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.
