Chapter Twenty-Five
The low lub-lub-lub-lub of a bike pulled my eyes up from my book. Recognizing the cadence of Kist's motorbike, I pulled my knees to my chin, tugged my covers farther up, and clicked off my bedside lamp. The sliver of black beyond my propped-open stained-glass window showed a lighter gray. Ivy was home. If Kist came in, I was going to pretend to be asleep until he left. But his bike hardly paused before it idled back up the street. My eyes went to the glowing green numbers of my clock. Four in the morning. She was early.
Closing the book upon my finger to mark the page, I listened for her footsteps on the walk. The cold, predawn September air had pooled in my room. If I were smart, I'd get up and close my window; Ivy would probably turn the heat on when she came in.
I thanked all that was holy that my bedroom was part of the original church and fell under the sacred-ground clause: guaranteed to keep out undead vamps, demons, and mothers-in-law. I was safe in my bed until the sun came up. I still had to worry about Kist. But he wouldn't touch me while Ivy breathed. He wouldn't touch me if she were dead, either.
A stirring of unease pulled my finger out of the book, and I set it on the cloth-covered box I was using as a table. Ivy hadn't come in yet. It had been Kist's bike I heard driving away.
I listened to my heartbeat, waiting for Ivy's soft steps or the closing of the church's door. But what met me was the sound of someone retching, faint through the cold-silenced night.
"Ivy," I whispered, throwing off my covers. Chilled, I lurched from my bed, snatched my robe, jammed my feet into my fuzzy pink slippers, and went into the hall. Skittering to a halt, I retraced my steps. Standing before my press-board chest of drawers, I sent my fingers over the shadowed bumps of my perfumes.
Choosing the new one I had found among the rest just yesterday, I impatiently dumped a splash on me. Citrus blossomed, clean and sharp, and I set the bottle down, knocking over half of what remained with a harsh clatter. Feeling unreal and disoriented, I almost ran through the empty church, tugging my robe on as I went. I hoped this one worked better than the last.
A sharp clattering of wings was my only warning as Jenks dropped from the ceiling. I jerked to a stop as he hovered before me. He was glowing black. I blinked in shock. He was freaking glowing black.
"Don't go out there," he said, fear thick in his high voice. "Go out the back. Get on a bus. Go to Nick's."
My gaze shot past him to the door as I heard Ivy vomiting again, the ugly sounding gags mixing with heavy sobs. "What happened?" I asked, frightened.
"Ivy fell off the wagon."
I stood there, not understanding. "What?"
"She fell off the wagon," he repeated. "She's sipping the B-juice. She's sampling the wine. She's practicing again, Rachel. And she's off her rocker. Go. My family is waiting for you by the far wall. Get them to Nick's for me. I'll stay here and keep an eye on her. To make sure she - " He glanced at the door. "I'll make sure she isn't going to come after you."
The sound of Ivy vomiting stopped. I stood in my nightgown and robe in the middle of the sanctuary, listening. Fear soaked in with the stillness, settling in my gut. I heard a small noise that grew into a steady, soft crying.
"Excuse me," I whispered, moving around Jenks. My heart was pounding and my knees were weak as I pushed open one side of the heavy door.
The glow from the streetlight was enough to see. Deep in the shadows cast by the oaks, Ivy was sprawled in her biker leather, half laying across the church's two lowest steps, dumped and left to fend for herself. A gelatinous dark vomit spread over the steps, dripping to the sidewalk in ugly syrupy clumps. The cloying smell of blood was thick, overpowering my citrus scent.
Gathering the hem of my robe, I went down the steps with a calm born in fear.
"Rachel!" Jenks shouted, his wings a harsh clatter. "You can't help her. Leave!"
I faltered as I stood over Ivy, her long legs askew and her hair sticking to the black vomit. Her sobs had turned silent, shaking her shoulders. God, help me through this.
Breath held, I reached from behind, gripping under her arms to try to get her to her feet. She flinched at my touch. Coherency flickered over her. Focus wavering, she angled her feet under her to help. "I told him no," she said, her voice cracking. "I said no."
My stomach clenched at the sound of her voice, bewildered and confused. The acidic smell of vomit caught in my throat. Under it was a rich scent of well-turned earth, mixing with her burnt ash smell.
Jenks flitted around us as I got her to her feet. Pixy dust sifted from him to make a glowing cloud. "Careful," he whispered, first on my left side, then my right. "Be careful. I can't stop her if she attacks you."
