The practice was more for me than her. She insisted it would extend my life expectancy should I run up against a big-bad-ugly without my spells or a direction to run. I always came away from our sparring bruised and headed for my charm cupboard. How that extended my life was beyond me. More practice making pain amulets, maybe?

Ivy had arrived home early from her afternoon with Kist, surprising me with the offer to work out. I was still seething over Edden’s refusal to let me question Trent and needed to burn off some anger and so said yes. As usual, within fifteen minutes I was hurting and breathing hard while she had yet to break a sweat.

Ivy danced impatiently from foot to foot. Her eyes were a nice steady brown. I kept a close watch on her when we worked out together, not wanting to push her too close to her limits. She was fine.

“What’s up?” she asked as I straightened. “You’re more aggressive than usual.”

I bent my leg back to stretch my leg muscle and pull the cuff of my sweatpants back down about my ankle. “Every one of the victims talked to Trent before they died,” I said, stretching the truth. “Edden won’t let me question him.” I pulled the other leg, then nodded.

Ivy’s breath quickened. I dropped to a crouch as she darted forward. Too quick for thought, I ducked her blow, sweeping my leg at her feet. Calling out, she flung herself in a backflip to avoid it, landing on her hands and then feet. I jerked back to keep her foot from hitting my jaw on the way by.

“So?” Ivy questioned softly, waiting as I stood up.

“So Trent is the murderer.”

“Can you prove it?”

“Not yet.” I lunged for her. She danced out of the way, jumping onto the thin windowsill. As soon as her feet landed, she pushed off, somersaulting right over me. I spun to keep her in view. Red spots of exertion were starting to show on her. She was dipping into her vamp repertoire to evade me. Encouraged, I followed up, striking with my fists and elbows.

“So quit and finish the run yourself,” Ivy said between blocks and counterstrikes.

My wrists smacking into her blocks hurt, but I kept at it. “I told him … that’s what I was going to do …” Strike, block, block, strike. “… and he threatened to lock me up for harassment. Told me I should concentrate on Dr. Anders.” Pull six feet back. Pant. Sweat. Why was I doing this again?

A smile, real and unusual flashed across her face and was gone. “Sneaky bastard,” she said. “I knew God had put him on earth to be more than a happy meal.”

“Edden?” I wiped at the sweat dripping from my nose. “He’s more of a big kid’s meal, isn’t he?” I gestured for her to come get me. Eyes glinting in amusement, she obliged, attacking with a barrage of blows ending with a strike to my solar plexus that sent me reeling.