I pulled my car into one of the open, back spots at the correctional facility, right under a light, and making a best guess as to where the lines were since they hadn't plowed the last few inches of snow. The heater was going full blast since Ivy had the window cracked for air, and turning it and the car lights off, I killed the engine and dropped the keys into my bag. Ready to face Skimmer, I sighed, hands in my lap and not moving as I looked at the low building before us.
Ivy sat rigidly still, staring at nothing. "Thank you for doing this," she said, her eyes black in the dim light.
I shrugged and opened my car door. "I want to know who killed Kisten, too," I said, not wanting to talk about it. "I haven't been much help, but I can do this."
She got out as I did, and the thump of our doors was muffled by the mounds of snow that turned the world black and white under the puddles of security lights in the thickly populated lot—employees, probably, though I supposed they could be visitors; it was a low-security facility. Sure, Skimmer had killed someone, but it had been a crime of passion. That, and being a lawyer, had gotten her here instead of the high-security prison outside Cincinnati.
About a quarter mile back, the hospital was hazy with dusk and falling snow. Seeing the peaceful buildings, I had the sudden idea to take my old stuffed animals to the kids. They'd know how precious they were and would take good care of them. I could pick the toys up tonight when I was looking for that spell book. It would be a good excuse for me to get up there, too.
Ivy was still standing beside her closed door, gazing at the building as if it held her salvation or her damnation. She looked sleek and lanky in her working leathers, all in black, with a biker cap to add some spice. Feeling my questioning gaze on her, she pushed into motion, and we met at the front of my convertible. Together we angled through the parked cars toward the shoveled sidewalk. "I'm sorry to make you do this," she said, hunched from more than the cold. "Skimmer…she's going to be ugly."
I choked back my laughter. Ugly? She was going to be positively poisonous. "You want to talk to her," I said stiffly, shoving my fear down where I hoped it wouldn't show.
I had way too much to do tonight to be visiting Skimmer, if not for the information we might get from her, but at least I wouldn't have to restir the locator charms. The relief that the problem was likely with my blood—not my skills—was starting to outweigh the worry of why the problem was with my blood. Jenks was the only one who knew that the charm I invoked had failed, and he thought it was a bum amulet. By now, the locator charms Marshal had invoked were in the hands of six FIB guys cruising the city. I doubted they'd come within the needed hundred feet to engage the amulet, but it had improved my standing with them immeasurably.
Dinner with my mom and Robbie later tonight would hopefully give me the book and equipment and I could move forward on stamping out that fire. I'd been concerned that Al might show up and snag whoever was with me now that it was again dark, but he hadn't done so before finding Pierce, and it was unlikely he would now.
I so wanted to be at my mom's looking for that book, not here talking to an angry vampire, but I resolutely walked beside Ivy to the low-security Inderland correctional facility. All the safeguards must be on the inside, because the outside looked like a research building, its stucco walls and accent lights shining on low, snow-covered evergreens. It probably made for better neighbor relations, but not being able to see the fences gave me the creeps.
We walked in silence but for our boots on the crushed ice and salt. The pavement gave way to gray sidewalk, and then the glass double doors with visiting hours and rules about what could be brought into the building. My lethal-amulet detector was going to be a problem.
The woman behind the desk looked up from her phone conversation as we entered. Mild alarms were already going off, reacting to my amulets, and I smiled to try to defuse the situation. Redwood, and a faint smell of unhappy vampire, drifted to me. Ivy grimaced, and I swung my bag around to drop it on the desk while we signed in. There was a TV on in the corner, set to the weather map and talking to itself. More snow tonight.
"Rachel Morgan and Ivy Tamwood to visit Dorothy Claymor," I said, handing her my ID as I noticed the sign asking for it behind her. No wonder the blond vampire wanted everyone to call her Skimmer. "We have an appointment."
Ivy handed me the pen, and I signed in under her. My thoughts went back to the last time I'd put my name in a register book, and I added a solid period after my signature to symbolically end any psychic connection it might have to me. Crossing it off would be better, but I wouldn't be able to get away with that here.
