Chapter Thirty-one
As expected, I had found Nick's place empty. I didn't think anyone had noticed me helping Kisten inside and up the steps to the one-bedroom apartment. Kisten had revived somewhat on the way, and he had gotten himself into a warm tub of water without my help. There was no shower curtain, and I thought a soak would be better anyway. He was still in there, and if I didn't hear some water draining soon, I was going to go check on him.
The sound of the street noise coming through the open windows was nice. It had smelled musty when I hesitantly opened the door to find empty walls and barren carpet. Clearly, Nick had packed up everything on the solstice, leaving very little to return to if he ever found himself in Cincy again. Where all his stuff was now, I didn't know or care. His mom's, maybe?
I couldn't help but feel betrayed all over again, though there was nothing here to trigger the memories but worn carpet and empty shelves. I tried not to feel bitter as I drank the coffee Nick had left along with a sleeping bag, three cans of stew, and the pan to heat it up in. There was one plate, one bowl, and one set of silverware - nothing he would miss if he never came back, but there if he found himself on the run and needed somewhere to hide for a night or two.
"Bastard," I mumbled, not putting much emotion behind it. If he had just been a thief, I might have been able to see past it, what with my new and improved outlook on life, but he had been buying demon favors from Al with pieces of me. Innocent things, he'd said, worthless. But if they were worthless, why had Al agreed to it?
So I sat at the metal and Formica table that came with the apartment, drinking stale coffee and staring at the stains on the matted carpet. The traffic sounds were both soothing and unfamiliar. Nick's apartment wasn't in a residential area but what passed for downtown Hollows. There was no scent of Nick in the air, yet I could almost feel the stale magic.
I looked at the scratched linoleum for the circle Nick had said was there, scribed with a black-light marker. The memory of standing in Nick's closet to summon Al lifted through me. God, I should've walked away right then, even if calling up Al for information had been my idea. But I hadn't thought anyone who claimed to love me could willingly betray me like that.
The water in the bathroom sloshed, and as the gurgle as it left the tub intruded into my thoughts, I sat up. Feeling bitter and stupid, I scooted my chair back and went to warm up a can of stew. The can opener was one of those cheap, flimsy things, and I was still fighting it when a soft breath and hesitant steps turned me around.
I smiled when I saw Kisten, wearing a towel, his hair damp. He had his torn and scuffed clothes in his hands, as if he didn't want to put them back on. Ugly bruises brought out by the warm water splotched his torso, and his eye was swollen bigger than before. Red-rimmed scratches marked his arms and face. His hair had been washed, and despite his beating, he still looked good - standing there in the kitchen wrapped in a towel, the definition of his muscles all damp and glistening - - -
"Rachel," he said, looking relieved as he set his wad of clothes on a vacant chair, "you're still here. Um, don't take this the wrong way, but where are we?"
"Nick's old apartment." The can's finally popped lid off. Angst spiked though me at Jenks's warning, but I had to trust Kisten. Otherwise what was the point of loving him?
Kisten's blue eyes widened, and I licked a spot of cold gravy off my thumb. "Your old boyfriend's?" he said, turning to the empty living room with only the curtains moving in the slight breeze. "Kind of spartan with the decorating, wasn't he?"
Snorting, I dumped the stew into the pot and set the dial to warm. "I'm guessing he hasn't been here since the solstice, but he's paid up to August and I had a key, so here we are. No one knows but Jenks. You're safe," I said hesitantly. For the moment.
Exhaling, Kisten sat and put an elbow on the table. "Thank you," he said fervently. "I have to get out of Cincinnati."
I had my back to him as I stirred the stew, and a shiver rose through me. "Maybe not." The soft hush of the cotton towel as he straightened brought me around, and, seeing his wonder, I said, "I'm going to give Piscary the focus to put into hiding, if he will leave me alone and keep anyone else from knocking me or you off."
Kisten's lips parted, and I wished his towel would slip a little more. God! What was wrong with me? We were both teetering on death, and I was looking at his legs?
"You want to buy protection from Piscary?" Kisten said in disbelief. "After what he did to me? He gave my last blood to someone outside the camarilla! Do you know what that means? He's abandoning me, Rachel! It's not so much the dying I'm worried about, but being shunned. No one will risk his anger to make me undead now except maybe Ivy, and if she's his scion, that's not going to happen."
He was scared. I didn't like seeing him like that. Taking a miserable breath, I leaned against the stove and crossed my arms. "It's going to be okay. No one is going to kill you, so you'll be fine. Besides, I've been getting protection from him by way of Ivy," I said, thinking I would cheerfully be a hypocrite if it meant we both would survive. "This is just making it more official. I'm going to ask that he leave you alone, too. Take you back. It will be okay."
