The Hollows Series Books 1-4. Kim Harrison

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СКАЧАТЬ as I remembered the warmth of her saliva on my neck.

      She nudged the book closer. “I know we can avoid a repeat of last night. I want this to work. There’s no reason it can’t. I owe you something for taking one of your wishes. If you leave, I can’t protect you against the vamp assassins. You don’t want to die at their hands.”

      My jaw clenched. No. I didn’t want to die at the hands of a vampire. Especially one who would say she was sorry while killing me.

      I met her gaze across the cluttered table. She sat in her black robe and kick-off slippers, looking as dangerous as a sponge. Her need for me to accept her apology was so raw and obvious, it was painful. I couldn’t do it. Not yet. I reached a finger out to pull the book closer. “What is it?”

      “A—uh—dating guide?” she said hesitantly.

      I took a quick breath and drew my hand back as if stung. “Ivy. No.”

      “Wait,” she said. “That’s not what I mean. You’re giving me mixed signals. My head knows you don’t mean it, but my instincts …” Her brow furrowed. “It’s embarrassing, but vampires, whether living or dead, are driven by instincts triggered mostly by … smell?” she finished apologetically. “Just read up on the turn-ons, okay? And don’t do them.”

      I settled back into my chair. Slowly, I pulled the book closer, seeing how old it was by the binding. She had said instincts, but I thought hunger was more accurate. It was only the realization of how hard it had been for her to admit that she could be manipulated by something as stupid as smell that kept me from throwing the book back in her face. Ivy prided herself on her control, and to have confessed such a weakness to me told me more than a hundred apologies that she was really sorry. “All right,” I said flatly, and she gave me a relieved, closed-lipped smile.

      She took a muffin and pulled the evening edition of the Cincinnati Enquirer that I had found against the front door to her. The air was still tense, but it was a start. I didn’t want to leave the security of the church, but Ivy’s protection was a double-edged sword. She had bottled up her blood lust for three years. If she broke, I might be just as dead.

      “‘Councilman Trenton Kalamack blames I.S. negligence in secretary’s death,’” she read, clearly trying to change the subject.

      “Yeah,” I said cautiously. I put her book in the pile with my spell books to read later. My fingers felt dirty, and I wiped them on my jeans. “Ain’t money grand? There’s another story of him being cleared of all suspicion of dealing in Brimstone.”

      She said nothing, turning pages between bites of muffin until she found the article. “Listen to this,” she said softly. “He says, ‘I was shocked to learn of Mrs. Bates’s second life. She seemed the model employee. I will, of course, pay for her surviving son’s education.’” Ivy gave a short snort of mirthless laughter. “Typical.” She turned to the comics. “So will you be spell crafting today?”

      I shook my head. “I’m going to the records vault before they close for the weekend. This,” I flicked a finger at the paper, “is useless. I want to see what really happened.”

      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

      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 СКАЧАТЬ