Dead Witch Walking

Ivy set down her muffin, thin eyebrows high in question.

“If I can prove Trent is dealing in Brimstone and give him to the I.S.,” I said, “they’ll forget about my contract. They have a standing warrant for him.” And then I can get the hell out of this church, I added silently.

“Prove Trent runs Brimstone?” Ivy scoffed. “They can’t even prove if he’s human or Inderlander. His money makes him slipperier than frog spit in a rainstorm. Money can’t buy innocence, but it can buy silence.” She picked at her muffin. Dressed in her robe and with her sloppy hair, she could have been any of my sporadic roommates over the past years. It was unnerving. Everything changed when the sun was up.

“These are good,” Ivy said as she held up a muffin. “Tell you what. I’ll buy groceries if you make dinner. Breakfast and lunch I can get on my own, but I don’t like cooking.”

I made a face in understanding and agreement—I didn’t appreciate the finer arts of culinary expertise, either—but then I thought about it. It would take up my time, but not having to go to the store sounded great. Even if Ivy only offered so I wouldn’t have to put my life on the line for a can of beans, it sounded fair. I’d be cooking either way, and cooking for two was easier than cooking for one. “Sure,” I said slowly. “We can try it for a while.”

She made a soft noise. “It’s a deal.”

I glanced at my watch. It was one-forty. My chair squeaked across the linoleum as I stood up and grabbed a muffin. “Well, I’m out of here. I’ve got to get a car or something. This bus thing is awful.”

Ivy laid out the comics atop the clutter surrounding her computer. “The I.S. isn’t going to let you just walk in.”

“They have to. Public record. And no one’s going to tag me with a bunch of witnesses they will have to pay off. Cuts into their profits,” I finished bitterly.

The arch to Ivy’s eyebrows said more clearly than words she wasn’t convinced.

“Look,” I said as I pulled my bag from atop a chair and sorted through it. “I was going to use a disguise spell, all right? And I’ll leave at the first sign of trouble.”

The amulet I waved in the air seemed to satisfy her, but as she went back to her comics, she muttered, “Take Jenks with you?”

It really wasn’t a question, and I grimaced. “Yeah. Sure.” I knew he was a babysitter, but as I poked my head out the back door and yelled for him, I decided it would be nice having the company, even if it was a pixy.

Eight (#ulink_504ecb9e-657f-582e-9a58-577ad07a0792)

I scrunched deeper into the corner of the bus seat, trying to make sure no one could look over my shoulder. The bus was crowded, and I didn’t want anyone to know what I was reading.

“If your vampire lover is sated and won’t be stirred,” I read, “try wearing something of his or hers. It needn’t be much, perhaps as little as a handkerchief or tie. The smell of your sweat mingling is something even the most restrained vampire can’t resist.”

Okay. Don’t wear Ivy’s robe or nightgown anymore.

“Often the mere washing of your clothes together leaves enough of a scent to let your lover know you care.”

Fine. Separate loads.

“If your vampire lover moves to a more private location in the middle of a conversation, be assured that he or she isn’t spurning you. It’s an invitation. Go all out. Take some food or drink with you to get the jaws loosened up and the saliva moving. Don’t be a flirt. Red wine is passé. Try an apple or something equally crunchy.”

Damn.

“Not all vampires are alike. Find out if your lover likes pillow talk. Foreplay can take many forms. A conversation about past ties and bloodlines is sure to strike a chord and stir pride unless your lover is from a secondary house.”

Double damn. I was a harlot. I was a freaking vampire hussy.

Eyes closed, I let my head fall against the back of the seat. A warm breath tickled my neck. I jerked upright, spinning. The heel of my hand was already in motion. It smacked into the palm of an attractive man. He laughed at the resounding pop, raising his hands in placation. But it was the soft, speculative amusement in his eyes that stopped me.

“Have you tried page forty-nine?” he asked, leaning forward to rest his crossed arms on the back of my seat.

I stared blankly at him, and his smile grew seductive. He was almost too pretty, his smooth features holding a childlike eagerness. His gaze slipped to the book in my hand. “Forty-nine,” he repeated, his words dropping in pitch. “You’ll never be the same.”

On edge, I flipped to the right page. Oh—my—God. Ivy’s book was illustrated. But then I hesitated, squinting as I became confused. Was there a third person in there? And what the hell was that bolted to the wall?

“This way,” the man said, reaching over the seat and turning the book sideways in my grip. His cologne was woodsy and clean. It was as nice as his easy voice and soft hand intentionally brushing mine. He was the classic vampire flunky: nice build, dressed in black, and a frightening need to be liked. Not to mention his lack of understanding personal space.

I tore my gaze from his when he tapped the book. “Oh,” I said, as it suddenly made sense. “Oh!” I exclaimed, warming as I slammed the book shut. There were two people. Three if you count the one with the … whatever it was.

My eyes rose to his. “You survived that?” I asked, not sure if I should be appalled, horrified, or impressed.

His gaze went almost reverent. “Yeah. I couldn’t move my legs for two weeks, but it was worth it.”

Heart pounding, I shoved the book into my bag. He rose with a charming smile and ambled forward to get off. I couldn’t help but notice that he limped. I was surprised he could walk. He watched me as he descended the stairs, his deep eyes never leaving mine.

Swallowing hard, I forced myself to look away. Curiosity got the better of me, and even before the last of the people had gotten off the bus, I had pulled Ivy’s book back out. My fingers were cold as I thumbed it open. I ignored the picture, reading the small print under the cheerful “How to” instructions. My face went cold and my stomach knotted.

It was a warning to not allow your vampire lover to coerce you into it until you had been bit at least three times. Otherwise, there might not be enough vamp saliva in your system to overwhelm the pain receptors, fooling your brain into thinking pain was pleasure. There were even instructions on how to keep from passing out if you indeed didn’t have enough vamp saliva and you found yourself in agonizing pain. Apparently if the blood pressure dropped, so did the enjoyment of your vampire lover. Nothing on how to get him or her to stop, though.

Eyes closing, I let my head thump against the window. The chatter of the oncoming passengers pulled my eyes open, and I blinked as my gaze went to the sidewalk. The man was standing there, watching me. I clasped an arm about myself, chilled. He was smiling as if his groin hadn’t been delicately incised and his blood pulled from him and consumed as if in communion. He had enjoyed it, or at least he thought he had.

He held up three fingers in the Boy Scout’s salute, touched the tips of them to his lips, and blew me a kiss. The bus jerked into motion, and he walked away, the hem of his duster swinging.

Staring out the window, I felt nauseated. Had Ivy ever been a part of something like that? Maybe she had accidentally killed someone. Maybe that’s why she wasn’t practicing anymore. Maybe I should ask her. Maybe I should keep my mouth shut so I could sleep at night.