The Hollows Series Books 1-4. Kim Harrison

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СКАЧАТЬ set her stitching aside and flitted down to hover over black porcelain. “Should your amulets get wet like that?”

      I glanced at the pain charms draped around my neck, thinking I looked like a drunken prostitute at Mardi Gras. “It’s okay,” I breathed. “Soapy water won’t dissolution them like saltwater does.”

      “Ms. Tamwood wouldn’t tell me what she put in your bath,” Matalina said primly. “There might be salt in it.”

      Ivy hadn’t told me, either, and to tell the truth, I didn’t want to know. “No salt. I asked.”

      With a small harrumph, Matalina landed on my big toe, poking above the water. Her wings blurred to nothing, and a clear spot formed as the bubbles melted. Gathering her skirts, she cautiously bent to dip a hand, to bring a drop up to her nose. Tiny ripples spread out from her touch on the water.

      “Vervain,” she said in her high voice. “My Jenks was right, there. Bloodroot. Goldenseal.” Her eyes met mine. “That’s used to cover up something potent. What is she trying to hide?”

      I looked at the ceiling. If it took away the pain, I really didn’t care.

      There was a creak of floorboards in the hall, and I froze. “Nick?” I called, looking at my towel just out of reach. “I’m still in the tub. Don’t come in!”

      He scuffed to a halt, the thin veneered wood between us. “Uh, hi, Rachel. I was just, uh, checking on you.” There was a hesitation. “I—um—need to talk to you.”

      My stomach clenched, and my attention fell upon my wrist. It was still bleeding through a wad of gauze an inch thick. The rivulet of blood on the black porcelain looked like a welt. Maybe that’s why Ivy had a black tub. Blood didn’t show up as well on black as it did on white.

      “Rachel?” he called into the quiet.

      “I’m okay,” I said loudly, my voice echoing off the pink walls. “Give me a minute to get out of the tub, all right? I want to talk to you, too—little wizard.”

      I said the last snidely, and I heard his feet shift. “I’m not a wizard,” he said faintly. He hesitated. “Are you hungry? Can I make you something to eat?” He sounded guilty.

      “Yeah. Thanks,” I replied, wishing he would get away from the door. I was ravenous. My appetite probably had everything to do with that cakelike cookie Ivy made me eat before she left. It was as appetizing as a rice pancake, and only after I had choked it down did Ivy bother to tell me it would increase my metabolism, especially my blood production. I could still taste it on the back of my throat. Sort of a mix between almonds, bananas, and shoe leather.

      Nick scuffed away, and I stretched with my foot for the tap to warm the water. The water heater was probably hot by now.

      “Don’t warm it, dear,” Matalina warned. “Ivy said to get out once it went cold.”

      A wave of irritation swept me. I knew what Ivy had said. But I refrained from comment.

      I slowly sat up and moved to sit on the edge of the tub. The room seemed to darken around the edges, and I abruptly wrapped a fluffy pink towel around myself in case I passed out. When the room stopped going gray, I pulled the plug on the tub and carefully stood. It drained noisily, and I wiped the mist from the mirror, leaning against the sink to look at myself.

      A sigh shifted my shoulders. Matalina came to rest on my shoulder, watching me with sad eyes. I looked as if I’d fallen out of the back of a truck. One side of my face was welted with a purple bruise that spread up into my eye. Keasley’s bandage had fallen off, showing a red gash following the arc of my eyebrow, to make me look lopsided. I didn’t even remember getting cut. I leaned closer, and the victim in the mirror mimicked me. Gathering my resolve, I pulled my damp, stringy hair away from my neck.

      A sound of resignation slipped from me. The demon hadn’t made clean punctures, but rather, three sets of tears that melted into each other like rivers and tributaries. Matalina’s tiny stitches looked like a little railroad trellis running down to my collarbone.

      The remembrance of the demon pulled a shudder from me; I had nearly died under it. Just that thought was enough to scare the hell out of me, but what was going to keep me awake at night was the niggling awareness that for all the terror and pain, the vampire saliva it had pumped into me had felt good. Lie or not, it had felt … staggeringly wonderful.

      I gripped the towel closer around me and turned away. “Thank you, Matalina,” I whispered. “I don’t think the scars will be that noticeable.”

      “You’re welcome, dear. It was the least I could do. Would you like me to stay and make sure you get dressed all right?”

      “No.” The sound of a mixer came from the kitchen. I opened the door and peeked into the hall. The smell of eggs was thick in the air. “I think I can manage, thanks.”

      The small pixy nodded and flitted out with her needlework, her wings making a soft hum. I listened for a long moment, and deciding Nick was safely occupied, I hobbled to my room, breathing a sigh of relief upon reaching it undetected.

      My hair dripped as I sat on the edge of my cot to catch my breath. The thought of putting on pants made me cringe. But I wasn’t going to wear a skirt and nylons, either. I finally settled on my “fat jeans” and a blue button-up plaid shirt that was easy enough to get into without bringing on too much pain from my shoulder and arm. I wouldn’t be caught dead in such an outfit on the street, but it wasn’t as if I was trying to impress Nick.

      The floor kept shifting under my feet as I dressed, and the walls tilted if I moved fast, but eventually I emerged with my damp amulets clanking about my neck. I scuffed down the hallway in my slippers, wondering if I ought to try to cover my bruise with a complexion spell. Standard makeup wasn’t going to cut it.

      Nick blundered out of the kitchen, almost running me down. He had a sandwich in his hand. “There you are,” he said, his eyes wide as he ran his gaze down to my pink slippers and back up again. “Do you want an egg sandwich?”

      “No, thanks,” I said, my stomach rumbling again. “Too much sulfur.” The thought flashed through me how he had looked, that black book in his grip as he flung out his hand and stopped that demon dead in its tracks: frightened, scared … and powerful. I’d never seen a human look powerful. It had been surprising. “I could use some help changing my wrist bandage, though,” I finished bitingly.

      He cringed, thoroughly destroying the picture in my head. “Rachel, I’m sorry—”

      I pushed past him and went into the kitchen. His steps were light behind me, and I leaned against the sink as I fed Mr. Fish. It was fully dark outside, and I could see tiny flashes of light as Jenks’s family patrolled the garden. I froze as I saw that the tomato was back on the windowsill. A wash of worry hit me as I mentally cursed Ivy—then my brow furrowed. Why did I care what Nick thought? It was my house. I was an Inderlander. If he didn’t like it, tough toads.

      I could feel Nick behind me at the table. “Rachel, I’m really sorry,” he said, and I turned, bracing myself. My outrage would lose all its effect if I passed out. “I didn’t know it would demand payment from you. Honest.”

      Angry, I brushed the damp hair from my eyes and stood with my arms crossed. “It’s a demon mark, Nick. A freaking demon mark.”

      Nick folded СКАЧАТЬ