Hope lit his blue eyes, then died. "He won't," he said in a flat tone.
"Sure he will," I coaxed, coming to sit beside him.
"No he won't." Kisten looked worse for having seen hope for an instant. "He can't. It's done. You'd have to make arrangements with whoever he gave me to, and I don't know who that is. I won't until they show up. It's part of the mind game."
His eyes darted nervously, and I drew back. It wasn't that cut and dried. I knew how vamps worked. Until the coffin was nailed shut, there were options. "Then I'll find out who he gave you to," I said.
Kisten took my hands, his eyebrows furrowing over lost chances. "Rachel... it's too late."
"I can't believe you're giving up!" I said, angry as I pulled from him.
He took my hand and kissed the top of it. "I'm not giving up. I'm accepting it. Even if you could find out who it was, or if you were here when they came for me - which you won't be - that would leave you with nothing to buy protection from Piscary with." His hand rose to touch my jawline. "I won't do that to you."
"Damn it, it isn't too late!" I exclaimed, standing up and going to stir the stew before it burned. I couldn't look at him anymore. The pot slopped over in my agitation, and I got mad. "All you have to do is lay low until I get this sorted out. Can you do that for me, Kisten?" I turned, angry. "Just hide and do nothing for a day or two? "
His sigh was heavy, and I wasn't certain I believed him when he nodded. Sure that I'd be able to buy both our safeties with a five-thousand-year-old artifact, I kept stirring the stew. There were a couple of packets of hot chocolate in Nick's emergency store, and my jaw clenched. I was not going to make hot chocolate. "Is Ivy okay?" I asked, reminded.
His feet squeaked against the floor. "Of course she is," he said flatly. "He loves her."
I couldn't tell if he was angry. I set the spoon aside and turned down the burner, spinning to find he had dropped his forehead into his cupped hand. Worry went through me, then pity. "Piscary was ticked about the embalming fluid, huh?" I said, trying to be light.
"I have no idea," he said in a monotone. "It never came up. He was angry about what I did to the restaurant." His blue eyes held the pain of memory when he lifted them to me. "He was... like an animal," he said, fear and betrayal staining his voice. "He ripped out my chairs and tables, unshuttered the windows, burned the new menus, and punished my waitstaff. He almost killed Steve." His eyes closed, and the faint wrinkles on his face deepened as if a lifetime of pain had fallen on him in an instant. "I couldn't stop him. I thought he was going to kill me, too. I would have been happy if he had, but he threw me out with everything else."
As if he was an old menu or a used napkin. "Why, Kisten?" I whispered. I had to hear it. It hadn't been what Kisten did to the bar that caused Piscary to do what he did. Afraid, I stayed where I was, hands holding my elbows. I needed to hear it. I needed to hear Kisten tell me the truth so I could trust him. "Why did he kick you out?" I asked again.
His free hand rubbing at a sore rib, Kisten looked at me. He hesitated as if waiting for me to guess it before saying it. "He told me to kill you," he said, and fear pinged through me. "He said it was the only way I could prove that I loved him. He didn't ask Ivy to prove herself," he said, his voice cracking and his need for my forgiveness pouring from him. "I said no. I told him anything but that... and he laughed."
The heat from the burner against my back wasn't enough to stop a shudder rippling through me. Kisten's expression shifted to fear, but it was the terror of realization, not madness. "I'm sorry, Rachel. I couldn't do it," he rushed. "I'm going to die. He gave my last blood to someone as a gift. They're going to kill me - and no one will hold them accountable. They're going to get away with it. I could handle that," he said, his quickening breath giving away his fear. "But he kicked me out of the camarilla, and no one will cross Piscary to keep me undead. It's a double death sentence. One done quickly by a stranger who will suck me dry for his or her pleasure, the other slow by madness."
His gaze met mine, and I froze at the controlled panic in his gradually widening pupils.
"It's not a good way to die, Rachel," he whispered, chilling me. "I don't want to go insane."
Tension pulled through me. Blood. He was talking about blood. He wasn't afraid of dying, he was afraid of not having anyone to keep him undead afterward. And he was looking for me to help him. Damn it all to the Turn and back. I can't do this.
Fear lay deep in his eyes, the rim of blue shrinking as he sat at the table in an empty apartment and saw his life fall apart and no one willing to risk Piscary's anger to help him. I shifted forward and sat before him, taking his hands on my lap. "Look at me, Kisten," I demanded, scared. I can't become his source of blood. I have to keep him alive. "Look at me!" I repeated, and his darting gaze met mine in agitation. "I am here," I said slowly, to try to ground him. "They won't find you. I'll work something out with Piscary. The thing is five thousand years old. It's got to be worth both of us."