Chapter Thirteen
My curls were nearly dry, and moving irritatingly slowly, I used the comb in the hospital care kit to try to smooth out the tangles. The shampoo and cream rinse had been from the kit as well, and I wasn't eager to find out how much cracking the thumb-size bottles was going to cost me. I was betting five bucks a bottle. It was worse than the amenities fridge in a five-star hotel. But asking Ivy to run home and get my stuff wasn't going to happen. The less I was carting out of here, the less likely someone would realize I was a fleeing patient.
Before the Turn, you could ask for an AMA, or Against Medical Advice discharge, and be done with it. But after the quickly spreading pandemic had ravaged the population, legislation gleefully took away a lot of patients' rights. Unless you did the paperwork ahead of time, it took forever and a day to get an AMA. If I wanted to leave, I had to sneak out. I'd likely have cops after me as the hospital tried to protect themselves from a lawsuit, but they'd go away once the AMA came in.
My shower this evening had tragically turned from the expected forty-minute indulgence in someone else's hot water into a five-minute rush; the force of the water beating into me had made me dizzy, giving me the sensation that I was washing my aura off with the soap. But I now sat reasonably comfortably on the hard couch by the night-dark window, dressed in the clothes Ivy had brought over: jeans and a black sweater she had complimented me on the first time I'd worn it.
I'd thought a hot shower would be just the thing, but the activity turned into an exercise in learning how fast I could move. Or couldn't move, rather. My aura was uncomfortably thin, and every time I shifted quickly, I seemed to lose my equilibrium. I got cold, too. Oddly so. Almost an ache. Weird, Glenn had said. That was the word for it.
Giving up, I flicked the comb into the trash and wondered if anyone had bothered to tell Pierce what had happened and that I was all right. Probably not. It was drafty by the window, and when I peeked past the curtain, the gleam of the red and white car lights against the snow made it seem all the colder.
I reached to put on my coat and found a new scrape on the right sleeve. Crap. Frowning, I shrugged into it, carefully levered my boots onto the couch, and sat with my arms wrapped around my knees. My smiling giraffe was sitting across from me, and memories came creeping back, memories of me sitting like this waiting for my dad to get better or die, older memories of me waiting for my mom to come pick me up and take me home. Sighing, I dropped my chin onto my knees.
My mom and Robbie had visited earlier. Mom had been shocked when I told her it was a banshee attack, and Robbie predictably went off the deep end. His exact words involved hell and an ice storm, but he'd never approved of my career choice, so what he cared didn't matter. I loved him, but he was a prick when it came to trying to make me fit into his ideas of what I should be. He'd left when I was thirteen, and I would always be thirteen in his mind.
At least when Marshal found out I'd be sneaking out tonight, he'd asked if he could help. After seeing him take down Tom, I was of a mind to accept his offer, but I was holding him in reserve in case I had to flee my "safe house" for a new one once the AMA police came after me.
The almost unheard squeak of the oversize door drew my attention across the dimly lit room and I lifted my head. It was Ivy and Jenks, and I smiled and put my feet on the floor. Jenks reached me first, the slight dust from him leaving a faint trail in the dark room.
"You ready?" he said, buzzing around my damp hair before shunning my shoulder. He was wearing Matalina's latest attempt at pixy winter wear, and the poor guy had so much blue fabric wrapped around him he could hardly put his arms down.
"Just have to tie my boots," I said as I shoved the giraffe into my bag next to Bis's carved rose; I'd take it after all. "Are we set with Keasley?"
Ivy nodded as I sent my fingers among my laces. The cops would check the church. My mom's house was out, too, even if I wanted to put up with Robbie's pointed barbs, but Keasley could put us up for a few days. Ceri was spending much of her time in the Kalamack compound, and I knew he'd enjoy the company as well as the full pantry we'd leave him with.
