A thankful smile came over me. “Remind me to make him some honey cakes,” I said, leaning back and crossing my legs.

Ivy slumped into her chair, mirroring my posture. “So … how was your date?”

My eyes met hers. Very aware of Kisten listening from the kitchen, I shrugged. Ivy often acted like a cloying ex-boyfriend, which was really, really weird. But now that I knew it stemmed from her need to keep my trust, it was a bit easier to understand, though still odd.

She took a slow breath, and I knew she was scenting the air to make sure no one had bitten me at Piscary’s. Her shoulders eased, and I rolled my eyes in exasperation.

“Hey, um,” I started. “I’m really sorry about what I said earlier. About Piscary’s?” Her eyes jerked to mine and I quickly added, “You want to go sometime? Together, I mean? I think if I stay downstairs, I won’t pass out.” My eyes pinched, not knowing why I was doing this except if she didn’t find a way to relax soon, she was going to snap. I didn’t want to be around for that. And I’d feel better if I was there to keep an eye on her. I had a feeling she would pass out quicker than I had.

Ivy shifted in the chair, moving back where she was when I came in. “Sure,” she said, her voice not giving me a clue to her thoughts as she looked at the ceiling and closed her eyes. “We haven’t had a girls’ night out in a while.”

“Great.”

I settled back into the cushions to wait for Kisten. From the stereo, a soft-spoken voice dripping sex whispered as the songs changed. The scent of brewing coffee became obvious. A smile came over me as Takata’s newest single came on. They were playing it even on the jazz stations. Ivy opened her eyes. “Backstage passes,” she said, smiling.

“Al-l-l-l-l-l the way backstage,” I countered. She had already agreed to work the concert with me, and I was eager to introduce her to Takata. But then I thought of Nick. No chance he’d be going now. Maybe I could ask Kisten to help us. And since he was posing as Piscary’s scion, he would be doubly effective as a deterrent. Kinda like a cop car parked in the median. I looked at the black archway, wondering if he’d say yes if I asked, and if I wanted him there.

“Listen.” Ivy held up a finger. “This is my favorite part. That low thrum goes all the way to my gut. Hear the pain in her voice? This has got to be Takata’s best CD yet.”

Her voice? I thought. Takata was the only one singing.

“You’re mine, in some small fashion,” Ivy whispered, her eyes closed, the inner pain showing on her brow making me uneasy. “You’re mine, though you know it not. You’re mine, bond born of passion …”

My eyes widened. She wasn’t singing what Takata was. Her words were interlaced with his, an eerie backdrop that set my skin to crawl. That was the chorus he wasn’t going to release.