My eyes flicked to Ivy, standing with her arms clasped about herself as if she were upset. Oh, God. What was I doing here?

“What’s Piscary to you?” I asked, hearing my voice tremble.

“Nothing,” she said, and I made a scoffing noise. “Really,” she insisted. “He’s a friend of the family.”

“Uncle Piscary, huh?” I said bitterly.

“Actually,” she said slowly, “that’s more accurate than you might think. Piscary started my mother’s living-vamp bloodline in 1700s.”

“And has been bleeding you slowly ever since,” I said bitterly.

“It’s not like that,” she said, sounding hurt. “Piscary’s never touched me. He’s like a second father.”

“Maybe he’s letting the blood age in the bottle.”

Ivy ran her hand over her hair in an unusual show of worry. “It’s not like that. Really.”

“Swell.” I slumped to put my elbows on the table. Now I had to worry about chosen scions invading my church with the strength of a master? Why didn’t she tell me this before? I didn’t want to play the damn game if the rules kept changing.

“What do you want with me?” I asked again, afraid she might tell me and I’d have to leave.

“Nothing.”

“Liar,” I said, but when I looked up from the table, she was gone.

My breath came in a quick sound. Heart pounding, I stood, my arms clasped about myself as I stared at the empty counters and silent walls. I hated it when she did that. Mr. Fish on the windowsill wiggled and squirmed, not liking it, either.

Slow and reluctant, I put my charms away. My thoughts swirled back to the fairy attack on my front steps, the Were splat balls stacked on my back porch, and then to Kist’s words that the vamps were just waiting for me to leave Ivy’s protection. I was trapped, and Ivy knew it.

Thirteen

I tapped on the outside of the passenger window of Francis’s car to get Jenks’s attention. “What time is it?” I said softly, since even whispers echoed down in the parking deck. Cameras were recording me, but no one watched the films unless someone complained of a break-in.

Jenks dropped from the visor and wedged the button for the power window down. “Eleven-fifteen,” he said as the glass lowered. “Do you think they rescheduled Kalamack’s interview?”

I shook my head and glanced over the tops of the cars to the elevator doors. “No. But if he makes me late, I’m going to be ticked.” I tugged at the hem of my skirt. Much to my relief, Jenks’s friend had come through with my clothes and jewelry yesterday. All my clothes were hanging in neat rows or resting in tidy piles in my closet. It felt good seeing them there. The Were had done a nice job washing, drying, and folding everything, and I wondered how much he’d charge to do my laundry every week.

Finding something to wear that was both conservative and provocative had been harder than I thought. I had finally settled on a short red skirt, plain tights, and a white blouse whose buttons could be undone or fastened according to need. My hoop earrings were too small for Jenks to perch on, which the pixy had spent the first half hour complaining about. With my hair piled atop my head and a snappy pair of red heels, I looked like a perky coed. The disguise spell helped; I was a big-nosed brunette again, reeking of that lavender perfume. Francis would know who I was, but then, I wanted him to.