Dearest Ivie

She really wanted to believe the false presentation.

Wished desperately that they were, in fact, going around the world, and that they had flown in the night before to a wonderful, foreign place with interesting food and a fascinating culture.

Clearing her throat, she put her mask of not-cracking-from-the-strain-no-really-not-at-all in place and—

Pushing the door wide, she stopped between the jambs as she saw who was sitting on the sofa in the front room.

“Hello,” Ivie said, as she stepped in and let the panels close behind herself.

Pritchard was arranged like a department-store mannequin on the silk cushions, her stiff limbs set at what were supposed to be “relaxed” angles that nonetheless read wrong. Tonight, the female’s Sensible Knit Suit and Sensible Low Heels reminded Ivie of that secretary, Miss Hathaway, from The Beverly Hillbillies.

“How are you?” Ivie prompted when the female didn’t look up.

Just when Ivie decided to leave the majordomo to her dour mood, Pritchard spoke. “I was his nanny, you know. From the moment he was born, I was with him. They trusted me and I worked my way up to being in charge of so much more than just the young. I never mated. I never had offspring of my own. They were…all I had. All I have, rather.”

Ivie went across and lowered herself in a chair, putting her purse to the side. She didn’t take her parka off. She just sat without moving and listened.

“I am very good at my job,” Pritchard said. “I run Master Silas’s entire household. He has fifteen doggen who work on his estate, and the mansion is very large, as you recall. One must be attentive to homes that are that old and that big. There is always much to do.”

Pritchard looked to the archway that led into Silas’s patient room. “I spoke to him. After you left tonight. For quite a while. We remembered…so many good times. It was lovely. I do not believe, if he weren’t…well, I’m not sure under any other circumstances that we would have conversed as such. I am grateful for that.”

The older female stayed quiet for the longest time, her eyes watering, that thin face utterly composed as her throat swallowed compulsively.

Abruptly, Pritchard clapped her hands on her thighs and got to her feet. “So. I shall require your bank account and routing numbers to set up payment for your services. And I have a room prepared for you next to his when we get him out of here. I shall attend to your needs as I do his own.”

The female bowed without meeting Ivie’s eyes. Then she straightened and focused somewhere north of Ivie’s left shoulder.

“You don’t have to pay me.” As that stare met her own, she shook her head. “I don’t…I don’t want to get paid for what I do for him.”

“But it’s your job—”

“You need to prepare yourself,” Ivie heard herself say. “Do you understand? You need to get ready because he’s not going home. This is going to be where things end.”

It nearly killed her to say the words, but the truth was more important than sparing feelings whether they were Pritchard’s or her own.

The majordomo opened her mouth. Shut it. Blinked as if she had no idea where she was.

Ivie stood up. Went over.

And put her arms around the female.

At first, Pritchard stiffened even more. Which was like saying that a marble statue got even more stone-ish.

But then the embrace was returned and the two of them stood like that.

“We’re going to do this together,” Ivie said as she stared at the wall. “We’re going to get him to the other side of this, together.”

As she spoke, she was very aware that “the other side” was not a return to health. It was the Fade.

Chapter Fourteen

“Wait, wait, here’s my favorite part.”

As Ivie pointed to the TV across the room, she laughed. “And then…”

Silas was smiling next to her, the pair of them stretched out together on his hospital bed. With a blanket over the both of them, their heads on the same pillow, and their hands entwined, she could almost imagine they were just like any other couple.

“The Junior Mint goes into the patient?” Silas asked. “Are you kidding me?”

“Kramer is a thing.” She glanced over. “This is probably my favorite epi, ever.”

“I can’t believe I never watched Seinfeld.”

“Don’t you love Netflix?”

“I am learning to, thanks to you.”

There was a knock on the staff door, and Ivie discreetly glanced at her watch. Perfect timing.

Silas looked across at the sound. “Come in?”

Ivie was always careful not to answer for him. It was important for him to retain a sense that he was in control of something, anything.

Rubes emtered with a tray of meds. “How we doing, guys?”

The redhead was cheerful enough on the surface, but her eyes were focused and alert—and it was interesting for Ivie to see her cousin on the job. They had never had the same patients before because Rubes had been on another unit, and it was great to see that under all that cheerfulness there was a helluva nurse.

Silas frowned and looked at Ivie. “I thought that you were in charge of me?”

“I’ve got a fine cocktail for you this evening, sire,” Rubes intoned as she put the tray down on a rolling table. “A light, fruity wine with notes of lavender and cherry, but with a finish that hints at pecan and almond.”

With a flourish, she removed the fine damask napkin that covered the syringe and vials. Ivie did a quick assessment of the drugs, checking them off in her head. Yup, all there. Good.

“Do you think my cousin will care,” she whispered to Silas, “if we make out while she loads up your IV?”

Silas seemed confused, but then he smiled. “Rubes, what do you say?”

“I’m think I’m too young, far too young and impressionable for such vulgarity.” Rubes was quick with the administering. “Hey, is this the Junior Mint episode?”

“It is,” Silas replied. “My first viewing, as it were, and it has lived up to its hype.”

“The patient lives at the end—”

Rubes clamped her mouth shut and paled. But Silas just reached out with his shaking hand and patted her forearm. “Not to worry. And maybe you can bring me a box of Junior Mints along with my next batch of meds?”

Rubes took a deep breath. “Absolutely. And I’ll see if I can snag some Milk Duds and a box of malted milk balls in case they might work.”

As she covered the tray back up with the napkin, she shot Ivie an I’m-sorry, and Ivie blew her a kiss.

And then she and Silas were alone again.

“I love Rubes,” she said. “She’s, like, the anti-me—”

“Have you—do you not want to be my nurse anymore?”

Ivie rolled onto her side and stared into his eyes. Running her fingertips across his jaw and down his throat, she tried not to notice that his beard wasn’t coming in anymore. Which was not uncommon in vampire males who were dying, that smooth skin on his face one more testament to everything she didn’t want to dwell on.

“I’d rather be your girlfriend.” She kissed his mouth. “I’m still monitoring everything. But time spent running around getting meds and entering things in your record and checking supplies is time away from you.”

He nodded and closed his eyes. “Yes. Indeed.”

As he seemed to retreat from her, she gave him the space to go where he needed to in his brain. He did that a lot, she was noticing…growing quiet and withdrawn, only to come back with a joke or a compliment or a question.

“May I ask you something?” he said.

“Anything.” She held his hand. “What is it?”

He took his time, and she was content for him to do so. “You’ve been with patients in my…situation.”

“Yes. I have.”

“And what do you…what do you tell them?”

“You mean about what the dying process is like?”

“Yes.”

God, she hated that this subject was between them. That this horrible thing she knew so much about was not merely just a hypothetical topic of conversation to bring them closer, the kind of thing two people who were starting out covered just like they did how many kids they hoped to have or where they wanted to ultimately live.