Oh, my God. Embarrassment warmed my cheeks as I realized the message I’d been sending. My hand came up, and I pulled the amulet over my head, tugging my hair as it pulled free. Why in hell didn’t Cormel’s book have anything useful in it? “I’m not ashamed of you,” I said, throwing the charm into a nearby trash can. I lifted my chin as I felt the spell leave me and my red-rimmed bites appear. “I hid them because I’m ashamed of me. I have been living my life like a freaking kid with a video game, and it took me thinking I was bound to Kisten’s killer to realize what I’m doing. That’s why I was hiding them. Not because of you.”

Her brown eyes were dark with tears she would never shed as she blinked up at me. “You had to slam me into a wall to get me to stop.”

“I’m sorry for slamming you into a wall,” I said, wanting to touch her arm so she knew how bad I felt. Instead, I sat down beside her, our knees almost touching as I faced her. “I…thought you were Kisten’s killer.” Her expression was pained, and I got mad. “I was having a freaking flashback, Ivy!” I exclaimed. “I’m sorry!”

Ivy’s jaw clenched and relaxed. “That’s what I’m saying,” she said bitterly. “You thought I was Kisten’s killer. How bad is that, Rachel, when I turn into something so close to Kisten’s murderer that it triggers a memory of…that?”

Oh. I slumped back against the hard bench and put a hand to my head as it started to hurt. “He was playing on my scar, Ivy. So were you. My back was to the wall, and I was scared both times. That’s all it was. It wasn’t you, it was the vampire stuff.”

She turned to me, though I was still looking down the hall. “He?” she asked.

I felt my focus blur as I thought about that, weighing what little memory I had regained against my emotions. “Yeah,” I said softly. “It was a man. A man attacked me.” I could almost smell him, a mix of cold and stone…. Old dust. Cold. Like cement.”

Ivy wrapped her arms around herself and took a deep breath. “A man,” she said, and I noticed her long fingers were clenched about her upper arms with a white-knuckle strength. “I thought it might have been me.”

She stood up with her head bowed, and I followed her. Silent, we angled to a coffee cart in an unspoken agreement, and I felt for the presence of my bag. “I told you it wasn’t you months ago.”