Ivy was wearing her long leather coat over a pair of jeans and a brown sweater. I knew it was her attempt to try to blend in, but she could wear a discount special and still turn heads. She had put on some makeup, and her hair was pulled back. Apparently she was growing it out again, and the gold highlights had been colored over. Concern flickered in her dark eyes as she approached, her pupils dilated from the low light, not hunger. I'd be worried that she was vamping out from stress, but vampires treated the ill and wounded with an eerie gentleness. I think it was an instinct that evolved to help keep them from killing their chosen lovers by accident. The last place a vampire would sate themselves was a hospital.
She stood before me, evaluating my fatigue with her hand on her hip as I puffed over my boots. "Are you sure you don't want any Brimstone?" she asked, and I shook my head. Brimstone would up my metabolism, but I'd probably hurt myself when I felt better than I really was. My metabolism wasn't the problem. It was my damaged aura, and nothing could replace that but time.
"No," I emphasized when she frowned. "You didn't slip me any, did you?"
"No. God, Rachel, I do respect you."
She was glaring, so I figured she was telling me the truth. Ivy's subtle motions had a layer of hurt to them, and when Jenks clacked his wings at me I added, "Maybe later. Once I get out of here. Thanks."
That seemed to satisfy her, and I stood up, jamming my hands into my coat pockets and unexpectedly finding Robbie's plane tickets. Feeling sour after his scorn this afternoon concerning my chosen profession, I pulled the envelope out to stuff it in my bag. The banshee tear that had been in there as well came flying out, arcing through the air.
"Got it," Jenks called, then, realizing what it was, he yelped and jerked back so the tear hit the floor and skittered under the bed. "Is that the banshee tear Edden gave you?" he squeaked, unusually shaken, and I nodded. Ivy beat me to the floor, giving Jenks a dry look before she peered under the bed and retrieved it.
"It's clear again," she said, eyes wide as she rose and dropped it into my palm.
"Oh, that is just freaky." Uncomfortable, I held it in a shaft of incoming streetlight.
The small pixy hovered over my fingers, his wings a harsh blur. "That's it, Rache," he said, floating up to look me eye to eye. "The tear is why you survived, not your demon marks. The baby found the tear-"
"And took her bottle instead of me," I said, my relief absolute that it hadn't been my demon marks that had saved me. "It felt like something black was being pulled through me. I though it was the smut on my aura." Shuddering, I dropped the tear in my bag, vowing to take it out when we got home. "Maybe that's how Remus is staying alive," I muttered.
Ivy's face went almost terrifyingly blank. I looked at her in question, and feeling cold, I said, "Jenks, see if Glenn is ready."
"You got it," the oblivious pixy said, and he darted under the one-inch gap between the door and the floor.
I sank back to sit on the bed, arms crossed as I looked at Ivy, a shadow against the dark window. "You, ah, want to share something with me?" I asked.
Ivy took a slow breath. Exhaling, she sat in the corner of the long couch and looked at the ceiling, at nothing. "This is my fault," she said, her eyes black as they came back to me. "Mia going on a killing rampage to engender a child, I mean."
"You," I said. "How?"
Her hair swung forward to hide her face. "I gave her my wish. The one you gave me."
I uncrossed my arms and recrossed them the other way. "You mean from the leprechaun I let go to get out of the I.S.?" She nodded, head down, and I squinted, not understanding. "You gave your wish to a banshee? Why? You could have wished for anything!"
Ivy shifted her shoulders. It was a nervous reaction I didn't see often. "It was sort of a thank-you. I owed her a lot. I met Mia before I met you. My boss, Art, he was jerking me around. I was on the fast track, but he wasn't going to promote me out from under him until..." She hesitated, and in her silence, I heard her unsaid words. Her boss wanted a taste of her before letting her rise above him. I felt myself warm, and I was glad the room was dark.
"Office politics," Ivy said, her shoulders rounding. "I didn't want to play them. Thought I was too good to have to, and when I caught Art trying to cover up a banshee murder to help boost his bank account, I called Mia in to find out what was going on. At that point, she worked with the I.S. policing her species. Long story short, I put Art in jail to get out from under him. And I thought I had it bad in the I.S. At least I didn't have to frame my supervisor to move ahead."
