy as a muscular one. It was a thought that solidified to fact the first time Nick had gallantly asked if he could kiss me, then left me breathless and pleasantly shocked after I'd said yes.
But by saying he wasn't muscle-bound, I didn't mean Nick was a weakling. His lanky build was surprisingly strong, as I learned the time we wrestled over the last spoon of Chunky Monkey and broke Ivy's lamp. And he was athletic in a lean sort of way, his long legs able to keep up with me whenever I coerced him into driving me out to the zoo for their early open hours for runners only; those hills were killers on the calves.
Nick's strongest appeal, though, was that his relaxed, flow-with-the-punches exterior hid a wickedly quick, almost frightening mind. His thoughts jumped faster than mine, taking them places I'd never think to go. Threat brought quick, decisive action with little regard to future consequences. And he wasn't afraid of anything. It was the last that I both admired and worried about. He was a magic-using human. He should be afraid. Of a lot. And he wasn't.
But best of all, I thought as I eased myself against him, he didn't care one whit that I wasn't human.
His lips were soft against mine, with a comfortable familiarity. Not a hint of a beard ruined our kiss. My hands linked behind his waist and I tugged him suggestively into me. Off balance, we shifted until my back hit the wall. Our kiss broke as I felt his lips curl against mine in a smile at my forwardness.
"You are a wicked, wicked witch," he whispered. "You know that, don't you? I came over here to give you the tickets, and here you are, getting me all bothered."
His bangs were a soft whisper against my fingertips. "Yeah? You probably ought to do something about that."
"I will." His grip on me loosened. "But you're just going to have to wait." His hand ran a deliciously light path across my backside as he stepped away. "Is that a new perfume?"
Playful mood faltering, I turned away. "Yes." I had thrown my cinnamon scent out that morning. Ivy hadn't said a word upon finding the thirty-dollar-an-ounce bottle making our trash smell like Christmas. It had failed me; I hadn't the stomach to wear it again.
"Rachel..."
It was the beginning of a familiar argument, and I stiffened. Being in the unusual circumstances of having been raised in the Hollows, Nick knew more about vamps and their scent-triggered hungers than I did. "I'm not moving out," I said flatly.
"Could you just..." He hesitated, his long pianist hands moving in short, jerky motions to show his frustration as he saw my jaw clench.
"We're doing okay. I'm very careful." Guilt for having not told him she had pinned me against the kitchen wall pulled my eyes down.
He sighed, his narrow body shifting. "Here." He twisted to reach into his back pocket. "You hold the tickets. I lose everything that lays around longer than a week."
"Remind me to keep moving, then," I quipped to lighten the mood as I took them. I glanced down at the seat numbers. "Third row. Fantastic! I don't know how you do it, Nick."
He flashed his teeth in a pleased smile, the hint of cunning swelling in his eyes. He'd never tell me where he'd gotten them. Nick could find anything, and if he couldn't, he knew someone who could. I had a feeling the guarded wariness he showed to authority stemmed from here. In spite of myself, I found this as yet unexplored part of Nick deliciously daring. And as long as I didn't know for sure...
"Do you want some coffee?" I asked, shoving the tickets into my pocket.
Nick glanced past me into the empty sanctuary. "Ivy still here?"
I said nothing, and he read my answer in the silence. "She really does like you," I lied.
"No thanks." He shifted to the door. Ivy and Nick didn't get along. I hadn't a clue why. "I've got to get back to work. I'm on lunch break."
Disappointment slumped my shoulders. "Okay." Nick worked full-time at the museum at Eden Park, cleaning artifacts when he wasn't moonlighting at the university library, helping them catalog and move their more sensitive volumes to a more secure location. I thought it amusing that our break-in to the university's ancient-book locker was probably what prompted the move. I was sure Nick had taken the job so he could "borrow" the very tomes they were trying to safeguard. He was working both jobs until the end of the month, and I knew it left him tired.