"She's not going to attack me," I said, anger joining my fear to make a nauseating mix. "She didn't fall off the wagon. Listen to her. Someone pushed her."
Ivy shuddered as we reached the top step. Her hand touched the door for support, and she jerked as if burned. Like an animal, she clawed her way from me. Gasping, I fell back, wide-eyed. Her crucifix was gone.
She stood before me on the church's landing, tension pulling her tall. Her gaze took me in, and I went cold. There was nothing in Ivy's black eyes. Then they flashed into a ravenous hunger, and she lunged.
I had not a chance.
Ivy grabbed me by my neck, pinning me to the door of the church. Adrenaline surged, flashed through me in a pained assault. Her hand was like warm stone under my chin. My last breath made an ugly sound. Toes brushing the stone landing, I hung. Terrified, I tried to kick out, but she pressed into me, heat going through my robe. Eyes bulging, I pried at her fingers about my throat.
Struggling to breathe, I watched her eyes. They were utterly black in the streetlight. Fear, despair, hunger all mixed. Nothing there was her. Nothing at all.
"He told me to do it," she said, her feather-light voice a shocking contrast to her twisted face, terrifying in its absolute hunger. "I told him I wouldn't."
"Ivy," I rasped, managing a breath. "Put me down." Again I made that ugly noise as her grip tightened.
"Not this way!" Jenks shrilled. "Ivy! It's not what you want!"
The fingers on my neck clenched. My lungs struggled, a fire burning as they tried to fill. The black of Ivy's eyes grew as my body started to shut down. Panicking, I stretched for my ley line. The disorientation of connection flashed through the chaos almost unnoticed. Reeling from the lack of oxygen, I let the surge of power explode from me, uncontrolled.
Ivy was flung back. I fell to my knees, drawn forward even as her grip around my neck pulled away. My breath came in a ragged gasp. Pain went all the way to my skull as my knees hit the stone landing. I coughed, feeling my throat. I took a breath, then another. Jenks was a blur of green and black. The black spots dancing before me shrank and vanished.
I looked up to find Ivy curled in a fetal position against the closed doors, her arms over her head as if she had been beaten, rocking herself. "I said no. I said no. I said no."
"Jenks," I rasped, watching her around the strands of my hair. "Go get Nick."
The pixy hovered before me as I staggered to my feet. "I'm not leaving."
I felt my neck as I swallowed. "Go get him, if he's not already on his way here. He must have felt me pull on that line."
Jenks's face was set. "You should run. Run while you can."
Shaking my head, I watched Ivy, her confident self-assurance shattered into nothing as she rocked herself and cried. I couldn't go. I couldn't walk away because it would be safer. She needed help, and I was the only one who stood a chance of surviving her.
"Damn it all to hell!" Jenks shouted. "She's going to kill you!"
"We'll be okay," I said as I lurched to her. "Go get Nick. Please. I need him to get through this."
The pitch of his wings rose and fell in tandem with his visible indecision. Finally he nodded and left. The silence his absence made reminded me of the quiet left in a cruddy little hospital room when two faltered to one. Swallowing, I tightened my robe tie. "Ivy," I whispered. "Come on, Ivy. I'm going to get you inside." Stealing myself, I reached out and put a shaking hand on her shoulder, jerking away as she shuddered.
"Run away," she whispered as she stopped rocking, falling into a wire-tight stillness.
My heart pounded as she looked up at me, her eyes empty and her hair wild.
"Run away," she repeated. "If you run, I'll know what to do."
Trembling, I forced myself to remain still, not wanting to trigger her instincts.
Her face went slack, and with a sudden creasing of her brow, a ring of brown showed in her eyes. "Oh God. Help me, Rachel," she whimpered.
It scared the crap of me.
My legs trembled. I wanted to run. I wanted to leave her on the steps of the church and go. No one would say anything if I did. But instead I reached out and put my hands under her shoulders and lifted. "Come on," I whispered as I pulled her to her feet. All my instincts screamed to drop her as her hot skin touched mine. "Let's get you inside."
She hung slack in my grip. "I said no," she said, her words starting to slur. "I said no."
Ivy was taller than I, but my shoulder fit nicely under hers, and supporting most of her weight, I wedged the door open.
"He didn't listen," Ivy said, all but incoherent as I dragged her inside and shut the door behind us, shutting out the vomit and blood on the steps outside.