"And got busted down to babysitting me," I said, embarrassed, and Ivy shook her head, leaning forward into a shaft of light. There were no tears, but she looked unhappy.
"No. I mean yes, but, Rachel, the woman told me some things about myself I was too afraid to admit. You know how banshees are. They tell you hard truths just to get you angry so they can eat your emotions, and she pissed me off by telling me I was afraid to be the person I wanted to be, someone capable of loving someone else. She shamed me into going off blood."
"God, Ivy," I said, still not believing she had given her wish to a...banshee! "You thought going off blood was a good thing? It nearly drove you insane."
Her eyes were black in the reduced light of midnight, and I stifled a shiver. "It wasn't the lack of blood that was driving me insane," she said. "And it was a good thing. The strength and confidence I gained from it was all I had to fight Piscary with. It gave me the will I use every day. Mia said-" Ivy hesitated, then softer, she said with an old anger, "Mia called me a coward, saying that she couldn't love anyone without killing them and that I was a whining child for having the chance to love someone but not the courage to do so. And when I met you?" Ivy shrugged. "When I realized you might love me back...maybe? Make my life clean somehow?" Embarrassed, she rubbed her temples. "I gave her my wish so she could have the chance to love someone, too. It's my fault she's out there killing people."
"Ivy," I said softly, frozen where I sat. "I'm sorry. I do love you."
"Stop," she said, holding out a slim hand as if to halt my words. "I know you do." She looked at me, jaw clenched and enough anger in her gaze to keep me from moving. "Piscary was right." She laughed bitterly, and I felt cold. "The bastard was right all along. But I was right, too. If Mia hadn't shamed me into it, I wouldn't have found the courage to screw Art over and let myself love you."
"Ivy." Oh God, Ivy never opened up like this voluntarily. She must have been really scared about me last night.
"You're like a master vampire, you know that?" Ivy pushed herself to the corner of the couch and stared at me, almost angry. "You scare the ever-loving crap out of me even as I want to wrap myself up in your soul and be safe. I'm sick, wanting what scares me."
"I don't want to hurt you," I offered, not knowing where this conversation was going.
"You have hurt me," she said, arms around her drawn-up knees and her chin high. "You will again. I don't care. That's the sick part. That's why I don't touch you anymore. I'm addicted to your little white lies. I want love, but I can't live with myself if I make you hurt me again. I don't want pain to feel like love. It's not supposed to."
The memory of Farcus playing on my scar lifted through me. Too close. He'd been too close. Used me like a match to light his own libido. Pain turned to pleasure-was it truly perverted if it really felt good? "I'm sorry, Ivy. I can't give any more," I whispered.
Ivy turned to the window, shifting the curtain to look outside. "I'm not asking you to, scaredy-cat," she said mildly, and I saw the signs as she closed her emotions down again. "Don't worry. I like things the way they are. I didn't tell you this to guilt you into anything; I just thought you ought to know why Mia Harbor has a husband who is immune to a banshee's attack. I gave her the wish because I owed her. She gave me the courage to fight for what I wanted. Whether I get it or not is immaterial. The only way I could thank her was to give her the chance to love. And I think she loves him. As much as a banshee can."
My hands were clenched on my arms with enough strength to cramp them, and I let go. "She loves a freaking serial killer," I said, glad the conversation had swung away from us.
Ivy smiled wanly in the streetlight. Her hand dropped from the curtain, and the shadow hid her face again. "That doesn't make it any less. Holly isn't special. Remus is. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have given it to her. I had no idea she'd use it to kill people. For all her strength, she's a monster. I owe her, but I'm still going to bring her in."
Standing, I reached out to draw her to her feet, wanting to hug her so she'd lose that awful stiffness. "Don't worry about it. You didn't know what she was going to do. No good deed and all."
"It's still my fault."
My hand touched her shoulder, and I drew back when Jenks shot under the door in a glittering of silver sparkles that left a steady stream behind as he rose up to our height. "Glenn's in the hall," he said, unusually bright-eyed in the dim room.