The black of the foyer was smothering. I staggered into motion, the light brightening as we entered the sanctuary. Ivy doubled over, panting around a moan. There was a dark smear of new blood on my robe, and I looked closer. "Ivy," I said. "You're bleeding."
I went cold as her new mantra of "He said it was all right" turned into a giggle. It was a deep, skin crawling giggle, and my mouth went dry.
"Yes," she said, the word sliding from her with a sultry heat. "I'm bleeding. Want a taste?" Horror settled into me as her giggle slipped into a sobbing moan. "Everyone should have a taste," she whimpered. "It doesn't matter anymore."
My jaw clenched and I tightened my grip on her shoulders. Anger mixed with my fear. Someone had used her. Someone had forced her to take blood against her will. She was out of her mind, an addict coming off a high.
"Rachel?" she quavered, her steps slowing. "I think I'm going to be sick...."
"We're almost there," I said grimly. "Hold on. Just hold on."
We barely made it, and I held Ivy's vomit-strewn hair out of the way as she gagged and retched into her black porcelain toilet. I looked once in the glow of the seashell night-light, then closed my eyes as she vomited thick, black blood over and over. Sobs shook her shoulders, and when she finished, I flushed the toilet, wanting to get rid of what ugliness I could.
I stretched to flick the light on, and a rosy glow filled her bathroom. Ivy sat on the floor with her forehead on the toilet, crying. Her leather pants were shiny with blood down to her knees. Under her jacket, her silk blouse was torn. It clung to her, sticky with blood coming from her neck. Ignoring the warning coursing through me, I carefully gathered her hair to see.
My stomach knotted. Ivy's perfect neck had been ravaged, one long low tear marking the austere whiteness of her skin. It was still bleeding, and I tried not to breathe on it lest the lingering vamp saliva might set it into play.
Frightened, I let her hair fall and backed away. In vampire terms, she had been raped.
"I told him no," she said, her sobs slowing as she realized I wasn't standing over her anymore. "I told him no."
The image of me in the mirror looked white and scared. I took a breath to steady myself. I wanted it to go away. I wanted it all to just go away. But I had to get the blood off her. I had to get her in bed with a pillow to cry on. I had to get her a cup of cocoa and a really good shrink. Did they have shrinks for abused vampires? I wondered as I put a hand on her shoulder.
"Ivy," I coaxed. "It's time to get cleaned up." I looked at her bathtub where that stupid fish still swam. She needed a shower, not a bath where she would be sitting in the filth she had to get off her. "Let's go, Ivy," I encouraged. "A quick shower in my bathroom. I'll get your nightgown. Come on..."
"No," she protested, eyes not focused and unable to help as I lugged her upright. "I couldn't stop. I told him no. Why didn't he stop?"
"I don't know," I murmured, my anger growing. I supported her across the hall and into my bathroom. Hitting the light switch with my elbow, I left her slumped upright against the washer and dryer and went to start the shower.
The sound of the water seemed to revive her. "I smell," she whispered vacantly, looking down at herself.
She wouldn't look at me. "Can you take your shower by yourself?" I asked, hoping to spark some motion.
Face empty and slack, she looked down at herself, seeing she was covered in coagulated, vomited blood. My stomach clenched as she touched the shiny blood with a careful finger and licked it. Tension tightened my shoulders until they hurt.
Ivy started to cry. "Three years," she said in a soft exhalation, tears running down her oval face until she ran the back of her hand under her chin to leave a smear of blood. "Three years..."
Head bowed, she reached for the side zipper on her pants, and I lurched to the door. "I'll make you a cup of cocoa," I said, feeling entirely inadequate. I hesitated. "Will you be all right for a few minutes?"
"Yeah," she breathed, and I shut the door softly behind me.
Feeling weightless and unreal, I went into the kitchen. I flicked on the light, gripping my arms around myself, hearing the emptiness of the room. Her makeshift desk with its silver technology smelling faintly of ozone looked oddly right beside my shiny copper pots, ceramic spoons, and herbs hanging from a sweater rack. The kitchen was full of us, carefully separated by space but contained by the same walls. I wanted to call someone, to rage, to rant, to ask for help. But everyone would tell me to leave her and get out.
My fingers shook as I methodically got the milk and cocoa out and started to make Ivy a drink. Hot cocoa, I thought bitterly. Someone had raped Ivy, and all I could do was make her a damned cup of cocoa.
It had to be Piscary. Only Piscary was strong or bold enough to rape her. And it had been rape. She told him to stop. He took her against her will. It had been rape.